Keeping Up with the Kids (or, The Children Really Are All Right)

     These are our children.

   A collective assortment--some with talent still untapped, many with gifts yet to be unwrapped, a few with intellect that surpasses that of those twice their age, and all with the desire to learn.  

   To learn.

   In the small, rural school setting, our children practice  on county roads for cross country meets, avoiding snakes and rabbits. Our children line up on the field in a six-man football game, on a track for a 400m relay, or at a concession stand window to take orders. They wear  make-up and costumes in one-act plays and boots and starched jeans/shirts for stock shows of FFA judging contests.  

     To learn.

     After late-night-two-nights a week basketball games, they get up early (as in 5 a.m. early) to ride on a bus to speech and academic meets.  After those meets, our children find their second wind and talk all the way home just to keep their sponsor awake.  They talk about music and taco stands and what homework is due on Monday after their very, very short weekend.

     To learn.

    More often than not, our students have academic coaches who  

One of our children--the one who taught himself Computer Science--
 whose mother was also one of
our UIL children in the late 1990s.

are not experts in the contests in which these students participate.  Rather than gripe and complain, they choose to  own their education with independent study, research, and practice in order to learn.

     Our children meet students from other schools who may be competitors but are mostly comrades.  Friendships among students from other schools of all sizes, those based first on respect, are a trademark highlight of many of our students, especially those who compete in speech and debate.  They revel in the fact that   

 they have finally found others like themselves--the ones who want to score the touchdown on Friday night but also want to read Poetry on  Saturday morning. They are introduced to open minds and rational argumentation.  They  often forget their awards on the bus because the medals and ribbons  are not the day's highlights--it is the experience 

of learning.

     Finding their niche--from their fashion sense to their choice of extracurricular events--our children are searching for 

and finding answers.... and then asking even more questions so they can learn.

     Whether individual or group, our children come to understand the necessity of a balanced work ethic--a mantra that insists upon the principle that it is possible and preferable to have fun and to reap joy in the pursuit of knowledge.  Because work and fun can go hand in hand when it is fun to learn.

    

The two on the right have
fathers who were also "our children."

Our children sometimes grow up to become our bosses. Sometimes our children  have children of their own who will take old sponsors down memory lane as they see the child in the parent....and smile because the parent made it a priority for his son or daughter to learn.

After teaching the "child" in the middle over 35 years ago,
I now refer to him as Mr. Principal.  The sponsor on the
right is married to another former student.

    

                     As seasons of events end and new ones begin, we witness our children moving from one arena

to another, their mental and physical stamina far greater than ours.   From a baseball or softball diamond to a eight-lane track and then on to a stage or podium or court, our children are our noblest investment. From them, we learn. 

"The best thing for being sad," replied Merlin, "is to learn something.  That's the only thing that never fails.  You may grow old and trembling in our anatomies....you may miss your only love, you may see the world about you devastated by evil lunatics, or know your honour trampled in the sewers of baser minds. There is only one thing for it then--to learn. Learn why the world wags and what wags it. That is the only thing which the mind can never exhaust, never alienate, never be tortured by, never fear or distrust, and never dream of regretting.  Learning is the only thing for you.  Look what a lot of things there are to learn." -- T. H. White, The Once and Future King

Dear Erma Bombeck, Wherever You Are

Dear Mrs. Bombeck,

I realize that I neglected to write you this letter while you were still alive.  Totally my bad.  Please accept my apologies for this oversight; there is enough belief in the system to know that somewhere, somehow, someway you are going to read this overdue thank you and not return it unopened. 

Your syndicated column appeared in the area newspaper that the Sullivan Family received in its flower bed or wet lawn or rock garden (anywhere but the porch) every morning:  The Abilene-Reporter News.  The only part of the paper I would read was the sports section because, back then, sports sections covered more local athletic events.  I knew who quarterbacked the Cooper Cougars and the Abilene High Eagles as well as the Sweetwater Mustangs and my hometown, the Snyder Tigers.  I knew those quarterbacks' parents' names, if they were in the National Honor Society, and how much they weighed.    I read line scores for basketball, the box scores for baseball, as well as golf's leaderboards (always skimming for Arnold's finish).

