Fill ‘Er Up (with Isabelle)

The recent stages of Coronavirus quarantines have given opportunity to reach out to others. Life has a way of pulling family and friends in different directions, so it is always good to make the effort to be in contact.

Phil, Doug, and I met through youth baseball and coached a travel team together for five years. We had a wonderful time and have been close friends ever since. Within the past year Phil and family moved to Colorado and ours to Wisconsin, so our group does not get to see each other as much as we once did. However, we still communicate frequently, often for nothing important. I genuinely enjoy this contact.

Among a string of texts, gas prices came up. We found that all of us were paying much less in our respective states than we had in the past. It is a short-lived but pleasant surprise during these trying times.

We went from gas to family questions. Our spouses, kids, grandparents. And my granddaughter.

I sent them my favorite picture of her (so far), as well as the daily picture we request. It was my son Mike and his daughter Isabelle on the couch next to each other. She was propped up on a pillow, looking like a cute little doll. It gave the appearance that she could sit up on her own. Both were smiling.

With fumes of the gas conversation still lingering, a phrase popped into my head when I looked at the photo of them.

“Fill ‘er up”.

Fill ‘er up, for those not getting old, comes from a time when gas stations were full service, meaning they pumped the gas for you.

But I was not thinking of a gas tank when looking at that picture.

I was referring to my heart. It was on “F”.

There was sweet Isabelle leaning on her dad’s arm. Pink, polka dot pajamas ending in attached footies kept her warm. The look on her face suggested that everything was good. She did not know that she would roll right off the pillow and couch without dad there. She only knows he is close by.

He is supporting her with a big, proud-dad kind of look. I know that look well. Proud mom, Heather, is holding the phone and cannot be seen. But I know her smile is just as big. None of them can see the smile wrapped around my head.

Now, some will look at that picture and simply see an adult and a baby. It is impossible to argue against it. There are thousands of pictures just like that. Facebook is good evidence.

However, I see much more.

I see a promise as much as a picture.

A promise to be there.

Isabelle will never roll off life’s couch with mom and dad watching over her. That is much to imply from a partially staged photo. But that is what makes it so satisfying, because. I know it’s true.

For me, she is a gift that I promise never to take for granted. God saw it fit to bless my wife and I with three children, a wonderful daughter-in-law and now a grandchild. Billions of families have grown this way over thousands of years. Nevertheless, this family is unique to me.

Looking back, as a young parent, I did not have the time nor the inclination to step back and reflect on my family. Life was akin to running a daily fifty-yard dash. At the end of the day, we just tried to catch our breath and raise the kids as best as we could.

As a grandparent, it is more like a nice walk. But now I marvel at the beauty right in front of me. Maybe because we have an adorable little girl after having brawny sons. Not sure. I only know that this tiny princess, whom I have only known for five months, found a way to occupy my heart in short order.

So how can a child who has never spoken a word, taken a step, or eaten her first cheese curd have this monumental effect? It is because of the unbreakable bond that we share. I am part of her, and she is a part of me, and this will never change.

She will fall but will get back up. She will have failures but will enjoy success. She will have heartbreak but will find love. The smiles will outnumber the tears. Mom and dad; grandma’s and grandpa; aunts, uncles, and cousins. We will all be there to be a part of it. That’s a promise.

When looking into her big blue eyes, I see undeniable innocence, vulnerability, and purity, and can only think, “I’m all in, Sweetheart.”

More importantly, when looking at that picture, I look at my son proudly and know he has been all in since her first breath.

And that makes my heart tank miles from “E”.

No need to fill ‘er up. It’s already full.

This column originally appeared in the Times, a Shaw publication.