The block where we lived was mostly three-story brick buildings and concrete driveways. Right in front of our house was an opening in the sidewalk, a square measuring about two feet by two feet that must have once been home to a tree. I would play in the dirt that filled that square, sometimes for hours. Well, not exactly play. I was digging a hole to China as part of an ongoing project. It hadn’t been my idea. I was five years old, and didn’t even know what China was. We had a piece of furniture in our kitchen that had sliding glass doors and was filled with white plates and gold teacups and tiny silver spoons. My mother called it the china cabinet, so in my little-boy mind I thought China was where they made those things. And that confusion occasionally solved the problem when I went looking for something to do.
“Why don’t you dig to China?” one of the grownups would say. They’d smile, as though they didn’t believe I could do it, but I would show them. Let my parents and their friends sit on their folding chairs in front of the house and have their drinks and tell their mysterious jokes and stories. I was after something valuable. There was treasure down there. In China.
I don’t know how far I ever got with the project. My tools were not the best, and I doubt the hole’s depth ever reached more than a foot or two. Still, I can remember imagining that the next shovelful of dirt was going to produce a breakthrough, empty space, an opening through which real-live people would be looking up, surprised to see me. And they would be surrounded by things made of shiny gold and white porcelain — stacks of plates, cups, and saucers. Reaching that place would be a monumental achievement. But at some point I must have figured out that the dirt was too hard, the ground too solid and deep for me to ever reach China. I moved on to other things.
Twenty-five years later, my first child was born. Her name was Allison, a beautiful baby with eyes filled with wisdom. Her birth took place on the happiest and saddest day of my life, a swirl of events that comprise a story much too long to tell here. Allison and I were mostly alone for the first eight years of her life, and I’ll leave it at that. She grew quickly; I did my best to keep up.
One morning when she was a year old, I was trying to get her to eat breakfast, and she wasn’t cooperating. I had to go to a meeting and was taking Allison with me. I worried that we’d be late, and the more I worried, the more she refused to eat. Frustrated, I surrendered to the dumbest of my impulses and emptied the bowl of oatmeal onto her head, gently twisting the bowl back and forth as if to permanently seal it in place. This was not a good move. Now I had to give her a bath and wash her hair, and the only thing sealed was my late arrival at the meeting.
A couple of years later, Allison would cry when I left her at a daycare three mornings a week, and she ran to me when I picked her up in the afternoons. One day she cried more than usual and her teacher told me hours later that Allison had been complaining that her toes hurt. When we got home, I saw that I had put her shoes on the wrong feet, and realized she’d been wearing them that way all day. I told her I was sorry; she hugged me and said it was all right.
When she was barely five, Allison started kindergarten. We walked hand-in-hand to the corner and the school bus came and she climbed on and sat down and the bus left. I waved goodbye for a minute, then just stood there staring for a couple more. She never looked back.
The years that followed were filled with school concerts, plays, parent-teacher interviews, Girl Scout meetings, sleepovers, movies, grocery shopping, laundry, and most of the things that make up a young girl’s life. I’d find half-eaten sandwiches under the bed and I would yell at her. She’d promise to never do it again, but a few weeks later I’d find another sandwich. When I brushed her hair after a shower, she’d become teary-eyed because the brush would get caught in the tangles; I eventually learned how to brush her wet hair without hurting her.
One day we set up a Little Mermaid aquarium in her bedroom and put five goldfish in it. She came home from school the next day and one of the fish had died. We flushed it down the toilet and I waited for her questions, but they never came. The next day a second fish was dead and we repeated the ritual. I was appropriately somber, but Allison remained quiet. On the third day, I found another fish floating near the top of the tank and when Allison arrived home, I prepared myself for her grief. Instead, she said, “Can I flush this one down the toilet?” Within a week, all five goldfish were dead and gone, and she seemed content with her clean, dry Little Mermaid aquarium. In 1992, Allison wanted to be the Statue of Liberty for Halloween. I spent two weeks making her costume. By the third door I was carrying the torch, and by the fifth, the crown as well.
