No. 212 – Dream for Him

Performer: Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young

Songwriter: David Crosby

Original Release: Looking Forward

Year: 1999

Definitive Version: CSNY Live 2-2-00, 2000.

I didn’t see my niece, Leah, a lot immediately after she was born in 2003, because I was living in Cleveland. It was pretty much only during the holidays.

When I moved back to Columbus in 2004, that changed. I saw Leah a lot until I moved to Chicago the next year. In fact, due to Shani’s crazy work schedule at the hospital, if Scott had something going, Uncle Will had to be called to the babysitting front lines a number of times.

On those occasions, that meant flying solo for most of if not the entire day, which meant all that that would entail—naptime, food time, dirty-diaper time, playtime, bath time and bedtime. It was no big deal; in fact, I kind of liked the routine when I took care of Leah.

It typically started in the afternoon when I’d arrive during naptime. When Leah woke up, I’d hear her over the monitor, not crying but playing. Scott and Shani said if she wasn’t crying to give her a little solo play time to get re-acclimated and then go get her. We’d do the diaper change and head downstairs.

Early on, Leah decided she didn’t like Uncle Will carrying her down the steps. This was a problem, because going down the steps by herself was a disaster waiting to happen. (Going upstairs wasn’t a problem, because she could crawl.) So I showed her a trick. If she sat down on her peaches and slowly slid down until she dropped to the next step, she could manage the steps herself.

Well, after that, she never wanted anyone to carry her downstairs. Instead, she’d say, “myself, myself” and do the butt slide. A few days after I left, Scott called. “Did you teach Leah to go down the stairs by herself?”

Uh oh. To resolve a temporary problem, perhaps I showed Leah something that Scott and Shani didn’t want her to know, because it could lead to problems. I might have overstepped my babysitter responsibilities. Well, I had to admit it. “Yeah.”

“My back says, ‘thank you.’ That’s so awesome.” Scott had messed up his back while living in his previous house, so hauling Leah around, which Scott wasn’t going to avoid doing, was painful. It turns out Uncle Will did a good thing.

Another good thing I did thanks to quick thinking: After naptime, if it was nice out, we’d go outside to play in the yard. The night of the Ohio State-Texas game just before I moved to Chicago in 2005, Leah toddled around with her buckets full of quarry stones that she collected from a little drainage ditch in Scott and Shani’s backyard.

At a nearby house, a couple of fans were playing some pregame cornhole when one made an errant toss and saluted the mistake with a loud “Dammit!” Not missing a beat, Leah immediately chimed in: “Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.” over and over again for about five minutes.

I did nothing. I thought if I called attention to the word in any way, Leah would learn that she could elicit a reaction by saying it. I figured that she eventually would get tired of saying the word, and it then would be forgotten. That was the way it played out, but, man, it was all I could do to not crack up.

When it got dark or was nasty out, playtime would be inside. Leah was big into puzzles and learning her alphabet. She also was into TV, and TV where Leah was concerned meant Noggin exclusively. “Watch Oswald? Watch Oobi?” she’d ask. Sometimes she’d watch, and sometimes it was just background noise. Leah would play a little bit, then watch a little bit.

Sometimes she’d ask for juice; other times she’d ask for “a blahlala, a blahlala.” I’d fix her a blahlala, cutting it into small pieces that she’d haul around as finger food and pop into her mouth when she saw fit.

At dinner time, we switched to music, so as to not distract from the task at hand. Leah’s love of salmon comes directly from Uncle Will. After she started eating real food, her dinners consisted of hot dogs and other kiddie staples. But one night, I made teriyaki salmon and stir-fired vegetables for myself and gave Leah some of my salmon to try. She polished it off and asked for more.

That prompted another phone call the following week: “Would you please send Shani your recipe for teriyaki salmon? Leah’s been asking for it nonstop.”

After dinner, Leah and I would play a little more before it was time to get ready for bed. That meant a bath most nights and then a “bottie” of warm soy milk as Leah sat in her miniature foamy recliner with the lights turned down low and whatever Noggin show was on the DVR that Leah hadn’t seen during the day. (Noggin programming ended at 6.)

I got into all the Noggin shows, particularly Oswald, which was like watching Bob Ross—soothing, sweet and ultimately entertaining. Leah’s favorite wasn’t even a show. It was the music videos that appeared between the shows, which featured Dan Zanes or Laurie Berkner singing fun kids songs.

I’ll never forget one night, as Leah reclined in her chair with her bottie, the musical introduction started, but the video wasn’t Dan Zanes or Laurie Berkner but one to promote a new Australian show, 64 Zoo Lane.

Leah let the bottie slip out of her mouth, turned to me, frowned and emitted the sweetest cry of utter disappointment ever heard. “Ohhhoooohhh!” She had just learned a valuable but painful life lesson: You don’t always get what you want, and not even Uncle Will can make it right.

Finally, it would be time to take Leah up to bed. Sometimes she fought—briefly—but never for very long before I’d gather her up. She’d say “night-night” to Sammy, Molly, Kirby and “the shishies” in the aquarium. Then we’d head upstairs where she’d give Uncle Will a final “night-night” and kiss.

During those days, I had this song about raising a child in today’s complicated world constantly running through my mind. Taking care of Leah was as close as I’ll ever come to doing that. I have another niece and a nephew now, but Leah was the only one I babysat for any length of time, so I feel a special bond with her.

She turned 10 this year, and she’s a great kid. I don’t know how much I ultimately had to do with that, but I’d like to think I did in some small way. For sure, she had a positive influence on me. Leah—and Maile—taught me the importance of giving without any expectation of receiving anything back. That’s real love.