Graduation . . . it's that time again! They say it's a rite of passage. All I know is if you study hard, make the grades, and pass the tests . . . you've earned the right to grad-geh-ate (as Jethro Bodine would say)!
My baby sister is preparing for her son, her only child to head off to college after he graduates from our home town high school next week. Oh my! I'm writing late and I'm surrounded by family pictures in my office. I see him as a cute little toddler scraping the last of Grandma Naomi's divine caramel icing from the pan with a spoon (big blue eyes and curly hair!). I’d like to have a slice right now at her kitchen table with her! I see last year's Christmas card with Dews and his beloved dog under the tree, and I see a picture of my daughter in her high school cap and gown holding him on her hip in a t-shirt and diaper. I'm sure he would love me telling that! It's been a college graduation, a wedding, a couple of moves, and two grandchildren ago (one who will turn 9 next week) but I remember. Listen ya'll, for a Southern Mama to send her boy off . . . it's a big deal!
In a day and age where 18 year olds are more focused on the next party, let’s be real here . . . the next score or getting hooked up with the right people, I have to say Dews has turned out to be a good, well-balanced young man. His Daddy is an engineer, laid back, with a good sense of humor, so he's smart with a sense of humor. Lest I be misunderstood, his Mama is plenty smart, funny, extremely creative, and she has taught him many things that will serve him well throughout his life and help him in becoming a good man. There's a lot more to becoming a good man than just smarts and the ability to make money . . . don't believe me? Honey, you're not married are you? There are just some math and science skills that I don't think came from our genes! I'm just saying . . .
His Mama, like myself, is a GRIT (girls raised in the south) so before he could speak she was working on those manners! Trust me; I observe a lot of kids. I think manners are a generational thing you need to pass on. Mama taught us and on and on . . . you know. There are a lot of Mama's who don't have manners to pass on or the endurance to teach them. Modern day parents don’t realize the importance. You have to want to make the effort and not give up. She didn’t let up! He has his "yes-mam, no-sir, please and thank you’s down pat, opens the door for ladies and the elderly, writes thank you notes, has a good firm handshake, and although he lacks for no electronic gadget or skill, he has been taught how to look you in the eye and have a conversation. Now that will make Southern parents tear up with pride! Good job Jules and Len!
They have given him every comfort, every advantage, and they have expected a lot from him academically. So far, he has risen to the challenge. He probably has pushed himself as hard as they have. That’s how you get to be a national honor student, or so I’m told! He has set definite goals and I have no doubt he will achieve them! He is so independent. That can be really annoying when you are parenting. I know, my daughter was that same way, but independent children make great adults (if you survive their childhoods!).
Dr. James Dobson says, "Children are just loaned to us for a time. We are to love them, teach them about God, teach them life skills, what they need to know to cope and thrive, and let them go." He talks about the Mama eagle pushing her little eaglets out of the nest when its time. He says, "This separating of parent and child is a natural part of life. It's painful because it is the separating of flesh." Separating a Mama from her baby is painful (a Daddy too) but that's the way it is supposed to be. As Grandma Sarah told me about my daughter, "You want her to grow up darling. Wouldn't it be sad if she didn't? There would be something wrong with her." She had the sweetest way of making you feel ashamed.
To his parents, I say, “Congratulations!” I'm a big believer in giving your children roots and wings. They need to have a strong foundation (roots), they need to know that home, parents, the familiar things will be there when they need to run back to them (and they will from time to time). Just as important, they need permission to spread their wings, stretch and grow, even though at times they won't even know where they are flying or why. They just need to know that you believe in their ability to figure it out, and if they get off course, they can always come to you for direction and guidance. As he gets older, you'll get smarter. That's a real plus!
My, oh my, what would I say to an 18 year old leaving home? Well, I guess I could tell him there is so much more to learn. You never stop learning . . . even at my age! I could tell him there are two ways to learn it! I could tell him I learned the majority of mine the hard way . . . why would I want to do that? I could tell him that the big city will be fun, exciting, and much more dangerous than the small town he leaves behind. I could tell him he will be in places, situations, and around all kinds of people he has never encountered before, and he should trust his instincts. It's ok to take time to second guess yourself, think it through, and not follow the crowd, but I feel pretty good about things like peer pressure. I think he handled that pretty well in high school, and he makes friends easily.
I know he knows right from wrong, and he knows how to treat girls because he is a Southern gentleman. I'm not sure he is prepared for professors, even in the South! I'd probably give him a WARNING about that. He'd probably roll his eyes, but not be surprised knowing me! We live in the greatest country on the face of the earth with freedom of thought, expression, and speech. Nowhere is that more evident than on a college campus. However, that freedom was bought and paid for with a very high price. While we go about our lives going to class, hanging out, drinking lattes, and writing whatever I feel like writing, other men and women his age are making the choice to defend this great nation as soldiers, so we can do just those things we want to do. God bless America! God bless the men and women who wear that uniform and sleep under our flag all over the world!
