In August of 1991, two of my daughters came to see me at my office at the Alamosa church.
“We need to talk with you.”
When two 17-year-olds show up with an announcement like that, you know you might need to prepare yourself.
One of them was the designated spokesperson for the team.
“We just found out that she’s pregnant.”
They had already been to see a marvelous OB-GYN who attended our church. They had been treated with the utmost care, kindness, and information.
“Well, you have a lot of decisions to make.”
After about four months of sorting through those decisions, the expectant mom decided she was going to be a single mother.
She got a job and an apartment. Somewhere along the way, I asked about the due date.
“Somewhere around February 28th.”
My calendarized mind immediately went to work.
“My bet is on Leap Day!”
“No way!”
Well, Zach was born at high noon on February 29th, while I was flying to Washington, D.C., for a Community Health Center conference. When I landed, I learned that our first grandson had arrived and all was well.
I don’t tend to go gah-gah over newborns. I’m good for about two minutes of holding one, and then I’m ready to hand the little bundle back. My time comes when the storytelling begins, somewhere around a year or so.
One of my first memorable outings with Zach and his mom was to the first-ever night game of the brand-new Colorado Rockies baseball team. The three of us drove to Denver to the converted football stadium to watch the Rockies beat the Mets.
On the drive home, Zach was safely tucked into his baby carrier. Mom wanted to drive the four hours back to Alamosa. She was a really good driver, and I was tired, so I said, “Sure.”
I woke up near the top of La Veta Pass to a blinding spring snowstorm. My stepdaughter was doing just fine. Grandpa went back to sleep.
Zach is now 34 years old and our roommate.
Over the past few years, he has built a very successful handyman and small construction business. He’s mostly a one-man band, and I can’t begin to count the number of people who have told me how good he is at what he does—and, more importantly, what a kind human being he is.
I’ve recently bestowed upon him the rather impressive title of Manager of the Mary Kay and Mark Long-Term Care Facility.
He does all kinds of things for us, including cooking breakfast. In exchange, he has the entire finished basement, and we provide ongoing assistance with his wonderful dog, Estrella.
It’s an arrangement that works remarkably well.
This past month, our nine-year-old clothes dryer began making horrible grinding noises.
I thought, “Well, there goes another $1,200 for a new dryer.”
“Not so fast, Grandpa. I think I know what’s wrong. I’ll order some new bearings and replace them.”
Yesterday, he began completely disassembling this beast. And I do mean completely. He took it apart right down to its mechanical soul.
Maybe 40 minutes later, I heard a gentle humming coming from the laundry room.
“Is that our dryer? It sounds brand new!”
His trademark Zach smile beamed.
“It’s good to go.”
Now, I should explain that I flunked Erector Set.
When we were kids, I got a basketball, and my brother Charley got the fix-it, build-it, install-anything gene.
I managed a Circle D-minus in shop class because my teacher, Mr. DeAngelo, said, “Well, at least you tried.”
Lou DeAngelo died just a few weeks ago, in his 90s. He was a great teacher and an even better human being. I suspect he would be pleased to know that someone in the next generation of our family can actually fix things.
I could go on and on about Zach.
I give thanks for a 17-year-old mother who made some courageous decisions. I give thanks for the man who came into Zach’s life when he was nearly three, adopted him, and eventually expanded their family with two more children.
And I give thanks for this remarkable young man who has become such an important part of our lives.
This week, Zach said something that has stayed with me.
“You know, Grandpa, this has really worked out for all of us right now.”
He said it just before helping Grandma Mary Kay into her walking boot and getting me organized with my blue Cadillac of Rollators so we could all go do some laps around the parking lot.
I thought about those two frightened 17-year-olds who walked into my office 35 years ago, wondering what the future might hold.
None of us could have imagined this particular future.
And yet, here we are.
A young man, his grandparents, a walking boot, a blue rollator, a happy dog named Estrella, and a dryer that sounds brand new.
Sometimes grace doesn’t arrive with trumpets and angels. Sometimes it shows up with a toolbox, makes breakfast, and says, “It’s good to go.”
Onward and Upward,
Mark
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