Yo.
Entering Their World
The most important text I received this week was just one word.
“Yo”
It was followed by a few seconds of video of British Columbia from an airplane window. Mountains. Clouds. Beautiful, but profound when it came from my 11 year old nephew, Tristan.
He probably sent his video to few other people too. Maybe some of his buddies back home. That’s what 11-year-olds do, but for a moment, he saw something beautiful and thought, “Aunt Jess might like seeing this.”
Tristan just finished a visit to New York (along with my sister and brother-in-law) with me, my brother, and my parents before flying out west to see his father’s family.
We spent the weekend having our famous New York pizza. Making homemade hot fudge sundaes with his favorite ice cream (cookie dough), me giving him my homemade wood creations (his was a falcon) and playing Luigi’s Mansion on the Switch. It was a short visit.
You learn pretty quickly in any adult role that childhood doesn’t slow down for you. Visits are measured in days and childhood is measured in years. If I want a relationship with him when he’s 25, I have to build it while he’s young.
As they were getting ready to leave, I called a secret Luigi’s Mansion meeting, but really it was a way to get Tristan in private to slip him some money for finishing 6th grade.
He was thrilled and so was I.
Not because of the money. Because I remembered exactly how it felt when someone quietly slipped a few dollars into my hand and made me feel important.
It reminded me of how special my grandparents always made me feel. When they would slip us a few bucks at Easter dinner, with our Halloween candy, or just because.
I used to visit my grandparents often as an adult, having many rum and cokes (while Grandpa enjoyed his vodka tonic and Grandma her ginger ale or tea). They always would say, “Have one more, honey” and if it was the last of the bottle, Grandpa would say, “Let me see if I have any more at the store,” as he went down to his basement, where he always had another bottle. He always made sure to have another bottle on hand because he never wanted to run out if I came to visit.
They would send me home with so much every time, magazines I would donate to the nursing home I worked at, treats, snacks, even sometimes whole zucchinis! My grandpa would look at my full purse, tease me about the rum I’d consumed, and quip, “See, every time you leave here, you leave loaded,” with a wink and a smile.
At the time, I thought he was talking about the rum and zucchini. Years later, I realized he was talking about something much bigger. I’m still leaning towards the rum though. He often joked about my ability to stagger home (I wasn’t that bad. I promise. But those grandparents were kind of bad influences as we laughed until midnight, drinking more than I should. They had church in the morning!).
Which brings me back to Tristan. Last summer, I bought a PlayStation. We tried playing together on my Switch, but I couldn’t get it to let us talk to each other. After fighting with it long enough, I gave up and bought a PlayStation instead. We spent a lot of time playing Fortnite and various Roblox games. He loved to play that Super Punch Man game and beat my character up. It wasn’t much of an accomplishment. My last gaming system was the GameCube, and I’m a lousy player.
Tristan knows exactly what he’s getting when he asks me to play.
He usually did just fine on his own. Every once in a while, though, he’d get himself into trouble and yell, “Guys! I need you!”
Uncle Heath would come charging in to save the day.
I was usually spinning in circles asking, “Where are they?”
If I was the last one standing, it wasn’t because I was good. It was because I’d gotten lost and wasn’t with the rest of the team.
I still haven’t figured out how to revive anyone. We all die. We all laugh.
It turns out, he never cared that I wasn’t very good. He just wanted me to play. Same with Luigi’s Mansion this weekend. Although in that case, I also suspect he wanted to play, and knew his only path was to talk me into playing.
But it occurred to me that it was part of my job as his aunt to build a relationship with him. To do that, I had to enter his world. I couldn’t expect him to enter mine. We spend many evenings laughing, mostly at my incompetence, but also making memories. It’s one of the ways we connect.
It struck me. We only get so long to build those memories before childhood slips away.
My grandparents and great Aunt Mary and great Aunt G got that. They would try whatever new card game we were playing, or even the Wii with us. I don’t always remember who won. I do know my over-80-year-old Aunt G won at least one round of bowling! I mostly remember they were willing to look silly if it meant spending time with us. They always made sure they had something you liked, so when you came over, it felt special, and you knew you were special.
When I was a kid, it was the good old “Little Huggies” and chocolate chip cookies. As an adult, it was tea or rum and, alright, yes, chocolate chip cookies!
I miss them all every day. They gave me great lessons and are the foundation of a Perfect Amount of Poor.
It’s not about the money. It’s about the love. It’s about carving out a good life.
Without even realizing it, I found myself giving Tristan the same kinds of memories my family had given me.
It wasn’t something I planned. I wasn’t trying to recreate my childhood. I just found myself buying a PlayStation, making hot fudge, carving a falcon, and slipping a little money into his pocket. Somewhere along the way, I realized I had become the kind of adult they had been in my life.
And so, in a little 11 year old’s mind, when his plane is landing, he thinks of his aunt and sends a text “Yo” with his little video.
Children are only little for a little while. Their memories may last forever. It makes me wonder whose world I still have time to enter. I hope someone reading this wonders the same thing.
My like of my own work, was actually from my nephew!