Matthew Walter, our oldest adopted child, is the only one who remembers anything about his life before he was part of our family. He is very inquisitive about my family, particularly my father. The other boys rarely, if ever, show such an interest.
I look for opportunities with him to interject something about my father as we go through the day. For instance, this morning I took Matthew to have his eyes examined by an optometrist. When I could see that the doctor was making a good impression on him, I told him that my father and my grandfather (maternal) were both optometrists. The doctor saw what I was doing and said, “And maybe you can pick up the family tradition and be an eye doctor yourself someday, Matthew.”
There are two stories about my Dad that he likes for me to repeat. When I was about Matthew’s age, I figured out that I could lock my bedroom door. One evening, I managed to get the key stuck with the door locked and was stranded. When I got upset, the babysitter called my father who came home and kicked the door open.
I had just started high school when the second story occurred. I had walked across the street to a school book store and bought something. Next door to the store was a soda shop that catered to a gang. When I left the bookstore, a group of them jumped me and “initiated” me by forcibly paddling me with a broom.
By coincidence, Dad picked me up after school that day. He could tell that I was upset. I told him the story. He drove straight to the shop, threw the door open and said to the fifteen people there, “Who owns this _____ _____ dump?” He said it so loud that I could hear him from the car. When a woman volunteered that she did, he told her that she would not be open the next day. He was right. He was a fairly influential person in that town.
It’s very obvious why Matthew likes for me to tell those stories. The first four and one half years of his life were filled with very high levels of anxiety. He is still dealing with the experience. When he was in terrifying situations, there was no one to rescue him. The stories reassure him that there is someone protecting him now.
I am a lot like my father and Matthew knows it. Dad died twenty years ago, so Matthew will never get to know him personally. He will know what my Dad was like by watching me. Someday he will probably be just like both of us.