One Teacher to Another

We are all teachers.  With every action we take, we are teaching children how they should behave.  

We live in the city of San Francisco.  We walk downtown, we take the bus, and we drive in the city sometimes.  It's the holiday weekend and there are children on every street corner with an adult or sometimes with just another teen.  

As I was walking to work in the financial district today, I watched a woman get off the bus, and step into the street to cross on a red light.  There were kids standing on the corner watching her, clearly getting the message that it is okay to step into the street on a red light.  This was definitely a teaching moment, a moment that can change a child's life forever; that moment when they can't make a judgment call about how fast a car is approaching, or whether the driver is paying attention and will notice them in the street, or if someone will come around the corner and mow them down.  We owe it to our children to ensure they understand that adults who step out into the street on a red light are not leaders, and especially not leaders worth following.  

Luis was hit by a car 18 months ago.  He was in the crosswalk, on a green light, he was not distracted by anything.  Witnesses tell me he was doing everything correctly.  There is nothing more I could have taught him about being safe in the situation where a driver just mows through the crosswalk occupied by a child crossing the street.

It's difficult enough to prepare a child to be alone on the streets.  It's even more difficult to constantly be reminded just how many teachers are setting poor examples that need explaining. 

So the next time you are stepping into that street on a red light, or trying your best to use every known four letter cuss word as many times as possible in a conversation on the bus, or dropping your trash on the sidewalk, or pushing ahead in line, or any number of things that might possibly have bothered you when someone else was doing them, look around before doing so and see just who is watching you. 

I Don't Like Where This Adult Lesson is Going...

I'm asking myself a lot of questions today.  For instance, is it a sign of how much you care about someone that you will support them in choices that go against everything in which you believe?

In the early 90s, the US went off to war.  I remember Viet Nam, the way it affected friends and family.  I lost some of both, enlisted and officers; watched boys come home men; watched boys come home boys, never to grow up.  I saw men in their late 30s, who had young children, come home and commit suicide.  I couldn't find anything good about that war and I find nothing good about any wars our country has been involved in since.  I think that, in general, I'm just against war, the military.  I would prefer to see our military forces evolve into peace forces, one giant peace corp, where men would learn to make peace, regardless of what other countries are doing.  Why can't we be a leader among nations? Lead the way in peace! 

When my daughter was young, I went to a talk given by Ron Kovic and others.  They were advising how to gain conscientious objector status during a draft.  The advise was to raise your children as COs and to document it by taking them to protests, getting their pictures in the paper marching for peace, etc.  I did so, with both my kids. 

So, when a 30 something year old friend emailed me to let me know he had just joined the National Guard and would be shipping off to training in January, I had to lock all my words away.  I couldn't say any of the things I wanted to respond with in that moment.  I explained that I couldn't respond for fear of saying the wrong thing.  I guess you never truly know anyone else.  Military is not what I would have ever, ever, ever seen in this man's future.  EVER!!! 

I'm not sure I can be supportive, but how can I not be supportive?  I know there is a lesson in there somewhere, because I believe that's what life is, a series of lessons we need to successfully accomplish.  I guess I just have to believe that this man's choice has a higher purpose, that he will go forth and change the way in which our military operates, that he will be a force that moves our nation closer to peace making.  I suppose that this is just one more lesson this student has to be ready to accept.

May peace go with you Darren McGraw.

The Haircut

It's done.  The hair is gone.  I'm not sure how I feel about it yet.  I saved the initial cut.  I probably should have donated it, but I couldn't bear to part with it.  It's silly, I know.  I cried while I took pictures. 

He looks so handsome, so grownup.  But of course, he's always looked so handsome. 

This is the new hip cut with stylist Lori Talarico at Suite 5 in San Francisco.

A Big Day - A VERY Big Day!

Luis is 11 years old and he has never had a haircut, unless you count the time some kids in aftercare at school decided that he should have bangs.  Otherwise, he has the haircut God gave him.  His hair is very long; it hangs down just beyond his knees.  It's difficult for him to brush and wash.  He wets it every day in the shower and then pulls it back in a ponytail.  It hasn't been brushed in months, maybe four.  It feels like one big dreadlock from the crown of his head extending down about eight inches, like a beaver tail, a four inch wide mass of matted and twisted hair.  That's all about to change. 

He wants to get it cut.  It took three and a half hours to brush it out last night, a necessity unless he is going to shave his head, and he's not.  He's tired of "taking care" of it.  He spent Friday afternoon looking up hairstyles online and found the one he wants.  So I made an appointment for him.  Tomorrow is the big day. 

