Twenty-Five Years Ago

Rachael was born on a very cold Friday morning. She was a scheduled C-section and while Helaina was as well, Helaina wasn’t scheduled to be. It just worked out that way. But Rachael’s delivery was scheduled early on. I can’t say whether it was better or worse this way - but it was certainly different. There’s something about knowing the finite point when your child will be born that makes the anticipation more intense. At least, that's the way it was for me.

So, she was born on a cold Friday morning - eyes wide open from the moment they handed her to me (and , incidentally, poking her fingers into her eyes - a habit she kept up for several years to come). In hindsight, the eyes-wide-open should have tipped me off - to her intellect, to her curiosity, to her desire to get the show going. But I was unaware of these things, at first.

One of my many regrets in life is that when Rachael was a baby, I often compared her to Helaina. But Rachael's style was different than Helaina’s and it took me a while to see this for what it was.

This was a huge lesson that Rachael taught me early on - that she was an individual and should be looked at on her own terms. I don’t quite remember what she was doing when this revelation hit me, but when it did, it was profound. I remember thinking, “Of course she’s not doing this the same way as her sister. She’s her own person!” And everything came flooding into perspective. Rachael had been showing me her own unique pallet of colors and I had been looking at them all wrong. 

Once this hit me, it was like finding buried treasure.

I struggle to write about Rachael - not because I can't think of what to say, but because there are so many memories, so much that I think about. How do you pull droplets out of a rushing stream?

I think about Rachael as an infant, letting me rock her at bedtime.Clearly, this was something she was doing for me. I would hold her against me as we sat in the rocking chair - ready to rock her for however long she wanted - which, as it turned out, usually wasn’t for very long.

 

I would just be getting warmed up when, after only a few short minutes, she would push away against my chest and look over at the crib, then up at me. “Really,” I would say, “You want to go to bed already?” And she would smile with those big cheeks of hers, and I would lay her in her bed and cover her up - and give her her own space, grateful that she humored me - until tomorrow night arrived, when we would do this all over again.

I think about her as a toddler, barely able to stand, standing at the coffee table, drawing little circles over and over again. And I think about those little circles becoming little faces, and then people and then scenery - and then on and on and on. 

And I think about all of the artwork, all of the expression that was developing and evolving. And I wonder how much of it was always inside of her, maybe even form birth, just waiting to find a way for her to express it. And for some reason, I think about the flower inside of the seed, waiting to bloom.

I think about coming home from work everyday. The back door would burst open as Helaina and Rachael bounded out to greet me. Helaina would shout, “Daddy’s home! Daddy’s home!” and Rachael, barely a toddler, would “jump” up and down, next to her. I’d watch as Helaina would smile and shout, and Rachael would bend her knees, then jerk them straight, throwing her head back each time, over and over again - all the while her feet never left the ground.

I think about going on so many car rides together - giving her the chance to go on about her day - or about whatever else was on her mind - while I sat and drove and enjoyed every minute of it.

I think about her learning to ride a bike - or more specifically, teaching herself to ride a bike. When Helaina wanted to lean to ride a two wheeler, I spent a lot of time, as all parents do, walking, then running alongside her bike, up and down the driveway. Helaina had good balance and it didn't take long before she learned. And at the tail end of teaching Helaina, I remember driving home from work one day thinking, "In another year or so, I'll be doing the same thing with Rachael."

This would have been true, except for the fact that Rachael had been taking all of this in and, whether it was her competitiveness, or simply her desire to keep moving forward, I came home from work to find that she had already taught herself.

So many things stay with me. Going on walks together, looking at the moon, riding the strawberries together at the fair. On and on and on.

All of it means so much to me, but two more things I want to mention.

Under our back porch, among all of the junk and the old toys and the memories, is a small bike, probably rusting, with ivy and leaves painted on it. One day when Rachel was in elementary school, she came home and told me that there was going to be a bicycle contest. She wanted to enter and she wanted to win a bicycle helmet. 

Back then, there was a party store at one end of town. I took Rachael there to select whatever paints and decorations she had in mind. She spent a good deal of time thoughtfully going through things before finally deciding that she would like to check out the decorations at the grocery store on the other end of town. 

So we headed over to the grocery store, where Rachael went trough their decorations in the same methodical way. Ultimately, she decided that she liked the supplies that the party store better, so we headed back and we got her the decorations she needed. 

Rachael spent a good bit of time painting the bike, getting it just the way she wanted. When it came time for the contest, I brought her over to the school and I watched as she and her bike stood in a line-up with all the other kids. The judges walked back and forth in front of them all, stopping occasionally to ponder a particular entry. I watched as Rachael would poke her bike slightly forward, whenever they walked by. 

Rachael won her bike helmet. 

I was always impressed by this - this entire thing. She had heard about this contest, made up her mind that she was going to enter - and she went for it. My role in all of this, as would often be the case, was nothing more than to try to facilitate her in reaching her goal. But the idea, the vision, the creativity - everything - that was all Rachael.

Another thing I often think about is Rachael reading Harry Potter. Back when there was only one, or maybe two Harry Potter books, my sister, Karen, suggested that this might be a book that would interest Rachael - and sure enough, she was right. 

What I remember in particular is Rachael reading this book out loud, in the living room, to me and everyone else. I treasure this memory. It's not the words in the book, and not just her enthusiasm. I'm not sure I can say why. But like so many things, I look back on it fondly and often - and it stays with me.

I also can't say why I chose these particular memories to write about. There is so much there. How do you choose? How do separate all the memories into individual pieces? How do you pull certain droplets out of a stream? 

Maybe you don’t. Maybe you just jump in, let it wash over you and enjoy it while it continues to carry you along for the ride.