I gave my son my grandfather’s name; little did I know that my 4-year-old would regularly channel his namesake. Like Whoopi in Ghost, my kiddo shakes and shouts and then Bob appears. My son shares several physical traits with his great-grandfather, such as short stature, muscular build, and a notch out of one of his ears. However, it is the quirks and idiosyncrasies that flare-up and makes me take note that my son is so aptly named. The fantastic personality similarities include persistence, perseverance, strength, fierce loyalty, and attention to detail. I hoped my son would embody these types of ideals when I named him, but I never anticipated that my grandfather’s legacy would literally live on through my son by means of possession. Bob has a few tendencies that can be, let’s say, challenging. He can be gruff, stubborn, impatient, moody, and requires a regimented routine. The best mental picture I can paint for you is think 92-year-old Archie Bunker; rough exterior, but with a real deep love and soft spot for his family.
I first started to notice my son was having Bob Moments while we were driving in the car. My mom and I were talking about a friend of ours and some issues she was having. Last I knew, my boy was reading Fred & Ted in the backseat. Suddenly, I hear a voice from the back state, “her business, is not your business.” The voice was disgusted and chastising, more importantly it sounded nothing like my son. When I looked in the rearview mirror I fully expected to see a wrinkled frail Bob in Dickies and a plaid flannel waving his crooked finger at me while strapped into the Britax. It was not just that my son was saying something my grandfather would say; his inflection, affect, body language and sentiment were Bob.
The Bob Moments, are often just that, moments. On a few occasions Bob has taken over and made himself at home for quite a while in my little guy. One such occasion occurred when my mom, grandma, and I took the kids for a trip to the park. We swung, we spun, we climbed, we slid, we ran and we inevitably had a need for a toilet. It was early spring and the park restrooms were still locked up tight. I thought, hey, this is no big deal. One of the benefits of being a boy is he does not have to be limited by the typical confines of a restroom like girls. The world can be his toilet, or at least a nearby tree can. My mom takes my boy to hunt for a good spot. Seconds after they stroll off, my son is running back to me. His face depicts horror and his tone is highly agitated as he recounts how his grandmother had the audacity to suggest he urinate on a tree. He screeches, “Only babies go potty outside and I am NOT a baby.” I try to calm him and assure him it is perfectly acceptable for him to go outside. His face drops further and he quickly slams his arms across his chest, he has identified me as the enemy, right along with his grandmother. He stomps off and Bob takes possession and hunkers down for a good long time. My boy, now about 15 feet away, keeps his arms firmly crossed, kicks the dirt up, wanders angrily in a circle, and mutters and mumbles about his asinine mother and grandmother who had the gall to believe he would relieve himself outdoors. He had completely forgotten he needed to go to the restroom; his concern had shifted to the injustice of being forced to consider peeing on a tree. The only way Bob could have been more present at the park that day was if “damn it” was a part of my son’s acquired vocabulary.
My grandfather will be gone someday, and as the day gets closer I often wonder how I will live without him. While I am comforted by the wonderful personality traits my boy has in common with his great-grandfather, the real gift God has given me are the Bob Moments. I know long after Bob is gone he will live on in my son, quite literally. I will get to see the quirks, the tone and the thoughts that make him uniquely Bob with every Bob Moment my boy has for years to come. This promise of having Bob with me forever makes me smile. My prayer was to get to keep my grandfather; turns out God heard my prayer. His plan was not mine, it was better.
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