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IN YOUR PRIME
Zane at the Zoo
The amazing thing about zoos is that, magically, we suddenly all become
children there.
So, on an August day hot enough to bake bread on the pavement, I followed
two wide-eyed and wondrous grandchildren up and down the San Diego
Zoo, renowned the world over.
I'm sorry, but it still smells as though animals live there.
We three kids marveled over haughty flamingos, handsome tigers, and a
zany polar bear who frolicked upside-down in his waterworld. Mister Bear
delighted a busload of overheated tourists.
In truth, we were a party of five explorers, daring to challenge mid-summer
heat and humidity, plus onrushing hordes of intent mothers pushing strollers.
My escorts were: Zane Ransom Lindeman, age four; sister Natalie Adele
Lindeman, age eight; Ms. Karyn McCarthy, their sainted mother, and Leslie
William Lindeman, father to my sole male grandchild.
For the grandkids, born in suburban Chicago, and living now in Pasadena,
CA, the day represented a first visit to this zoo where, plainly, animals come
first. This was a fourth excursion for your reporter; therefore it became a
simple matter to direct my full attention to Zane, the blondish tyke in a red
shirt.
Across the front of his heirloom shirt was a single word: "Grandkid." Fifty-
two months prior, I sat quietly, and joyfully, inside a birthing room (Room
605) at West Suburban Hospital, Oak Park, IL, while this nine-pound, five-
ounce newborn male was being nursed for the very first time.
Indeed, it was a day of "firsts." I witnessed his first bout of hiccups, his first
nap alongside an exhausted mother, the very first time he met sister Natalie,
and maternal grandmother Pat, and the first time he answered to "Baby Boy
Lindeman."
There had been names for girls ready and waiting but, surprisingly, none for
this lone male grandchild, for whom I had traveled from north Georgia to
greet and to celebrate. (We Lindemans weren't familiar with grandsons,
having only granddaughters.) No matter. For me, a special bonding was
begun and as I read over my scribbled notes from that rewarding morning, I
discover where I vowed to become a meaningful part of Zane Ransom's life,
if that is his wish.
At dinner the night before our foray into the zoo, Zane had asked to sit
beside this grandfather. I couldn't have been prouder, or more pleased, if the
Pulitzer committee had asked me to drop by.
Now, as I relived scenes from our time at the zoo, pint-sized Zane Ransom is
walking straight ahead, unafraid and unfazed by scores of oncoming men,
woman, and children of every human size, shape, and color, each issuing a
personal statement about dress and undress.
To my absolute terror, Zane was headed for the reptile house where, I'm
told, repugnant snakes and other creatures slither and crawl. While his father
and I stayed outside, talking baseball like prudent men, my nonchalant
grandson led his mother inside for a round of viewing.
Later, we all rode the miniature cable car that flies above the landscape.
Zane partnered with his mother, who held tightly to a bar, the better to
steady herself. "It's okay, Mom," the child assured the parent, resting a hand
on her tense arm. "It's safe," he added.
Fearless at four? Absolutely. The day before, he had adjusted his swimmer's
goggles and walked directly into the southern California surf, challenging
testy waves and a chilly temperature that kept all but resolute surfers on the
shore. Holding his father's hand, Zane stood there, letting cold wave upon
cold wave rock his little body, screaming with delight the entire time.
"Grandparents have special authority by virtue of their antiquity," a friend
reminds me, while I hurriedly turn to psychiatrist and author Arthur
Kornhaber, M.D., for professional confirmation that between the generations
there can be "a vital connection," and the happiness created when the pair of
disparates is together "contributes to the health and well-being of both
partners."
Where are we headed, this only grandson (among six grandchildren) and I?
Time alone will tell. I can only hope, and trust to good fortune. It is what we
grandparents do best: we patiently stand at the ready, waiting for a
summons, an invitation to share-and to help steer-the life of someone we
love from the first moment we see them.
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Outrageous Associations
