Beech Tree News Network

I wish I had a gazillion dollars so I could take my granddaughter, Sabria, to visit other countries and cultures.  I don’t have, so I have to settle on the internet for our tours.  One morning, she noticed a picture of the Aurora Borealis on the calendar hanging on our bathroom wall.  She wanted to know more about it, so I found additional information on some internet sites that also included the eight best places to view the Northern Lights, as well as pictures from those sites.
    On another occasion, we were painting at the kitchen table, when the little tike informed me she was the artist; therefore I couldn’t be an artist.  “Sorry, Kid,” I told her, “If that’s true, you can’t be an artist either, because several others have beat you to the punch.”  I pulled up information on Van Gogh and his “Starry Night,” Da Vinci and his “Mona Lisa,” and Picasso and his “Old Guitarist.”  She was amazed at the group with whom she was going to have to share the title “artist.”
    I am grateful we live in the kind of world where information is at our fingertips.  It sure does make answering questions a lot easier.  At the same time, I try not to forget the importance of giving my granddaughter something only I can give her—my perspective.  I have had experiences and have learned life lessons in a way that is uniquely my own.  In this way, I am not unique.
    I have a friend who lost his grandfather when he was a young boy.  Despite that, his grandfather made a lasting impression on his young grandson before he left this world.  My friend still remembers his grandfather emptying the coin holder of the Coke machine at his business and pouring the change into his young grandson’s pockets to take home for his piggy bank.  That boy grew into one of the best businessmen I have ever known.
    Some of my friends have had grandfathers who played checkers with them or baseball with them or watched NASCAR with them.  Each one passed on a love of what they loved, and that is just as important as knowing the eight best places to view the Northern Lights. 
    I didn’t have the one grandfather I knew for very long, but I remember how he sang all the time, and I also remember the comfort of his arms while he rocked me in a rocking chair.  I regret not singing more when my own children were young.  I didn’t realize I hadn’t until I was living with my daughter, Nikki, in Galveston, Texas, while she was finishing up at A&M.  She couldn’t get her friend, Jess, who had spent the night, out of bed, and she had promised Jess she would make sure she made it to class.
    “I’ll get her up,” I said, as I broke into my rendition of “On a Wonderful Day Like Today” from the London musical, “The Roar of the Greasepaint – The Smell of the Crowd.”
    Jess got up with an, “Alright, alright, already.  Just please stop with the song.”
    Nikki was amazed.  “How do you know that?” she asked.
    “I always loved musicals,” I said.  Right at that moment, I realized I never passed that on.  I had been too overwhelmed to sing when they were small.  The last thing on my mind would have been to break out in song during the chaos that was our lives.  I’ve made it a point to do that with Sabria.  Sometimes, I can find versions of the songs on YouTube, and I give her my phone and let her listen to them over and over again then we sing them together.
    The important thing to remember is we are enough, our offering is enough.  It is enough because it is added to all the other offerings from all the other people in our young ones’ lives, and it will all combine into a circle of influence that will help one more person make it through this life.
    When asked about the meaning of life, columnist Abbigail Van Buren (Dear Abby) answered, “That you amount to something and have it matter that you lived at all.”  That would be more than good enough for me.