Last year of the teens

Dear G,

Yesterday you turned 19. We celebrated with dinner at Oriental House and treats from a local panaderia. 

So many things have changed from a year ago. 

At that time, you were working a co-op job so arriving for classes at 7:30 and cutting out at 11:30 to either work or come home and work on your extra classes to graduate in December. You were applying to college. You were very done with high school.

You learned a lot from working for a full year, about how businesses run, about workplace drama and employment aggravations, about the type of job you would want to do over the long-term (not something where you sweat). 

Since you weren't in school during the spring, you participated in "Mom's Life Skills Semester" whereby you learned how to cook and be a sous chef, cutting vegetables and helping prep meals. You learned how to do your own laundry and clean the bathroom. 

What a difference a year makes; what a difference some six weeks make. 

You have adjusted pretty well to college, although the engineering math class has proved a pain in the butt for you, for me, for dad, for anyone who has to listen to you complain about it. And it has been the cause of your first clarifying moment of young adulthood: finding out what you thought you might want to do is, in fact, not what you want to do. 

Now your dad didn't experience that feeling much until much later, after he had completed his degrees when he was unhappy in his job and wondered what might have been. Maybe he should have gone to medical school? 

I, on the other hand, never really landed on whatever it was I was definitely going to do. I only declared a major during second semester junior year because they school made me. I decided based on what I had enough credits for, which were classes I just enjoyed taking and did well in: english and economics. Even now in my 50s, I don't do any one thing but dabble in things I like that give me flexibility. 

So in addition to just learning how to do college, you're learning about how you prefer to learn. You're learning that you don't like a super fast pace. You're learning that it is ok to have one maybe sorta idea of what you might be interested in and then deciding that path isn't right. 

You've been learning how to handle your own medical appointments and prescription refills. How to take your car for oil changes. How to manage your own checking account. 

Because of your sensititives, I worried about how you would adjust to preschool. And then I worried about how you would adjust to elementary school, and then middle school, and then high school. But you've done fine every time. So I decided not to worry about college. 

And you've proven that I don't have to worry.

You are bright and inquisitive. You are responsible and risk-averse. If someone shows you how to do something, you pick it up quickly. And if you need help, you know that you can come to me and dad (or your big sis, who is proving invaluable because of her experience at the same college), and we will try to steer you in the best direction. 

But most importantly, you are learning that you can adapt. You don't like change and never have, but in the past year instead saying something like "I don't like it" when something changes, you say "I don't like it, but I will adjust." 

And if there is ever a mindset to carry through the peaks that feel too high to climb and valleys that feel too low to survive, that is it. 

Your dad and I are both so proud of the man you are becoming, but we have always loved the essence of you that remains the same since you were a child.

Forever,

Mom

A wonderful, awesome, empowering, very good day

This kind of day is altogether different from a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. 

And, truth be told, I don't often get them. Between perimenopause and mood disorder, I feel like most days I'm at 40% "meh" and 60% "fuck this."  

For 4.5 years, I've been at a local high school working with credit recovery students and most of the time, I feel like I'm sticking bandaids on carotid hemorrhages. Foster situations, sky-high absentee rates, high-as-a-kite glazed eyes, lack of motivation, non-native English speaking students who are trying to get through chemistry, reading and math levels lower than what I probably scored in third grade--it's not a place where students feel like masters of their destinies. 

At worst, it gives rings of hell. At best, purgatory. 

Yet I like being there because I do form relationships with students, which is vastly different from a normal substitute teacher situation. Some kids I have shephered since freshman year. One boy stops to chat--he is now a senior---and it will be good to see him cross the finish line in a few months. 

And it is only two days a week so I have breathing room in between. 

Still, many days feel Sisyphean. 

But not Thursday of this week. 

Because on Thursday, two sisters---one of whom never shows and the other who has been sleeping in credit recovery class---showed up after I called and left a message with their mom about not wanting them to fall behind. And both girls were ready to talk to me and ask for help. 

And on Thursday, a teacher I spoke to before school asked if I worked with C, and when I said yes, we came up with a plan for me to help C finish some work so she could pass English from last semester. In class, C did the work eagerly, and it felt like VICTORY. 

Then D, who is real hit or miss on feeling motivated, said, after I told him I would work with him on makeup English work for the aforementioned teacher if he wanted to, "I've got my English work" as I started to walk away. So he knocked out that assignment. 

And W, a mid-year graduate whose completion was delayed because he was shot, worked with me all day to wrap up his stuff so that he can get his diploma. 

Thursday felt like 100% springtime ephemerals blooming, limoncello on Capri, and the perfect light nap on my favorite couch all rolled into one. 

