We had cereal for breakfast this morning. I just wasn’t up to procuring a hot, well-balanced meal in an apartment teeming with packing tape and piles of books. Plus there were boxes in front of the stove. I almost died getting out 3 bowls and spoons. Pancakes just weren’t happening.
As we sat enjoying one another’s’ company, I noticed that Abby had poured both Raisin Bran and Cheerios into her bowl. I told her that her Great-Grandpa Martin ate a bowl of cereal every morning with 2 (or more!) kinds of cereal poured in. She was confused, because she never met Great-Grandpa Martin. I said to her “Remember Bapa Hank? His Daddy was your Great-Grandpa. He used to eat cereal just like you do.”
This would have been a total throwaway moment, one of those things you just “do” while you parent. But today would have been Bapa Hank’s 66th birthday. Of all days for me to notice 2 kinds of cereal in the bowl. Of all days to explain what special men they both were to me. Of all days.
I was writing another essay today (I am quite the writer these days), and I was remembering my first APC Conference. The workshop we took at the end of the day was on Transracial Parenting and I came home so energized, so excited, so sure that this is what we were supposed to do. We sat down at dinner and recapped the day with my parents, and I remember Dad being excited about this journey, too.
When she came home, I remember thinking how tickled Grandpa Martin would have been at meeting Abby, how she has Grandpa’s and Dad’s (and my) shared (warped) sense of humor. How excited Dad was to be a Grandpa himself.
It breaks me up to need to begin conversations like this with the phrase “Remember Bapa Hank?” But then again, I figure that’s my job. To make sure she remembers.
