One of Greg’s famous lines: “I don’t like children…..except my own.” It was a grand line, but I’d like to offer some evidence to the contrary.
His dramatic skills were put to good use in Dillon’s classroom, where he came in to read Halloween stories several years in elementary school. Greg would put on his black fedora and an all black outfit and go to town on picture books for the whole class, complete with scary noises and punched-up dialogue.
His height came in handy during helicopter rides for our friend Aaron F, although when Greg’s big fat older daughter saw how much fun Aaron was having, she needed some helicopter rides of her own.
His Irish heritage was a boon to any child that visited his office, where leprechauns were known to deposit their loose change and pot‘o’gold spillover. As a rational adult I know where that money must have come from, but I swear to God I never saw it land. And I was watching carefully. When we moved to the big house, the leprechauns came with him. Those quarters came in handy for college laundry.
More adults were afraid of Greg than babies. You’d think his size alone (not to mention those eyebrows) would have set off screaming fits, but babies loved to be held by Greg. They had a cool way of staring into his eyes, and he would give them a mile-long stare back.
The ability to engage didn’t slip away with older kids either. Whether it was taking my visiting niece out to lunch or sitting in the hospital room of my high school friend who’d attempted suicide, Greg knew how to play it cool. He never pushed too hard, pandered, or ignored. As a teenager when you don’t know if you want everyone to look away forever or to get just an ounce of fucking attention for once, he knew how to keep a balance.
So Greg did like other children….or at least children liked him. However, the second part of his statement was indeed true. Greg was an amazing father who loved his own kids beyond faith and reason. I think there are a couple of lessons in there that might as well be shared.
One area of inflexibility involved baby talk. Greg never talked down to children or babies; he didn’t believe in it. We did have to have a little discussion when I was in 3rd grade about how even though there’s no such thing as a bad word, some words are less appropriate than others for school. I think there were some George Carlin quotations involved. Anyone who doubts his authority on the matter of baby talk should witness the verbal skills and vocabulary of each of his children (and their modesty, ha).
As much as he loved a well made film, I don’t think it was for love of Victor Fleming that Greg hauled a gigantic old-school wood-paneled television up to the 2nd floor of our duplex the afternoon that Wizard of Oz was supposed to air, when I was three years old. It was well worth the effort, because I watched the VHS tape he made every single day for the next year (literally). Child-rearing lesson #2: figure out what your kids will like…..and make plenty of copies. This came in handy with his son as well, as Greg taped about a hundred of Dillon’s Dodgers games over the years.
I was sung to sleep many nights, but Dillon was sung to sleep every night. Unless Greg was on vacation or on location, he sang one of a few Irish lullabies: Danny Boy, Christmas in Killarney, Athlone, etc. He knew how to make his kids feel safe, how to relax them into slumber and send them off to Nod in style. So the 3rd rule: if you want your kids to sleep through the night, make sure they know somebody’s looking out for them; in the real world, the dream world, and everywhere in between. Also- don’t show them The Exorcist right before bed when they are the same age as Regan and their name is Megan unless you want them to shit a brick every night for the next week. But that’s a story that belongs in a different post, Greg & the movies.
Nicknames from Greg: little max, maxie, champ, my darling-my blood, little popinjay.
Nicknames for Greg: Daddy, Daddio, Cool Papa G, BDG, GDS, Da.
One of the topics that came under discussion in the last year of Greg’s life was what my kids were supposed to call him, should I end up having any. He was deciding between Grandaddy and Pop-Pop. It makes my heart ache when I see tall gray-haired men and their grandchildren, especially at the movies. I am so grateful for the excellent rearing that I got…..Happy Birthday, Daddio. Enjoy your vanilla/vanilla cupcake and dream a little dream for me.
