I’m not really sure about what the title “god mother” means, but it’s a title that was given to me twenty some years ago. Along with that title came a “god son,” and every now and then I’ve played the “god mother” card, all in good humor of course, just to get him to do what I knew he should or should not be doing. For instance, about ten years ago I was sitting having lunch in our local pub and observed some young boys across the street pelting cars with small berries that they had plucked from the nearby trees. One of my friends said, “Isn’t that Kyle over there?” Suddenly my “god-motherly” instincts took over and I marched across the street to have a stern conversation. He was pretty surprised and decided to move his mischief down a block, away from my watchful eye and my amused friends.
That type of behavior has followed Kyle to the present time. It is endearing to some, amusing to others, and definitely annoying to law enforcement. For instance, this past April, while returning to Charlevoix for his sister’s wedding, he and his best friend decided that a jump from the bridge into the frigid waters of the Lake Michigan Channel at 1:00 in the morning was an appropriate activity. Oh yes, and a day or so later, my own sons encouraged him to scale the wall of the castle during the wedding reception while wearing a tuxedo. They chronicled the event with photos of him sitting in the turret like a smug Rapunzel.
Yes Kyle has done his share of mischief and has approached life with an intensity unlike I’ve ever seen in a child/man. He is impossible to ignore—even if you want to. He’s been a pretty amazing athlete; wearing his heart on his sleeve and often using some rather unorthodox moves. I remember a football game when he kicked the ball in the opening kick off, ran down field and tackled the guy who caught it. He’s also had his share of broken bones, sprains, dislocations, and always lots of blood. I think he has splinted some of his own broken bones and has allowed others to super glue his flesh when stitches were indicated. I’ve also observed the removal of warts with a propane torch.
Kyle has a pretty good job right now—one that’s well suited to his personality. He manages a jewelry store and does a mighty fine job of it. He’s moving right on up in the company. A little while ago, he attended a jewelry convention on the east coast. I understand it was a pretty high class affair calling for formal attire and refined behavior. The store managers received several gifts at this convention, one of them a diamond pendant.
When Kyle was on his way home, he found himself seated next to a middle-aged woman whose husband was seated several rows behind him in the plane. They struck up a conversation and formed a friendship during the flight. When Kyle told her what he did for a living, the woman told him that her husband didn’t buy her jewelry because it wasn’t important to him. She made it clear that he was a wonderful person and had been a good husband for 30 years, but didn’t believe that gifts of jewelry were necessary.
When they landed Kyle was introduced to the woman’s husband and, as she left to retrieve their luggage, Kyle did something heroic; he gave the pendant to the man with these instructions, “give this to your wife because she deserves it.” He then was able to observe (from a distance) the touching moment between husband and wife that followed.
Kyle listened to his heart that day. His wife would have liked the necklace, his mother would have been happy to own it, his sister would have worn it with pride and his god mother would have treasured it. But Kyle gave it to the right woman that day.
Kyle makes sure that some of the events of his life have storybook endings. He has turned out to be a fine man and his parents should be very proud—they’ve raised him well. But the story brought tears to my eye, a softness in my heart, and just a wee smidgen of god-motherly pride.