I would tell him to enjoy that freedom, but never take it for granted. Professors and students will come from all over the country and from other countries with different cultures, beliefs, and ideas. I would tell him to listen, learn, discuss, but verify everything for himself. Question, don’t take things for granted, do the research. He is very smart, but he hasn’t been exposed to ideological agendas yet. I’d just like to tell him to be aware. If he questions them the way he has his parents, he should be fine!
I'm sure I'd tell him to keep his parents cell numbers on speed dial because no matter what the situation, they will always be there. He wouldn't believe me if I told him as time goes on by their conversations will evolve into more of adults talking like friends rather than parent and child.
I think I wouldn't tell him any of that stuff. I think I would just remind him to stay true to his beliefs, his faith, and who he is as a person. I think I would remind him I'm proud of him, remind him to stay in touch, have fun, be safe, and I'd say to him what I've said since he was that little blue-eyed baby with curly hair,
"I love you a bushel and a peck, and a hug around the neck!"
But really, what 18 almost 19-year old would want to hear any of that stuff?
Let me just say, look out world, ready or not . . . HERE HE COMES!!
(Names changed to protect the innocent & the guilty!)
Sunday
Reflection, Part 2
Well, this was on the bottom of my last post. You know how my mind works. I went to take a nice relaxing bath and I kept thinking about the ending and realized, that didn't end like I meant for it to. That may be my favorite thing about blogging. You can just continue, and Lord knows I'll never run out of something to say.
This was on the first part, but I think it needs to stand alone . . . and so it will!
______________
Sometimes I worry when I talk about memories that someone will read my words and think or say, "If you had childhood memories like mine, you wouldn't want to remember." I want to address that because I would never want to hurt or cause pain in any way. Just because I talk about what is pleasant doesn't mean it all was, but if I lay them out side by side, the good outweighs the bad by 1,000 miles.
If it were bad enough that I thought my experience could help someone with a specific situation, and I knew about it, I would lay it all out in a heartbeat. That is a negative thing about blogging. You are not always sure who you are talking to.
I have had children from shattered homes, really screwed up kids in my home. I know the stories, I've lived through some of the hell with them and I know that pain and cycle is real. I've gone the 2nd and 3rd mile, I've given unconditional love, but it wasn't enough. I will never stop loving and never stop praying for them. I've said more than once, you cannot save every one, but I do know this. They will have some good memories of their time here. When and if they have quiet moments, they will remember. Just like my grandchildren and the milkman, these kids used to ask me questions of things that were foreign to them like,"How have you stayed married to one man this long? Are you being straight with me . . . you have never smoked pot or tried any kind of drugs? Why were you late coming home? Why do you work so hard, I'd tell that boss to____." It's the cycle. But, they will remember the story books, birthday parties, the laughter, crawling in our bed when they were scared, being taken to church, the hugs, the kisses, the love! I hope to live long enough to see some of the fruits manifest in their lives in the form of peace, good choices, and a broken cycle.
If you are a parent of young children and you know you are in over your head, cry out for help. If you didn't have proper parents, it's hard to be one. You can learn to be. Ask for help. Don't stop until you get the help you need, so your child can have the memories, the life, the love, the security you didn't have. Reflect back on what it felt like when you were a little child and couldn't do anything about your circumstances, but you were scared. Remember times when you were afraid and hungry. You know what that feels like, and you vowed you would never let that happen to a child. Do better for them! Please. The situation you are in can be changed. Everybody makes mistakes. What's not acceptable is to not reach out for help! Saying you love a child is not what they will remember. Feeling secure, safe, provided for, and loved is what they remember.
God Bless America! We have lost our way and we are losing a whole generation who have sold their conscience for a pill bottle and some smoke. So many can no longer determine right from wrong and have made the drug first priority in their lives. They are affecting the next generation because they are not capable of parenting.
If you are a grandparent, please share the stories with the children. Whatever time you have them in your influence, let it be peaceful. Hold those kids on your lap, show them love, give hugs, let them hear the laughter, the songs. If you need to mend fences with their parents for that to happen, pick up the fencing tools, go where you have to go, and do whatever you have to do for the joy of being an influence in their lives. You will never regret it.
It doesn't matter who was right. It only matters that a child is alright! What's the price for being right . . . too high, if it involves a childhood. Every day that goes by is one you won't get back.
Reflect on that!
ps I hope for a happy, funny story next! It is what it is.
This was on the first part, but I think it needs to stand alone . . . and so it will!
______________
Sometimes I worry when I talk about memories that someone will read my words and think or say, "If you had childhood memories like mine, you wouldn't want to remember." I want to address that because I would never want to hurt or cause pain in any way. Just because I talk about what is pleasant doesn't mean it all was, but if I lay them out side by side, the good outweighs the bad by 1,000 miles.
If it were bad enough that I thought my experience could help someone with a specific situation, and I knew about it, I would lay it all out in a heartbeat. That is a negative thing about blogging. You are not always sure who you are talking to.