Horrified, yet oddly consoled

It is a wave that girds you now,

And its movement, swirling forward and up, then down,

Stirs the back of the throat, 

The excess saliva, the churn of the stomach. 

That is a normal sensation, a normal reaction

To what you witness.

Toting their weapons, the unidentifiables, no badges, no identification. 

The ones who seem to take glee in horror. 

To brandish your papers doesn't matter to them. 

They are convinced of their righteousness.

....

You feel that movement again, don't you?

You feel it now in the -3 degrees of Minneapolis, 

But it has moved before.

In January 1839 when biting cold lashed at legs and arms, armed guards

setting the pace to Oklahoma. 

That movement surged in warmer months, too. 

1921 in Logan County.

A struggle for work, for safety, for dignity, for something other than scrip.

And again in 1791 in Washington County.

In 1831 in Southhampton County.

In 1960 in Sharpville. 

In 1982 in Lubin.

In 2019 in Santiago.

In 1989 in Dongcheng.

And through all of time. 

Mostly unrecorded,

But witnessed by others on the wave,

Who were also sickened to the core. 

.... 

An antidote?

Oh no, I'm sorry; none exists. 

You must witness these things in 

The timeline on which your life rests. 

The third child turned 16 and has to wait weeks and weeks for a bday letter

 Dear M,

You should be used to this by now, right?

As the third child, you got the clothing hand-me-downs from not just your brother but your cousins, meaning some of your clothing has been well-loved three separate times before you get a chance to wear it. 

It has always been difficult for you to get a word in when your sister and brother are part of the conversation. 

Your childhood journal has the least amount of entries because I was so busy even if I did think, "I need to write this down," by the time I had a moment, I had forgotten what you did or said. 

And now, your milestone 16th birthday came and went and I am writing this letter to you weeks later. I even had to put a reminder in my phone to do it. 

You have, in many respects, raised yourself, in large part from observing your sister and brother and applying it to yourself. You've paid attention to their interactions with me and learned how to fly under the radar---not causing trouble, not having to listen to lectures. 

So what are you like at 16?

Well, you got your driving permit this past summer and have been learning how to drive, even though I'm pretty sure you won't be doing it much or at all on your own until your senior year (even used cars these days are ridiculously expensive). But you don't seem to be bothered or even a little concerned about this. 

Because your brother and sister are so busy with "real" jobs, you are now pretty much the lone worker at the neighborhood petsitting gig, which allows you to earn and save even more money. If anyone takes after his Pa in terms of saving every dollar he earns, it is you (with some competition from your cousin A). I often joke that you will buy a house and your brother will have to rent a room (he inherited from Papaw T his inability to hold a dollar in his pocket without spending it). 

Of my three kids, you are, by far, the snarkiest. 

At dinner this past August, when we were talking about what attributes each of you got from me or dad, you said, "I got my pettiness from mom," which is both hilarious and true. I can still recall when you were about 4 years old on vacation, a server at a restaurant said to you, "If you color your picture in, I'll hang it up." You smiled at her and as she walked away under your breath you mumbled, "No promises." 

You have a gentle spirit, which is why you are the animal whisperer. You have a way with cats and dogs that they seem to love. 

You also have amazing hair! You have grown it long, and I'm fairly certain it makes every girl who sees you very jealous. In your school photo this year, you are definitely giving off 80s hair band / serial killer vibes. I adore that picture of you because it makes me laugh every.single.time. 👇

The closer you get to age 18 and adulthood, the more I wonder about what you will do. You tolerate school but don't love it, and I suspect it is because of all the sitting. You have even remarked to me that you keep your grades up because you know it is expected but you are mostly bored. Now that your brother is doing early graduation, I anticipate you will follow suit. 

I have no clue what you will pursue as a career, but I can't see it being a desk job mostly because of how you feel about school. I think you'll want to do something that will allow you to be up and about. 

Even though I'm uncertain about what your future holds, I am very certain that I love you, and I am so very glad we got you as our bonus 16 years ago. We cannot imagine a life without you in it. 

Love you always,

Momma

Voting age birthday

 Dear G,

I don't know why it is that your older sister's birthdays seem to come slowly, while yours come flying out of nowhere. I suspect it is because she flew solo for almost four years before you came along. Those days dragged on forever sometimes. Once you arrived, and then your brother two years later, life has been on full throttle for me. Time hasn't stopped or even slowed down much since you arrived. 

You've experienced a lot of changes in the past year.

You finished up junior year without issues, although I think this is mostly because the first two years of high school wore you the heck out in terms of drama, and you've decided school is just for learning. You have never been a "joiner," but you had made friendships. Once those seemed to be more trouble than they were worth, you decided to forego those. You get in, you get out, you relax at home. That is your school day.

