Over the past few years, I’ve referred to my granddaughter, Lydia,
as “the world’s most beautiful and brilliant toddler.” As you can see from her
picture, I am absolutely correct about the beautiful part. To meet her is to
understand the brilliant part.
But alas, I do not think the next time I see her, I will be
able to call her that. She is about to graduate from “toddler” to something
else, perhaps “big girl?” There were two reasons I left a superb support
system in the East to visit Oregon: to see this precious (and precocious)
child; and to hopefully establish a better relationship with my son following a
bitter divorce with his mother.
The first time we again met was last summer and the
relationship with each was strained at that time. With my son, it was
re-establishing a trust and caring relationship and with Lydia, it was a matter
of getting acquainted. Our average time together was usually one day per month
over the 11-months I was here. I
had not planned to spend so much time here, but it was time well spent. I was
able to explore much of the wonderful beauty of the Northwest, and shared some
things with my son’s family. There was a first time at the beach, visits to the
Columbia Gorge, and trips around Portland. And on May 17 was a wonderful last
day with them. We took a rail trip through the Hood River Valley via the Hood
River Railroad (Lydia is crazy about trains) followed by a visit to Rowena
Overlook, one of the most beautiful places in the world and yet another cookout
at Grandpa’s campsite with toasting of marshmallows.
And this last day together for a while was the best. Lydia
was genuinely affectionate. She no longer was wondering who this man was. And
my son and I seemed to be bonding closer than I ever anticipated. I told him a
few things about my personal life and was overjoyed by his reaction.
And so, the day ended with loving hugs. I am a year older
now and I am not very happy about my health. I don’t know if I could do the
park host thing again, at least not without a partner. And while there is much
joy in seeing America’s wonders, it is time to share that joy. Which is why I
am heading back east.
Oregon has been a wonderful experience for me. The people I
have worked with at both the state and national parks have given me great
support and permitted me to use the talents God has given me in a positive
manner. And for a hard driving New Yorker in a laid-back culture, that has
taken some getting used to. There have been some lessons learned by me as well.
My mania isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and I’ve started taking much better care
of myself.
The next stop is Yellowstone, Grand Teton and other things I
can find before settling in at the Badlands to work retail for the summer at a
well-known tourist destination.
This will be the first time I will work in more than five years. I hope
I have recovered enough to be able to handle working full time for a while, as
it is a time when I need to improve my finances. I know I couldn’t do this for
more than the summer months but volunteering for about 30 hours a week has
given me hope.
And then I hope to return to the NYC metro area in October
and renew a relationship with the other son in my life. His brother tells me he
senses a great deal of maturing as he is helping his best friend through the
trials of fatherhood. Perhaps he will understand me a little better?
Over the past few years, people have asked me where I live
and I have come to point to my trailer and say “home is where I park it.” I
even have a tee shirt that states that fact. But I sometimes feel awash in a
sea of America The Beautiful. I am often reminded of a verse Neil Diamond once
wrote: “LA’s fine but it ain’t home, New York’s home, but it ain’t mine no
more.”
I suppose most of my life has been a quest for a home. Born
in New York City, my parents moved to New Jersey when I was five. They
separated two years later and my life became a living hell for three years as I
lived in 11 different places and attended five different schools before
crashing and winding up in a home for boys for four years trying to get myself straightened
out.
The first two days after I went on the road, I visited that
house in NJ where I thought I would grow up with two parents and the home for
boys. At both places I learned the difference between perception and reality –
and they were wide gaps. One person, actually two people, said I had to journey
to “Munzerville” to figure it out.
My wanderlust lifestyle was something I was seemingly never
able to share with the ex. And yet she gave me an anchor. We lived more than
seven years in Queens and then nearly three decades on Long Island. I never
seemed to be content with that anchor. The inner demons wouldn’t let me forego
the constant childhood fears completely.
And after this day that ended with a flood of warm hugs,
perhaps it isn’t where I am that’s important, but rather where I’m at.
As a kid, my favorite television show was “Roy Rogers.” I’d
like end this thousand-word whatever by sharing the lyrics that ended the show
with all those whom I love and am privileged to be loved by:
Happy trails to you
Until we meet again.
Happy trails to you
Keep smiling until then
Happy trails to you.
