Gone but apparently not forgotten

Matt, Danny and Andrew on Danny's Communion day

Have you ever had something occur in the past – that you’d prefer to bury there – come back to haunt you years later?

My ex-husband is my middle nephew’s Godfather.  Danny is in second grade, and several months back, was readying to make his First Communion.  As part of the preparation, he had to learn about his baptism, so one night my sister pulled out memorabilia including commemorative certificate and candle with names of witnesses from this very special day.

“(Insert ex’s name here).  Who’s that?” he asked my sister.

“Well … he was a … friend…,” my sister awkwardly sputtered.

“Oh nooooooo you didn’t, Daniel.  Don’t ever utter that name in this house again,” my semi-type-A 12-year-old nephew Matt said.

“Where is he now? What happened to him?” Dan asked.

That’s when my sister opted for the simple truth. She explained the circumstances as best she could, and in true 8- and 7-year-old fashion Danny and his brother Andrew cavorted around repeating his name in singsong.

“Why did Aunt Zan get divorced?” Danny later inquired.

“Because he wasn’t her soul mate and Uncle Matt is,” Matt said.

His reply touched my heart and I concluded it was a poignant way to end the discussion.

Until recently.

My sister and brother-in-law headed out for a much-deserved dinner away from the kids. I started looking through family pics only to have Danny, Andrew, Cat and my hubby join in. That’s when it started all over again.

Andrew discovered a photo from his parents wedding nearly 15 years ago.

“Hey, it’s Aunt Zan and she looks really young.  Who’s this guy?” he asked.

Danny leaned over and took a look.

“Oh no, it’s … (insert ex’s last name)!”

The chant briefly commenced.

My poor husband, with them at the time, was forced to endure the torture.

“But he’s my Godfather and I’m going to meet him one day,” Danny definitively stated.

“But what did he do to Aunt Zan?” Andrew asked.

“He was mean and hurt her,” my husband said.

“Did he make her cry?” Andrew asked.

“Yes.”

Both boys looked at each other, then the picture once more, and said in unison, “BOOOOOOOOOOOO!  Get out of here,” and with that threw it into the hallway.

I can’t help but laugh at their curiosity. Six years ago, I would have been crushed.

How different my life is now.

There’s no greater antidote to pensive memories than family love and loyalty – especially when it’s as innocent – and certain - as that.

Be not afraid

We all fear something in life – for some it’s snakes, others hair loss.  Or maybe it’s something much deeper like losing a job or even someone you love. In fact, I think most of us have worried about these two things somewhere along the way.

But what I’m referencing is a tad more superficial. I happen to detest taking to the skies. It has nothing to do with the actual height factor – I try not to think of that altogether.  Like Meg Ryan’s character Kate in “French Kiss” I drift to my happy place after an adult beverage or two, let go and let God. Is it so wrong to put a life preserver on immediately after boarding?

The reality is, as I’m sure my hubby will attest: I have control issues. The idea of someone else at the reins while I sit back and await my fate is maddening.  What if I need to put on the brake or steady the ship when turbulence hits?

In some ways, I live in a bubble. I tell myself when flying domestic I’m over lots of land – no need for a Sully Sullenberger maneuver in case of an emergency. And truly, how long does it actually take to descend from 21,000 feet?

Other irrational thoughts can fester as the clock slowly ticks away: Would we ever hit a mountain peak, a la “Alive” and have to survive on rations … or even each other? Are we truly off the radar for hours over the Atlantic without a soul monitoring our aircraft? And has S.O.S. equipment advanced beyond wireless telegraphs?

My most comforting flight probably was coming back from Montreal when I had the luxury of sitting next to a pilot for Air Canada – no, not in the cockpit – he was my seatmate/savior, and we were entrusted with opening the emergency exit door, should the need arise.  Without waiting for him to ask, I confided my fear of flying. I’m sure he was thrilled to act as my personal therapist for an hour after having just flown in from another city himself.  Yet he graciously reminded me of his extensive training, and the overall safety of air travel – a symphony to my ears.

The irony is I’ve journeyed all over.  It’s never easy, and I can honestly say there’s nothing exhilarating for me about takeoff – that’s 20 minutes of pure hell. But I know you can’t let doubt stop you from doing things or you’ll never live life at all. Sometimes, you have to look fear in the eye.  I’m not suggesting one buys a pet cobra or starts sporting a Cooky the Clown hairdo with confidence. But there are so many opportunities you’d just pass by and fail to enjoy at all if you let anxiety and worry override you.

You only go around once, or so I tell myself.

Conquer your fears, as best you can … and captain your own destiny.

Wearing blinders

May she retain her love for life and people always

Back in the fall, we took Cat to an area working farm complete with a pick-your-own pumpkin patch, barn tour, and a straw bale climber stacked with bushels of hay to run atop and roll down.

As I watched my daughter gleefully reach the top and exclaim, “Look at me,” one small boy caught my eye.  He was sitting on the sidelines in a wheelchair joyfully laughing as he observed other children’s failed and successful attempts to reach the highest peak.

