Letters: A Gift that Keeps on Giving

I wrote last year about unexpectedly being reunited with some old letters from my mother.  Well, recently I've been doing some cleaning out and "purging".  I came across a collection of letters that I've saved over the recent past.  Many were some from my sons.  It was SO nice to re-read them and think about them at younger ages.  I could imagine them looking for a card or trying to make a card for me for a particular occasion.  In some of the longer letters son #1 talks about his plans at that time in his life.  Things didn't quite follow that plan but he seems to have dealt well with the twists and turns of life. Those same little boys still live within the men they've become - just buried a bit under their adult lives, responsibilities and concerns.  I'm glad to have those letters to re-read just as I'm glad to have the letters from my parents.  They're truly a gift that gives over and over and over.

The Home as "Parent"

I lived in one house my entire childhood.  Others, including my HW moved every few years.  Even though I tried to provide my children with the stability of staying in one place during their growing up years, I can appreciate the advantages of both the adventure of new places and the stability of a few.  But in either case I think the important thing is to establish "home" as a safe place to be.  In that way it sort of takes on the role of a "parent".  We establish it, we create it and in a way it becomes an extension of us caring for our loved ones and at times caring for us. Home should be predictable.  Home should provide the essentials a person needs.  When the boys were old enough to stay alone for a few hours my rule was usually that they had to stay in the house.  I knew that the house was predictable and the trouble they could encounter was limited.  I realize that there can be home disasters - fire, power outages and such - but if the house is well maintained, these are not likely and dealing with them (basically, get away from the fire and get help) can be taught.  The boys had several houses growing up but they each quickly became home.  I think it's something we tend to take for granted, but something that forms a strong foundation of security in us.  Even as adults, after a long work day or a vacation we all like to come "home".  

I have two favorite "home" quotes from vastly different sources:  "There's no place like home." from The Wizard of Oz.  and....
"Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike; Indiana's misty morning dew; way up in the hills of Colorado; home is just another word for you.  from Billy Joel's Travelin' Prayer.

And a home takes maintenance and work, but all good relationships do!

The Gift of Mail

I love to get mail.  I've been this way forever.  I remember waiting on the porch for the mailman when I was growing up.  Believe it or not, during the holidays in the old days we sometimes got mail twice in one day!  Of course most of the mail was for my parents, but they allowed me to claim some of the "occupant" mail for myself.  Occasionally I received a real letter.  Of course, people wrote more back then.  Writing letters was a way of life.  My oldest sister lived in Florida and she wrote us regularly.  She sent letters to my parents but she also sent ones to me - addressed to seven year old ME in my OWN envelope!  Of course I wrote back.  Sometimes in the summer I would pick a pen pal from the back of a comic book (those were kinder, gentler, safer days) and exchanged letters until one of us lost interest.  When you met friends during the summer you would exchange (no, not emails) addresses with promises to write faithfully - or at least until the activities of the new school year took over. 

I still look forward to the mailman (or the mail lady in my case) each day.  Most of the mail is junk variety looking for my money either by direct donation or by selling me something.  But occasionally there is a letter and of course this time of year there were cards, some with little notes keeping me up to date on friends and family.  To me the mail has always represented promise.  You never know just what will show up in your box.  Each day is the chance to receive a nice surprise.  Granted, sometimes these are not nice surprises, but I don't focus on that.  I'm always hopeful that there will be an unexpected good thing in the mail.

My family is well aware of my love for mail.  Son #1 faithfully sends me a post card whenever he travels.  Often he has been home for weeks before the postcard finds its way to me.  But they are always appreciated and I've even started to keep them in a special notebook.

But this year he gave me a gift of mail!  He gave me a set of hand made notecards with my state on the front and all the envelopes stamped and a nice pen.  Then he told me that he bought a similar set (with his location on the front) for himself.  And he told me that if I would write to him, he would respond with his notecards - hence the gift of mail!

A Motherly Trifecta

I had a mother's trifecta this weekend.  I spent Saturday with son #1 and got to see his new rental in D.C.  It was a very nice visit that I hope to repeat soon.  Driving to Northern Virginia, I received a rare call from son #2 asking me about a hiking trail that he hoped to do with his wife later that day.  And on the way home I received a call from son #3 who was visiting his girlfriend in Lexington and wanted to stop by to visit on his way back to Columbus!  So, in the space of 24 hours I had contact with all three offspring!  Now, if you are the parent of only girls, you may be thinking, "So, what?!?"  But, for sons, or at least for my group, any contact is a cause for celebration.  And to have 100% contact....well, that's usually saved for holidays.  Merry Christmas me!!!!

