ON BEING A GRANDFATHER
I went fishing on July 2, the day André Campbell Arsenault
was born to Julia and Clément in Edmonton, Alberta. It was my way of celebrating
the marvel of new life and, in a sense, to close the loop. There is no better setting
in which to contemplate the meaning of life than standing waist-deep in a
fast-flowing stream, surrounded by nature. On June 11, 1980, the day our eldest, Sylvie, was born, I went
fishing on Barlow’s Pond in Wellington and came home with a nice feed of trout.
This time, I let the fish go. Maybe it was my way of giving thanks.
Growing up as the only child in a single-parent family,
I was ill-prepared for fatherhood. Fortunately, I partnered with someone who’d
grown up in a large family, the second-oldest of eight. Elva’s family taught me
how a real family functioned; the good times and the hard times. She’d learned
how to look after the little ones, to play with them, and to change their diapers.
I hadn’t! As the youngest of my first cousins living in Wellington, I was
always the baby of the group.
Yet the urge to have a family of my own was always
there. Four years after we married, Elva and I decided the time had come to go
from two to three. She didn’t want to be pregnant during the summer and she
didn’t want to miss a significant part of the school year. (These were the days
before paid parental leave, remember) Do the math! The pressure was on to conceive
in September and we made it happen. Sylvie was born two weeks before the end of
semester, a healthy and beautiful baby girl. We’d moved to Wellington in the
fall of 1979 and prepared a room in the old family home just for her. Clément followed
two years later and Jacques in 1984, all spring babies. (Remember, Elva didn’t
want to be pregnant during the heat of the summer! And she usually has her way…)
We’d decided that Elva would put her teaching career
on hold until our youngest started school. I commuted two hours each day to
Charlottetown for nine years, often arriving home exhausted, sometimes in the
middle of a snowstorm. Elva played the role of primary caregiver and I that of
breadwinner. It was the norm for our parents’ generation and not uncommon for
ours. In the interest of advancing my own career and our family’s prospects, I uprooted
my young family and moved to Québec City for two years to complete an MBA. It was a
difficult adjustment for all of us but it paid off eventually.
I wish I’d been more involved as a parent when my
own children were younger. Perhaps not knowing my own father and not having
siblings affected my ability to do so. There are certainly things I wish I could
do over. Not remorse, just regret.
I cycled up Mont Ventoux, a punishing 21-kilometre
climb, on October 17, 2006 with four of my buddies. Back down, I called Sylvie from Malaucène at the foot of the Provençal mountain to see how she was
doing. The next day, our first grandchild, Samuel Gallant, was born. Two years
later, Sylvie and Ghislain welcomed Natalie into their family. Lucie was born in
Edmonton on May 26, 2012 to Isabelle and Jacques. Finally, after years of wanting
a child, Julia and Clément were rewarded with Estelle, born November 1, 2017,
the closest thing to a miracle I’ve experienced in my life. And now André, a
healthy boy — “10, 10, 2 and 1” as the nurses say!
I watch my grandchildren’s fathers — Ghislain,
Clément and Jacques — raise their children and wonder how they learned to do it
so well. Parenting seems to have come so naturally to them, and I couldn’t be
prouder. They’re so much better with babies than I was. All three changed
diapers and got up during the night; rocked babies to sleep and gave them their
baths. Ghislain is very involved in Samuel and Natalie's lives. Jacques was Lucie’s
primary caregiver before she started school. Clément is with Estelle from the
time he gets home from work until he drops her off to daycare the next morning.
From just the two of us, Elva and I have seen our
family grow to thirteen. The mere thought of it astounds me.
Admittedly, this a male perspective, written by an
aging baby-boomer. I know how fortunate I was to have been raised by a strong,
independent woman and to have been influenced positively by strong female role
models during my formative years. My five grandchildren will know the love of
their fathers and I know it will serve them well as they grow into manhood.
The need to pass on one’s genes is a primal and a
powerful urge. In this age of political correctness and respect for all
orientations, one might wish to suppress it or, at least, not admit it’s there.
But not me. I know my life is more complete because of my family. And I’m a
better person because of the life lessons fatherhood has taught me. I love
being a father and a grandfather and I hope, someday, to hold
great-grandchildren in my lap.
These random thoughts would be incomplete without
pictures of the grand-kids, n’est-ce-pas? Here are some of my favourites.
Samuel and Natalie
Lucie
Estelle and André