It was lovely to see him enjoying the moment, yet I couldn’t help but feel my heart sink, knowing rightfully he should be up there, too.

I stole glances of him intermittently and thought about how easy it is to take your own healthy child for granted. I’ll never understand why some of the most innocent among us have to endure unimaginable physical and mental challenges each and every day.

At her tender age, Cat only noticed what was right before her eyes – kids frolicking about.

As her mom, it’s my hope to introduce her to as many individuals in life as possible; some who are similar; others who are different, perhaps in more noticeable ways. Often, it’s these differences that have a way of breaking down barriers and bringing us together.

Tolerance starts at home; I’m responsible for instilling compassion and kindness in my daughter. My behavior and understanding profoundly affect how she in turn will carry herself with all those around her – those of races and ethnicities not her own; those with contrasting thoughts and viewpoints; those with special needs; and those from socioeconomic backgrounds that do not mirror hers.

There’s a park we often visit with a daycare across the street.  More often that not, we are there at the same time the 2 year olds arrive for much needed playtime. The little group is as diverse as the U.N. and in my view, a microcosm of society. These minions act just as goofy as Cat; have tantrums when things don’t go their way; and are as rusty at social etiquette and mores as is she.  Cat simply enjoys their camaraderie.

May she always be as open-minded and engaging as she is today.

Cat is my legacy.

One of the most important things I can impart to her is to reach out to people, especially those who may need it most, and accept them with a “heart full of grace; a soul generated by love,” as Martin Luther King, Jr. once said.

Restroom rendezvous: a man’s love affair

Guys, I’ve been curious about something for quite some time.  What exactly is it you do in the loo? I know the obvious – I’m talking about the other 30-40 minutes until you triumphantly resurface.

Reason I ask is because I can get ready in half the time it takes my hubby to shower.  Unless he’s Michael Phelps prepping to come out of retirement, meticulous body hair removal isn’t the reason.

I have my theories – balancing the federal budget, reading War and Peace, leisurely coffee drinking, unibrow trimming, posing like Arnold Schwarzenegger during his bodybuilding years …

Part of my curiosity is because I’m so regimented in the morning.  In fact, Matt oftentimes calls me ‘the Colonel.’  I’m up at 5:30, showered, cup o’ Joe consumed and e-mails answered by 6:15.  The dog has been fed and given his asthma pill somewhere in between and the dishes from the previous night put away.

Unless I’m luxuriating with a glass of Dom Perignon in a custom-made Kohler whirlpool tub, the bathroom serves but a utilitarian purpose. I get in.  And I get out.  It’s not my place of solace.  Call me crazy but I’d rather curl up with a good book in a bay window with fluffy pillows and the sun shining through.

Perhaps living in a 1950s-era home – when big families, having had to ration less than 10 years prior, were reliant on a single lavatory – has somehow fueled my efficiency.

Regardless, my interest continues to be piqued.  Whether I one day unveil the mystery of why males treat the bathroom as a personal respite – or even want to for that matter - remains to be seen.

I know one thing for sure, though.  With such a huge discrepancy in time and usage, I’m retiring my elbow length rubber gloves, scrub brush and bleach for the time being.  Here’s hoping Mr. Witt – and all the misters out there who linger in the latrine – magically morph into Mr. Clean.  

Fathers be good to your daughters

Cat and Matt, San Diego 2011

Cat positively loves her dad. It’s like a celebrity has arrived each night when she hears the gates open and he pulls his car in. Laughter, squealing and overall excitement inevitably ensue. Each morning when she awakes, her very first question just happens to be “Where Daddy go?”  My feathers are no longer ruffled: I’m getting accustomed to playing second fiddle.  

What is it about the relationship between a girl and her dad that makes it so special?

I can remember anxiously awaiting my own dad’s 5 p.m. arrival.  I’d stare out one of the big picture windows until I caught sight of the red van used for carpooling.  There always was this feeling of happiness when he would emerge knowing we would soon catch up on our days around the dinner table.

Never once did I doubt how much my dad loved my sister and me. We could cajole him into buying things at the grocery store my mom would have nixed immediately.  And he knew how to make us feel special without being spoiled. He was always there – through deafening band concerts, baseball games, pickups and drop-offs to part-time jobs, and moving-in day at college. 

Girls need strong fathers as well as other important male figures in their lives; men who protect and cherish them, instill confidence and courage, and are open-minded and humble in the way they broach life.

My dad epitomized these traits to a T. And so in fact does my husband. 

Just a few weeks ago, I spoke at length with a father of another two-year-old girl while our daughters frolicked in the neighborhood park’s sandbox. He mentioned this fierce protectiveness he feels toward her, and I remember my hubby saying much the same from the moment he first held Cat.

It’s as natural as wearing ponytails that girls wend their way into their dads’ hearts. And I think it’s a pretty universal feeling among dads with daughters that there’s not a mountain they wouldn’t move for them.

Oh, I know she’ll look to me for other things – things only women can understand, empathize with, and commiserate about.

But her dad will always be extraordinary to her.

So fathers be good to your daughters … you are the god and the weight of her world …