I have had children from shattered homes, really screwed up kids in my home. I know the stories, I've lived through some of the hell with them and I know that pain and cycle is real. I've gone the 2nd and 3rd mile, I've given unconditional love, but it wasn't enough. I will never stop loving and never stop praying for them. I've said more than once, you cannot save every one, but I do know this. They will have some good memories of their time here. When and if they have quiet moments, they will remember. Just like my grandchildren and the milkman, these kids used to ask me questions of things that were foreign to them like,"How have you stayed married to one man this long? Are you being straight with me . . . you have never smoked pot or tried any kind of drugs? Why were you late coming home? Why do you work so hard, I'd tell that boss to____." It's the cycle. But, they will remember the story books, birthday parties, the laughter, crawling in our bed when they were scared, being taken to church, the hugs, the kisses, the love! I hope to live long enough to see some of the fruits manifest in their lives in the form of peace, good choices, and a broken cycle.
If you are a parent of young children and you know you are in over your head, cry out for help. If you didn't have proper parents, it's hard to be one. You can learn to be. Ask for help. Don't stop until you get the help you need, so your child can have the memories, the life, the love, the security you didn't have. Reflect back on what it felt like when you were a little child and couldn't do anything about your circumstances, but you were scared. Remember times when you were afraid and hungry. You know what that feels like, and you vowed you would never let that happen to a child. Do better for them! Please. The situation you are in can be changed. Everybody makes mistakes. What's not acceptable is to not reach out for help! Saying you love a child is not what they will remember. Feeling secure, safe, provided for, and loved is what they remember.
God Bless America! We have lost our way and we are losing a whole generation who have sold their conscience for a pill bottle and some smoke. So many can no longer determine right from wrong and have made the drug first priority in their lives. They are affecting the next generation because they are not capable of parenting.
If you are a grandparent, please share the stories with the children. Whatever time you have them in your influence, let it be peaceful. Hold those kids on your lap, show them love, give hugs, let them hear the laughter, the songs. If you need to mend fences with their parents for that to happen, pick up the fencing tools, go where you have to go, and do whatever you have to do for the joy of being an influence in their lives. You will never regret it.
It doesn't matter who was right. It only matters that a child is alright! What's the price for being right . . . too high, if it involves a childhood. Every day that goes by is one you won't get back.
Reflect on that!
ps I hope for a happy, funny story next! It is what it is.
Reflection
This was really beginning to bother me . . . this thing of trying to tell stories in order and all of a sudden today it dawned on me. I don't have to tell anything in order. I only need to tell them in the order they come back to me. What a relief! Daily, sometimes hourly, I am reminded of something or someone by the smallest things. I have a notebook that I write notes in because if I don't write a portion of it down at the time, it may not come back. It's related to something specific at that time and when it passes . . . let me just say, "What did you eat for supper night before last?" It's hard! There is an East Tennessee expression that goes like this, "Don't ask me, I've slept since then." That's a good one you can use!
One day I had to pull off the Interstate and run in a gas station to buy a spiral pad to jot down some notes. The situation had to do with the traffic I was in and someones behavior. I haven't written it, but I have the notes. It was such a good lesson and I was afraid when I arrived at my destination, I'd get out of the car start talking to Mama and my sisters and it would never come back to me. Now, I keep a little spiral pad (like my Grandma Naomi did) in my purse. It's also good to have in your purse for grandchildren to doodle on in church or if they need to get rid of their gum!
It might be something someone says, something I see, hear, smell, you know about my senses, and I get a flashback. It is so real, I just stop in my tracks. I know I must have this far off look on my face sometimes. I don't realize it until I'm passing someone I don't know in a car and they smile. I realize I was smiling at them. It's a good habit to develop anyway. Sometimes I'm smiling in the car because I'm singing or listening to music. I like the same music Daddy did and with satellite radio, I can listen to it. Many times I can just hear Daddy's voice and visualize him in the kitchen, cleaned up and spit shined after work, piddling with what's on the stove. He liked to be in the kitchen and he'd add a pinch of this or that while he was singing or whistling along to his country tunes.
Recently a lady at the grocery store stopped me and said, "You must be the happiest woman in this town. You are always humming or smiling." I thought, "Ha, did I just fool her. I wasn't even in the grocery store!" I knew the lady, and I know she has a lot of difficult things going on in her life and I do too. Neither one of us really felt like smiling, but I wasn't in my present circumstances at that moment. I was reflecting. Maybe that memory was good for both of us.
You know I really was in the grocery store . . . right? At least my body and my checkbook were! I came home and looked up the word reflection. Webster's says it is careful thought, especially the process of reconsidering previous actions, events, or decisions; the image of somebody or something that appears in a reflective surface.
I mentioned Grandma Naomi earlier, and remembered you haven't met her yet. What an amazing woman! If anyone in our family would have had the vision to market Naomi, there would have been no need for a Martha Stewart! Seriously, I wish I had told my grandmother I hoped to grow up and be just like her. Boy, would my husband ever love that! We took her incredible talents for granted and she just thought she was doing her job as a homemaker, and she loved it! I may get to her next, if it comes back.
Anyway Grandma Naomi and Poppa lived on a different farm. They had a creek on their farm . . . well they had a lot of them, but this one was as far as we were allowed to go. From the kitchen door she could still see us and we could hear her call "Yoo-hoo, children get in here!" I wish you could hear her. Words don't do her justice. It sounded like some kind of tribal war call!