Special Gifts

Lately I've been thinking about my three boys - or I should say, men.  They are all in their 20's and my contact with them is sporadic and infrequent.  I was the same way at their age so part of me understands.  The other part sort of wishes we had a closer relationship.  We don't share a lot, but I hold onto the belief that my mothering has been an important part of their life and that underneath what seems like indifference is a thick layer of caring that they find difficult to express.  Every so often, though, along the journey of parenting, you get a glimpse of that caring layer.  Over the years each boy has given me a gift that is special to my heart.

Son #1 lived through more of the poor years than any of the others.  He would often accompany me to craft fairs at his school or in the community and he actually seemed to enjoy them.  Twice when he was young (about 12 or so) and we were at a craft fair, I admired something but wouldn't buy it because our budget was so tight that I didn't feel I could splurge on anything that didn't have function, especially for myself.  But each time he snuck back to the fair and bought the items with his own carefully saved money.  I still have the fish made out of a painted rock - even though the fins have not stood the test of time too well - and the flower pot painted with my favorite lilies of the valley.  Thanks son #1 for first of all recognizing that I liked those items and for using your savings to see that I had them. 

Son #2 saw me admire a bonsai tree at a vendor in the local mall.  I wouldn't buy it because my gardening skills are not the best and I was sure that I would kill it.  But he believed in me and wanted to see me have the tree without regard to my success or failure in keeping it alive.  That meant a lot to me.  The tree lasted several months but then eventually died under my unskilled hand.  I kept the pot it was planted in for a long time and am a bit distraught that I don't know where it is just now.  Hopefully it is safely wrapped in one of the boxes in the garage.  He also bought me on another occasion a special necklace declaring that I was a #1 Mom.  It seemed like he genuinely wanted the world to know that he considered me a good Mom. Thanks son#2 for believing in me and for wanting to let the world know.

Son #3 saw the mother in me and had to endure perhaps more mothering than the others.  One Christmas he bought me a special locket, had it engraved and filled it with his picture and a piece of his curly hair.  I wear that sometimes when I'm especially worried about him or wondering how he is.  Another year he made me a basket, but wanted to add to it and fill it with something he knew I would enjoy.  He picked out chocolate candies and a nice blue sweater.  I thought it was so special for him to want to enhance his gift with things he knew I liked.  I may never get rid of that sweater no matter how worn it becomes.  Thanks son #3 for knowing what I would like and for wanting to enhance your gifts with the picture and lock of hair.

I hope my sons hold on to their gift giving skills and use them in their relationships with their future families.  I hope they cultivate that caring and thoughtful side of their personalities and don't let it get buried under the busyness of career and everyday life.

I love you guys. It is a privilege to be known as your mother.

The Lost Art of Letter Writing

Communication has changed so much over my lifetime.  When I was young, a long distance phone call was something reserved for special occasions or emergencies.  There was no email, no instant messaging, no cell phone texting.  When family members were apart we wrote to keep in touch.  And we ALL wrote in my family.  I have a cherished collection of letters from my father from my one summer at camp and from my first year in college.  They are so precious to me that I bought a fireproof box to store them in.  When I took mental inventory of what I would miss if all my belongings were lost in a fire, those letters were at the top of the list - hence the box. We don't write letters anymore.  Emails are written with less thought and then get deleted.  We often have no written record of our relationships to return to.  We are missing so much.

This week I very unexpectedly had another box of letters returned to me.  Most of these were written by my mother during my late college and early (first) married years.  Reading them again after so long is somewhat bittersweet.  Being older now allows me to see her through different, more adult, more compassionate eyes.  During this period she was a recent widow.  Until my father died she had never lived alone.  She grew up as the oldest in a large family and lived with her birth family until marrying my father.  They then lived just a few blocks from her family for about ten years before moving away.  As I read through the letters I could see that my mother secretly hoped that I would return to her home after I graduated and again provide some company for her.  Once I married and it became clear that my own plans did not include such a move, that hope died for her and she was faced with yet another change to adapt to.

My own path never took me back to the area where I grew up and never allowed me to have a relationship with my mother that was not complicated by the many miles between us.  When I was younger I didn't appreciate my family relationships enough.  Now I am close to my mother's age at the time of these letters and I see history repeating itself in my relationship with my children.  We are not separated by miles as my mother and I were, but neither are we close.  My son who recently married lives not five miles from me and yet I have not heard (even a phone call) from him since his wedding a month ago. I see a connection here.  My mother and I both emphasised independence, educational success, adventure, and maturing even in the face of personal challenges. (In one letter she commented that certain situations that required independence were difficult for "insecure people like us".  Interesting. I never considered her insecure.)  But when you push them out of the nest, you can't make them come back.  You just have to wish that they want to.  And I think that happens.  It just takes a long time to cycle around again to an appreciation of your childhood and a desire to return again to that place.

