The IP Weekly

One night in the late ‘80’s I was driving home from work with my father. My brother had just started college and I was feeling the discomfort of change. I asked my father if my brother and I would continue to play Whiffle Ball on our driveway — we had been playing since we were kids. My father explained that we will always play, only less often as life evolves. I was satisfied with his answer.

There was no way for my father to know that my brother and I would never play Whiffle Ball again. He couldn’t have known that after years and years of being on the losing end of these matches that I had finally been beating my brother. It is also quite possible that my father understood that Whiffle Ball was a metaphor for life in general, although that’s unlikely too. Still, preparing for our family dinner to celebrate Rosh Hashanah, I couldn’t help but recall that conversation only now it was me providing council to my father.

Our family has endured many changes over the years; loss, separations, relocating, growing older, priorities. In many ways we are no different than other families, but it always feels harder when you look around your own dining room table in your mind’s eye and become aware of who isn’t there. I had told my father early in the week that my son was likely not to be in attendance. At 23 years old my son is the oldest of my father’s four grandchildren who holds a very special place in his heart. My son had started a new job the week before and was asked to work on the holiday. Like other people starting new jobs, my son understood that new jobs require sacrifice and he was prepared to make his by working instead of being with us.

My father was hurt by this news. He wasn’t hurt by my son’s decision, he was imagining the table and noticed that his granddaughters were both away at school and couldn’t be there. He recognized that his other grandson, a high school senior, would himself be away at school a year from now making it probable that he could have a Rosh Hashanah with none of his grandchildren. He felt his age, he felt time, he felt loss.

When I told him about my son my father said, “things change.” He was right, but I could hear the subtext in his voice. I reminded him of all the good that exists. I encouraged him to look around the table and see those who would be there. To hear the laughter that would ensue, as it always does when we are together. Some things in life are constant, change being one, joy being another.

We all feel the weight of change, the impact of time especially as we look around our dinner tables. Somehow, I am now the fifth oldest person at the table, I remember being the second youngest. The life cycle plays out right before our eyes at holiday dinners. It’s important to acknowledge and honor those who are missing and vital to celebrate with those who are present.

My son made it to dinner after all bringing my father some joy. His granddaughters both called via Facetime and, as predicted, we all laughed our way through another New Year’s dinner. We played a new game this year and relished our time together. I wasn’t Whiffle Ball, but it was damn fun.