Graduate

What do you do with your diploma?

A Kid Who Loves

This is Nolan on Father's Day. He may appear healthy and exuberant, but he was honestly so stricken with illness that I was becoming very worried. He took a few breaks from being overwhelmed by fever and pain to come out smiling, dressed for church even, and eager to produce paintings for his dad, who he adores and grandfather, who he calls Cookie Bapa. Aren't children amazing the way they overcome setbacks just so they can brighten another's day?

Good Nothings (with working links!)

Piano in Pajamas. October 2009.


An itch was already begging for relief when, as if by Providence, my friend, Jodi, shared her thoughts here. It complemented perfectly the post I had read on Segullah earlier that morning.

Perhaps I was itching because I recently turned a year older and the observance of my birthday typically calls for my self-appraisal. What am I? What do I wish I was? How do I use my abilities to improve the world? Admittedly, I am somewhat critical of myself, but even after considering such bias, the answers were sadly empty. I have a long list of interests-- some that I would meekly deem talents-- that were a large part of my past. Unfortunately, I did not allow them to follow me into the present.

The other day, unaware of my recent train of thoughts, PTB asked me which three activities were my favorite. Without hesitation, I numbered them; picked them off their corner shelf, brushed off thick dust, momentarily remembered them, then regretfully returned them to the dark. But not for long, I thought. Same goes for a lengthy enumeration of others there on the shelf. It's time to turn on the light and put some of those shelved talents to use.

One last annecdote.
At the grocery store today, I got out of the car, boys in tow, to come face-to-face with a kindly, wrinkled face, smiling, twinkling his eyes. "Two boys!" he stated rather emphatically. I twinkled my eyes back at him and nodded. "They're cute," he sweetly commented. I thanked him as we both entered the building. I encounter this friendly senior citizen from time to time. I know where he lives because he sits on his front porch on fair-weathered afternoons, waving at passers-by. I know he grabs lunch most days from local eateries and his favorite is New York Pizzeria. I also know he has two grandsons and I suspect he lives alone. Let me explain what this has to do with persuing talents. As I watched this man get his lunch from the deli, talking to anyone who looked his way and thought about past encounters with him, recalling his typical friendly demeanor and willingness to engage even a stranger in conversation, I appraised myself again. However, this time the critique was of the future me, the one fifty years from now. And I thought two things: First, I hope I develop the kind of self-confidence and love of people that is so apparent in this man. Second, I hope at seventy(seven) I am engaged in something that still propels me forward (and not just conversation at the local eatery). Being passionate about something, even just one thing, should provide for that meaningful interaction with other people. And that's what I hope I will be in fifty years, but won't be if I'm not actively striving to become it right now. And that means trying, even in the face of multiple and varied failures. As they say,
"A bad something is better than a good nothing."

Irony in the End

Nolan's Crown for His Summer Birthday Celebration at School Last Week.

By some miracle, my oldest went to nursery school without a hitch today.  You'd think I wouldn't be worried about clinging-crying-anxious problems on the very last day of school.  That's the type of challenge I was expecting to face in the first week of school, but here I am struggling with separation issues in the last leg of the course.  Coincidentally, the first week and the subsequent three or four months went off without incident.  He was eager to bid his mother farewell at the door.  He would hurry into the action --project making, dress-up, building-- with hardly a glance in my direction.  And that may have been emotion-wrenching for me, but it was also satisfying and easy.  My boy was grown up.  Prepared.  Ready to take on the world. 

And then something happened.  Regression happened.  Halfway through the school year, my boy began to exhibit symptoms of separation anxiety.  At first, he would state before I left that he simply wanted me to stay.  I would calmly explain that school was for kids and I would be back in just a few hours to pick him up.  With that assurance, he would be as merrily on his way as I was on mine.  All would have been fine at that point, but the anxiety amplified.  He would get stomach aches (real or feigned, I could never be sure).  He would stop at the door and refuse to move forward.  He needed another adult to help him (stay) at the window to wave as I (both quickly and cautiously) made my exit.  The climax was just last week when his teacher had to peal him (flailing and crying) from my legs and hold him until I was gone. 

So we prepped him.  We were all determined to at least make it through the very last day in a dignified manner. Even Nolan asked in his prayer last night for help going to school.  He understood that it would be his last chance to play with friends, see his teachers, and have a brother-less morning.  In addition, they had arranged for a school bus to transport them to the local elementary school where they would be taking a tour.  If Nolan didn't think this was an amazing opportunity, Gerret did and perhaps in an effort not to let his brother be more excited than he was, he really truly acted eager for the bus ride.  And it worked.  One day without anxiety.  Like I said before --a small miracle.