The Ash Creek Papers

I am drawn to bodies of water.  My first love is to great Seas like the Atlantic of the Caribbean.  But for much of my life my joy has been the “cozy confines” of Long Island Sound & most of that time my appreciation of the Sound has been split between Woodmont and Norwalk.

The Sound represents the southern border for the entire length of Connecticut.  The further east along CT’s shore line the smaller Long Island itself appears on the horizon.  By the time you reach Hamonasett Beach in Madison, Long Island is barely discernable.  Not a bad thing.

Mommie Soph had a cottage in Woodmont (about a third of the way between New York and Rhode Island), parked squarely on the beach.  That cottage, more familiar to Paula, Paul & Lynn, is on the edges of my memory.  But it is safe to say that I have been frolicking in the Sound since the days of taking my first steps.  And probably peeing in it, too.

This latter activity has been a sport with me for as long as I can remember.  Now if you do this as many times as I did, you eventually realize that emptying your bladder in the cold waters of the Sound creates a warm spot in your immediate vicinity. 

As I say, I have been doing this for a while, most recently on the 4th of July in front of Alan & Lynn’s in Woodmont… and I consider myself somewhat of an expert in the field (I am convinced that our “spy satellites” can pick up the “heat plume” from miles above the earth’s surface… one day I expect to have a knock on my door from the Agents of the EPA with a Cease and Desist Order).

Now we could leave this part of the story there; but it should also be noted that I took uncounted pleasure, while splashing about in the waters off Calf Pasture Beach in Norwalk in beckoning my kids to me after I had relieved myself.  I was convinced that they would find amusement in discovering the “warm spot”.  Much to my chagrin, they found this activity “gross”.

Gross?  Excuse me!  To me it was completely “natural”.  Go back five hundred years, and do you think a Mashantucket Pequot Brave, chest deep in water, havesting Little Necks & Cherrystones in the Sound, feeling “nature’s call”, would go running out of the Sound to pee on a tree?  I don’t think so.

Go back further.  If we are to believe (as many do) that the Pequots are one of the Lost Tribes of Israel, then this tradition stretches back to Biblical times, and it is my opinion, supported by recent archeological evidence & contrary to prevailing belief, that Moses divided the Red Sea to create two different “rest rooms” — men to one side, women to the other.

So much for “gross”.  And so much for this part of the tale, because the “warm spot” I had originally in mind, and to be described here, is of a very different nature.

It may have been last week, or the week before, when Shaina and I got to talking about stuff.  I am interested in what my kids remember about their early childhood experiences.  I have written about my perceptions as their Father… but it’s great to hear the other perspective.

We talked about a case of the “cold hands” (something I would regularly submit my kids to on Winter mornings).  It was Shaina who brought up as a counter point the “warm spot”.  You see, those same cold mornings that provided me with the aforementioned frigid digits, also created in stunning contrast… the warmth and coziness of the vacant spot in our bed when Ellen got up to begin her day.

It was Shaina’s belief that perhaps no greater joy existed than the morning “warm spot” in our bed.  This warmth, and its soothing effect, was fleeting and apparently it created somewhat of a contest between the kids as to who could claim it first… who could get closer to the epicenter.

Yep, I can see seizing the “warm spot” would be a worthy contest.

So I have been thinking about this for a bit and the way I figure it, the origin of the “warm spot” goes back to the concept of “nesting”, and this truly transcends species… it is totally mammalian.  And more specifically “maternal”.

Think of small furry ones nestled close to Mama, she herself in a snug burrow, or a hollowed enclosure, curled with her young providing warmth.  This is elemental, it projects images of safety and caring.

Mama leaves the den to go hunting for breakfast and the wee ones re-postion themselves in her vacated spot.

And so it was the same for my kids.  Mom gone to make breakfast and school lunches, they scurry to get to the “warm spot”… to snuggle in the lingering warmth of her presence.

I have no memories of doing this when I was a kid.  But I’ll make a guess and say that it would have been my nature to do so.  Seeking the warm spot is clearly a part of our development and necessary in producing caring and balanced adults.

Fathers can do alot… but the warm spot?  Definitely a “Mother thing”.

But then again… there always is Long Island Sound.

I can remember the time that I was known as “Sid Winston’s Son”.  Yesterday I was known as “Zack Winston’s Father”.  It wasn’t the first time either.  And now that I think about… I have also been “Shaina’s Dad” or “Suzy’s Dad”… Part of life, I guess.

It’s better now.

Let’s face it… part of who we are is defined by our connection to others.  We’re this one’s son, that one’s brother, this person’s friend, that girl’s Father & so on.  Hopefully that connection is a positive one.

My Father cut an impressive swath in front of me.  He had a larger than life personality.  He loved the “stage”.  He “played” to an audience… it could be one, it could be ten.  Even before I knew him in business, he charmed the pants off of my friends.

Well… you know how it is… as a kid you don’t appreciate this stuff.  In fact, it’s a bit embarrassing, it’s a bit intimidating.  How can you follow in those foot steps?  For a shy kid like me, sometimes it was actually saddening.

Then you join your Father in business.  It’s no longer girls in 8th Grade telling you how cool your Dad is… it’s Tom Watson, Board Chair of I.B.M., or Bill Hewitt, Board Chair of John Deere & Co., or Jack Dorrance, Board Chair of Campbell Soup, or Roy Chapin, President of American Motors, or Lew Foy, President of Bethlehem Steel, or Cary Grant… all customers of ours, all telling me how great my Dad is…

And that was just the beginning… all of the folks in the “Trade”… Manufacturers, Fabric Merchants & the like who praised Dad’s taste and skill in building a business from the ground up.

It’s all part of the maturing process, I suppose… what embarrassed me at age 12, slowly was converted to a source of pride.  It wasn’t necessarily a smooth path to that pride… I fought it at times, and in some respects, continue to fight it today. 

But you get to certain junctions… you get to that “door”.  Yes, I recognized that the door had been opened to me because of my Father… that I was be given the benefit of doubt because of my Father.

And folks, I have learned that there few things in life as valuable as the benefit of the doubt.  In much, my Dad gave that to me… served up like a juicy fastball right over homeplate.

I am not saying that I always enjoyed living in his shadow.  But there came a time when I emerged from that shadow… but even more important, there came the time that I could appreciate both the light and shadow of the figure he cast… and there came that time when I had a better understanding of where I stood.

Yesterday was a different venue, different experience… there was a different person blazing a trail for me — it was Zack.  Yesterday, I was Zack’s Dad.  Yesterday I drove to the fleshpots of New York City.  Yesterday I put together a Wine Tasting for Harris Beach, the Law Firm where Zack worked ’til moving to the other coast.  The invitation to conduct the Tasting wouldn’t have been extended if it hadn’t been for Zack’s presence (even in absentia).

What can I say? The Tasting went very well.  I wish I had a nickel for everyone who came up and told me how highly they thought of Zack… and how much they missed him

I had a clear drive back to Connecticut… the FDR, the Major Deegan, the Cross County, the Hutch & the Merritt all lay open to me… absent annoying traffic.  Good time for thinking.

I have decided that at my age I am a quick study on this “pride thing”.  It took me a bit to warm up to being “Sid’s Son”… it’s easier by miles being Zack’s, or Shaina’s, or Suzy’s Dad.

My kids are great.  They are a continuing source of pride to me.  And if the occasion arises and if they open up a door for me… it’s a good thing.

It’s really a whole lot better now.