With apologies to O. Henry…
Last spring and summer, my son Nick and I would meet on Sundays. We both had work to do and we liked each other’s tech support, insight and unflinching editing skills.
Our usual routine was to eat lunch at Lou Mitchell’s, walk over to the Harold Washington Library and then hunker down in a study carrel for a couple of hours.
We both found the atmosphere there creative- and conducive to buckling down.
The buddy system worked wonders. I had needed a good kick in the ass when it came to updating my resume and Nick liked a critical eye on some of the copy he was turning out, as well.
And we both liked Lou Mitchell’s meat loaf so it was win-win-win.
At the end of each session, we’d pick up our laptops, get Nick’s driver’s license back from the guy in charge of room assignments, clear the security guard (who always checked for stolen library property but found my leftover meatloaf instead) and we would head down the escalator to the ground floor on our way out.
At the bottom of the escalator was a beautiful terrazzo fountain. And one Sunday, Nick stopped in front of it.
“Let’s make a wish, Dude,” he said, as he held out two pennies.
“Okay,” I said as I grasped my penny tightly.
And then I just stood there.
I had so many wishes to make that I didn’t know where to begin.
Love? Money? Both had been missing from my life for so long that a wish for the right guy or the great book deal did not seem amiss.
Or what about a wish for good health?
Or how about just wishing that I could live back in Colorado someday?
Or…
And then it hit me.
Whoever said wishes had to be for yourself?
I looked at my son, standing there waiting for me to toss my coin in the fountain, and suddenly I remembered all his hopes and dreams.
And that’s what I wished for.
I lobbed that penny in and fervently prayed that he’d get his heart’s desire.
Of course I can’t tell you what that is. After all, all wishes have to remain secret in order for them to come true. Everyone knows that.
And of course, I didn’t tell him that I had wished for something that would make him happy.
He’d probably think that it was lame, corny or sentimental.
So I just shut up and waited for him to make his.
He blithely tossed his penny in and we started to walk out. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful late summer afternoon.
“Well, I hope you made a good wish, Nick,” I said as we strolled out into the sunlight.
“I did make a good one,” he said smiling. “But I made it for you, Dude.”
You had me at “O. Henry.” His bittersweet ironies immediately popped to mind, but you managed to leave out the ‘bitter.’
I continue to be amazed at the riches you mine from your relationship with your kids and your ability to express them so universally. I have so many memories of Adam and Carey . . . moments, but I keep them to myself and savor them when they emerge, like the last sip of a fine wine.
You, on the other hand, write your moments beautifully, with such a humanity, that you give all us readers that moment to savor virtually weekly (if not twice weekly) and apply it to our own kids or lives.
Maybe O. Henry should be the one starting out, “With apologies to Ellen Ross.”
Oh, Michael. I, for once, am speechless. I’m just so glad to know that you enjoy my efforts. Your graceful comment- and compliment- is much appreciated. Thank you.
Very very sweet. And I know true.
Thanks, ML. And thanks for driving me to the hospital thirty-three -almost thirty-four years now-ago. He was worth every labor pain.
Ellen,
Your words touched me deeply. You are a wonderful story teller…your riches are between your ears which you share magnificently.
I feel very humbled and blessed this morning. And a little overwhelmed. Thank you, Sherry.
I think Nick is on the right track. I view keeping your wishes secret is like keeping your “mantra” secret (as it was preached back in the 80’s and still today) or you will not be able to enter a higher level of meditation. Garbage!! I have become very transparent about my wishes. Like you – they focus more on my children than anything else. For better or worse, Betsy and I have come to live our lives vicariously through our children (and now grandson). Short, sweet memories of how you described that day with Nick is enough to keep us alive, refreshed, and longing for more. Maybe statements like ” I made it for you, Dude” prove “they didn’t waste youth on the young.”
Thanks, my friend. You said it beautifully. No need to gild the lily here. Except maybe to add “Pooh pooh pooh.” (Your grandmother would know what I’m talking about.)
Dearest Ellen,
Wonderful story but Nick just didn’t become Nick without your raising a wonderful son with heart, humanity, generosity and solid values. Nick was my youngest client and the time we spent designing his apartment and shopping were great fun. I would call you and rave what a terrific young man he is, how lovely he is dealing with people, his great taste, his generosity of spirit, his exceptional manners – all done quietly with no fanfare whatsoever. You are a terrific Mom – unique in many ways – but please take credit for showing Nick the way. His big, generous heart comes from you!
Thank you- on behalf of Nick and myself- for all the kind words. I’d love to take a bow here but if memory serves, he was just “born this way.” He was always for the underdog- empathetic and kind. You ought to know what that feels like. You have two of them. I’m privileged to know your children. You know how I feel about them- and you.
Count your blessings.Allan
Yes, I need to be reminded sometimes. But not today. Today I feel like “the luckiest man on the face of this earth.” (Sorry, Lou. Had to borrow it.). Thanks, Allan