How My Grandson Saved Me

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    I have been suffering a post-election hangover. My forays into public spaces has left me feeling I am the lone survivor of a zombie apocalypse movie. The day after the debacle at my grandson’s flag football game it all seemed business as usual, kids running around while parents cheered on the sidelines engaged in friendly conversation between plays.

    Overnight my perspective of our country and faith in the people, (at least most of them) was shattered. A community gathering I once enjoyed was now a bitter, cynical example of the dystopian lives we now lead.  Why is everyone smiling? Sure, radicalized republicans should be happy. Their monster of hatred won but there were definitely people at the games that did not vote for him. Do those who had the common sense to vote against the first dictator in the United States not realize how bad this will get?

     I am heartbroken knowing those kids on the field might never know what a truly functioning democratic government will look like. My father and uncle both lost limbs in World War 2. They fought for freedom for all and never complained about their loss. It seems like what they fought for was callously thrown aside. Because of the new doctrine, will they be labeled as suckers and losers by the far right’s draft dodging, fearless leader? History is written by the victors. How will our history be rewritten?

     I got through the week staying home as much as possible, avoiding the news, watching docs about real Americans like Mark Twain and reading. It did not help that I finished reading Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar and an eight-hundred-page biography of Richard Brautigan. Both dealt with suicide. The trifecta of suicide was our country, our democracy, committed one vote at a time.

     Saturday, I took my grandson to a trampoline park because he wanted to jump around. He is a wonderful boy, full of love, emotion and caring. He hasn’t had it easy. Right from birth he had three holes in his heart, a couple of aneurisms which have thankfully mostly disappeared. He also has a classic deadbeat dad who left the state, is always late with child support and since his recent marriage and two more kids, his interaction with my grandson has all but evaporated despite promises to visit or facetime which never happened. My grandson no longer wants to see him because of his dad’s inability to be consistent. Last week the dad tried to force a visit which my grandson refused resulting in many tears and a visit to his therapist. This precious child also has dyslexia and dysgraphia to deal with, a lot on the plate for someone who will soon be nine.

     After the therapy appointment I took him to an indoor trampoline park. He was sullen during the drive staring out his passenger window studying the sprawl of Phoenix and Scottsdale. When we stepped through the smeared glass doorways of the trampoline park his mood dramatically changed. Once inside the vast play area he leaped about with carefree abandon. The swift emotional swing reminded me of an observation by the great American humorist Jean Sheppard. His collection of brilliant short stories about childhood titled In God we Trust, All Others Pay Cash was cobbled together to make the holiday classic, A Christmas Story.  In the film, after a terrifying encounter with bully Scot Farkus, Ralphie runs at break neck speed to check the mailbox hoping his Little Orphan Annie decoder ring arrived. Sheppard narrates, “In the jungles of kiddom the mind switches rapidly.”

     It was a clever line to connect two emotionally opposite scenes, one of abject fear to one of hopeful excitement that something wonderful was waiting for Ralphie. That simple transitional line always struck me as one of the lost values of being a kid; how a child is able to effortlessly switch from despair to joy. We often lament the loss of childhood innocence but rarely acknowledge their divine gift of living in the moment. With all his troubles and concerns my grandson had immediately cast them aside on his first trampoline bounce.

   Tears welled as I watched him play. Despite it all, he and all the other catapulting kids were having a grand time. I recalled that feeling of being lost in play for blissful moments temporarily holding back the inevitable tide of challenges that will only increase with age. Since the election I was lost, angry and despondent but now I knew a direction to take; to love that child, give him all the joy that can be scoured from this dirty, petty world and let help to live the best way possible for as long as possible. Screw the millions of people that decided because of ignorance, apathy or delusion to upend all that was decent and good in this country. I will continue to love the ones I love and feel as much joy as humanly possible given the circumstances. Consider it an act of defiance.

    Thanks to my grandson I was reminded of the most enduring quality of being human; our ability to bounce back.