A Hole In The Ground

I wonder if it’s not really the small miniscule blessings tucked into our daily lives that are far more important than major miracles.  I believe one in my world is the way Will always makes me think.

His clarity of view and incredible ability to zone in on only the positive side of life is truly miraculous, and desperately needed by his Grandmother.  Sometimes I almost forget he is 22, and I am, well, we’re not going to discuss that now.

Every Friday night we begin our conversations with a report on our week.  Normally, I go first as I did this week.  When I told him what had happened just that afternoon, he calmly asked, “Has it happened before?”  And, of course, it had.

I have had the same landscape company for more years than I can count.  While I have always had a friendly relationship with the workers, when all four of them approached my car together, I knew there had to be a problem.  And of course there was.  They said, “You have a hole.”  I repeated, “Hole?” and they pointed to the far side of the house.  Indeed there was a hole, not small or insignificant, but large and looming.  It hadn’t been there earlier in the morning, but it certainly was now.

Later that evening as I discussed the matter with Will, and he questioned me whether there was ever a hole before, I remembered exactly where and when.

It was 1982, and one of our sons was graduating from a nearby college.  When his Dad and I asked what he would like as a gift, he said, “Just a party; that’s all I want.”  That sounded reasonable enough, and of course, we agreed.

I  naively presumed the invitation list would total 50 or thereabouts since our home is relatively modest.  Possibly that was mistake number one.  The caterers were scheduled to arrive shortly after 5 p.m., and I left my office a half hour earlier in order to make the necessary preparations.  As I pulled off the parkway exit near our house, I noticed throngs of people parked blocks away all walking in one direction.  I wondered if there had been an accident or incident, but they all seemed happy and nonchalant.  Then reality sunk in.  They were our party guests;  all of them every one of them.  And they numbered far more than 50.

Still it turned out to be a memorable evening with wonderful young people, all about to lead their own lives and full of innocence and joy.  The food obviously was inadequate, but since we live near a small shopping center, everyone helped by walking to the local Deli and purchasing the extra items I needed.  Of course, the owner was also delighted.

The music flowed, and then, as I told Will last night, someone called out, “Be careful, there’s a hole.”

Anyone who remembers the pre-sewer days of life on the south shore of L.I., undoubtedly has had a similar experience.  But that was 33 years ago, and unexpected now.  Apparently, the heavy moisture of last winter and the deterioration of the original filler has resurrected the issue again.

However, telling Will the story made me recall a joyous night that in reality also turned out to be a turning point for our family.  The morning after the party, my son received a phone call offering him a career opportunity in San Diego.  He accepted the offer that was contingent on his reporting within 24 hours, and has been a resident of the Golden State ever since.

As I related the story to Will and inspired by his clarity of vision, I realized how grateful I am we had a party that evening because it really marked the end of an era for our family.