In that creek, you could see your reflection so clearly. You could see critters in the water, but you could also see your reflection. We would play down there for the longest time. Kids today would be so bored. They can't stand quiet. You could watch the clouds roll by. We loved it. We were young and innocent and the reflection was like daydreaming.
Now the reflection is about what has been. Some good, some not so good, but worth the trip!
One day I had to pull off the Interstate and run in a gas station to buy a spiral pad to jot down some notes. The situation had to do with the traffic I was in and someones behavior. I haven't written it, but I have the notes. It was such a good lesson and I was afraid when I arrived at my destination, I'd get out of the car start talking to Mama and my sisters and it would never come back to me. Now, I keep a little spiral pad (like my Grandma Naomi did) in my purse. It's also good to have in your purse for grandchildren to doodle on in church or if they need to get rid of their gum!
It might be something someone says, something I see, hear, smell, you know about my senses, and I get a flashback. It is so real, I just stop in my tracks. I know I must have this far off look on my face sometimes. I don't realize it until I'm passing someone I don't know in a car and they smile. I realize I was smiling at them. It's a good habit to develop anyway. Sometimes I'm smiling in the car because I'm singing or listening to music. I like the same music Daddy did and with satellite radio, I can listen to it. Many times I can just hear Daddy's voice and visualize him in the kitchen, cleaned up and spit shined after work, piddling with what's on the stove. He liked to be in the kitchen and he'd add a pinch of this or that while he was singing or whistling along to his country tunes.
Recently a lady at the grocery store stopped me and said, "You must be the happiest woman in this town. You are always humming or smiling." I thought, "Ha, did I just fool her. I wasn't even in the grocery store!" I knew the lady, and I know she has a lot of difficult things going on in her life and I do too. Neither one of us really felt like smiling, but I wasn't in my present circumstances at that moment. I was reflecting. Maybe that memory was good for both of us.
You know I really was in the grocery store . . . right? At least my body and my checkbook were! I came home and looked up the word reflection. Webster's says it is careful thought, especially the process of reconsidering previous actions, events, or decisions; the image of somebody or something that appears in a reflective surface.
I mentioned Grandma Naomi earlier, and remembered you haven't met her yet. What an amazing woman! If anyone in our family would have had the vision to market Naomi, there would have been no need for a Martha Stewart! Seriously, I wish I had told my grandmother I hoped to grow up and be just like her. Boy, would my husband ever love that! We took her incredible talents for granted and she just thought she was doing her job as a homemaker, and she loved it! I may get to her next, if it comes back.
Anyway Grandma Naomi and Poppa lived on a different farm. They had a creek on their farm . . . well they had a lot of them, but this one was as far as we were allowed to go. From the kitchen door she could still see us and we could hear her call "Yoo-hoo, children get in here!" I wish you could hear her. Words don't do her justice. It sounded like some kind of tribal war call!
In that creek, you could see your reflection so clearly. You could see critters in the water, but you could also see your reflection. We would play down there for the longest time. Kids today would be so bored. They can't stand quiet. You could watch the clouds roll by. We loved it. We were young and innocent and the reflection was like daydreaming.
Now the reflection is about what has been. Some good, some not so good, but worth the trip!
Tell Me a Story
Have You Checked Your Roots Lately . . .
I know you just ran for a mirror . . . hey, I’m right there with you! But, I’m thinking about a different kind of roots today.
I know it’s not my age because according to pop culture, 57 is the new 37 . . . yea right? It may be my grandchildren. When I look around at this crazy world, it makes me think about the things I want those little girls to know for certain. They won’t have the privilege of growing up in an innocent world like girls my age did. We may have thought it was boring at the time, but we could have never envisioned the things from which we were protected.
I picked up the Sunday paper this morning, as is my ritual with my first cup of coffee, and on the front page I read of three extremely violent acts. I read things like that in the paper almost daily and see it on the news every night before I go to bed. The horrifying thing about this one is that I knew one family. A wonderful Christian family minding their own business when intruders came to the door with a made up story to try and gain entrance to harm and rob them. The owner was suspicious and got his gun. The life of one of the intruders was taken, but the home owner was able to protect his family . . . this time.
Sure I fear for myself. This little town is getting worse all the time. The influx of drugs and drug dependency is horrible. The loss of jobs and opportunity for employment is so high. Add those two together and you get a very scary picture. They will do unbelievable things to get drugs or money for drugs.
This culture by in large doesn’t respect human life. It’s not only scary . . . it is sad. So sad, it honestly makes me cry. When I was growing up in the South, life was so much simpler. As I said in my profile, I have recently discovered I had a very privileged upbringing, and this is exactly what I am talking about.
We felt loved and safe. As I think about it now, I almost chuckle at how innocent we were. I didn’t worry about anything because of my Daddy. My Daddy was going to take care of us and, if you messed with any of us; you were going to answer to him! He was soft spoken, but when it came to his children, I can’t even imagine what he would have been capable of to protect us.
