A Great-Grandson Turns Twenty
Atlanta, GA
In August 1999, my mother’s mother died. She had been married to my grandfather for 58 years, so he was obviously distraught. To take his mind elsewhere, we decided to bring him someplace else.
For a few consecutive weeks during several consecutive years, my parents rented a house in the mountains above Lake Toxaway, North Carolina. Each of those years, Rita and I would make the two and a half hour drive, and mooch a few days of good company, grand views, and falling leaves.
The year my grandmother died, my mother invited my grandfather to join us. He’d enjoy a change of scenery, and it’d do him some good to get away. He would fly to Atlanta, then ride with Rita and me to North Carolina.
I met him at the Atlanta airport, back in the halcyon days when we could greet people at the gate. He and my grandmother had been here five years earlier, when they watched my wife join the family as their newest granddaughter. And that’s always how they treated her.
My grandfather stayed with us the night he arrived. The next day I surprised him with a drive up I-85, and a stroll down Memory Lane. I spent four years at what he derisively called “that Trade School”, but had never been to the University of Georgia. My grandfather spent a lot of time there, but very little since the Hoover Administration.
We drove the hour and a half to Athens, and parked just outside the campus. We walked to the symbolic state arch that separates Broad Street from the north lawn. Just beyond was a plaque commemorating the founding of the school, the first public university in the United States.
My grandfather read the acknowledgments to past presidents, famous professors, and of students who fought in the “War for Southern Independence.” As we wandered onto the beautiful quad, he suddenly stopped.
He looked back toward bustling Athens, ahead toward the overwhelming expanse of the modern university, and around the dignified structures surrounding students strewn across the soft green grass.
“When I was here”, he recalled as he surveyed the lovely lawn, “this [the quad] was the whole place.” We walked a bit further, and my grandfather pointed to a stately building on our right.
In faded inscription on a neoclassical frieze were the words “School of Law”. We approached the entrance as a couple students were walking out. They held the door, and we took a few steps in.
“This building opened while I was here”, he reminisced. “I spent most of my time here.”
I offered to walk with him thru more of the campus, but he declined: “Hell, I wouldn’t know any of it anyway.” We retraced our steps thru the lawn, grabbed a bite to eat, and returned to the car.
Thinking my grandfather secretly wanted to see more, I took a circuitous route out of town. He was as impressed how Athens had changed as he was amazed how large the university had gotten. Not long before he was a student, Broad Street was a bovine path, and cows grazed the north lawn.
We wound thru the newer sections of the campus and, of course, past the football stadium.
This is another structure built while my grandfather was there. As with the Law School, it has grown considerably since. Yet, at least till some modern moral arbiter unearths an inopportune remark, Sanford Stadium is still named for the man who was school president when my grandfather graduated. We returned to Atlanta. The next day, we drove to North Carolina.
I hadn’t been back to Athens since. Until last Sunday.
We were there for an Alpha Chi Omega initiation. Or, more precisely, my wife was. At Georgia Tech, Rita had been a member of that sorority…which means she still is.
The daughter of a couple good friends is a UGA freshman, and had become a new sister. Rita presented Kirby with her pin, which was the same one my wife received when she was initiated.
While she was doing that, David and I enjoyed a beautiful afternoon exploring the town and wandering the campus. Like madeleines to Proust, the scene brought back memories of my grandfather, and of college.
From a clear sky, our patriarchal Bulldog no doubt looked down…smiling as he watched his Tech descendant begrudgingly admire his grandfather’s school.
I regret that my grandmother never knew her great grandchildren. My grandfather knew his first four. But I imagine only the first one has meaningful memories of him.
That child was born twenty years ago today, just about ninety years after his “Great-Papa”.
Athens was the second college town we visited last week. A few days earlier, we were in Auburn. We’d not been there since moving Alexander into his apartment in August. David, who had never been, also joined us.
Rita and I wanted to see our son, and for our sons to see each other. As parents tend to do, we conducted a cursory inspection while we were there.
Before we left, Rita told me the story of a friend who last summer moved her freshman son into his college apartment. The mom offered to put the linens on his bed. Beneath the under-sheet, she left a hundred dollar bill taped to the mattress. When she returned for a visit several months later, the money was still there.
I told my wife to brace herself, and to expect a mess. We were, after all, walking into the apartment of a couple 19 year-old college guys. In such a habitat…and among such species…tub rings, kitchen crumbs, and dirty sheets tend to go unrestrained and unnoticed.
Except by mothers. And, we assured our son, by potential girlfriends. Those admonitions were met with patronizing nods and condescending eye rolls. They were followed by our son’s suggestion that we all leave the apartment and go somewhere (anywhere) else.
Our first afternoon, Alexander gave us a quick tour of the campus. It feels smaller than the one in Athens, but is quite pleasant. It’s layout is agreeable and its scale manageable.
The architecture is a Greek revival style that graces much of the South. Even many of the newer buildings were decent enough to retain this look.
The university anchors “the Loveliest Village on the Plains”. The town offers an abundance of nice shops, good restaurants, and college bars. Alexander couldn’t be happier, and I couldn’t be more pleased.
He is in only his second full semester at Auburn, yet is already a sophomore. Summer classes in college and advanced placement credits from high school moved him ahead.
Like his father, he is often more inclined to mind a change than to change his mind. But among the attributes that make me most admire Alexander are his positive attitude, and his ability to calmly adjust when things go awry.
A year ago, he was hell-bent on being a pilot. But when the reaction to the virus crippled those prospects, he wisely changed course. He’s now studying biomedical sciences, and is considering Medical school. Or perhaps psychology.
Alexander’s an optimist. Whatever happens, things will work out. He sometimes reminds me of the boy referenced in a story Ronald Reagan once told. After being forced into a room full of manure, the child gleefully dug into it. When asked why, he said “there must be a pony in there somewhere!”
Our second afternoon…over lunch at Hamilton’s…we discussed school, Alexander’s new job (he works several nights at a nearby bowling alley), and how he spends his free time with friends. As he talked, we were reminded how blessed we are to have such a good son.
We reacted by doing what we could to rectify that.
Knowing that stupid laws are meant to broken, and trying to help our son make the most of his college experience, we asked if he had a fake ID. Mortified at the suggestion, Alexander assured us he didn’t.
Then, in a scene that doubtless recurs in all upstanding households, his parents insisted he get one. We even offered to buy it. Alexander initially refused, but finally agreed…more to end the conversation than to concede the point.
Among his arguments was that next year he won’t need to finagle and connive his way into bars. He’ll be old enough anyway. Thinking back two decades, to the first day Alexander came home from the hospital, that is hard to believe.
Twenty years goes fast. Last month, we reflected how the days of our lives are allocated. By the time our children are Alexander’s age, almost 90% of the time we will ever spend with them has already passed.
As we left Auburn last week, that disquieting thought recurred, and reminded me how much I miss my son. Fortunately, he will be here tonight, and we will celebrate.
Many members of our family have “zero-year” milestone birthdays this year. Alexander is the first. Were my grandparents alive, they would also be among that group.
I wish they could see Alexander today. Notwithstanding his choice of college (a rebellious deviation my son comes by naturally) they would be very proud of their wonderful great-grandson.
As are we.
JD
