The year: 2001. A 4-year-old boy stood silently by the casket, which contained his mother. She had died of a brain tumor. Visitors filed by to pay their respects. The woman was my niece Linda Favero, my sister Martha’s only child. Linda and Martha were both classroom teachers, which further strengthened their deep bond.
During my talk at the memorial service the next day, I told a story about our last visit to Martha’s house. Linda couldn’t talk at that point, but she could get her desires known by pointing and making sounds. She did just that in her effort to get her mother to find the Vienna Fingers in the cupboard. Linda knew that Vienna Fingers were my favorite cookie, and she wanted to be sure I got that treat.
Two weeks ago. Tina and I were at a wedding in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. The ceremony was held outdoors in 90-degree heat. The reception was inside in a large air-conditioned hall. The chairs in the front row were filled with immediate family members. A bouquet of flowers had been placed on an empty chair in the row. Jared had requested they be there in honor of his mother, and he made sure the bouquet contained his mother’s favorite flowers, stargazer lilies.
Jared has come to visit us in the summer with his grandparents several times over the years. As a lad, he was a goofy bright bundle of energy. One time he happened to be there at the same time as my grandson David IV. The two of them were about 11, and they decided they wanted to tackle the large 30-scoop extravaganza (the “Fiasco”) at Gelato Fiasco. They gave it a fine effort but fell short.
Jared has grown up, to put it mildly. He now stands 6-feet 5-inches tall. He’s a fine young man by any measure — confident, charming, engaging. He excelled at the University of Iowa College of Law and then passed the state bar exam on his first attempt. Currently working at a law firm in Cedar Rapids, Jared specializes in helping people who, in my sister’s words, “have been wronged by big corporations.” His new wife Mackenzie is a fourth grade teacher. I sensed great energy between the two of them and predict a long, happy marriage.
At the reception, I reminded Jared about the Gelato Fiasco giant bowl attempt, and he stated that he and he and David would finish it now. I don’t doubt that. We invited him to bring Mackenzie to Maine, and he said they planned to.
Incidentally, Jared’s father David Favero gave a wonderful toast to his son at the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding. He noted that it had been “just Jared and me” for the first few years after his wife died. (David is now remarried.). He stated how proud he was of the young man Jared has become. A few times during the toast, he had to stop and collect himself. I congratulated him later, and he told me he should have had me help him write it. “Absolutely not,” I said. “You slammed it!” And he had. You can’t improve on an authentic speech from the heart. The real deal.
Other impressions gleaned from our three-day visit to Cedar Rapids:
If the city’s promotional brochure can be believed, Cedar Rapids is a very sophisticated and culturally rich place.
I’m confident that the wedding guests represented all sides of the nation’s current political divide. But that didn’t matter. In fact, politics didn’t come up once. Many — perhaps most — things are more important in life than one’s political allegiance.
I was tempted to “bring up politics” on the flight home from Washington, D.C. to Portland. A big burly guy from Alabama sat beside me. He was traveling with his wife and twin daughters. He and his wife had visited Maine 10 years ago, and they had had a great time. He wanted to share Maine with their daughters. At one point, we talked briefly about World War II, and the bravery of the people who fought. He said, “It’s sad how ‘they’ are now throwing it all away.” I don’t know what he meant by “they,” but I didn’t want to get into it. The big burly guy from Alabama might have been a Trump voter. That may have been an unfair assumption. In any case, some things are better left unsaid.
Air travel is a pain, but at least the culinary offerings have improved at the nation’s largest airports.
We are so glad we went to the wedding to support Jared and my sister Martha. Later this summer, she will be giving a talk at her retirement home in Sarasota, Florida about the book she wrote shortly after her daughter Linda died. The title: “The Classroom is Bare … the Teacher’s Not There.”
David Treadwell, a Brunswick writer welcomes commentary and suggestions for future “Just a Little Old” columns at dtreadwe575@aol.com.
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