I've been grieving the loss of his hair.  My first boyfriend had long hair, his father had long hair, the musical Hair is one of my favorites.  I love long hair.  I love his long hair, God's haircut, it's beautiful.  I feel like it's part of who he is.  What if when the hair is gone, the Luis I know and love is gone, like Samson and his strength? 

I know, it's irrational.  I can't even allow myself to give the gift of his hair to Locks of Love.  It's his first haircut.  I want to save it.  It's special. 

I remember getting my first haircut at about age five.  My hair was long and my mom used to put it in finger curls, a lot of work for the mother of seven daughters.  I sat in that chair, watching my beautiful curls drop to the floor, and cried.  I hated my short hair.  I guess I fear he will hate his short hair and blame me. 

I know it will grow back, but he will never again be able to say "I've never had a haircut."

has it really been 56 years?

Time flies...that's what they say.  That never feels more true than when one of my kids has a birthday.  Eleven years ago at 2:06pm Luis, my son, entered this world.  He fought it hard through a 42 hour induced labor.  He changed my life forever, in ways I never thought possible.  Since that day, I've never fought harder.  

He has been the light of my life during these past eleven years.  I know that I have had to ask him to grow up much faster than he should have to, and I apologize for that.  I worry that our time together will be up much too soon, that I won't have had the time to teach him everything I want him to know to be a loving, kind, and compassionate adult; to appreciate the wonder of nature and the miracle of its persistance with all the obstacles we have managed to place in its path.  

As for Jessica, she was the light of my life during the thirteen years she was with me.  She is 31 now and I hope that as she continues her journey...well, I love her and wish her a beautiful future filled with hope.  Eyes open, looking forward.

I grew up during an era of intense change.  I've witnessed changes in the way people spend money and time, the way eating habits changed, the careless increase in waste, the race for bigger, faster, better, newer.  Little of it for the better.  Don't get me wrong, I participated in it with gusto at times.  But now, it is my time to change, to follow my own path, rather than the collective path I've so often travelled.  As I look back, there are several moments in my time that have influenced the path I now choose to follow.

The earliest was growing much of our own food when I was young, to age seven.  I cherish the memories of hot summer days, picking tomatos and eating them in the garden, warm, sprinkling them with salt from the little miniature salt shakers Mom gave us to put in our pockets.  There were also the apple trees; we would climb and sit in their boughs eating their fruits sprinkled with that same salt, and then finding the bright red sweet treasure in the strawberry beds.  The smells and colors of flowers so numerous, the house was always filled with stems beginning in the early spring with the burst of daffodils, lilies and tulips.  My favorites, then and now, were the bearded iris with their heavy sweet scent and velvety petals in shades of blue, purple, white, and yellow so deep and rich that you could get lost in them.  In the warm afternoons, we would roll down the gentle slopes to rest in their cool blades of long grass while chewing, tying, and braiding them.  Not to be forgotten were the grasshoppers we would catch and hold captive for the day in jars, replacing them with fireflies at night, and then waking to the symphony of birds and squirrels to begin a new day.  Today, when I hold a well used garden tool in my hands, I'm transported back to the basement and garage - the feel of the tools there, the wood handles rubbed smooth from years of use, the color bleached to a soft gray from the sun. 

Then there was the kitchen, the dominion of Mom.  I don't believe I have ever met a better cook in all of my 56 years.  We would harvest from the garden and Mom would turn it into a wonderfully simple and scrumptious meal.  I remember shelling peas and beans.  Bringing in bowls of apples, pears, rhubarb, and strawberries, all of which were turned into pies, jams, or just put up for winter.  The pantry and basement were filled with jars of the garden's bounty that were there to get us through the winter.  There were always bread, cinnamon rolls, cakes, cookies, pies, noodles, being made from scratch in that kitchen.  No boxed mixes during those early years. 

Over the following years, much of this changed as this nation changed the way it viewed food, agriculture, wealth, business, and its place in the world.  We changed with it moving to a nicer, newer house, shopping in grocery stores where everything was boxed or canned.  And Mom, she moved out of our kitchen and into the school kitchen to work for a few years.  We no longer grew much of our own food.  But I never forgot those days.  My good ol' days.

I found a copy of Barbara Kingsolver's Prodigal Summer in a used bookstore a few weeks ago.  I read it nine years ago and it had a profound effect on me then.  I'm reading it again, savoring each word.  It is affecting me as profoundly today as then, bringing these memories, the smells, the sounds to the surface, expanding the wealth of my world.  I read her Animal, Vegetable, Miracle last year with the same wonder and awe at our potential as humans on this planet.  Both bring out a desire to live a 'better' life for my children, for me, for humanity, for the planet.

