And This Too Shall Pass

As parents, I think we always want our children to be happy. For their lives to be like fairy-tales with white picket fences and perfection that we were somehow never really able to achieve.  I mean we’re all okay and we made it; we’ve had some bumps along the way, but we also had some beautiful, intelligent children and we want their roads to be slick as glass for smooth sailing.

Well the fact is, their lives will be just like ours. Sometimes good, sometimes awful and heart-breaking, and many times, unexpected. They will have losses, disappointments, failures, and complicated circumstances; because we created human beings, not robots. They have blood running through their veins, not wires and electricity. They cry crocodile tears, lose red-hot tempers, and scream with raucous joy.

I raised my children to be fearless, to understand the strength and importance of a good education, and to never settle for less than what they believe in. To believe that the truth was the only way to live, and nothing less should be given or accepted. To never be afraid to stand-up when everyone else is sitting down, and to speak your mind and your heart with respect, giving the words the reverence they deserve when you deliver them.

I also taught them that life is not always fair, we don’t always win, and we don’t always get what we think we deserve. That there are three sides to every story, one-side / the other side / and the whole side; and that when it’s their turn to recite the side that belongs to them, they should be able to honor and uphold the words that they speak.

Sadly, though they do their best to live the way they were raised, they cannot control outside circumstances that intertwine within their constructed walls / boundaries. This can result in blind-sided pain and hurt that no words I could have ever said would have prepared them for in the end. We as people who love and trust, always depend on the system of honor whether it is reciprocated or not.

But that’s the thing here, we’re ALL human’s; we’ll make mistakes in judgment, have thoughts in retrospect, and have many visions of hind-sight that we can never regain. So in those situations, I urge them to stand strong, hold their head up, and take the high road; I recite every single solitary cliché that I can, to make them understand that to lower their standards to feel better is never the answer.

I have heard that saying “You can’t go home again” more times than I can count; well you can come home again. Home is family and love, and it’s where you go when you need to know that the people who loved you the most, always will.  It’s a place to heal and feel safe and no matter what, both of my boys / men should always know, that my home is right where their heart belongs, because it’s right where their hearts were born. 

Breaking Bread, Break The Silence

As we sat around the breakfast bar this morning, and I listened to the Sunday morning ramblings, my mind drifted back to the Sunday mornings of long ago. When I was growing up, both of my parents worked, but during the week, no matter how tired my mama was, we almost always had a sit-down supper, having take-out for supper was so rare, I barely even remember it.

Breakfast on school days was cereal of some kind and a nasty chewable vitamin. For years, I ate the cereal but tossed that vitamin to the base of an old pecan tree in our back yard; that tree should live to be a million years old. Saturday mornings were pretty causal for breakfast too, as that was yard and house cleaning day. 

But Sunday morning breakfast, now that was a big deal. Whether we all sat down together any other time or not, we sat down together on Sunday mornings. Both my parents were great cooks, so it alternated who would be the chef each week, and we would have different variations of breakfast. My Daddy liked to cook fried eggs, bacon and real cut-up French fried potatoes. I believe my Mama's favorite was oatmeal, the real kind, not that one-minute mess; with condensed milk and sugar added in and pattied sausage.

It is the same in my own house now; Sunday morning breakfast is the best meal of all. I cook a big meal and we all sit down together. This morning I cooked oatmeal for me and my son, and as I watched him eat his oatmeal, taking his spoon and running it around the edge of the oatmeal on his plate; I remembered teaching him how to do that when he was a little boy, as my Mama had taught me, because the middle is always too hot.

Times change, or maybe people change and/or are different, but my eating tables have always been the place to unite. And for the nights I am just too tired or my mouth has run out of words, I let my family take over and bring me back to life with their stories and laughter.

Last Fall I bought a new dining table that would hold all of our family, my parents and partners of my children. So now during holidays or special occasions, when everyone is here and we’re all sitting together, good gracious at the laughter and conversation that goes on.

Cherish these times folks, don't lose yourselves in silence and call it comfortable. Taking the time to make conversation is taking the time to show your interest and love. And we all want to know, that what we have to say and how we feel, is something someone is waiting to hear. Enjoy your children and their conversations about their days at school, work, boyfriends and girlfriends; the test they could have done better on, or their nervousness about cheerleader or football tryouts. Believe me, it’s too late to wish those conversations back when they’re grown and gone.

The Moms Of Fall

It’s that time of year again ladies, and there is something a little different about being a football mom. I've been a baseball mom and a basketball mom, and while I loved all of those sports, and I loved to watch my son play all of those sports, none of them made me feel quite like I did during football season. Maybe it's a mixture of the smell in the air, the smell of the boys, and the crashing of the pads. 

Or maybe it's just the free license, the free pass, to holler like a maniac. To stand up in a crowd and holler as loud as I wanted and not really be noticed. To let a few saucy words slip when the referees are OBVIOUSLY calling for the OTHER side. Because in a crowded football stand, loaded down with people, it's not near as noticeable when you holler out things at your kid like "Boy, if that #45 hits you again like that, you'd better get you some!"

