One of My “Alternative Adults” is Dying

I want to clarify that term and explain why this is so important to me. When I was growing up, we had the joy of a few families we were close to. We grew up with their kids, we shared birthdays, graduations, weddings, new babies – and the parents were my “alternative adults”. I think it’s so very important for kids to know other adults, up close, seeing how they are as parents, as grownups. I think it’s how we learn to be grownups ourselves.

One by one, these people have been lost to me. Now, the last is dying. He is 92. We always called him “T” – just that. I suppose it’s short for a longer first name but it doesn’t matter.

He is the father of two of our lifelong childhood friends; the former husband of my mother’s best friend. I remember him as quiet and calm, with a twinkle in his eye. Our families met when we were briefly Presbyterians. They lived next door to the minister and his wife. We stopped being Presbyterians when a church fight broke out over the purchase of a new manse. My father was the chairman of the committee that said “no”; we left the church and so did they.

I was four, my sister was seven, and their daughter was three. And so a lifetime friendship started.

Our families often got together. There were lots of trips to the zoo, especially in winter when our mothers complained of “cabin fever”. We bundled up and walked and walked through the displays. My daddy liked the “motheaten” lions. I loved the elephants.

In the summer, we went to the Lake of the Ozarks – at the time underdeveloped. It was better then.

There were picnics and family parties at our houses. A favorite was to go to Fort Osage, a reconstruction – under construction – of the second outpost in the Louisiana Purchase that was originally built in 1808. My mother was not an outdoor enthusiast, and we got into terrible trouble with her one time when we proposed a hike and she was wearing new orange shoes that perfectly matched her dress. The hike did terrible things to her shoes, but worse was to come.

We built a campfire to toast marshmallows for s’mores. I preferred to set my marshmallows on fire, then snatch the burnt layer off. How it happened, I don’t know, but the melted, hot marshmallow got stuck on T’s nose. (No doubt he was trying to help me.) This did no good to his nose. He got a pretty bad burn and I was so embarrassed. But I know he didn’t say a word to me about it, and even tried to cheer me up.

T lived by the motto that there were many things you should not “pay any mind” to. That is to say, when something annoying came up, he’d smile and say – “but I don’t give it no mind”.

We would romp through their house and he’d just say, “oh you girls”. If his daughter ever “got in trouble” (shorthand for a childhood offense) – he would threaten to “get the hairbrush”. It never happened. (We new it never would.)

He was always impeccably dressed, hair perfectly combed with the little dip in the front. He wore crisp white shirts. He was always glad to see us and was a gentle, smiling presence in the room.

While we were playing and our mothers talking (which could go on forever), my daddy and T would sit outside, or in a quiet corner of the living room, and “visit” – which doesn’t seem to happen as much any more. When was the last time you saw someone just “visiting”?

Later, when their daughter was 10, they had a second baby. The little girl was premature and tiny at a time these babies didn’t survive. Miraculously, she did, and there was another girl to add to the tribe.

So, what did T teach me? First, there are lots of things I can “pay no mind” to. There is always a need for someone who can be quiet and kind; who can make you feel at your ease, even if you are a little girl.

And, being the kind father with a twinkle in his eye will make sure you are remembered forever.