I have a goal to raise most of our food in the next three years.  In this past year, we have abandoned the mainstream grocery for the farmers' markets and a food co-op.  We try to buy locally and seasonally.  We have begun to make our own butter using cream from a regional dairy and have gathered most of the eggs we've eaten from under local hens.  Our cupboard is filled with jars of heirloom tomatos and strawberry/raspberry jam that we put up this summer.  Last week I made a pie from scratch for the first time in over 30 years.  All really big changes in our lives.  I'm grateful to my sisters who shared my wonderous childhood.  I'm grateful to Barbara Kingsolver for writing from her heart to my heart.  I'm grateful to my parents who wanted to provide the best for us.

I want to provide for my children the way my parents provided for me.   I regret that I didn't do this many years ago for my daughter.  Hopefully, she will be inspired by my efforts.  I'm not sure my parents realized the enduring gift with which they were providing me during those early years.  I know I didn't.  If you are listening now Mom, Dad, thank you with all my heart. 

  

In The Beginning...

I was 24 and riding out a marriage to nowhere when I realized I was pregnant.  I remember thinking "maybe this will make it better."  It did, but not in the way I was thinking.  

I knew it was going to be special from the moment I felt that first flutter of movement.  As soon as she was out of the "oven", I knew I wanted another.  Eleven months later, I walked out the door with her to embark upon the path of single parenthood, to that "better".   

"Better" is not to say that it was easy.  I was a naive and young 26.  I went to high school in the 60s, which is to say that I did a lot of partying; had one year of college, at age 24; and had just started my first corporate job when I got pregnant.  I wanted to be a good mother and opted for the joint custody arrangement, shuffling back and forth every other day.  I left behind everything but an old Datsun, my clothing, a sewing machine, an old kitchen table with chairs, and a stereo.  I didn't want alimony, the traditional child support, or my share of the property.  Getting away was enough. 

My parents were a big help to me.  They would take my daughter for the weekend or week if I needed time for work or vacation.  I advanced quickly on my chosen career path and went back to college in my 30s, thanks to the help and support of a live-in boyfriend who for nine years was like a father to my daughter. 

I worked and mothered, day in, day out.  It was a joy.  I loved what I was doing on all counts, even when one or the other made me cry.  The other things I wanted to do, like travel, could wait.  My little girl wouldn't be little forever.  I was approaching 40 and didn't see another opportunity for more kids coming my way.  Hahaha!  I figured I might as well enjoy this one while I could.  I would travel later and do the "Shirley Valentine" thing.

My mother's piece of wisdom to me before she passed on - you give your children the best foundation you can. Teach them to be kind, compassionate, loving and caring.  Teach them to work hard, to do their best, to respect their elders and the opinions of others.  When they are ready to move on, let go.  Remember that the children you raise are not yours to keep and control, they are only with you so that you can teach them these things.  Give them a good foundation and they will come back to it.

So my daughter decided to leave at age 13.  I thought I would never get over the heartache, that I would never stop crying.  That's when my mother gave me those words of wisdom.  They come back to me whenever I feel the need to hold onto someone or something I need to let go.   I culled the lessons of non-attachment from those words. 

Thank you Mom.  I often share your words with others who want to know how I can love so deeply and still have the strength to graciously give others the space to move forward without me.

So I was alone at 40.  Well, not quite alone.  I had a new boyfriend, 17 years my junior, who was from Mexico.  We were going to travel together - a road trip across the country and then through Mexico and Central and South America.  We didn't make it, traveling or together.  I had to let him go also.  It was a difficult decision, but the right one.  But, I didn't make it out alone.

Four weeks later I realized I was pregnant.  That night I said goodbye - one last time, I remember thinking, then I'll walk out the door and never come back, never see him again.  I don't regret it.  It hasn't been easy; my parents aren't here to help me this time around.  And I was terrified!  Who has a second child, 20 years after the first, at age 45, as a single parent, with no family or other support system?  Me, I do, I did.  I even drove myself to the hospital and then home after my angel was born.  

Oh, I gave his father the opportunity to be involved.  But he wasn't interested.  So I have him all to myself.  Well, almost.  I've found my "village", my community of support.  I won't say I couldn't have done it without them, because I know I would have figured out a way.  Maybe I couldn't have done it as well without them.

Eleven years have passed.  My life has changed for the best since the day I first saw that little angel.  This is our story...