Lady of the House - Blogs | carolinaparent.com

We All Will Be Together

Fri, 30 Nov 2012 14:02:00 -0500

At this time of year, I miss my dear friend, Tina, who now lives in Tampa. We grew up together, and many, if not, most of my childhood Christmas memories involve her and her mother, Julia. Every year we’d go see Santa Claus together at Cameron Village and to the nighttime parade on Fayetteville Street. We used to love the way the drums in the school bands marching down the street sounded. We’d go Christmas caroling with our church group and look forward to the children’s Christmas party there. But mostly, I remember how we shared the anticipation of Christmas, the magic of it. And I think of Tina and miss her so much during this season, particularly. Especially when I hear Christmas carols.

Aside from the traditional carols like “Silent Night” and “Joy to the World,” I have to say one of my favorite Christmas songs is “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.” I first fell in love with the song because of its melody, how it touches a place in my heart that mere words cannot. But I also like the lyrics, and over the years, I’ve become even fonder of the words than the music. They don’t speak of snowmen and sleigh rides, but more about inner peace and relationships – something the holidays should certainly be about. The lyrics are very wistful, but still optimistic; they say despite our troubles – and there certainly are enough of those in the world today – we should let our “hearts be light,” to have hope amidst our struggles.

As I’ve gotten older and also watched those of my parents’ generation growing older, too, there are other words from that song that evoke emotions in me. “Through the years we all will be together if the Fates allow” always makes me picture my relatives from my mother and father’s sides of the family – cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents – gathering for the holidays and greeting each other with hugs. This year, especially, I’ve been thinking about my father and his 11 brothers and sisters when I hear those lyrics. The family was a close one and spent many of those growing up years back in the 1930s near Cary, renting a house that used to be on what is now the WakeMed Soccer Stadium land. The stories my father and his brothers tell about their exploits back then are hilarious. It makes me want to be there growing up with them. They worked hard, prayed hard, and played hard, with most of them going on to graduate from college and many of them going into the education field as teachers or principals and even an East Carolina football coach. My father graduated from NC State in the mechanical engineering program and worked with his father in the family sewing machine business, which he still operates. Several of them served proudly in World War II, also. As time passed, most of them had children of their own, creating a huge bunch of cousins and in-laws.

Daddy, 88, was the next to the youngest sibling, so over the years, unfortunately, he’s seen some of his siblings pass away. First there was Aileen, who died in her 50s back in 1964 in a car accident; when I was a kid, I remember my mother saying that his sister’s death was the only time she could remember ever seeing my father cry. The other siblings were and have been blessed with longevity; Tapley Johnson died back in 1986 at the age of 69, while the others who have passed away – Georgie, Neil, Jim, Lillian, Polly, & Bill -- lived until their late 80s. My Uncle Bill, a World War II veteran, who suffered from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder ever since 1945, died suddenly just last year. Mary Stewart, Jack, my dad Sam, and Ben are all doing well, other than some hip and knee problems. I have special memories of all of these aunts and uncles – words of encouragement they’ve told me, their faith that’s inspired me, happy times at their homes, funny things they’ve said or done.

I wrote the obituaries for Aunt Lillian and Uncle Bill. I recall writing the one for Aunt Lillian and when I typed the words, “She was one of 12 children of Archie and Mary Johnson”, I suddenly broke down and cried, thinking of that family of 12 children that once was, those children who played in the yard and went to Sunday school and chopped wood for the fireplace and spent many Christmas mornings together. And it hit me that one by one, that big family was becoming much smaller.

So when I think of the song lyrics, “Through the years we all will be together,” I think of those loved ones – friends and family near and far – and those who have passed away, and these lyrics somehow bring them all together again. I think of all those aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents – and yes, I think of childhood friends like Tina. I’m so very glad I have wonderful memories to look back on.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas.

Keeper of the Calendar

Sat, 10 Nov 2012 21:57:00 -0500

Last year my middle son, David shouted up the stairs to me the date of his next basketball practice.

“Put it on the calendar!” I yelled down to him. As in THE calendar – the one that tells us where to go when. The big master calendar hanging by our kitchen phone is where we, ideally, are supposed to write down all sports practices and games, appointments, project due dates, and work schedules. If somebody doesn’t write an event on the calendar, then that’s too bad; we’ll miss it. It’s the little bit of organization that my house has, and I stick by it. Without it, our house of chaos would be even worse. It’s helped me keep up with many events the past 20 years. All of my family members rely on that master calendar, and over the years it's become MY job to keep in updated. Like I have nothing else to do.

