I used to ask why they did not last. When you are twelve asking your now thirty-two year old mom who married at 16, you learn to ask while covering your ears. Then you start walking out of the room backwards, careful not to be harmed by the darts of "Mind your own business" or the house shoe, whichever comes hurling first. After awhile, when all the house shoes have been thrown and the mostly "mind your own business" words sound the same, you stop asking. At least that is what happened with me. And when you stop asking, you begin making up your own answers to those hollow questions. And before long, you believe what your mind congers up. All of it. Believable or not.
Going out into the world not having a blueprint leaves you to fend for yourself.
I keep my father's wedding band in my top dresser drawer. I happened upon it one day when I saw it in my mom's top dresser drawer. I asked her to whom it belonged and in a rare straight down no chaser moment, she said simply, "It's your dad's, why?" I said well if you don't want it, may I have it? She gave me a jumbled non-answer that I took for a yes. I've had it ever since.
Sometimes, I lay my wedding band on top of my dad's and just let it sit there. I stare down upon it making promises to myself. Promises that I will do everything I know to stay together. I will do everything I know to be together.
And if I should ever find myself not there, which I pray is never, I will tell the truth why and leave a blueprint rather than a house shoe or jumbled words that need quilting back together.
I owe that at least.
Our children do not choose the family they are born into. They do not choose their parents. The least we can do is honor their curiosity in order that they might learn from our mistakes, leave rooms knowing and go out into the world growing.
Going out into the world not having a blueprint leaves you to fend for yourself.
I keep my father's wedding band in my top dresser drawer. I happened upon it one day when I saw it in my mom's top dresser drawer. I asked her to whom it belonged and in a rare straight down no chaser moment, she said simply, "It's your dad's, why?" I said well if you don't want it, may I have it? She gave me a jumbled non-answer that I took for a yes. I've had it ever since.
Sometimes, I lay my wedding band on top of my dad's and just let it sit there. I stare down upon it making promises to myself. Promises that I will do everything I know to stay together. I will do everything I know to be together.
And if I should ever find myself not there, which I pray is never, I will tell the truth why and leave a blueprint rather than a house shoe or jumbled words that need quilting back together.
I owe that at least.
Our children do not choose the family they are born into. They do not choose their parents. The least we can do is honor their curiosity in order that they might learn from our mistakes, leave rooms knowing and go out into the world growing.
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