They Never Will…

As I sit down in a chair ready to read our two granddaughters a bedtime story, a bittersweet thought comes to mind: This is something we have done together every night they have spent here since the day they were born. To me, that seems like yesterday, for them it has been an unbroken routine that has been a part of their entire lives. 

In a few short months, we will celebrate the birthdays of our Little One and Sweet Caroline. They will turn thirteen and twelve respectively. They are not so little anymore, and if I were to be honest, they no longer need a bedtime story to help put them to bed. They are old enough to do that themselves. They listen not because it is a way to help them go to sleep, but rather it’s a way for them to remember things they experienced in their childhood years. Still, there are some things, from my childhood, they will never know or understand.

They never will know what it’s like to go on summer vacation in a car not equipped with air conditioning. The thought of having to crank a handle on the door rather than pushing a button to make the window go up and down is completely foreign to them. Playing car games for hours without the aid of an electronic device would seem impossible, and a paper map you unfold to follow when you have GPS navigation displayed on a 12-inch color screen is just as difficult to understand as it is to try to fold back up the map correctly.

They will never know what it is like to live in Georgia during the summer without air-conditioning in the house or how truly ineffective a box fan placed in an open window is when trying to cool off a bedroom. The idea of no indoor plumbing seems ridiculous to them, almost as much as having just one television (that sat on the floor, not hung on the wall) with only three channels of black and white programming plus no remote control.

They will never know what it is like to eat three cooked meals a day at home. They will never understand that we were raised with eating out as a once or twice a month thing instead of an everyday occurrence.  

They will never know what it’s like to walk next door or down the street just to talk to one of their friends. They will never know what it’s like for the only phone in the house to be in the kitchen and having to ask permission to use it. They will laugh if you tell them that when you were growing up, if you wanted to make a phone call while traveling, you’d pull over to the side of the road and put a dime in something called a pay phone. They will never know what it is like to have a pager on their belt or be without a cell phone in their pocket. 

Your kids will never understand why, when microwaves were first sold, you were told not to stand in front of them when they were turned on and why you still do that even to this day. They will never enjoy the freedom of unsupervised playing outside: hiking in the woods until dusk, stickball in the street, or riding bikes for hours until dinner time. Sadly, they also will never know a time when mass school shootings aren’t a concern. During the 1950’s and 60’s when my three brothers, The Sister, and I went to school, they didn’t happen. 

Thankfully, they will never know what it is like to attend a segregated elementary, middle, or high school like we all did. They will never have to wonder why there are segregated public facilities and water fountains. They will never be restricted from playing with other children just because of their skin color. 

As I close the book, switch on the owl nightlight, and silently walk towards the bedroom door, I pause to look back at the two illuminated angelical faces, with covers snuggled up around their chins and a final thought enters my mind. Until they have children and grandchildren of their own, they also will never know what a true honor and joy it has been reading a bedtime story to them nightly. Pulling the door slightly closed, I leave a crack for the hallway butterfly light to shine in, and smile. If I’m still around, perhaps they will let their old papa read a story or two about when their moms were kids growing up on this familiar street a long, long time ago not so far away.