Friday Nights

It was an innocuous question, but resulted in a complicated answer.

Father’s Day brought back many memories, happier ones, and so the unexpected phone call from an old school friend was a lovely surprise.  We had shared many adventures together in our youth, and so her query was not unexpected.

“So, tell me, what are you doing for fun?”

I hesitated too long in answering, and she interrupted me with some sage advice, “Think about it and start today.”

Well, that’s easier said than done.  I could never be described as a “fun” person.  There are many other attributes that have been used, some good, others not quite so, but never amusing.

As for fun, I have many pleasures, but I don’t think any qualify as fun.  However, I suppose the one that immediately came to mind was my Friday night conversations with Will.

I love to learn, and while that doesn’t fall into the category of fun, it is total pleasure.  And Will opens a Pandora’s Box of introspection for me each week.  Our calls are clocked for exactly one hour.  And that is for my sake, not his.  When we say Good Night, my mind is full of memories, decisions and soul-searching.

This week he opened up the topic of Parkinson’s Disease.  It was an illness that had impacted my early childhood to a great degree.  My Maternal Grandmother was one of two cases suffering from the affliction in NYC, and my Mother was her primary caregiver.  Consequently, the first five years of my life were spent almost exclusively in the hospital-like environment of the elderly woman’s home.  I had never mentioned the subject to Will and was amazed at his interest in the disease.

The financial and emotional ramifications of a family in the depression years, without Medicare or even hospitalization, are difficult to describe today.  The toll it took in various ways on a family are complicated indeed.  One consequence was when one of my Uncles left home under a cloud.  Sadly, the cloud became darker when his disturbed Mother left home on a winter’s night looking for her oldest son and perished in the snow.  Fairly or not, the Prodigal was blamed.  Yet, my Mother’s door remained openfor him until his death thirty years later.  Mom would never be described as a peacemaker, yet she set an example for me in her relationship with her lonely and isolated brother.

Will had never heard this story, but he has become the family historian.  Weekly, he questions me about all the members of our clan even those he has never met.  His questions and interest represent the olive branch of peace that makes life better for each of us.

But then before our conversation ended this week, he left me with another thought provoking question.  “Grandma, have I ever made anyone happy?”

There was no hesitation in my reply because he has filled so many lives with joy with his courage, determination and quest for knowledge.  That was easy to answer until I turned it around to myself.  That was more complicated.  And while I hope I have, I wonder if I couldn’t have done more.

And because of our conversation on this rainy summer’s night, I remembered my Mother’s example of forgiveness and realized I had been given another of life’s lessons.  And really, while Friday nights might not qualify as fun, they truly are one of the greatest gifts God has given me.