It was somewhere during the junior high years that your writing entered my arena.  My mother (my mother of five children aging from 0-12)  was often at her wit's end by the end of the day.  As it turned out, that was the name of your column.  You gave my mother a voice!  Now she could laugh at herself instead of losing what was left of her mind when it came to matters of laundry, cooking, child-rearing, and her favorite:  housecleaning.  When you wrote, "My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance,"  I could just see my mother's shoulders relax and hear a soft sigh.   After that, Mother would just stare into the living room piled with kids on the sofa or sprawled on the floor mesmerized by The Three Stooges, Lost in Space,  or Mighty Mouse.  We got it.  Mom was in a zone, surveying her domain, and feeling much better about this new method of tidying up.   Overall, we were happy that our mother had found peace, even though her glance became a trance at times, and we would have to get Shane to stand on the bar stool and snap his little fingers at her to bring her back from wherever she had gone.  (probably a lawn chair in the garage, with a margarita, crossword puzzle, and five books).

Mom would not be the only one appreciative of your column's sound advice.  We voted recently at a mini-family reunion held online and agreed unanimously that "No one has ever died from sleeping in an unmade bed."  We used that line......once.  Dad just wasn't as amused as Mother.

You were a writer, a mother, a wife and you were funny--but even humor had its balance.  It would not be until years later that I understood that "it takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else."   

I think I'm writing to tell you thanks now because you made our mother laugh.   Even as a child, there was something safe and reassuring about hearing her get tickled--sometimes hysterically and sometimes muffled with a smile, on days she was really tired.  She was really tired. A lot.

Mother will celebrate her 85th birthday soon. Her children still usually make their beds.  Her grandchildren, who knows?  But, their Nana/MaMaw could care less.  She knows what matters, and I feel certain she knew in the 1960s and 1970s--she just felt compelled to do what housewives did then often just to keep up appearances.  Somehow, a clean home equated to being a good mother.  (Not that a clean home means someone is NOT a good mother, and Lillie would be the first to attest).

What you were trying to accomplish all those years ago worked.  You reassured mothers that their identities went beyond clean linens and dustless window sills. You granted them clearance to spend more time being the comforter, the mediator, the audience, the healer of hearts, the sounding board, and the believer of dreams.  Our mother took you to heart--times five--as she performed those tasks so effortlessly though it took a great deal of strength to be Mother to Scotty, Sue Jane, Sara, Shane, and Sabrina.  

Beginning in 1954 until she gave birth for the last time in 1966, Mother (and Dad) wanted to bring five little Sullivans into this world.  Each time was different; and, yet each the same.  "Giving birth is little more than a set of muscular contractions granting passage of a child. Then the mother is born." You were right about that--our mother was born anew each and every visit to  Root Memorial Hospital.

Her children plan to have her around for many more years--as far as we're concerned, she's on a lifetime warranty. We take her in for the occasional tune-ups to get her running smoothly.  A few minor repairs here and there, but overall she's wearing the mileage well.  The day will come though, and Mother has already given permission for humor to be present when we say good-bye, yet another indicator that you, Mrs. Bombeck, used your talents well.

At that appointed time, it will only be fitting that our mother be honored the way you wanted to be remembered:

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and I could say, I used everything that you gave me."

for Mother and Erma, my maternal heroes

Check Plus

There are just times when my joy level spills over.  

While looking at these photos on my wall and credenza tonight, the dam broke. 

I was paying bills--which is seldom on my joy radar--when I got up to dig through a drawer to find a receipt. Muttering at my filing system (it's a drawer, for Pete's sake, so I just throw things in there and call it good), I glanced up and saw these three faces.

A review of my life's major moments reflected back at me:

--married, check

--got a job, check

--had children, check

--prepared delicious meals often, no check

--entertained socially, checked out

--made the best homemade Butterfinger ice cream ever, oh yeah check

--took care of my money, overdrawn check

--grew a garden once, check
--smoked a cigar, check
--got a tattoo, check
--wished I could get rid of that tattoo, check
--witnessed someone take his last breath, check minus
--heard three first breaths, check plus

Emily (top), her daughter/ my granddaughter Lillie (middle), and my firstborn Julie (bottom) are those three.

Isn't it wonderfully ironic that the ordinary miracle of birth, which happens over 350,000 times a day on this planet, has the power to take our breath away.

Breathtaking.  That's it.  These three, two of whom are now very much past the two-teeth stage, still move me in a way nothing or no one else can do--even when I'm sending Honda Financial Services a car payment.

As it should be, stopping in the midst of the mundane to remember that baby days are fleeting.  Stopping while logged in to www.allstate.com to smile at how fortunate I  have been to grow older with these babies-no-more.  Stopping to look into these faces and knowing those smiles came so naturally.

Checkmate.