My Daddy died suddenly April 26, 1992. My grandchildren never knew him. That is such a tragedy for them and for Daddy. He loved his children so much and when the grandchildren came along, he could hardly stand it. With that sweet southern drawl, he always said, “They don’t call em grand for nothin!” Now being a grandparent myself and knowing what he felt, he would have absolutely adored his great-grandchildren and they him.
There were so many wonderful family members that had an impact on my life that never had the joy of knowing my grandchildren nor did my grandchildren have the honor and privilege of being taught very important values by the way they lived their lives and the things they taught us. I feel a responsibility to pass those things on to them so they can pass them on.
Ed Chinn has said "A story is like a seed. It carries a power which is mysterious, potent, and continuing. When it falls into the ground of a human mind, it takes on a life of its own. Family stories should be told well and often and thereby, planted in the soil of family culture. When it comes to stories we have the choice to become a producer or a curator (guardian, keeper). Producers clean it up and make it marketable. Curators have a much greater depth of respect for the story and knowledge of its true value. They know the story is not a product. They also know it has no responsibility to us; we have a responsibility to it! Curators want to preserve it exactly as they found it. And, they care about its safety and survival. So, for them, the challenge is to just find the right setting to display it. They are focused on passing it on intact to future generations."
Families are so disconnected these days. It’s really hard to do what I’m talking about without conscious effort. You have to want to pass it on. Write it down. I have journals and notebooks that I plan to leave, but I want to tell them in my own words, in my own voice for them to remember while I can. I've talked about how I can hear Daddy's voice and Grandma's voice. I want them to experience that.
Euguene Peterson says,“We live in a world impoverished of story.” I tend to agree with him. Oh, we have plenty of things to read, hundreds of channels to watch, more avenues of communication than this world has ever known, but do we talk, do we communicate (listen) within families, do we tell stories, do we know each other?
You will be surprised how interested children are in what you have to say, if you make it interesting. Recently on a trip to Alabama, my grandchildren were so interested in a story I was telling them about the milkman who came to my grandmother’s house. I talked about how she would leave a note pinned to the screen door with a clothes pin telling him exactly what she needed. Those were times of total trust. She lived way out on a farm and she didn't want to miss getting what she needed. She would tell him in the note she would be out and he should go in and put those things in the refrigerator. He was to write the amount she owed on the same note and collect it the next time. They were spell bound by that little story.
Remember they have never seen a milkman, they had to learn from me why she didn’t get those things at the grocery, which led to a story about the things that we grew on the farm, canning and freezing, the things we raised like cows, hogs, and chickens and how they were preserved. With eyes as big as saucers they were both looking at me. No yelling in the car about sit down, be quiet, turn the music down. When I finished, they had many questions, then the oldest looked at me and said, “How do you know so much stuff?” See, I had not talked about a video game (I don’t know how to play them); we had not discussed the latest Jonas Brothers song or whatever 9 year olds dig. They can get that anywhere. They trust everything I tell them to be true, and they think I know a lot of stuff that other people don't. Trust me, they will pass it on. They already are.
Occasionally they'll test my version. We recently had a conversation about the famous "Chamber Pot" to which my proper Southern Mama said, "Shhh! You shouldn't talk about that in public!" But just to be sure I didn't make that one up, they went to one of my Mama's brothers, the one who still loves to get under his sister's skin, and he told them more about it from personal experience! They were rolling in the floor! My poor Mama was mortified!
Having been blessed to know all of my grandparents, and several great-grandparents, I have a heart full of stories to share. I tell stories all the time and when I am with my relatives, I like to hear theirs, because I plan on passing them on. My greatest joy is when my granddaughters say, “You know what Grandma Sarah would say?” or “Grand Philip said this or did that.” They do know because I have told stories. They are alive to them in their mind and in pictures. Teach them to visualize.
Have you checked your roots lately? People trace their genealogy and their heritage. Pass it on. Learn more than names, ask questions, and tell your children and grandchildren about those special people. Tell them the good, the mischevious, and the funny. They need to know this world was so much different once upon a time, and in my opinion a better place, a kinder place. They need to know the kind of people they come from, and they need to know a lot is expected of those who carry that blood line.
I believe we have so many kids out there who just play games, get involved in bad things as teens, and grow older to commit horrific things because they are not connected. It’s not just my small town . . . it’s magnified all across this great nation . . . its epidemic . . . its sad! I’m no Pollyanna. I know you can't save every kid. I wouldn’t want to be a child growing up in today’s world. You know the things we had to face as kids growing up. Compare that to society today . . . there is hardly any comparison. But, I do believe if they felt a connection, felt that sense of belonging, had some sort of grounding, roots, it would/ could make a significant difference in some lives.
We have children having children, parents who were never equipped or loved trying to raise children the best they can, girls having babies with boys or men who have no intention of taking responsibility for them. It is tough out there. Maybe you are a parent of one of those kids or a grandparent. Sometimes a true story with a message spoken without judgment can mend fences or at least start a conversation. Families need each other.