Try that in a gymnasium during basketball season; they carry sound and echo incredibly loud. It is unbelievable how loud you can sound when you're hollering at your kid, that's the third time he's been caught traveling; all eyes turn to the crazy woman/mama in the crowd.  Yes sir, it took me a few weeks to get the feel of basketball. Football season always ran smack into basketball season and I guess I just couldn’t downshift that fast. There's some hollering that goes on, but its dignified hollering and not much carrying on at the referees. They're right there, on the floor, where they can identify the rude parent who is calling them names. They come to the edge of the court, make eye contact with you, and you feel ashamed; for calling them "blind as bats, don't you know a foul when you see one? What's he gotta do, knock my kid unconscious for you to see it?!"

And because baseball is the gentleman's sport, it tends to be pretty quiet on baseball fields. Parents are "talking" to their kids through the mesh fence, but not too loud, they don't want to break their concentration. You don't holler at your kid when he's up at bat, he's in a zone, and you don't want to holler at him coming off the field, because he dropped the ball, you could mess up his mojo. Even though, since he's dropped three balls by now, you doubt you could really hurt his "mojo". 

Fall and football season are upon us. And as with every new season, there are new moms who are welcomed to the fold, and “retired” moms who will still attend to cheer the fellas on. I’ve already seen a few pictures of my son’s high school alma mater, training young men and getting ready for the season; and that’s a mighty fine-looking 2014 team. I can’t wait to see them in action! So come on out to Corry Field and join us! 

When The Bough Breaks

Admittedly, when my first child was born and riding around in vehicles, the air bag had not been created yet, and there were no rulings or laws about children being in car seats in only the back seat. Everywhere we went, he was sitting beside me, facing away from the window, I could see his little face, and we talked.

Once my second child was born, although air bags were now in the newer model vehicles, I still had my same old vehicle that had none. By then the laws had changed and my second born would ride in the back as instructed but could face forward because I had no airbags; and we would talk. I could see him clearly in my rear-view mirror and he learned how to see me as well.

There was never a ride, to or from work, or anywhere else that I was not carrying on a conversation with my children. I don’t care if they were one year old or four, I would sing and I would talk and if they were old enough, they were talking back. That was our special alone time with each other; either before our day began or when it was winding down.

So forgive me if I find it so unbelievable how anyone could not know that their child is still in the vehicle; the same child that they strapped down in a car seat and rode whatever amount of time to their destination. How in the world can that possibly happen? What was the parent doing all that time? What could have possibly been so important that they completely forgot the human being that was still sitting in the vehicle, the same one they just locked up and walked off from?

Are we so preoccupied with our favorite song on the radio, talking on our cell phones, listening with our ear buds, reading text messages at red lights, or the presentation we have to give at work today, that we have forgotten about what should be the most precious to us of all?

And now someone has created an application for your cell phone to REMIND you to get your child out of the car? Really? Those cell phones are what is wrong with us now if you ask me. We use them for every single life event there is, no wonder our minds can’t remember anything, we have a noise-maker strapped to our hip that goes off to alert us of every little thing in life we should be able to remember on our own; doctor’s appointments, to take our medicine, our tee-time, and now, when to get your child out of the car-seat you strapped them into.

If it helps one mother or father remember, then something good will have come out of it and God bless who invented it. But my question is this: what have we come to that we have such a hard time remembering there is another human being in our presence? Does anyone have an answer?     

Strolling Down Butterfly Lane

I always thought I was from the South. I was born in the South, raised in the South and I still live in the most Southern located state that there is; Florida. But living at the furthest point does not make you Southern. It doesn’t make you speak with a stronger southern dialect, it doesn’t make you swoon with larger vapors, nor does it mean that you will ever drink mint julep tea in your entire life. 

I went “home” with my husband this weekend to Turbeville, South Carolina. The southern tongue spoken here has a swagger that I can barely imitate. The slickness of the drawl and roll of the tongue is such that it’s unimaginable that there is ever a harsh word spoken here.

Even the land that is swallowed by corn fields, tobacco fields, cotton fields, and soybean fields have a grace about them that cannot be denied. The rows, one by one times a million, are straight as an arrow, lining every field, on every paved and dirt road. Some are plotted with family homes off to the side or the far back, and some are simply empty fields except for the product they bear.

Road after rough asphalt road have been tagged with names that ironically drip with southern softness; Butterfly Lane and Puddin’ Swamp Road. The stories that these old back-roads could tell if they could talk; well there is just no end to the wondering.

I’m not sure what the state tree for South Carolina is but it needs to be the Crepe Myrtle. I did not pass one yard, one business, one median, or one field that did not have multi-colored Crepe Myrtles lining driveways, property lines or growing wild in the fields. I mean huge, full-grown trees with wide-legged trunks and 30ft wide girths of blooms cross-wise. Just amazingly beautiful landscaping as we drove back and forth across two counties for the last three days.