Even though the calendar might tell us where and when to be somewhere, getting there on time is sometimes half the battle. If it’s a doctor or dentist appointment, we get there on time, but for other things, sometimes I feel we have a little more leeway. Yes, usually we are the ones sneaking into church during the first hymn or in the middle of a prayer, getting to a sports event after the kick-off or first pitch, or showing up a little late for family get-togethers. “We’re always running late,” my youngest son, Jason, said to me one day several years ago as we pulled up a birthday party ten minutes behind schedule.

“No, we’re not,” I replied.

Billy, my oldest, who was in the seat beside me, raised his eyebrows and looked at me bug-eyed like I’d just said the earth wasn’t round. “Mom,” he said, “sometimes when I have a dentist appointment we’re cutting it so close you drop me off right at the front door, push me out of the car and yell, ‘Run, run, run!’”

“But are you late?”

“Almost.”

“But are you late?” I repeated, feeling like Perry Mason trying to make a point in court. Billy finally relented, but I knew he had a very valid point. I’m just one of those people who tries to fill every moment; if we’re running 15 minutes early for something, I think, “Mmmm – what errand can we run in fifteen minutes so we don’t waste the time?” Then we go by the dry cleaners or get milk at the store and end up frantically trying to make it to the original event in the nick of time. Usually, we do, but it’s a stressful lifestyle. It’s a bad sign when David once said after we arrived at a team event five minutes late, “Hey, this is the earliest we’ve ever been late.”

When Jason was seven, we arrived at an indoor soccer game 15 minutes early. He ran in ahead of me and then reappeared at the door, a perplexed expression on his face. “My team’s not on the field,” he exclaimed, somewhat alarmed. The poor little fellow was so used to running onto the field to join his teammates just as the starting whistle blew that he actually thought there was no game.

I smiled at him. “We’re early,” I said slowly, emphasizing the word since I knew it was a totally new concept to him. “The game doesn’t start for another 15 minutes.”

He stood there for a second, staring ahead, like the proverbial fish out of water. “What do I do?” he asked. Clearly, our family has had some time management issues over the years.

Yes, moms are charged quite often as being the person who keeps things going in the household. But I have to admit, there was one time a few years ago that my husband Kevin actually remembered something that I didn’t. I’d misread Jason’s baseball tournament brackets and thought he was playing on a Tuesday, but Kevin had heard the coach say after the last practice, “See you Monday.” So on Monday afternoon, I had no clue Jason’s team was playing that night until Kevin mentioned it. I checked the schedule online and wonder of wonders, Kevin was right. He had remembered something instead of me. Folks, this was a big event in our house. A thing of pure amazement. We all stopped doing whatever we were doing and stared at each other. Billy asked me, “Mom, how does it feel to have Dad remember something?” And the truth was it felt good; I liked being able to rely on someone else’s memory for once, though I knew not to get used to it because it would probably never happen again.

So with the approach of each new year, I go buy another huge wall calendar to place by the phone to document another 365 days of the O’Donnell family activities. In with the new, out with the old. Part of me wishes I had saved all those calendars so that I could go back and read them – the scribbled notes of appointments and game times, the school project due dates and meetings. Days crossed off as when we counted down to vacations or to Christmas Eve. A record of our days together as a family. When I look at it like that, keeper of the calendar is not such a bad job after all. Though every now and then I am tempted to write incorrect information on a day of the calendar just to see what would happen, but I just haven’t had the heart to do it. . . . So far.

Down With Depressing High School English Books

Wed, 17 Oct 2012 21:39:00 -0400

Why are so many of the books read in high school English classes so depressing???

No wonder teens don't like to read and more importantly – No wonder there is an increase in teen anxiety, depression and suicide.

In 2010, when my middle son, then a high school junior, was experiencing severe anxiety, I happened to see the novel he was reading in English class lying on his desk. Two of the characters in the novel attempt suicide together. This book didn't cause his anxiety, but it certainly didn't help. Another character in a book my son read last year hung himself at the end. And I heard of other students who read an assigned novel about a woman who drowned herself.

