Over the years when I have written these Chronicles , I have reported on the status of Katie, the world’s greatest granddaughter in our family, on several occasions. Now she has turned 11, completed the fifth grade with all “A” grades, and, because California schools have had to cut back with tax problems, she is about to start the sixth grade in a private school. Katie is the product of joint custody between her father and mother, who split some years ago. They agreed to live in the same area and share her days. Both of them have remarried, which adds some complications to the arrangements.
Because Katie lives in California and we live in Maryland, we see her only four or five times a year. Either we go to California or her father brings her to the Washington area for at least a few days. We saw her this spring and early summer. Now I have to admit that she is growing, the age of puberty will be coming soon, and the private school will bring new challenges. But she is still too young to understand her changes and to appreciate the male and female relations that will be coming along in a few years. I mentioned this to my wife, who has wished to have enough time with Katie to teach her all sorts of things. “We cannot do anything about that because we have very little time with Katie away from her parents,” was the answer I got.
This reminded me of my earlier experiences of decades ago. My only sister is 2 years younger than I am. I remember noticing some changes in her and recall asking my father what it was about. “Ask your mother,” was his only answer. A bit later, when I followed that advice, my mother took a different perspective. Men must appreciate that women are different and must treat them with respect and protection, was her response. Any young man must be polite to all women, must address them as “Miss Josie” or “Mrs. Graham,” must open doors, let them enter first, must lift heavy packages, and must never say anything rude or ugly. But my mother did not go into the elements of puberty or even mention that boys have a few less vigorous biological changes than girls.
I grew bigger than my sister, as my father was larger than my mother. I noticed changes in my female classmates, particularly the beginning of breasts. But no one explained to me what those changes were or how and why and when they happened. The girls looked more like their mothers and I seemed to look more like my father and my uncles.
I didn’t start dating until I was in college and I got a bit serious as a graduate student. But it was several more years before I married and almost an added decade before I sired a boy and a girl, 2 years apart. I was a diligent daddy, quick to change diapers, eager to hold both of them, determined to read books and tell stories. And sure enough, in about a decade, my daughter began to reflect prepubescent changes. So my wife moved in and I was excluded from any parental explanations to my daughter. I had a few talks with my son. But he was no more vigorous than I could remember being in my teen years. Indeed, one of the most traumatic incidents was the day when my daughter appeared in her first high-heeled shoes. Her mother had bought them and our daughter was getting accustomed to them before she wore them to a party. I was told I should not comment or complain—just pay the bill for the shoes when it came in. Verily, our daughter blossomed over the next few years. She took dancing lessons, studied Spanish, and pushed on toward qualifying for good grades and college. She appeared in school plays and musicals. And a few times, boys in her classes asked her out for dates.
Now, decades later in my anecdotal age, I am interested but not aggressive with women in my family, in my work, in our neighborhood, and about anywhere I travel. My eyesight is good and I look at people in any circumstances. I now understand much more about the biology of both our genders and all of our generations. But then again, I do nothing about my understanding and make no effort to indicate my admiration or other reactions. And, it occurs to me that if I am looked at by women in strange crowds that I get as little response as I extend.