The amazing gift of Gabe
We took down our Christmas tree on New Year’s Day, a ritual no doubt undertaken simultaneously in many homes across the state, unless you’re holding out for Three Kings Day on Monday.
First comes off a small pink plastic bell that goes back to my husband Jim’s childhood and a wispy red angel holding a wand tipped by a star from my childhood. He carefully tucked them into a labeled box, these touchstones to Christmases long ago.
We’ve put them next to each other on our tree for 32 years now when our families joined and our hearts grew.
I always feel a bit sad every year as we take the ornaments off the pine tree and put away decorations, because it means the holidays, so anticipated, are over once again. And yet the ritual is also affirming as we think about the connections, meanings and memories associated with each ornament.
This year the bottom third of the tree became freed from ornaments. It was one of the best.
Gabriel Jackson Flinn, nearly 15 months old, would yank off an unbreakable stuffed ornament (ones I had made when his mom and Aunt Becca were little), walk around holding it while chattering “oh, oh!” and then try to put it back on the tree. Someone was always there to help him. The fabric mouse in a stocking made many such trips.
Eventually, the mouse and angel found other homes — in Gabe’s favorite drawer in the kitchen filled with the wonders of measuring cups and spoons.
The world of a little grandson discovering Christmas is an amazing gift. He is our third grandchild and each time is anew.
I don’t often write such personal columns, though I suppose every column is personal, as opinion writing inherently reveals aspects of oneself. I hope this may spark your own memories and reawaken gratitude for simply being alive.
Gabe, or Little G as I often call him, lives with his mom, Sarah, in a small studio on the second floor of an apartment building on a busy thoroughfare in Brooklyn, N.Y. He gets to go to the park often in his carriage where he can see trees and hear birds.
Imagine his surprise when he arrived in Bethel, toddled into our living room and right there stood a tall tree! Covered with colorful ornaments and beads and icicles and lights. He put out a hand to touch the soft needles. “Oh, oh,” he said, and strings of other words only he knew, though the meaning was clear. As time went on, he grew less tentative and the lower branches became his.
Presents appeared under the tree Christmas Eve as our family of 12 gathered. Many were for Gabe, of course. He didn’t quite understand about unwrapping a present to find out what is inside, but he did like throwing the eventual piles of paper in the air.
Wooden sorting boxes kept his attention, and if the square wouldn’t fit in the triangle opening, he would just lift the lid and toss the block in.
Christmas morning brought more presents under the tree, this time from Santa — a concept not understood by the little one. The presents were not as important to him as playing with everybody, getting them to clap when he did. Or as much fun as trying to touch Shadow kitty’s tail as it swooshed by.
In the kitchen he would motion for his grandfather, Bip, to pick him up so they could say hi to Goldie the parakeet, whose cage sits in the window over the sink. A bird in the house! Such a wonder. He learned to make a clucking sound to coax Goldie to chirp.
Music fascinates Gabe, and Bip became his favorite (though I don’t want to admit that) when they sat before the computer in the Writing Room and came upon Bruce Springsteen on YouTube singing the Erie Canal song. Gabe had to hear it again and again and again. (He uses baby sign language to signal “more” while saying “moh!”) Over the days, all anyone had to say was
“low bridge” and everyone else would finish “everybody down.”
Babies grow so quickly and learn new things every day. Every hour.
Gabe surprised me with something new. We were playing the classic peekaboo; he would shut the bathroom door part way and I sat in the hallway outside calling “Where’s Little G?” He’d fling the door open, I’d say “boo!” and we would laugh and laugh. Babies love repetition. After about the 10th time — “Where’s Little Geeeee?” — the door flings open and this time I wasn’t right in front of him; I popped out from the side. “Boo!” He was so delighted that he ran to me, gave a big hug with his little arm patting me on the back, the way his mom does to him.
He has known immense love his entire life, our little miracle baby. But for the first time, that I saw, he was initiating it as a response. Little G understood the concept of love.
It is a privilege to watch a new human being grow and discover delight after delight in the world where so much is new. We see things freshly — a tree right in the living room and a bird in the window!
And it makes me fierce in wanting a safe and kind place for Gabe and all children to grow up in. We adults have a long way to go for them.
As Jim and I packed away the ornaments the other day, we talked of Christmas times yet to come and of gratitude for the gift that is Gabe.
And we wondered where we would find hidden ornaments in the months ahead.
Jacqueline Smith’s column appears Fridays in Hearst Connecticut Media’s daily newspapers. She is the editorial page editor of The NewsTimes in Danbury and The Norwalk Hour. She enjoys hearing from readers: Email her at jsmith@hearstmediact.com.