Paperwork: Oh, genie in the magic lamp, grant me this strange wish

I’ve been thinking about my parents.

Not the parents I knew, but the mom and dad I did not know.

I know a lot about my parents from my growing years and their grandparent years. Their values, standards and expectations were always pretty clear. Bits of their history were shared over time with stories that were repeated over and over. And they would answer questions if asked.

But I usually saw them in their role as parents. It was fascinating to see photos of Dad when he was in the Navy or Mom from her high school days, but those people were before and mysterious.

Mom and Dad are both gone but I still wonder about the parents I never knew.

They both had tough childhoods, but I wonder what that meant on a day-to-day basis. They were young and probably did stupid things like we did as kids. I wish I knew all about those stupid things.

Well, that wish turned into a crazy thought … about that magic lamp made famous in many a story. The one with the genie inside who billows out in a cloud of smoke after a few rubs. And then suddenly you are granted three wishes.

Ha. Be careful what you wish for, right? But I didn’t wander into the fairy tale too far. I was just thinking about my parents.

I came up with this wish: Let me remember my first year, when I was a baby seeing the world and my parents for the first time.

I think it was the flash of an image on TV that triggered these crazy thoughts – me seeing a mother holding her baby, skin to skin. You could feel mother and child melding through the warmth and tenderness of touch.

That moment, that magic of nature, that connection, would be wonderful to remember.

I do recall when my mother’s touch was healing and comforting. And those later years when hugs were an important way to give back.

But give me that lamp. I wish to see and hear those two humans who brought me into this world.

They were so young. Dad, 21, was still living with memories of war and the Battle of Okinawa and diving under tables at the sound of any loud, sharp bang. Mom was bumping 21, learning what it meant to be a wife and now a mother.

I see them happy, stretched out on a bed with me wiggling between them. They are gently poking my nose and letting my tiny fingers grip theirs, making gibberish sounds in that squeaky baby talk voice.

And talking to each other. About me. You know, how cute I am. Who I look like? Will I be president someday? What do they tell me in that first year? How do they teach me to walk?

I must have changed their lives. What were their plans, their dreams? The parents I came to know began to form and slowly discard the kids they were.

They spent so many years caring for me and my sister who came into the picture 15 months later. They gave. They sacrificed. I wonder how many times they did what they had to do – and not what they wanted to do.

That first year. All those diapers and me wailing at all hours and their focus of every day. Yeah, babies are hard work.

But that first year had to be amazing. Imagine if I could see it now. Every single moment with those two special people. Stan and Helen slowly becoming Mom and Dad.

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.