Tag: parenting

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Children Will Listen

” Careful the things you say,
  Children will listen.
  Careful the things you do,
  Children will see.
  And learn.”

Several years ago when Maggie was a freshman in high school, she performed in the chorus of her school’s production of Steven Sondheim’s “Into the Woods”.  As anyone who’s experienced being a part of a musical, or has lived with someone who has been part of a musical production knows, you end up listening to the score many times over until it eventually becomes programmed into the soundtrack of your daily life.  Fortunately, I grew to love the quirky characters and pithy lyrics of the music in “Into the Woods” and eventually bought the CD and added it to my I Tunes.

Even though I would be hard pressed to choose a favorite song from the pack, one that resonated with me at the time of Maggie’s chorus-girl days was the “Finale – Children will Listen.”  Probably because my children we in the midst of their teens and I was praying that the seeds I’d planted in their single digit years would grow and carry them through those years where choices can affect their lives in a big way.  I took these lyrics to heart and used them as a prayer to remind myself that even though Maggie and Andy seemed to be challenging me at every point, they were really paying attention; or at least I hoped so.

  “Children may not obey,
  But children will listen.
  Children will look to you
  For which way to turn,
  To learn what to be.
  Careful before you say,
  “Listen to me.”
  Children will listen.”

Sometimes, when I look back at my career motherhood, I worry that some of the things my children heard me say have impacted on some of their adult life choices.  Specifically, I wonder if my struggles with the Catholic Church which I shared in discussions with Dave and friends while my kids were around, have led to their lack of interest in participation.  A dear friend of mine told me that on the contrary, I had simply catechized them too well; that they have a better understanding of what it means to be a part of the Church than most people do and they aren’t sure they want to be a part of it.  Anyway, for me, that is the dark side of what children will hear.

On the bright side,  the last time I chatted with Maggie she told me that she and Jan had received enough cash as wedding gifts to purchase the new, smaller refrigerator they were hoping to get for their kitchen.  I was very excited that they would be able to remove the giant white behemoth dominating their tiny kitchen for something sized more appropriately.  I asked, “Did you get it?”  She said, “No.  I told Jan we couldn’t cash any of the checks until we wrote the thank you notes.”  I was delightfully gob smacked!  That is exactly what I told the kids when they were little when they received checks for birthdays and Christmas!   It’s been such a long time, I’d totally forgotten.  I don’t have to wonder about that one.

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There’s Always Another First Day of School

This week the kids went back to school here in Greene County.  First thing Tuesday morning the “Cheese Wagons” rolled out in force picking up the excited and not so excited to begin another school year.

Since it’s been more than a decade since I’ve sent anyone to school, I’ve had to live the event vicariously through my friends and neighbors.  My neighbor Angela and family prepared to send their grandson off to kindergarten.  Watching their preparations and anticipation of this giant step in this young person’s life; to step onto a large vehicle of public transportation alone, with his name pinned to his shirt, brought back so many memories of first days of school gone by.

On my first day of kindergarten, my mother and I waited patiently on our front steps for the bus.  I don’t remember my dress (dresses were the norm then) but I do remember a beautiful hand knit bolero jacket I wore.  The yarn was ecru with a gold thread running through it.  Despite our best preparations, the bus missed me and drove on by sending my mother scrambling.

When it was time to send Maggie off to school, I worried about the location of her bus stop.  It was on the other side of the busiest street in our neighborhood.  I put on my big girl panties and called the school requesting a change to our side of the street.  My request was granted and I’d made my first step towards and long and happy relationship with the school system that lasted until our move several years later.

It was so much harder for me to let her get on that bus than for her to take the first step!

By the next year when Andy was to go, a new school was built on the edge of our neighborhood and we were in a walking zone.  Walking seemed like a great way to start our day until the first heavy rains came and we became painfully aware of the poor drainage of sidewalks in our neighborhood.  Parental pressure on the school administration changed all that.  Soon every child in our neighborhood was bussed, even across the street to the school.  I never really embraced the idea, but eventually capitulated because it was easier for me in the end.

Kindall, Maggie and Andy walking to the first day at the new neighborhood school.

