Twin sons of different moms
On a wall in my dining room is a pair of photos of a young boy celebrating his first Christmas. He is adorned in a Santa costume, an elfin smile on his face.
Except, it’s not one boy. It’s two. Separated by nearly a quarter century.
The twins of different mothers are my son, Tom, and my grandson, Ryan.
In this the second chapter of fatherhood (or grandfatherhood as it were), life has come full circle right before my eyes.
Ryan is now approaching his fifth Christmas, but the parallels live on.
At Halloween, Ryan came gliding and giggling into my bedroom, attired in a Scooby-Doo costume that was as familiar as it was faded a little on the edges.
If I did a double take, I could almost see Tom in that same costume 20-odd years before.
With great deliberation, a mix of talent and a dash of love, GG — better known as my wife, Ruthie — sewed for hours last month to produce matching Halloween costumes not only for Ryan but his dad, Tom, and mom, Crystal. Each was adorned as a Pokemon character whose names I could not produce if my life depended upon it.
Looking at Tom, gleefully playing the role for his son, I told my eldest offspring, “You must really love your son.”
It was a return to an earlier generation. Tom was not much older than his son is now when he announced one day that he just had to be Darkwing Duck for Halloween.
What’s a Darkwing Duck you say? Only the alter ego of unassuming suburban father Drake Mallard.
Yeah right.
Darkwing Duck was a crime fitting mallard featured in a Disney TV series that Tom was glued to at the time.
So Ruthie — known at the time by the singular title of “mom” — took to her sewing machine and meticulously created the cape and fedora/stockman-style black hat that Tom’s hero wore. Tom even posed hands on hips like his feathered hero.
But the pièce de résistance came when one nice woman offered him a Kit Kat bar and then, stepping back, exclaimed, “That’s Darkwing Duck.”
You are right, madam!
After that, it was hard to keep up with Tom during the bulk of trick-or-treating since he was floating on air.
Toys, like ties, never totally go out of style.
In Ryan’s bedroom, Tom sees Ninja Turtles, the aforementioned Scooby-Doo and Pokemon and a family reunion of Disney characters.
In the same space, I see Tom’s bedroom circa the early 1990s.
At the height of the Ninja Turtles first run, Tom seemingly had every Turtle toy produced by the free world. The bulk of these were the Ninja Turtle action figures. He had them all — Michelangelo the football player and Leonardo in a judo gi. If you pulled a plastic string on the back of Raphael, he spoke r-e-a-l s-l-o-o-o-w.
Donatello drove a vehicle that fired pizzas at nemeses Bebop and Rocksteady — and our unsuspecting cats.
And speaking of the accoutrements, we had enough turtles and weapons to invade a third world nation or a neighboring zoo.
These flashbacks do come with one benefit. It is a grandparent’s singular role to spoil the grandchild to the envy of his or her parents, who can remember your more thrifty days.
Often, presenting Ryan with a new toy is as easy as making the climb into our attic — known as the land of the lost toys — and pulling out the large plastic containers which contain Ninja Turtles, dinosaurs, baseball cards and enough Legos to build a new strip mall.
With Thanksgiving having passed, Christmas is on the horizon.
Surely on Christmas morning, a small boy will come running into my living room and throw himself in front of the Christmas tree, waiting to see what Santa left.
It will be through my grandson’s eyes that Christmas will shine. But if for just a moment, I will flashback to an earlier time.
“Look, Santa was here!!!”
“Wait, Tom, for your mom before you open the first present …”