Some Thoughts on Regrets in the Shadow of My Popper

I've managed to live my life with very few regrets. Until recently, they've boiled down to not taking my piano lessons seriously and putting the minimal effort into learning French in high school (we could stretch it out into not putting more effort into high school, but I did pretty well for myself and I don't yearn to have a better understanding of Moby Dick or the ins and outs of cellular biology the way I wish I could speak another language). In the past few years (probably shortly after I moved to Portland), I realized that I there is another glaring missed opportunity from my youth: I wish that I had learned how to woodwork from my grandfather (henceforth known as Popper).

Obviously, hindsight plays a lot in this desire. I was a pretty active student. I played sports year round and dabbled in jazz band, pit orchestra, and stage crew (my mom stressed that I be well-rounded). There wasn't a ton of free time during the school year and even the summers could get pretty busy. Plus, all one wants to do during those school years is hang out with friends. It's only now when I look at myself and see that I don't have that many tangible skills and I'm surrounded by people who have a craft that they not only love, but are good at (seriously, Portland is a terrible town to be in if you don't have tangible skills).

I don't know if Popper was still making stuff by the time I hit high school. I know he built a lot of badass doll houses for my little sister and his house features a grandfather clock that he built (very literally a grandfather clock, for me). It's not as if I lack the time or access to pick it up now (my wife's dad just picked up the hobby in the past year or so), but there's a good fifteen years of practice that I've missed out on. Plus, even if he was passed handling the tools, certainly his mind was sharp enough to guide me as I gave things a go.

He also made this badass rocking/toilet training seat.

Popper passed away on August 5, 2012 and it's gotten me thinking about this missed opportunity a little more than normal. I learned he was ailing about a week before my wedding and he died a week after the last time I spoke with him. The last time I saw Popper was at Christmas and we generally spoke during events (birthdays, anniversaries, and the like). Even in my adult years, I was just hitting the bullet points.

There are untold hours I could have spent learning things from him and about him just by sharing an interest in his hobby. I don't feel guilty about it, because from a teenager's perspective, everyone has loads of life to live and I had loads of stuff that needed to be attended to immediately. As an adult, it's just as easy to take for granted that there's always time even though, rationally, you know that's not true. And I don't have any regrets about moving to Boston then to Portland. I met the wife and mother of my son in the latter. But I can't help but feel a little sad knowing that had Popper remained healthy, he and my grandma wouldn't have been able to make the trip to my wedding. And it's disappointing that Popper never got to meet Ollie. Lord knows they told me enough how they wished I hadn't moved. But that was all because they wanted to be able to share in those moments even though they weren't necessarily inevitable and I know how happy and excited they were/are for me.

I'm fortunate to have had someone who supported me so much throughout my life. It's just a shame I didn't realize that I could have learned some valuable skills from him until I'd long-since moved. I know Popper would have enjoyed that time, too.

There's a strong possibility this doesn't entirely make sense. There are lots of thoughts running through my head and everything fits together in there just fine, but it may read a bit scattershot. I apologize if that's the case.