Apple…Tree by Ginger Keller Gannaway

When I see Winslow in Casey’s smile, the world becomes a playground of possibilities: a splash pad with a soft foamy surface and gurgles of water that erupt into showers in various heights with tunnels of water where toddlers and some 5 to 8 year-olds race around while adults- parents, grandparents, nannies and friends -stand on the sidelines. The youngest kids squeal, run, and chase the water bursts with total abandon.

Last week Crystal and her grandchild Sunny, took Winslow and me to a totally shady splash pad. My grandson’s first-timer hesitancy lasted less than three minutes. He initially clutched my shirt and watched some thirty kids screaming and running through the water shooting from below and above. When the tall spurts retreated, I set Winslow down next to a gurgling burble, and when the water shot up and soaked his face while the seasoned splash pad kids raced around, he squealed and pumped his outstretched hands up and down. He forgot about me and joined his peers laughing and running through the jets of water.

Like a Cajun embraces bon temps, Winslow embraced the splash pad pandemonium. 

I immediately thought of his dad – Casey McClain- my middle son who was born so fast, I couldn’t get the epidural I so wanted. Casey embodies the “carpe diem” approach to life. He’s full-speed ahead and ready to tackle life’s challenges. He and Winslow have a tight connection. I love watching them together, whether Casey’s reading his son a book or taking him down a slide. He balances rough housing with the soft touch. He loves creating special quesadillas or yummy smoothies for his son, teaching him how to spin a top, helping him walk the dog, or building a Duplo/Leggo city. Plus he seems eager to change a poopy diaper or give Winslow a bath.

Casey is a natural-born father. Last January he beamed like he had discovered the secret to eternal life when we first met Winslow in the hospital. When we babysit Winslow on Wednesdays and Thursdays, Casey pops in for lunches and stroller walks when he can. 

On my grandson’s first Christmas, I gave each immediate family member a t-shirt with a different photo of him on it. Even Winslow got a t-shirt with Winslow on it! Now Casey owns five different t-shirts with various images of his son. He loves it when strangers comment on Winslow’s open-mouthed laugh or furrowed-brow pout.

Winslow does not always look like his dad. He often flashes his momma’s smile and her wistful looks. He also has her cool dance moves.

Winslow has his dad’s non-stop energy, creativity, and independent stubbornness. He insists on feeding himself even though his 4-ounce container of yogurt leaves as much on his face, hair, and shirt as ends up in his tummy. And when Winslow and I make crayon masterpieces together, I may begin a beach scene with waves and fish, but he’ll snatch the color from my hand to add his emphatic touches of “dot! dot! dot!” color.

Like most 17-month-olds, his least favorite word is, “No.” He’ll repeat my “No!” right before he continues the forbidden action.
 
“No, Winslow! Leave the stereo alone.”

He’ll make direct eye contact, say “No,” and then crank the bass up.

However, his tenderness matches his tete dure (hard head) nature. Casey has a heart as big and soft as a John Prine song. And Winslow bestows smooches on his Beanie Babies and his favorite Bluey stuffed animal as well as most family members if he’s not tired or hungry. When Winslow spends time on my tiny patio, he has to kiss my Kiss-Kiss Fish planter at least three times. He’s a hugger and a cuddler. He’ll pat my back as I pat his if we’re dancing to a slow song.

Apple/tree fits the Winslow/Casey connection in the best of ways. I’m understanding the glory of watching my child raise his child. Seeing my son’s full-face smile as he watches his son clop around the living room in size 13 tennis shoes gives me optimism. When clever, caring, creative parents have their kids following in their footsteps we should see the possibility for a better world.