Graduation #2 for 2011; #8 cumulative

Thursday son #3 graduated from Washington and Lee University.  It's a beautiful campus with a rich history.  In some ways it's a world unto itself.  He had a good four years there and truly benefited from the small close community.  He enjoyed fraternity life as a member of Sigma Nu and graduated with majors in math and science.  At the end of the summer he will be off to Ohio State for graduate school.

W&L holds their commencement outside so the weather is always a factor.  Thursday was HOT.  I had gone to the Baccalaureate Service the day before and sat in the hot sun until I finally decided to move to the shade rather than pass out.  Thursday we sat in the shade of one of the canopies.  It was still very hot but at least tolerable. The event is held on the lawn sandwiched between representations of their namesakes: the Colanade which has a statue of George Washington atop it and the Lee Chapel where General Lee is buried.

I didn't visit son #3 often during his four years at school but still I'm going to miss Lexington. It holds a special charm unto itself.  The tuition payments, however, I won't miss.  While this son graduated with twice the undergraduate debt of his brothers, he received a fellowship for grad school and should graduate with half the total education debt.

Graduation #1 for 2011; #7 Cumulative

Let me explain.  I have three boys and counting their high school graduations, yesterday was the seventh I've attended for them.  Don't get me wrong.  I love seeing them attain life goals and only illness, injury or death could keep me away.  But honestly, I've decided that graduations are probably the most tedious of life's ceremonies.  We think of them as solemn occasions, yet seldom have I experienced one that truly was able to attain that atmosphere.  The room or stadium is filled with excited people, many of whom had a difficult journey to the event and most of whom are armed with cameras trying to catch the moment forever.  If it's outside, it's often hot, especially for the graduates wearing dark colored robes, or rainy (several years ago we had a torrential downpour during one of the outdoor graduations).  And the event is always filled with speakers who are usually difficult to listen to or have little of interest to say.  Each graduate deserves to be recognized and we all are there to hear the name of our own loved one called out.  We are focused on our offspring, but honestly, that is the extent of our focus.  So if your name begins with A, you then sit through the entire rest of the class after your child has had their moment.  If it begins with Z, you first have to watch all the others before you get the satisfaction of seeing your child handed his diploma that probably cost you more than the price of your house.

Anyway.....all my complaints aside, I was delighted to see son #2 graduate yesterday.  The day was not without it's stressful events.  I had to drive into Richmond and a city driver, I am not.  When I made it to the location of the event, the parking garage was full, so this required yet more city driving to locate a parking garage.  We (myself and his fiance) found one about four blocks away.  This required a walk through a less than desirable city to get to the venue.  I reverted back to my NYC days growing up where the survival tactics were: don't make eye contact, walk like you have purpose and maintain a death grip on your purse.  The ceremony was all I've come to expect from graduations and afterwards we went out to eat to finish the celebration.  I'm very proud of all my boys and I love the opportunities life offers us to celebrate their lives.....even if it means listening to boring speakers and battling city traffic.

Son #3 graduates Wednesday and Thursday (a two day event to extend the opportunity for memorable occurrences).  

My Parenting Allegory

I undertook a rather large sewing project this winter.  It's one that I had thought about for a long time.  So, when I got my new Bernina 330 I decided that it was time to begin.  My oldest son had left behind a large collection of tee-shirts from his high school and college days.  As a collection they tell a lot about those busy years of his life.  I decided that I would make him a quilt out of the shirts.  I've done similar projects in the past and was acquainted with the various challenges - particularly getting the layers smooth and avoiding puckers in the back layer.  I took special care to minimize such problems, but my work is far from perfect - or at least not at the level I would hope to be able to achieve.  I've corrected as much as I could, but some places just can't be made perfect.  I've learned so much along the way, though and if I make another such quilt, I know that this experience will make the second one go smoother.

As I was sewing yesterday I was pondering all this and thought that this quilt, much like my first parenting experience suffered from my inexperience.  I'm hoping that my son holds neither my first parenting of him or my first tee-shirt quilt attempt against me and recognizes that in each case I did the best I could with the skills I had at the time.  Both were done with much love and with the very best of intentions.  So, if you ever read this son #1, know that I wish my parenting as well as my sewing abilities had been more perfect for you.  Know that I'm very proud of you and that even though tee shirts are no longer given out as a record of accomplishment in your life, you have more successes in front of you than behind.  You're talented is so many ways.  Keep dreaming big.  I love you lots.