Tell Me Thursday: Eating Donut Seeds

I had originally intended to post this picture last Wednesday for my WW feature, however, the snow got the better of me and I decided to run with my little man protesting his place in it.  Yesterday’s picture, to me, isn’t as much about the growth and development of my son starting to feed himself, but rather it is about my grandfather.  The fifth anniversary of his passing was the day after I took this picture and through my son’s actions a flood of memories came rushing  through me.

It was my grandfather who came up with the whole “donut seed” thing.  My baby cousin at the time (who is about to graduate high school in a few months, argh!) was just learning to feed herself and one of her favorite things were Cheerios.  I’m not sure if it was to get her more interested in eating them or if it was just his normally sharp sense of humor, but he christened them donut seeds.  Ever since my son started eating solid foods I couldn’t wait for the opportunity to get him to eat donut seeds of his very own.  So, when he really took to them a few weeks ago I was thrilled, as he wasn’t terribly fond of the puff treats that melt in your mouth that we originally tried getting him to eat.

As I sat in the chair across from his high chair it dawn on me that the next day would be five years to the day that he left us, leaving a large void in our family.  Of the many things I learned from him, he was the one that taught me how to golf.  To this day I still smile when I think about our semi-annual minature golf tournaments.  Growing up in New Jersey for the better part of my childhood, we would venture home back to the Boston area twice a year.  During our summer visits we would play many rounds of minature golf at different courses around town and would always end the hard fought round with some ice cream.  On my last trip up to the Boston area I was happy to see that the Big Orange Dinosaur was still prominently displayed on my favorite course right off Route 1.

It was his passing that really shocked my system and got me focused on taking care of business at home.  A chronic workaholic, I was focused more on trying to make my career what I had always envisioned to no avail.  During the nearly thousand mile drive home after his memorial service, I had time to reflect on my life and realized that I wasn’t happy with where it was going.  With a renewed sense of direction I worried less about things that were out of my control, met and married my wife and welcomed our son into the world.

When I think about it, it makes me sad that he would never get an opportunity to meet his greatgrandson, but I am thankful that his last lesson changed my life for the better.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of something he would have said to me.  I hope that if I am fortunate to become a grandfather some day that I will remember the impact he had on my life and will have imparted those same lessons to my children and grandchildren.