I can't say I blame you. You are sensitive guy, like your dad, and that is a wonderful thing to be...but maybe primarily as an adult. I am sure it is horrible as a teenager. Most teenage boys are in the thick of machismo---beating their chests to prove they are guys to other guys. None of them have the emotional wherewithal to accept that whatever kind of guy they are is the guy they are, and they have nothing to prove to anyone. (I suspect I need to also relay this memo to a certain Secretary of Defense who seems to think that being a man means no feelings and macho-macho all the time.)

I digress. 

The upshot of avoiding drama is that you're on track to graduate a semester early. You got a job in July, despite all my worrying that it wouldn't happen, and have been working close to 30 hours a week as part of your co-op, plus keeping your grades up in your other classes. Dad and I are really impressed with you!

I'm proud of the way you pack your lunch the night before work and leave your work clothes on the table so you can grab them on your way out. You do an excellent job of staying on top of your responsibilities. And when I see you at work, I see you in a different light, not as your mom but as a customer, as a stranger. It is kind of fun to see you through that lens. I think, "What a handsome young man with a nice smile." 

Your job has given you topics of conversation including the gigantic apple you were amazed to show us and the workplace gossip that you share with us. 

You got your license after a few hiccups, but I think that was anxiety rather than not knowing what you're doing. Trust me, there are plenty of people on the road doing crazy shit, and you're not one of them. I'm proud of you for being careful. Now just watch out for the bozos. 

I enjoy our movie nights together and the conversations that come from those evenings. We've covered a lot of ground, from silent films for your film class to zombie flicks (28 Weeks Later) to war films (All Quiet on the Western Front) to mind-blowers like Tenet. 

I remember several years ago when you couldn't stand the idea of becoming a young man and fought it with everything in you, and now here you are,...a young man. You still have about six more years worth of prefrontal cortex develop on tap, but you have come such a long way from your days of tantrums and unmanageable anxiety. 

I don't know what the next few years will bring in terms of college and jobs and all that. I suspect I will go into them as I have since you were little: a little afraid of how you will do, wondering if it will overwhelm you. But in every situation, my worries were unfounded. I worried about kindergarten, and you did great. Then middle school. Then high school. This isn't to say that there weren't problems and unhappiness; those are part of life. But we managed them together, and we will continue to do that. 

You are a smart guy and, more importantly, you are sensitive and open to ideas. Sure, you still like to dig in your heels about change that you can't control but you are able to take a joke about it. Like when you say you want to move to Sweden as an adult, and I remind you that you hate the idea of me renovating the kitchen because it is too much change but sure...go ahead and change entire countries. 

You are one of a kind, G, and I'm so glad you're ours.

Love you,

Momma

30 years since the hook up

Next month marks 30 years that D and I have been together as a couple. 

Our story started with dental insurance, which is where every romance begins. 

Good lord, I look pale. 

He was finishing his master's degree, and I was wrapping up my bachelor's degree. We had worked for the same company for a bit, seeing each other in the halls or kitchen. I worked part-time as a file clerk, and he worked in the IT department. I thought he was cute---tall, dark, and nerdy. Imagine a young Harold Ramis in Ghostbusters and you've seen D in his late 20s. My co-workers were dying to set us up. 

I think D and I spoke to each other once in the elevator before we "happened" to both go a going-away drinking session for a coworker in accounting who was leaving the company. We all met at a bar, and I spent most of the night chatting with the husband of one of D's coworkers. I'm not sure D said anything to me until we left and walked to our cars. Whatever he said wasn't memorable. 

What was memorable is that two days later, he called me and asked me to go for a walk at a park. I was sitting on my porch reading The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck when my parents told me I had a phone call. (Gawd, just typing that feels ancient---when I didn't have a phone strapped to my hip.)

We met at the dental office parking lot and drove together to the park. We stopped at Ear-X-Tacy, where I refused to let him buy me a Jeff Buckley LP (because then I would owe him something and we weren't having any of that). I remember nothing that we talked about. 

What I do remember is that he asked me out for the following weekend, which is the surefire way to my heart---asking me well in advance to do an activity. I have never liked being treated like a last minute "might as well" by anyone. 

The night of our first "date" date, we went to dinner at the Bristol where D proceeded to not talk much at all. It was awkward, and I remember thinking to myself, "This is probably going nowhere." We then went to see a play called "Angry Housewives," a title I didn't realize was so prescient to what our future would be. I remember when we were leaving, D placed his hand on the middle of my back, whether to keep hold of me in the crowd or steady my way I don't know, but I recall liking the feeling. Still, I didn't know if it made up for the not talking/awkward dinner. 