What?

In this day and age when we're bombarded 24/7 with bad news of terrorism, the economy, natural disasters, and lots of other things – we don't need to make things even more depressing for our teens. Sure, I know that teens need to be aware of the classics like Romeo and Juliet – and of course, that doesn't end very well; but, R&J is so well-known and almost trite that it doesn't really have the same impact that other books do in which students are reading about characters in more modern times who give up on life. Our teens desperately need some HOPE in their lives.

I recently expressed my concerns to a middle school teacher who responded by saying, 'We have to get students ready for real life." Excuse me, but I think teens are exposed to 'real life' enough as it is already. Do we think teens are living in some paradise? Don't think so. There are a lot of pressures and a lot of worries out there. There are books that are about 'real life' that are not so incredibly depressing, and those are some of the books our teens need to read in their high school classes.

I understand English classes delve into the 'human condition', and sometimes the human condition is not very positive or optimistic – but sometimes, it is. A lot of the classics analyzed in English classes are about the depths of human despair, many written by authors who were living in this despair themselves. These novels seem to be 'accepted' more as literature than novels that are more uplifting – but still about the human condition. Why do books with dark themes seem to be what teachers and administrators deem read-worthy in English classes?? There are lots of books out there that touch the soul with thoughts and feelings that inspire rather than depress. It's time we seek more of a balance in depressing literature and the uplifting literature read in high school English classes.

Last year when I went to see "Midnight in Paris" at the movie theater, I was awe-struck by one particular line of dialogue in it from actress Kathy Bates, who played Gertrude Stein in the movie:

"The artist's job is not to succumb to despair but to

find an antidote for the emptiness of existence."

Eureka! That's what I've been trying to say! Can't we find work by some artists who found this antidote for the emptiness of existence and wrote about it in their books? Sure we can.

In closing, let me leave you with a link to two wonderful articles about this concern of bleakness in literature. The first is by Chris Crowe, editor of the English Journal, and the second is from Young Adult author Kristen Randle. Crowe writes about his son's experiences with bleak literature and then publishes the Randle article below his – one she wrote at his request to address this issue. It's aptly titled: "Let It Be Hope".
http://www.ponymoon.com/PonyWorkshop/let-it-be-hope-english-journal-2001/

Here's an excerpt from Crowe's introductory article that quotes his son and how he felt about reading so much depressing literature in school and the misconception that only dark literature is deep literature:

"We go to school to learn how to succeed in life," he said. "But we have to read books that aren't uplifting." Then he came up with an apt analogy: "When you're trying to learn how to swim, you don't read books about drowning."

It's time we do something about this. I am in the process of planning a website and a letter-writing campaign, both entitled UpLit (Encouraging uplifting literature in high school English classes)

Wish me luck!

Full Circle Communication

Fri, 21 Sep 2012 13:58:00 -0400

I've found a new affinity for texting, due mainly to the fact that without texting I probably would not have heard anything at all from my son who is a freshman in college.

Texting has always been nice for the quick 'I'm here' or "Where are you?" messages whenever I'd go pick up one of my sons, but when it comes to questions that should require a more detailed response, I'd much prefer to actually hear the person's voice. It's so much quicker to say something than it is to type a paragraph, especially when my close-up eyesight is not what it used to be. Sometimes I send a text only to have one of my sons respond, "What???", and then I realize my right hand had been out of position on the little keyboard and what I'd typed was complete nonsense.

But my college freshman, who like is older brother is a man of few words, contacts me from his campus two hours away from me by texting. And oh how much I've found those few words mean. The simple sentence, "It's been good" can allay a mom's concerns about a first week of classes and help her to get to sleep at night. Still, I'd like a more in-depth conversation and will relish the times I will be able to talk to him one-on-one in person. He talks more openly then than he does on the phone. When I was in college back in the early '80s, the big thing was waiting until after 11:00 when the long distance rates went down so I could call home (Chapel Hill to Raleigh was long distance then – and it felt long distance at the time). My mother and I could talk for at least 15 minutes about what happened in our day, but I guess with my sons I should just be grateful for a brief text. Better than nothing.

