If...for families

In the mornings I listen to NPR as I return from dropping off the kids, and usually I catch the Writers Almanac. The other day there was a quote, and I'm paraphrasing, "the things which embarrass us usually make a good story" It's been stuck in my head ever since. Is it okay to tell the story if it's not me who'd be embarrassed? I'm taking that risk now.

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Before Paige and Graham were born, Al and I got into the business of buying wine futures. If the tires in your brain just screeched, bear with me, it's not a financial story. These futures are just like preordering wine before it's even in the bottles; imagine the giant vats and barrels full of luscious fruit juice before it's put into the 750 ml bottles we know and love. So on our 2003 order, as we were juggling infant twins, we got this crazy idea to buy a case of a Premier Grand Cru (won't bore you with wine history unless you want me to...) for them to receive as a gift from us upon marriage or equivalent life event. We settled on the Mouton Rothschild and swallowed hard as we wrote the check. The next fall, we finally took delivery and nestled the cases in our wine cellar.

This year, we've made a dent in our racked wine. Call it good times, call it having a newborn, or maybe we've just allowed ourselves to enjoy life more lately. My dad, always willing to help out where muscle power is needed, helped me uncase and rack some that we'd had sitting around in crates. He even filled out hand-written hang tags on the bottles he racked. I ordered some good juice from wine.com, and we replenished quite a bit of wine in our stash.

All was well. Then one night as we were sitting down to dinner, Al went into the cellar to get a bottle of wine that went well with our spaghetti and meatballs. Exclamations spewed from his mouth that scared me! First I imagined the whole cellar was stolen. This was unlikely, though, and I had a hard time imagining a thief dashing back and forth to his getaway vehicle with armfuls of bottles. Next my minds eye flashed that the refrigeration unit had jammed and all the bottles froze and exploded like purple grenades. So I dashed in there to see what was up. Our hearts sank as we saw one of the children's cases neatly racked bottle by bottle among the more plebeian wines. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

No one enjoyed there dinner that night. Al called my dad while he was still upset, told him he'd overstepped the line and asked that he not uncase our wines. The calming down process took all night. The wooden case was retrieved from the garage, and, days later, I took a quiet moment to piece it back together with a surgeon's precision. After the children were tucked in bed, Al called my dad and explained his rage -- that these gifts were very important to him, because there was a real possibility he will not be alive at the time they are given --sobering thought that. He apologized for flying off the handle, but very much wanted everyone to know why he was emotionally attached to these venerated dozen bottles.

The next day after church I was not there to witness the beautiful closure of this story. I hear it went something like this.

Setting: Informal farmhouse table. Children seated waiting for adults to come to the table for the blessing. Grandad sits. Father still plating his food.

Graham: "Grandad, my daddy is very upset with you."
Grandad: "Yes Graham I know and I am sorry. I told your Dad I am very sorry."
Dad: "And I apologized to Grandad, too, Graham."

And just like that, with the innocence of a four-year-old, the air was cleared BUT MORE THAN THIS, the four-year-olds witnessed the most beautiful lesson these two men in their lives could have demonstrated through their actions. Not stewing and dwelling on the error. Apologizing and forgiving and moving forward with love. This is what it is to be a man.