Their historical districts are just glorious. Old homes with wrap around porches and rockers galore. American flags perched on the corner of each porch stoop and gardenia’s blooming and smelling-up lawns all the way to the sidewalks like freshly spilled perfume. Multi-colored Lantana lining the flower beds and sprinkled around like bursts of sunshine in some of the more obscure areas of each lawn.

I came to South Carolina to see family. Family that wasn’t originally mine by blood, but is now mine by marriage and by love. I spent the last three days eating meals, attending a baby shower, sharing fellowship, stories and laughter. My grand at the laughter; that loud, guffawing laughter that can only come with people who love one another and their shared faults and shortcomings. 

But what I also found here thru the eyes of my husband was his childhood, his memories and his life before me.  Learning his life through his stories only makes me wish I could turn back the hands of time, and found him sooner, so I could have loved him longer. 

Follow Your Heart

Last weekend, my husband and I went shopping for our great-grandbaby. The saleswoman who was tallying up my items commented on my purchases. I’m guessing that since not only am I not pregnant, I also don’t look like anyone who is going to be anytime soon; which lead to the question of who was I buying for today. I told her the items were for our soon to be great-grandson.  I noticed she was looking at me rather oddly, and now I am guessing/hoping that she was wondering how in the world I could be a great-grandmother.

I took the time to explain my bonus family and as I did so, I could see the cloud of questions in her eyes disappear; as if it all began to make more sense now. She began to tell me how much our lives were going to change, and that it was amazing how much joy grandchildren can bring; that for a short time, they can seemingly make you forget all your troubles. She then said she herself was going to have some lab work done in the next week or so; a stress test, to make sure all was working right. She laughed, and said her husband asked her what in the world she had to be stressed about and she said she just looked at him, and left that question unanswered.

To me she then said, “They never know what burdens we carry or how much we worry and fret. I called my cousin the other day and asked her to pray for me.  I told her I wasn’t even sure what she needed to pray for, but to please just pray.”

I looked into her eyes and saw myself. I saw the pain she has no idea from where it comes, and the hurt that she cannot explain because although both feel physical, they are not. I responded that life is hard and that I was just saying the other day; that I always thought it was supposed to get easier the older we got, not harder. And as I said those words, I had the strongest urge to give this stranger, this woman who I had never met before, a hug that might possibly bring her peace. I felt like maybe both she and I at that moment, needed human contact and caring from someone who owed us nothing, with no obligations, just because we simply felt like doing it.

I’ve had a lot of those experiences lately. The kind that leave me wondering were these happenings, these people, placed in my path for a reason? And also wondering, why so much now, and not in years past? Or was I given these same experiences/gifts before and ignored them.

I didn’t hug that woman that day, and I still really felt like I should have. Hindsight is so rarely any help; mostly just wishes of different results. The world needs more positive actions, not delayed reactions; and I need to work on that myself. 

Small Town USA

You know those Fourth of July celebrations that you see in the movies or portrayed on television? The ones that start early in the morning with moon-pie eating contests, three-legged / potato sack races, children’s bike-running races, water-balloon / tossing-egg races, and food; all kinds of food cooking on outside grills and smokers for miles around. Everybody happy and laughing, enjoying one another’s company and knowing every third person you run across. Well, all of my life, THAT’S what I’ve been looking for; what I wanted to believe existed.

My children and I moved to the Sawdust community the week before the 4^th of July in 1998. The only people I knew were fellow employees; and they were all kind enough to invite us to come to the fireworks show at the local Greensboro High School. Well I’ll tell you, judging from my own past experiences, I really wasn’t expecting much. 

We drove to the school in my 1987 red Chevrolet Blazer. All I could see was rows and rows of cars and trucks, lined up facing the football field. The trucks all had their tailgates down, and lawn chairs standing up in the beds of the trucks or down below surrounding them.  Children of all ages were everywhere, their clothes screaming red, white and blue; running with lit sparklers, and waving miniature flags on sticks, carefree and happy. Which brings the question: where else in the world can you really let your kids run and roam at will with no worries anymore?

The aroma of hot dogs and boiled peanuts waffled through the air. People were visiting from one vehicle to the next, hugging and greeting old friends. Music was playing in the background, and then, the singing began; Stu Parsons and the Small Change Band. My goodness what a show they put on; that old timey singing that I only ever remembered hearing on TV shows like Hee Haw back in the day.

The darkness continued to close in and the skydivers flew in and dropped to their knees on the infield with the American Flag flowing in the air behind them. People rose to their feet, hands over their hearts, singing the National Anthem loud and clear; followed by cheering, clapping and loud whistles.  At the first shimmering burst of colored bling in the sky; there was no other sound but the ooh’s and aah’s whispered from the darkness.  We sat cloaked in the feeling of a hometown that we never imagined existed, and yet still, like we had been here all of our lives.

Sounds a lot like Mayberry doesn’t it? Well it’s not, but it’s pretty darn close. Everybody should experience that kind of 4^th of July at least once in their lives; we’ve now experienced it for many.  The appreciation for your freedom, family, and independence will never feel stronger; I can promise you that. 

God bless the servicemen and servicewomen who protect us and our privilege of all freedoms. God Bless the United States of America.