As I said in the beginning . . . look at your roots. Think back, ask your children if they remember a certain event, tell it again. Ask a relative about certain times and events or other relatives that are gone, spend time with your grandchildren, leave your imprint on their lives, let them get to know you and their roots. I mentioned earlier about teaching them to visualize things. Visualize with me the roots of a large tree. For the tree to thrive and survive, the roots must go down deep and out wide. It's the same way with our families. Be the story teller in your family. Try to connect or reconnect. It is so worth it and like a mighty oak tree, the family will be standing strong long after you are gone.
I know you just ran for a mirror . . . hey, I’m right there with you! But, I’m thinking about a different kind of roots today.
I know it’s not my age because according to pop culture, 57 is the new 37 . . . yea right? It may be my grandchildren. When I look around at this crazy world, it makes me think about the things I want those little girls to know for certain. They won’t have the privilege of growing up in an innocent world like girls my age did. We may have thought it was boring at the time, but we could have never envisioned the things from which we were protected.
I picked up the Sunday paper this morning, as is my ritual with my first cup of coffee, and on the front page I read of three extremely violent acts. I read things like that in the paper almost daily and see it on the news every night before I go to bed. The horrifying thing about this one is that I knew one family. A wonderful Christian family minding their own business when intruders came to the door with a made up story to try and gain entrance to harm and rob them. The owner was suspicious and got his gun. The life of one of the intruders was taken, but the home owner was able to protect his family . . . this time.
Sure I fear for myself. This little town is getting worse all the time. The influx of drugs and drug dependency is horrible. The loss of jobs and opportunity for employment is so high. Add those two together and you get a very scary picture. They will do unbelievable things to get drugs or money for drugs.
This culture by in large doesn’t respect human life. It’s not only scary . . . it is sad. So sad, it honestly makes me cry. When I was growing up in the South, life was so much simpler. As I said in my profile, I have recently discovered I had a very privileged upbringing, and this is exactly what I am talking about.
We felt loved and safe. As I think about it now, I almost chuckle at how innocent we were. I didn’t worry about anything because of my Daddy. My Daddy was going to take care of us and, if you messed with any of us; you were going to answer to him! He was soft spoken, but when it came to his children, I can’t even imagine what he would have been capable of to protect us.
My Daddy died suddenly April 26, 1992. My grandchildren never knew him. That is such a tragedy for them and for Daddy. He loved his children so much and when the grandchildren came along, he could hardly stand it. With that sweet southern drawl, he always said, “They don’t call em grand for nothin!” Now being a grandparent myself and knowing what he felt, he would have absolutely adored his great-grandchildren and they him.
There were so many wonderful family members that had an impact on my life that never had the joy of knowing my grandchildren nor did my grandchildren have the honor and privilege of being taught very important values by the way they lived their lives and the things they taught us. I feel a responsibility to pass those things on to them so they can pass them on.
Ed Chinn has said "A story is like a seed. It carries a power which is mysterious, potent, and continuing. When it falls into the ground of a human mind, it takes on a life of its own. Family stories should be told well and often and thereby, planted in the soil of family culture. When it comes to stories we have the choice to become a producer or a curator (guardian, keeper). Producers clean it up and make it marketable. Curators have a much greater depth of respect for the story and knowledge of its true value. They know the story is not a product. They also know it has no responsibility to us; we have a responsibility to it! Curators want to preserve it exactly as they found it. And, they care about its safety and survival. So, for them, the challenge is to just find the right setting to display it. They are focused on passing it on intact to future generations."
Families are so disconnected these days. It’s really hard to do what I’m talking about without conscious effort. You have to want to pass it on. Write it down. I have journals and notebooks that I plan to leave, but I want to tell them in my own words, in my own voice for them to remember while I can. I've talked about how I can hear Daddy's voice and Grandma's voice. I want them to experience that.
Euguene Peterson says,“We live in a world impoverished of story.” I tend to agree with him. Oh, we have plenty of things to read, hundreds of channels to watch, more avenues of communication than this world has ever known, but do we talk, do we communicate (listen) within families, do we tell stories, do we know each other?
You will be surprised how interested children are in what you have to say, if you make it interesting. Recently on a trip to Alabama, my grandchildren were so interested in a story I was telling them about the milkman who came to my grandmother’s house. I talked about how she would leave a note pinned to the screen door with a clothes pin telling him exactly what she needed. Those were times of total trust. She lived way out on a farm and she didn't want to miss getting what she needed. She would tell him in the note she would be out and he should go in and put those things in the refrigerator. He was to write the amount she owed on the same note and collect it the next time. They were spell bound by that little story.
Remember they have never seen a milkman, they had to learn from me why she didn’t get those things at the grocery, which led to a story about the things that we grew on the farm, canning and freezing, the things we raised like cows, hogs, and chickens and how they were preserved. With eyes as big as saucers they were both looking at me. No yelling in the car about sit down, be quiet, turn the music down. When I finished, they had many questions, then the oldest looked at me and said, “How do you know so much stuff?” See, I had not talked about a video game (I don’t know how to play them); we had not discussed the latest Jonas Brothers song or whatever 9 year olds dig. They can get that anywhere. They trust everything I tell them to be true, and they think I know a lot of stuff that other people don't. Trust me, they will pass it on. They already are.
