Faith

In her masterful memoir, Just Kids, poet and rock star, Patti Smith, writes about a pivotal childhood visit to the Museum of Art in Philadelphia with her parents and siblings in the 1950s.

"I'm certain, as we filed down the great staircase, that I appeared the same as ever, a moping twelve-year-old, all arms and legs.  But secretly I knew I had been transformed, moved by the revelation that human beings create art, that to be an artist was to see what others could not."

That passage made me think about our excursions with the Jones' kids, including their times with us at home.  We are together more often now, and not just for big special outings such as a trip to Chicago, a swim at a lake, or fishing at Kickapoo but for the everyday such as sleep-overs and school the next morning, homework, driving lessons for the oldest, and the usual transporting them from one place to the other.

I know that in-between their obvious and easily readable giggles, laughs, jabs and physical play, they are picking things up, and maybe some of these things are transformative things. 

I can never tell what or when or if.

When I look back at my childhood, I know that sending letters to my beloved grandparents on cassette from Wisconsin to New Mexico opened up in me a love of audio and talk and self-expression.  My Dad's recordable 8-track machine combined with the Sonny and Cher variety show resulted in me hosting pretend radio talk shows with my brothers.  And watching Mr. Rogers on PBS resulted in hours of make-believe in which I hosted a TV show just like his.

Not having kids of my own, I am partially motivated by my own mortality to leave a positive and loving legacy of my time spent with the Jones' kids.  Will something in our interactions unleash a hidden curiosity or untapped talent in them?  When they are adults, will something they love about themselves or in themselves be traced back to me?

I may never know. 

I can only have faith.