He drove me home and we took a walk all over the neighborhood in the dark, and like Robert Frost noted, that made all the difference. Something about the darkness allowed D to come out his shell. He told me he watched the film Orlando and enjoyed it, which is the sum total of what I remember us discussing. Oh, and he kissed me before he left. 

Hot and heaviness followed for a year until we got engaged, 29 years ago this month. We married 18 months after that. 

We will soon be having a big to-do of sorts, which I didn't specifically plan for our 30 years of togetherness, but it happens to coincide with it so I'm calling it our "celebration." Of course, it isn't a party---did you not read anything about the quiet dude I hooked myself up with 30 years ago? 

I looked back while composing this to see what else I've written here about marriage, and I've periodically, dating back to our 15th wedding anniversary, written about our relationship, mostly in good terms. It hasn't been all roses, for sure. 

But he's quiet, and I have a hard time being around people who blather on. And he doesn't like sports, which is the other reason he stole my heart besides asking me out for a date a week ahead of time. He's not a messy guy, and he looks good in a beard, and he, more or less, doesn't care what I do. He thinks I'm funny and smart. And I'm assertive enough to politely tell a solicitor we don't want any and goodbye so that D doesn't have to do it when he accidentally is too close to the glass-paneled front door when someone knocks, and he (thinks he) can't really hide. He's still tall and nerdy but now gray all over---still giving off Egon vibes 30 years on. 

May 2, 2025

A belated 21st bday letter (and the last one)

Dear N,

I know you reached the age of majority three years ago, but recently you reached yet another important milestone: 21. 

The only advice I gave to you was not to get so drunk that you got tossed out of Cardinal Stadium (which no longer exists) by the police due to public intoxication, which is what I did very soon after I turned 21. I also suffered a 5-day hangover, an act of stupidity I never, ever repeated. 

The first alcohol you bought as a 21-year-old. 

Over the years, I have tried to instill in you good things, but more importantly, I have tried to model those good things to you in how I live my own life. 

To be kind and compassionate but to also not allow others to manipulate you. 

To be honest but not cruel. 

To stand up for yourself but more importantly stand up for others who may not have the wherewithal to voice something themselves.

To never stop learning but to not allow information to steal your time or joy.

To listen to your inner voice but also learn from the mistakes and wisdom of others.

When I had you, I had a completely bonkers idea of what a mom should be for a child. In my 21 years of parenting, I have chilled out a lot, mostly because I have realized that I am mostly a guide and never a creator. Your life is not, never has been, and never will be, a reflection of my life; nor is my life a reflection on yours. We are both two individuals doing the best we can and hopefully making each other a little better during the journey. 

Several years ago, you told me that you want to have children and give them the kind of childhood you had. You want to stay home with them, and if that is what you want, I hope you are able to make it happen. But I admit a little piece of me thought, "Don't you want more for youself?"

And I felt conflicted by being both honored that you have such good memories of your childhood that you want to do exactly as I did and also somewhat saddened that you don't want more. I hated that I had this little sliver of internal discord. I have thought about it a lot over the years and come to this conclusion:

The best thing I will ever do with my life, and of which I am most proud, is raising three decent humans. 

But when I think of the other things I have done, and will do, I don't know that I jump down to 2 or 3 or 4. I think I jump in terms of decimal points.

Because at 1.1 would be teaching and playing a role in other young people's lives. You know I still, at age 51, have a relationship with my own middle school teacher, Mrs. S, and I suspect with social media, I will be in some kind of contact with my own former students when they are 51. There is something wondrous about being a part of someone's life, watching them spiral out into the world, and knowing that you played a tiny part in that formation. 

At 1.2 I might put establishing a writing career. And 1.3 is managing to sustain a long-term relationship with your dad. And none of those things have anything to do with me being a mother or a stay-at-home mother for the years that I was. 

Suffice it to say, you will figure things out in your own life, and you will struggle with the choices you make and the things life throws at you. But you will continue learning, whether it be from raising your own children, or from watching me live my life. My parents are 82 and 86, and even though they have loads of experience, each new day brings them new things they've never experienced, such as having a first granddaughter who is now 21. I am still learning from my parents and will until they are gone (and likely beyond). 

So, of course, I'm not wiping my hands of you and saying "You're on your own, kid!" But it is nice to be able to step back and watch you live the way you wish. 

With you turning 21, it is also time for these letters to you to end. I went back through these birthday posts, thinking I had written them your entire life, but I could only find them dating back to when you were seven, which is when I think I finally came out a little bit from my motherhood fog. When you were seven, your brothers were four and two, and I came up for a little air. If you have your own children, you will understand this. 

You will always be my favorite girl, 

Momma