Occasionally they'll test my version. We recently had a conversation about the famous "Chamber Pot" to which my proper Southern Mama said, "Shhh! You shouldn't talk about that in public!" But just to be sure I didn't make that one up, they went to one of my Mama's brothers, the one who still loves to get under his sister's skin, and he told them more about it from personal experience! They were rolling in the floor! My poor Mama was mortified!
Having been blessed to know all of my grandparents, and several great-grandparents, I have a heart full of stories to share. I tell stories all the time and when I am with my relatives, I like to hear theirs, because I plan on passing them on. My greatest joy is when my granddaughters say, “You know what Grandma Sarah would say?” or “Grand Philip said this or did that.” They do know because I have told stories. They are alive to them in their mind and in pictures. Teach them to visualize.
Have you checked your roots lately? People trace their genealogy and their heritage. Pass it on. Learn more than names, ask questions, and tell your children and grandchildren about those special people. Tell them the good, the mischevious, and the funny. They need to know this world was so much different once upon a time, and in my opinion a better place, a kinder place. They need to know the kind of people they come from, and they need to know a lot is expected of those who carry that blood line.
I believe we have so many kids out there who just play games, get involved in bad things as teens, and grow older to commit horrific things because they are not connected. It’s not just my small town . . . it’s magnified all across this great nation . . . its epidemic . . . its sad! I’m no Pollyanna. I know you can't save every kid. I wouldn’t want to be a child growing up in today’s world. You know the things we had to face as kids growing up. Compare that to society today . . . there is hardly any comparison. But, I do believe if they felt a connection, felt that sense of belonging, had some sort of grounding, roots, it would/ could make a significant difference in some lives.
We have children having children, parents who were never equipped or loved trying to raise children the best they can, girls having babies with boys or men who have no intention of taking responsibility for them. It is tough out there. Maybe you are a parent of one of those kids or a grandparent. Sometimes a true story with a message spoken without judgment can mend fences or at least start a conversation. Families need each other.
As I said in the beginning . . . look at your roots. Think back, ask your children if they remember a certain event, tell it again. Ask a relative about certain times and events or other relatives that are gone, spend time with your grandchildren, leave your imprint on their lives, let them get to know you and their roots. I mentioned earlier about teaching them to visualize things. Visualize with me the roots of a large tree. For the tree to thrive and survive, the roots must go down deep and out wide. It's the same way with our families. Be the story teller in your family. Try to connect or reconnect. It is so worth it and like a mighty oak tree, the family will be standing strong long after you are gone.
Saturday
Sensory Memories
My husband and I have talked about this many times . . . my memories of growing up. He thinks it is so strange, but that's because he'd just as soon forget most of his childhood. The good memories for him are professional, and most importantly our family, from the time he married my daughter and me. For that reason I understand why a lot of people would agree with him and would see my memory bank as an affliction or some psychological condition for which I need to seek treatment, but to me it is a wonderful blessing. If there is a cure, I'm not seeking it.
I've given it a name . . . sensory memories. That's because it involves every sense we have . . . sight, smell, sound, touch, and even taste. How weird is that? My daughter has some of it, but I'm not sure if it is to the same degree. Interesting that hers is about some of the same people, and I've decided it's because that emotional connection was so strong at such an early age. [Boy, do I have a lot more to say about that in days to come! Hint . . .today's kids, their parents, and their parents . . . but I digress.]
As I tell you about some of these wonderful influences in my life, bear in mind, it's not just historical, because so much of them lives in me and through me in those sensory memories. I don't want to get the cart before the horse, because I really did want to tell you why the name "Capshaw Road Reflections." That starts for me with the First Lady of Capshaw Road, Sarah. I'm sitting in silence, just me and my coffee, typing on a keyboard and the thought of her makes me smile and warms my heart and brings me comfort in a way no comfort food ever could! You will agree as you get to know this wonderful woman.
However, because I was in Alabama last week, I was looking through a drawer at my Mama's house for something I thought was lost, but wasn't. Do you ever do that? I just didn't remember where I had put it. Anyway, I ran across an envelope of pictures of the Second Lady of Capshaw Road, Judy Karen. I'm sure it was meant to be . . . the women who lived in that house. Obviously that house was meant to be run by such women; women of strength, grace, impeccable character, wisdom, unconditional love for all mankind, helpers, never a complaint or unkind word about anyone.
One died just shy of her 106th birthday, the other at 51. Both lived such full, rich lives and were such a positive influence on me. Not knowing how much time they would be given, they both lived each day to the fullest! My sensory memory has been working overtime this week. I've tasted Sarah's food, smelled her Pond's Cold Cream, heard her advice in my head [in her voice calling me "sweet darlin"], heard Judy Karen's wonderful laughter [beautiful sound], and took a drive down Capshaw Road.
These are uncertain days in which we live. There are many uncertainties in my own home. Every day is a new crisis, another catastrophe in some part of the world. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not talking about faith. My faith is in the Lord. I know the final outcome. I'm not afraid.
