The Princess Bride
Atlanta, GA
August 23, 2020
Our sons had many caregivers as they grew. They came from Poland, Romania, and Germany. Recent help was more local, mostly students looking for a bit of income and part-time work between or after classes. Several are now married, and have kids of their own.
Uli Hamisch lived with us almost six years, arriving from her home near Düsseldorf a few months before David was born. She quickly became part of our family, and remains so to this day.
Ten years ago, she moved out, married, and started her own household. She has two children, yet ours retain a special place in her heart, as if they were her beloved nephews. The feeling is mutual. They adore her, and love spending time with her kids.
Uli will periodically invite Alexander and David to her house for the weekend, or to join her at the park or bowling alley for an afternoon. They accept every opportunity they can, and begrudge their prior obligations if they can’t.
She visited several weeks ago, for no particular reason. She just wanted to catch up, and we spent hours doing so. A few days later, David joined her and her kids at the zoo. He, and they, had a blast.
When our boys were still too young to be home alone, Uli and her husband were often kind enough to take them for a night if we needed to be out. But her invitations are usually unprovoked, out of the blue, and for no particular reason. Those are the best kind.
Sometimes, she simply misses the boys she helped us raise, and no doubt shares some deserved pride in the young men they have become. And she should. She was indispensable to their upbringing, and to our sanity, during our boys’ early years.
Several nannies followed, usually for a year or two each. As the boys grew, their rôle became less supervising the children than shuttling them around if Rita or I couldn’t.
Practices, lessons, and appointments frequently filled the few hours after school and before one of us got home. Much as Rita seemed to put herself in two places at once, with us both working (and me often out of town) a chauffeur was often more necessary than a nanny.
We saw our last “chauffeur” get married yesterday, on a small farm below the Appalachians, just north of Atlanta.
Her name, personality, and manners suggest an upbringing in a Norman Rockwell painting. Julie Smith is beautiful, sweet, wholesome, and conscientious. She worked with us three years, a few hours a day, several days a week, while completing her college degree. As an employee, she was perfect, and contradicts stacks of stereotypes earned by others her age.
Julie excels at the small things, which invariably loom large. She was always on time, and never left early. She didn’t do her own things on our time. If she finished her scheduled tasks, she would ask for more. She always smiled, and never complained.
She loved our dog. When she heard we adopted him, she began arriving half an hour early so she could play with him without infringing on her working hours. Most would’ve arrived at the appointed hour, and then played with the dog anyway. Honestly, we probably wouldn’t have noticed or cared if they had. But Julie didn’t, and we did notice that.
She’s not quite four years older than Alexander, so neither he nor David needed much supervision. But Julie helped however she could. In addition to driving, she did laundry, made beds, walked the dog, prepared lunches. Again, little things that made a big difference. Particularly with me so often gone, Julie uncluttered at least a small corner of Rita’s day, providing a place to stand when the walls closed in.
Julie became famous for her salads, which she made each afternoon. She laughed when I commended her on them. She confessed that she never made salads at home, and not anywhere till she started with us. She instead credited my wife.
Rita provided the ingredients. Julie just mixed them in a bowl. How hard, Julie seemed to be saying, was that? Perhaps. But that wasn’t the point.
How hard are many things that countless others neglect to do? More and more, people stand-out not by periodically doing hard things, but by consistently doing the easy ones. Julie always does, and does them well. To her, not showing pride was as incomprehensible as not showing up.
Pride abounded when she showed up yesterday. Her appearance was angelic. Her parents beamed. The groom choked back tears, overwhelmed by his princess bride in radiant white.
The setting was idyllic, and ideal. We had never heard of Fendley Farmstead. A covered pavilion sheltered the ceremony from rain that never came. The August afternoon was warm, yet comfortable.
A few cows ambled behind the scene, making an early supper of the soft green grass. After the vows were exchanged and the marriage sealed, guests followed a gravel path past a small greenhouse amid a large garden. At the far end rose a barn, which hosted a charming rustic reception.
We met Julie’s parents, whose daughter had apparently shared many kind words about us, an indication that she is as perceptive as she is polite. Her parents were as delightful as we’d expected, given the daughter they had raised. We met the happy husband, by whom we were impressed. He seems pleasant, sincere, and worthy of his new wife.
We departed soon after, leaving them to finish their special evening, and begin their new life. Julie will do so as a second grade teacher, a position for which she is ideally suited. Her objective is to one day work with special needs kids. We admire her ambition, and her ability. She may not be to our sons the “aunt” that Uli has become. Perhaps more of a big sister. Regardless, she certainly feels a part of our extended local family.
Brett and Jennifer arrived a few years ago to escape a hurricane in Tampa. They met Julie and were with her as she finished for the day. After talking with her briefly and observing her around the house, Jennifer looked up at Brett, and said simply, “We need a Julie!”
We all do.
JD
