Tim held another spoonful of cereal in front of Jack and cooed, "Open the tunnel, here comes the train." Jack seemed to like that. He smiled and complied, opening his mouth to almost comical proportions. Tim managed to get most of the cereal into Jack's mouth, although a little dribbled out of the side of his mouth and down his chin.

At least I remembered the bib this time, he thought.

Jack's clothes were always getting stained and Linda would get on his case big time. It was understandable since he and his wife shared the chores around the house and the laundry was her domain.

And with an eleven month old "testing his boundaries," there was never a shortage of dirty clothes. Tim chuckled remembering the time his son had decided to redecorate his room with Hershey's Chocolate Syrup.

He couldn't get over how becoming a father had changed him. It was hard to explain to people who didn't have kids of their own. Caring for his son consumed him. He liked to think of himself as a man of the new millennium. So, he had to nurture, feed, bathe, change diapers, as well as scold and discipline. He wanted a relationship with his son that was vastly different from the one he had experienced with his own father. Jack had been from the old school. Very good at the scolding and discipline, but not there for much else. The touchy feely stuff had been left to his mother.

As a new parent, Tim was a bit overwhelmed by the responsibility of having another person completely dependent on him. It gave him a whole new respect for his parents, including his dad. He had two brothers and one sister and couldn't imagine the pressure of raising four children. He could barely handle one. How had his parents managed to cope?

He supposed theirs was a different time. No yuppie, two income families, back then, like Tim and Linda. No ultra expensive day care and quality time. His mom was a full-time housewife and mother, while his dad trekked back and forth to Wall Street every day, the family provider.

Jack gurgled on cue, as if he could read his thoughts. Tim looked up and smiled at him. Sometimes it seemed that his father was trying to form words, but he knew that was probably just wishful thinking. He loaded up another spoonful of cereal; he would be an airplane this time. "Vroooooooom. Coming in for a landing. Special delivery for Jack."

As his father grabbed the spoon, altering the plane's course and almost causing a crash landing into Tim's pants, Tim noticed a familiar aroma and wrinkled his nose. Jack must have filled his diaper again. No matter, he thought. After breakfast, he would give him a bath.

He couldn't remember his Father, the disciplinarian, ever feeding or bathing him. Over the years, he had convinced himself that it wasn't because his father didn't love him. Jack just didn't think that was his role. He hadn't been raised that way.

Tim did have one strong memory that supported this theory. He had come back from college for the Thanksgiving break and had come down with a terrible fever. It must have been 104 and he was almost delirious. His father had stayed up with him all night, holding his head in his lap and applying a cold cloth to his forehead. He remembered falling asleep, while his father stroked his hair.

Tim was rudely yanked back into the present when his son Sean barreled into the kitchen. He had been walking for just about two weeks now and still had that smooth Frankenstein gait going for him. "Hey kiddo," Tim said, "I'm just about done feeding Grandpa Jack. Wanna help me give him a bath?"

Sean beamed at him and bobbed his head up and down excitedly. He really loved his Grandpa Jack. Tim wiped the cereal from his father's chin, wishing Jack could know how much his grandson loved him. Alzheimer's had robbed him of that. He was stricken just two years ago, but the disease had been relentless. Tim was stunned by how quickly his father had deteriorated. He didn't even know who Tim was anymore.

He wasn't sure how much time he had left with his dad, but he would make the most of it. No nursing home for Jack Ryan. Tim leaned over delicately and kissed his father on the cheek. The stubble of his father's beard tickled his lips and Jack smiled. Tim put his head in his father's lap and sobbed quietly. Jack stroked his hair.

They sat that way for a long time . . . father and son.

Copyright 2002
by Michael Ryan