I'm talking about what memories bring to the journey. It was good to remember them and I know exactly what they would say to me about these days and what is going on in my life. That brings comfort, strength, and solace. It centers and stabilizes. I don't want to be cured!
Neither of those women knew the effect they had on so many lives, but because I know what that impact can do and how it lingers and can be passed from one generation to another through stories, I want to pass it on. You see, Sarah was my great grandmother, so I pray I got a little through the genes. Because I know I want to make a conscious effort to add something of value to the lives of those I come in contact with in this life, maybe a little wisdom, encouragement that can help them with their journey . . . don't you? Judy Karen was my aunt, and she was blessed with the most warm, wonderful, contagious laugh that could lift and comfort you, no matter your circumstances . . . or hers! Wouldn't it be wonderful for people to remember they felt better, more hopeful, comforted in your presence? I need to leave more laughter . . . I must make a conscious effort to do that!
I've given it a name . . . sensory memories. That's because it involves every sense we have . . . sight, smell, sound, touch, and even taste. How weird is that? My daughter has some of it, but I'm not sure if it is to the same degree. Interesting that hers is about some of the same people, and I've decided it's because that emotional connection was so strong at such an early age. [Boy, do I have a lot more to say about that in days to come! Hint . . .today's kids, their parents, and their parents . . . but I digress.]
As I tell you about some of these wonderful influences in my life, bear in mind, it's not just historical, because so much of them lives in me and through me in those sensory memories. I don't want to get the cart before the horse, because I really did want to tell you why the name "Capshaw Road Reflections." That starts for me with the First Lady of Capshaw Road, Sarah. I'm sitting in silence, just me and my coffee, typing on a keyboard and the thought of her makes me smile and warms my heart and brings me comfort in a way no comfort food ever could! You will agree as you get to know this wonderful woman.
However, because I was in Alabama last week, I was looking through a drawer at my Mama's house for something I thought was lost, but wasn't. Do you ever do that? I just didn't remember where I had put it. Anyway, I ran across an envelope of pictures of the Second Lady of Capshaw Road, Judy Karen. I'm sure it was meant to be . . . the women who lived in that house. Obviously that house was meant to be run by such women; women of strength, grace, impeccable character, wisdom, unconditional love for all mankind, helpers, never a complaint or unkind word about anyone.
One died just shy of her 106th birthday, the other at 51. Both lived such full, rich lives and were such a positive influence on me. Not knowing how much time they would be given, they both lived each day to the fullest! My sensory memory has been working overtime this week. I've tasted Sarah's food, smelled her Pond's Cold Cream, heard her advice in my head [in her voice calling me "sweet darlin"], heard Judy Karen's wonderful laughter [beautiful sound], and took a drive down Capshaw Road.
These are uncertain days in which we live. There are many uncertainties in my own home. Every day is a new crisis, another catastrophe in some part of the world. Don't misunderstand me. I'm not talking about faith. My faith is in the Lord. I know the final outcome. I'm not afraid.
I'm talking about what memories bring to the journey. It was good to remember them and I know exactly what they would say to me about these days and what is going on in my life. That brings comfort, strength, and solace. It centers and stabilizes. I don't want to be cured!
Neither of those women knew the effect they had on so many lives, but because I know what that impact can do and how it lingers and can be passed from one generation to another through stories, I want to pass it on. You see, Sarah was my great grandmother, so I pray I got a little through the genes. Because I know I want to make a conscious effort to add something of value to the lives of those I come in contact with in this life, maybe a little wisdom, encouragement that can help them with their journey . . . don't you? Judy Karen was my aunt, and she was blessed with the most warm, wonderful, contagious laugh that could lift and comfort you, no matter your circumstances . . . or hers! Wouldn't it be wonderful for people to remember they felt better, more hopeful, comforted in your presence? I need to leave more laughter . . . I must make a conscious effort to do that!
Sunday
The Purpose
I am a Mama, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and to some people I am "Sugah" (tell you later). I'm also in discovery mode right now, and I've decided to record it for anyone who is interested in the journey. It will be a lot of history about some incredible people. Many of them are my relatives, some are people who have crossed my path since I left home over 30 years ago, but all have left an indelible print [marks that cannot be removed, washed, or erased] on my life, and I want it recorded.
If no one else ever reads it, I want it recorded for my daughter and granddaughters, three of the most precious females who are going to be three incredible women! Well . . . one is well on her way. She is doing double duty impacting her daughter's lives and those around her. Together they are going to have a positive impact on this world . . . and this ole world surely needs it! I think some of these stories (all true) will help them along their journey.
Think that's more than you wanted to know . . . ha, I'm just beginning!
If no one else ever reads it, I want it recorded for my daughter and granddaughters, three of the most precious females who are going to be three incredible women! Well . . . one is well on her way. She is doing double duty impacting her daughter's lives and those around her. Together they are going to have a positive impact on this world . . . and this ole world surely needs it! I think some of these stories (all true) will help them along their journey.
Think that's more than you wanted to know . . . ha, I'm just beginning!
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