When Allison was eight, she and her friend Meaghan devised a plan to introduce me to Meaghan’s mother, Maria. Within three months Maria and I were married, and we’ve now been together for seventeen years. Allison graduated from high school and university with honors, and just recently completed her teacher certification. Her boyfriend, Tyler, got his certification in the same program. However, their attempts to find jobs proved fruitless and this past spring they applied to a program that hires teachers to work in foreign countries. It has been another twenty-five years since Allison’s birth. Two weeks ago she and Tyler got on a plane and left, for China. They will be working there for at least this school year.
My hope for Allison since the day she was born has been that she would grow into a mature, thinking, caring adult, and that she would have a few good people in her life who loved her. She has accomplished all of that, and more. Now she has embarked on an adventure of which I am not a part. I have no advice for her, other than to say, “Be careful. Have fun. Soak it all up. Ask questions before you eat.”
China no longer seems as far away as it once did. Allison left here early on a Wednesday morning and twenty-four hours later she was in Beijing. I’ve spoken to her briefly and we’ve exchanged a couple of emails. She has set up her classroom and has started working with students. One of her dreams has begun. At any given moment I can only try to picture where she is, what she’s doing, how it all looks and sounds. I won’t see her in person until next June. That’s both exciting and difficult.
If I could, I would go into the backyard today and start digging. I have much better shovels now, but still, I know she’ll be back long before I’d ever reach her. In my mind, though, I peer down through that long, dark hole. I find an empty space and through an opening I see Allison looking up at me. She’s one year old and has a bowl of oatmeal on her head. She’s three and her shoes are on the wrong feet. She’s five and stashing sandwiches in her room. She’s seven and holding her torch proudly over her head. She’s eight and playing matchmaker. Stacks of memories, shiny and golden and safely stored in the cabinet of my mind. And now this most recent stage. She’s twenty-five and teaching young children how to learn. She’s still teaching me, as well.
She’s a treasure, my Allison, and she’s there. Right down there. In China.
Betty Londergan
September 3, 2010
what a beautiful, touching post!! and so funny to think that i wrote about my stepdaughter, also a teacher, today too. I hope your Allison has a wonderful year … let us know how it’s going !!!
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2010
A nice coincidence. I’m heading over there right now to read your post.
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mirroredImages
September 3, 2010
happiest and saddest. bless you
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2010
Thanks for reading, Julia. It’s always good to hear from you.
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cooperstownersincanada
September 3, 2010
Very moving, Charles. I don’t have any kids, but if I do eventually have some, I hope they turn out like Allison.
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bronxboy55
September 3, 2010
I hope so, too, Kevin. Thanks!
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Marie M
September 4, 2010
This is very touching and lovely, truly from your heart. I hope Allison is nearly as proud of you as you are of her.
I want to know why that daycare teacher didn’t check Allison’s feet for herself, and FIX HER SHOES??!!??!!
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bronxboy55
September 4, 2010
I can remember wondering the same thing about the teacher. I guess Allison’s left and right shoes didn’t look that different from each other — that must be why I didn’t notice in the morning, and then the teacher didn’t notice all day.
Thanks for the nice words.
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Amiable Amiable
September 4, 2010
By the time I can read your posts, all of the bloggers before me have written what I would have for a comment! Key words worth repeating about your post and your experience as a father: beautiful, touching, wonderful, lovely, happiest, saddest, moving. Other words that have come to mind from your story, and from the “life lessons” vocabulary list: admiration, encouragement, inspiration, devotion, forgiveness, hope, gratitude. You knocked it out of the park, and into China, with this post, Blud! Thank you for sharing. All the best wishes for Allison and Tyler.
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bronxboy55
September 4, 2010
Thanks, AA. We’re going to see them on Skype in just a couple of hours. I’ll let you know how it goes.
I hope your sons are both doing well, and that you’re enjoying the holiday weekend.
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Kissie
September 5, 2010
This story is so doggone touching! I was intrigued immediately, at first trying to figure out if you grew up in Philadelphia or New York … sounds so much like one of those cities, or Chicago. Then I wondered what happened on that day and decided to leave it alone – like you did. I was so involved in Allison’s early years that I forgot all about China until you brought it back home! A great writer can only get and keep my attention like that, trust me … I’m known for having a short attention span. I think it’s because I think faster than things happen so it makes me quite exceptional. 😉
Imagine what we’ll hear after June! The best to ALL of you in this story, the very very best!
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bronxboy55
September 5, 2010
Thanks, Kissie. I appreciate your interest, and the kind words. (It was New York, by the way. The Bronx, to be exact.)
