Last Wednesday began in an ordinary fashion. I rose early – very early – to sit-in on the air for the regional CBC Radio host who was ill. As I often do in that situation, I checked the broadcast wire service to see whose birthday fell on Nov. 21 in years past. For example, it was pioneer broadcaster Foster Hewitt’s date of birth. It was also philosopher Voltaire’s, shipping magnate Cunard’s, musician Dr. John’s and actress Goldie Hawn’s birthday too.
It was also the anniversary of a number of historic events. I noticed it was the occasion of the first hot-air balloon flight in 1783. It was the 130th anniversary of Thomas Edison’s invention of the phonograph. It turned out to be the date – in 1973 – on which authorities first noted the 18 1/2 minute gap in Richard Nixon’s Watergate tapes. And on Nov. 21, 1995, the Dayton Peace Agreement ended the war in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Later last Wednesday night, however, all that history dissolved into a darkened waiting room at the Port Perry hospital.
There, just before 11 p.m., my son-in-law, J.D., arrived with a wrapped bundle in his arms. “Want to see your new granddaughter?” he asked his parents, sister-in-law, my wife and me.
We five could only answer with a combined sigh of relief and delight.
“Seven pounds, 13 ounces,” he added with authority and pride.
My daughter Quenby and J.D. would later name the baby in honour of both grandmothers and a great-grandmother – Layne Keira Massey.
Naturally, the occasion cast my mind back to a similar day in 1977 when the current new mom herself was born. We lived in the country outside Saskatoon at the time. A late night awakening to my wife’s labour pains sent the two of us packing and dashing cross-country to the city. En route we raced a freight train to a level crossing to ensure we weren’t delayed. We had attended all the requisite parenting classes – learned breathing and delivery exercises – and prepared a crib, change table and all other necessary utensils. Then, in the delivery room, I recorded on audio cassette and 35mm snaps the birth and first moments of Quenby’s life. As is often the case, two years later poor Whitney – daughter number two – didn’t get nearly the fuss.
Nevertheless, last Wednesday, like everyone else in the ward, I had to have my turn holding, swaying and talking to the baby. That’s right, I talked to her. At least I did in my mind. And I did it again two days later when she was out of the hospital and comfortably home. I had plenty inside to share with that first granddaughter without uttering a word.
In our first quiet conversation, I told her how fortunate she was to be born to loving parents in a caring community in a peaceful country. I suggested we would share many stories – from books, songs and family history exchanged at Christmas dinner or during backyard picnics. I mentioned a few trips I’d planned – to museums, libraries, concert halls, sports bleachers, who knows, maybe even Disney World one day. But I realized I was already monopolizing her time. She would have much else to discover on her own – sandbox dirt, snow angels, favourite pets, school friends, ice cream, travel, boyfriends and on and on.
Oh, but I had some questions for her too. I wondered whether those long fingers would one day play a piano or lace up hockey skates. I wondered whether numbers, philosophy or possibly even words might one day fill that newborn head and what mysteries she might solve. And I wondered how different the world will be when potentially she witnesses the arrival of her first grandchild.
For now though I’ll have to wait for some of the answers. My conversations and questions with a first granddaughter may never make it into the history books. That’s not important right now. A family close by, nourishment and good health are all that matters. As a first-time grandfather, I realize how fortunate we are here and now to enjoy such qualities of life.
By the way, Wednesday was also the anniversary of another rather notable day. In honour of the peace accord struck between two age-old enemies – Egypt and Israel – back in the 1970s, Nov. 21 was designated “International Hello Day.”
Appropriately, my world eagerly greets and wishes Layne Keira Massey, “Hello and good life!”
