Then Again - Diane Keaton [78]
Almost two years after her diagnosis, she still volunteered at the cancer thrift shop, where she put my wardrobe from The First Wives Club on prominent display in the window. She visited Robin in Georgia. She built a tack house for Dorrie in Tubac. She kept her friends. It’s true our conversations centered on my concerns, like Dexter’s oral fixations. Why did she keep sucking her dirty stuffed cow instead of a clean pacifier—which, by the way, I had doubts about too. Just the word pacify was not indicative of a healthy sense of self-esteem. Mom concurred while pointing out Dexter’s more serious problem: eating sand. Might it have something to do with her formula? Maybe it was time to switch from Nutramigen to soy.
I began to write letters to Dexter about her development, including my concerns with her oral fixations (it takes one to know one). But there were also themes hopefully crossing the barriers of our fifty-year age gap, sort of explanations and apologies pertaining to who I am. It was my way of preserving Mother’s legacy and a sense of carrying it on with my new family.
Dear Dexter, 1998
I named you Dexter Deanne Keaton for several reasons. I wanted a D name because of your grandmother Dorothy, your aunt Dorrie, and your mother, me, Diane. Dexter is short for dexterous, good with your hands. It also means adroit, proficient, shrewd, and wily. I gave you the middle name Deanne because your Grammy Dorothy’s middle name is Deanne. I also named you Dexter because I like the sound. It has weight. I like the fun abbreviations, as in Dexie, Dex, Dext, or even DeeDee. The choice of Dexter also relates to Buster Keaton, a great clown of the silent films, and Dexter Gordon, who was an influential tenor sax jazz musician. Maybe you’ll be funny. Maybe you’ll love music. I hope you like your name. If you don’t, you can change it later. I changed mine to Keaton because it’s your grandmother’s maiden name. I believe people evolve into who they want to be. In a way you create who you are.
Here’s a bone of contention. More often than not, people come up to me and say, “Is that your granddaughter?” Dexter, I’m sorry I’m a Grammy-aged mother. I know it’ll be a burden. But maybe you can turn it into a plus. I’m sure there will be some serious bumps on the road, but I’ll try to keep up with your point of view, and I promise to listen. Maybe that way we’ll find a common ground. Aunt Robin and Dorrie are considerably younger, so if anything were to happen to me they’ll take care of you. I regret you don’t have a father, not even a father figure, but who knows, things could and do change. I’m sorry. When I get too long in the tooth to take care of myself, I assure you I will not be a burden. You’ll have your independence, just as Mother gave me mine. In return, let’s cut a deal: promise me you’ll be the kind of woman who has empathy for the plight of others. I’m not asking you to wear your heart on your sleeve. I’m asking you to try and put yourself in someone else’s shoes and understand what it might feel like. You’ve been given privilege. It’s a responsibility you have to live up to by being even more aware of what it’s like not to be so fortunate. Stay human, sweetie, stay human.
Dexter, you’re a brown-haired, brown-eyed three-year-old girl. Carol Kane says, “Ooh no, no, no, she’s not a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl, Dexter’s got hazel eyes and strawberry-blond hair.” Kathryn Grody says you’re an out-and-out blonde. Color-blind Bill Robinson claims it’s red. “She’s got red hair, with green eyes.” Green eyes? All I can tell you is, they’re dead wrong. They want you to be their fantasy of an adorable little princess. They’re making up a future you that fits their agenda. Even Mom betrayed her own sensibilities by declaring, “Dexter is a