By: Maurice Krystal This morning I could feel my anxiety as we drove off to visit our son, our daughter-in-law and their nine month old daughter, Cici. Her real name is Cecilia but I like the shorter version that says ‘yes, yes’ to me, and it also recognizes her Central American Spanish heritage on her mother’s side. We have been keeping in touch mostly by Skyping and using the phone during the pandemic. A few times we visited and sat in their small backyard and talked and watched our granddaughter sit in a small plastic pool and laugh. We had to park near the end of their block and go through a back laneway to avoid going through their house. We maintained social distancing and while we were dying to hold her, we waited patiently for months. I did respect the parents’ desire to protect their baby. These are not normal times. My wife was chomping at the bit more than me. She has friends in a similar situation and the family bubble had been extended some time ago. Last week she got into a tiff with our son on the phone. She was trying to get a specific time for a visit, and he barked at her to ‘back off’. She was offended and said to me later, that this behaviour was unacceptable. It will have to be discussed. I have a long history of never liking to rock the boat, and hating confrontation. It led to some bitterness between us as we discussed how to best proceed. I hate being called a coward. They live in Verdun on the ground floor of a triplex, which has the curved metal stairs on the outside of the structure, leading to the upper floors. It is typical of the blue collar area built up in the 1920’s and 30’s. Young people have been moving in the past few decades, raising their young families, and pushing up the rents. Investors have been gobbling up these properties at bargain prices...but that’s something I don’t want to get into. It will only side track me and I’m easily drawn off topic. We had last visited on Mother’s Day, over two months ago. We had walked to a nearby park by the St Lawrence River and had a picnic at a table carefully disinfected. After eating our packed lunches, Nadia, our daughter in law, asked Sheila if she would like to hold her granddaughter. Sheila was so surprised, her face turned beet red and she started to tear. Sobbing she took Cici into her arms and held her. The infant looked at her mother for an instant and started to cry. Sheila rocked the child and sang to her the very tunes she sang to our young sons over three decades earlier. It took awhile for our granddaughter to calm down. The discussion with our son and daughter-in-law turned to the topic of what the pandemic is doing to the psyche of the very young. Nobody holds the baby except the parents. Separation anxiety will be more intense and how will the children cope when they are left off in school for the first time. Cici calmed down after fifteen minutes of songs and rocking, and hand clapping, but she kept her parents always within sight. After a short while David asked if I would like to hold her and I declined, saying I didn’t want to put her through any more distress again. I regretted that decision almost immediately. I told Sheila, as I was driving home, that that wouldn’t happen again. We were at the very same picnic table as last time. The routine of cleaning the table, watching Cecillia eat, taking out our own meals, and then Nadia and David asked Sheila if she would like to hold her.. “I think your father will hold her first,” Sheila immediately said. David picked up his daughter and handed her to my awaiting arms. “Be careful, she’s twenty pounds.” As I reached out from my sitting position to take her, I realized she was half that size when I last held her six months earlier. She squirmed in my hands and her feet found my thighs. She was standing with my help and turned to look at her mother. Her eyes were squinting shut and a few seconds later the tears and crying started. I moved my heels up and down, watching her body rock. Her parents and Sheila were singing ‘’The Grand Old Duke of York” and I kept the beat. I was determined to not give up. It did not take as long for Cici to settle down as it took Sheila two months earlier. I was proud of myself that I kept my resolve. When I passed her to Sheila, Cici seemed to allow “strangers” to hold her, though she eyed her parents every so often. The afterglow of the picnic was still making me feel on top of the world when we arrived home. I was on the computer looking at the weather forecast over the next few days. Suddenly a notice appeared on the screen. It warned me that our limit of our internet usage was approaching our limit. I had never seen this warning before. I went on the My Bell site and found out that indeed the month of August was a busy time on the computer for Sheila and myself. We both must have spent hours on Skype, Zoom, Facetime and Discord, communicating with people. We also watched some movies on Netflix and of course we have to hear what is happening with the world of politics and be shocked at how low Trump can go. My first reaction was to get an unlimited plan. Afterall, our Zooming and Skyping has increased because of Covid-19. It’s a temporary thing. It says a lot about what we have become during the pandemic. Sheila and I promised each other that we would cut back. But the next morning I was back at my usual routine with my cup of coffee scanning CNN, CBC, MSNBC, and Fox (to get the other side) news sites. "I thought you were cutting back,” my wife reminded me as she walked into the kitchen. “I won’t look at this stuff for the rest of the day. Just twenty minutes in the morning.” But I knew this was lame. I had forgotten. Turn on the kettle, log on to the computer, it was as natural as taking a breath. You don’t even think about it. I turned off the computer. Who really gives a shit what Trump is doing this morning. It only will aggravate me. I have to admit to myself I’m an addict. It’s only marginally better than smoking cigarettes, or taking painkillers. Maybe there is a seven or ten step withdrawal program. Maybe it’s a good thing there is an online limit. Maybe if we had unlimited, I would never realize what was happening. The next morning the call came at 7:10 am, while I was having coffee and reading a book. A bit early, and like late calls, (After 10:00 pm) I worry that something bad has happened to one of our sons. My wife berates me and says I’m a pessimist. I respond with, “I’m a realist” but she’s undoubtedly right. After I say “Hello”, there is a pause, and then a taped man’s voice says he’s from the Canadian Revenue Agency. “This is to inform you that there are some serious issues with your tax return and you are being audited for tax evasion. If you wish to clear up this issue immediately, press one.” The voice sounded surprisingly angry. I was temporarily frozen. Then I thought about it I suspected this was a scam. This does not sound the way a government agency would act. A tape? It’s all too vague. Our tax returns have been handled by the same accountant for decades. It did not smell kosher. I hung up. Later, I got mad. I don’t like being used or taken. How did they get my number? Is there an “Old Geezer" list somewhere with my name on it? Seniors are the most vulnerable to Covid-19, and now we are threatened with this as well. Mans’ inhumanity has no limits. I’m lucky I still have a few grey cells that function, but I did freeze. It’s only a matter of time when I’ll be taken for a ride, I’m afraid. Maybe my wife is right, I’m quite pessimistic.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorYou! The Dorshei Emet Community. Archives
November 2020
Categories |