We had many “first” days of school after those, most caused by moves, some by matriculation.  Each had its own level of anticipation and angst both on their part and mine.  The letting go was and still is a struggle.

Yesterday I had a long talk with an old friend who is experiencing a difficult family challenge – one which has both blind-sided her and set the entire family on a tenuous course as they decide what is best for their granddaughter.  Weary after several long days and nights trying to resolve on the issue, her husband asked her, “When does the parenting end?”  Never, she told him.

Crisises are just a reminder that parenting never ends.  For me it is impossible to imagine not having at least some concern for the challenges my children face.  Sometimes, when the time/space continuum seems blurred, my kids seem to be those same bright faces heading off to school for the first time.  I see their backs as they move away from me for the first time, living their own lives apart from me.  Each time I am both proud and happy for them but also a little sad and glad that they don’t rely on me as they once did.

Thankfully, the bonds are still strong and they both know they can call Dave and I anytime, just to hear our voices, like when they’d call to us down the stairs after we’d but them to bed, or to discuss something important.  No, parenting never ends, just as being a child never ends.  We all face our “first days of school” throughout our lives were we set out into the unknown, as prepared as we can be for the day ahead.  When the going gets tough we either step up and parent or step back and ask for help like a child either from our own parents, another person or even God.

Thank God parenting never ends. It’s nice to know someone is watching your back!

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Frequent Flyer

Last night, about an hour and a half past our regular bedtime, we picked Andy up at the Charlottesville Airport – CHO.  He was returning from a job interview at the University of Southern Mississippi, an opportunity to become an assistant professor – a tenured position.  He looked tired but happy to be home as he walked through the gate in his tan silk sports coat, his tie loosened.  We were happy to see him (although we all hope he will be hired and move out in the near future.)

Planes and schools seem to be a recurring theme in Andy’s life.  When he was just a couple of months old, I flew with both he and Maggie to spend the Christmas holidays in Syracuse with my folks while Dave was deployed.  They both flew for free if they sat on a lap so I flew my Mom down to fly back with us.  The flight up was uneventful but coming back we were challenged by both bad weather delays and the slipperiness of the kids’ nylon snowsuits that seemed to slide down our bodies when we tried to plop them on a hip.

Our next flight together was when we flew as a family out to Hawaii – twenty years ago this summer.   That flight was loooonnnnggggg.   While stationed on Oahu, we took at least one family vacation to a neighboring island each year.  They were short hops on prop planes that took us to tiny airports.  The smallest of these was on Moloka’i, where a tractor towed our luggage from the plane on a cart and our bags were set on a wooden table for pick-up in an open aired pole barn.  When our three years were over, we flew back to the mainland – a much longer flight than the first because we were leaving a place we loved deeply.

Andy’s next flight was to Duke for an interview for the University Scholars program.  He left was some anxiety but I’ll never forget his triumphant return; smiling from ear to ear with a Blue Devils ballcap atop his head.  “I’m going!” He declared – and he did.

The summer following his junior year at Duke, Andy grabbed at the opportunity to study in London.  Instead of departing from the Norfolk Airport, we had to take him up to Dulles.  Even though he was twenty, it was still difficult for me to drop him off at such an enourmous airport and just drive off in those early days of post 911.  He was so excited, I was the anxious one.

Since then he has taken many flights.  As part of his graduate progarm at UC San Diego, he has travelled all over the country, presenting papers and attending conferences.  So much so that as I was fussing with him as he prepared for this trip to Mississippi, he finally reminded me that he has had much more experience in air travel than I have and I should “stop mothering” him.  Point taken, I backed off, but as all mothers know, there is just no going back on the mothering bit, we can only throttle it back a bit.

So now he’s back.  He thought the trip went well and seems to be contented to just wait.  While he was away he also learned that UCSD has a teaching job for him in the fall semester so if nothing else comes up, he’ll at least be employed again.

Andy's first school photo.

Where ever he ends up, he will always be the baby in my arms on the plane , the young boy I kept entertained on long trans Pacific flights and the young man I’ve sent off into the world.  In my mind’s eye, he’ll always be my Andy, with his name pinned on his shirt, as I sent him off for his first day of kindergarten, my son.