Ghosts Of Journals Past

Every five years I keep a journal for a year, starting with my birthday. It’s a diary of sorts, which I started doing when I turned 35. Then at 40, 45, etc. Since I just turned 55, I started my latest chapter a little over a week ago.

Here’s some entries from years past. Though I write about anything and everything, I culled from my "archives" entries having to do with our boys, Greg and Scott. There’s nothing that better demonstrates the passing of time than watching your kids grow up . . .

June 14, 1988-(Greg is 8, Scott 5) I figure there must be a thousand toys easy in this house. Amazingly, the chances are 50-50 that both kids will want the same toy at the same time. And both will kick, scratch and bite to play with it. Even if only for five minutes. They say kids can make you feel young. But at 35, I believe that you need the stamina of someone less than 30 to keep up with kids under 10.

December 8, 1988-Greg lost his "firth" tooth on Tuesday. The tooth fairy gave him a dollar. Greg didn’t know it but the tooth fairy had a tough time finding his tooth under that pillow. Good thing Greg is a sound sleeper.

March 21, 1989-Like me, Scott has a great interest in watching horror movies and loves to curl up on my lap when we watch, tucking his head next to my armpit during the suspenseful parts. When you tell him about a particular movie monster, he’ll ask, "Does he eat blood?" Tonight he drew something for Wendy. She asked, "What is that, a fire?" Scott responded, "No, it’s a teeth monster." Then after pausing he added, "But it’s a nice teeth monster."

Five years later . . .

June 6, 1993-One game our little family plays during long waits, either in the car or in a restaurant, is the A-B-C game where we each think of a word that begins with the designated letter and fits a particular category. Yesterday, the category was "something to do with sports." Scott is surprisingly good at this. At Pizza Hut, he came up with "Ultimate Warrior" (a pro wrestler popular at the time) for U and "varsity" for V. Greg stole my U word, "underdog."

October 6, 1993-Having a little dog is just like having a little kid, at least with our new puppy Doogie. He does seem to be responding to his name now, probably because that’s all we seem to do is shout out, "Doogie!" He scratched Scott, bit Greg on the nose, scattered newspapers around and flees into the neighbor’s yard anytime we let him outside to go to the bathroom.

October 11, 1993-So far no messes in the house today. Maybe Doogie is turning the corner. Greg said that Doogie even stood at the patio door scratching to say he wanted to go out. "You mean he can talk?" Scott asked, seemingly serious.

Five years later . . .

August 13, 1998-Scott gave a birthday list to his aunt Denise that included "Area 51 scientists to check for inter-dimensional portals in our living room." He feels that too many of his toys have turned up missing. I think cleaning up after himself would bring more promising results.

August 20, 1998--Tonight both the boys’ hockey sticks are on the roof, Greg having thrown them up there over the garage when Scott locked him out of the house for a couple hours. We thought they were both mature enough to stay at home during the summer by themselves while Wendy and I worked. Now I wonder. School can’t open a minute too soon for me.

Five years later . . .

May 29, 2003--Now it’s going on 10:30 at night. Greg went to deliver a bologna sandwich to Scott who is hungry after getting called to do a full shift at Blockbuster video tonight. He wants the money, of course. Greg and I matched up one-on-one in basketball tonight with myself surprisingly taking a 10-7 win. Don’t know if he was going 100 per cent on me but he seemed to contest every shot. Our next door neighbor, young Breanna, asked to play, but I said it was one of those macho contests, with a 50-year-old facing off against a 20-year-old. "I’m the 50-year-old," I declared. "Well, duhhh," she replied, to chuckles from Greg.

June 13, 2003-Back at work after two days off to attend orientation at Michigan State University. While educators and administrators took turns lecturing us on what to expect with billing, Scott was getting his own session on what it means to become a Spartan. So at home, in the middle of the night, the phone rings. I answer it but nobody’s there, so I hang up. It rings again and an AT&T electronic operator asks if I want to accept a collect call. But the person on the other end does not give their name and I hang up again. Wendy, who is up now too at after 3 a.m, believes the caller is Greg, who was supposed to return at 2 a.m. from "clubbing." Sure enough, a third call comes through and this time Greg identifies himself as the collect caller. I accept the charges and Greg tells me that his buddy Jimmy has left him stranded in Ypsilanti. He had to walk through some of Ypsi’s more run-down neighborhoods just to find a phone.

Five years later . . .

June 2, 2008 (two days ago)-Greg’s girlfriend Lindsay called Wendy to say that Greg proposed on the third anniversary of their first date. Even got down on one knee. No wedding date yet-probably next year. So that’s great. I think she’ll make a wonderful daughter-in-law even if her birthday present to me a week ago was a plain gray shirt with NERD prominently emblazoned on the front.

And life goes on . . .