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Val Erde
September 5, 2010
Beautiful written post. I can’t really add anything to what everyone else has said – I agree with everyone.
🙂
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bronxboy55
September 5, 2010
Thank you very much, Val. It feels as though we’re all getting to know each other, one post at a time. It’s quite an amazing process. I look forward to your next essay — and painting.
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Rose
September 6, 2010
What a beautiful touching story about your daughter who is a beautiful young woman if I may add. It is nice to read of a fathers love.
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bronxboy55
September 6, 2010
Thank you, Rose. Sharing it has been nice for me, too.
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Mitch
September 6, 2010
You see why I love this blog? What a touching story this was, and I love how you brought it back together at the end. I love how the kids set you up as well; I hope both girls remained great friends over the years also.
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bronxboy55
September 6, 2010
I really enjoy thinking back to when they were scheming to get us together, and then the shock that seemed to settle over them when they realized things had gotten completely out of control and we were getting married — and they were going to be sisters! They’ve had a very typical sibling relationship. Sometimes they’re buddies and sometimes they’ll go weeks without any contact.
Thanks for taking the time, Mitch. It’s always great to hear from you.
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Paatricia
September 6, 2010
Loved this post just like I love your poetry. So glad I found your blog. Thanks for sharing your personal journey. When I was young ( a looooong time ago) I decided I wanted a swimming pool in our back yard. Mum wouldn’t agree to us having one as she said she didn’t go swimming and she would be left to maintain it. So I began digging a hole in the back yard, filled it with water then decided to add some salt as I thought that would do the trick and stop the water from evaporating as it seemed to work in the ocean! Suffice to say it didn’t work and I was made to fill in the hole before someone did themselves an injury. Childhood memories can cause a smile eh. You sound like you have some beautiful ones of you and your lovely daughter.
Patricia Perth Australia
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bronxboy55
September 7, 2010
I like the logic of adding salt to the water — that must have made perfect sense to you as a child. Isn’t it funny, also, what our minds hold onto and what they don’t? I wonder if there’s some pattern to our retained memories; maybe we’re just not aware of it.
Thanks for the nice words. I appreciate your taking the time.
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heidit
September 8, 2010
What a lovely post. Very touching. I’m surrounded by teachers–my mom is a retired teacher and two of my best friends are teachers, not to mention tons of acquaintances also being teachers. I grew up in schools, helping my mom staple together tests or set up classrooms. I considered being a teacher, but chose not to because my heart wasn’t in it. I know it’s not a popular line of thinking, but I think teachers who don’t love it (or are in it for the wrong reasons) can do a lot of damage to their students, and I didn’t want to be one of those teachers. It’s also a sad comment on our education system that we’re graduating young, eager teachers and not providing jobs for them (although that’s a conversation for another day).
It sounds as though your daughter will be an excellent teacher. I know people who have taught in Korea and China, and they’ve greatly enjoyed their experiences. I’m sure your daughter will, too. Congratulations to her, for starting on her dreams.
I wonder how many other children tried to dig holes to China? I know I did. I lost interest pretty quickly, though. I’m not great with a shovel.
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bronxboy55
September 9, 2010
Thanks for the thoughtful comment, Heidi. And how fortunate that you knew not to pursue a teaching career, even though you surely would have been an excellent teacher. And now that I think about it, you are. You have grateful students all over North America.
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heidit
September 9, 2010
Thank you for that. What a wonderful thing for you to say (I’m blushing).
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partialview
November 26, 2010
You must be really proud. And rightly, too. She is a lovely young lady.
And as always, your post is very well crafted. If I am allowed to keep favourites, I’ll choose this one. It radiates all the love you feel for her and everything she means to you. Congratulations for this life-long gift!
And all the very best to Allison and Tyler in China. Your tunnel is dug.
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bronxboy55
November 26, 2010
Thank you, Priya. I appreciate your thoughts and kind words. Yes, I am very proud of Allison, not only for what she does, but for how she does it. I just posted a few photos of Allison and Tyler in China on my Facebook page.
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Chichina
May 11, 2013
Heart wrenchingly beautiful.
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bronxboy55
May 12, 2013
Thank you. As you know all too well, sometimes we need a lot of time and perspective before we can write about certain parts of our lives.
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