FaceBook is another issue when it comes to communicating with my sons. I'm 'friends' with my oldest son Billy, who is a senior in college; but, he has one of the most boring Facebook pages around with rare posts that are usually sports-related. This means I can glean almost NOTHING about his personal life from it. Occasionally, he is tagged in a photo at a party, and lo and behold, it pops up on his Facebook page, and I'm literally giddy at the sight of it..

The flip side of this is that Billy reads my Facebook page and will sometimes make comments. Usually, they are of the sarcastic variety demonstrating his dry sense of humor (although he did post a Happy Birthday message to me and called me his 'wonderful mother'). I don't post a lot on Facebook, but when I do it's usually about my boys or other members of my family or an experience of mine that I find amusing. Thus, one day in June I posted an anecdote about an unfortunate misstep of mine when I was speaking with the minister after a crowded church service and very clumsily fell down the steps, igniting gasps, causing quite the scene. It was so typically 'me' that I felt compelled to write about it. Lots of people made comments, most commiserating with my embarrassment. But then there was one from Billy that said simply "TLDR" . Knowing this must some kind of lingo for Facebook or other technology, I Googled it. The meaning popped right up: Too Long, Didn't Read. Billy had told me previously that my posts were longer than they were supposed to be, and this was his attempt to point it out specifically. Soon, all my friends saw his post and were also Googling "TLDR", and we all had a laugh about it. Yet, I couldn't help feeling like I was once more a victim of encountering an overabundance of testosterone in dealing with my sons. I, like most women, like to use words and explain things, while guys don't want any details. Women thrive on details.

And now as parents like me have finally gotten up to speed on Facebook and texting, along comes Twitter. This is particularly appealing to guys because not only do you need few words to communicate in this abbreviated way, you are limited to 140 characters. " But, Mom, I couldn't write anymore – I was all out of letters!" We are gradually coming full circle back to the cave man era when grunting and smoke signals were the only methods of communication.

TLDR? Perhaps we are already there.

Batter Up

Wed, 15 Aug 2012 19:51:00 -0400

As my middle son goes off to college this month, I find myself feeling very nostalgic about many things. In the dentist office the other day while there with my youngest son, I couldn't take my eyes off two little boys in the waiting room -- one about 7 and one about 4. They were brothers sitting side by side, and the older one played a video game while the younger one looked over his shoulder and would occasionally grin and shout, "Mom, we got the bad guy!"

The age difference between the two boys was about that of the gap between my two oldest sons, David and Billy, now 18 and 21, respectively. Those two boys reminded me so much of them at that age -- not in terms of physical looks but in the way they interacted with one another, the younger one clearly looking up to the older and leaning over looking at the excitement on screen while his brother waged war on the bad buys in the video game.

I remember so clearly that same look on David's face as he watched wide-eyed over his brother's shoulder. And my heart ached. I missed that little boy. I had no idea how that much time could possibly have gone by. As he goes to college now, I know I will miss my teenager and will relish the time I get to spend with him from now on. I know from experience with my oldest son that once they go to college, things are never quite the same again. There are still some wonderful times of course, but they are different.

I'm glad to have my 12-year-old still at home with my husband and me, but it will feel odd for him to be the only boy in the house. One of the most difficult things to come to grips with is that we will no longer watch David play baseball -- something we have been doing since he was 4, throughout Little League, AAU travel ball, middle school ball, summer Legion ball, and high school ball. Not only in the spring but in some of the summers and autumns too. He's hit home runs and gone through slumps, but no matter what -- playing baseball was a given every year. And suddenly, there are no more games.

That was the most difficult adjustment for his all when he graduated -- that the competitive baseball was over too. He could have probably gone to a Division 2 or smaller college to play, but he had his heart set on going to a Division 1 school where being able to play on the school baseball team was not an option. There will still be club baseball, which he might partake in, but playing for his school team was over -- at least for now. It felt strange indeed. When the final out was called for the year, the reality of it all hit players and parents alike, as tears filled many eyes.

As David prepares to go to college, he is taking his baseball bat bag with him so he can play with friends. I know he will miss the game. I know we will miss watching him play it. Our youngest son is on a baseball team this fall, and my husband and I are looking forward to that. Still, however, it is hard not to watch David play. He was a very good player -- above average and had a .400 + batting averages both years of Legion ball. His last two home runs came during his first summer on the Legion team two years ago - which was a few months before his anxiety flared almost out of control. That anxiety affected him, and his motivation to play baseball at the college level lessened as he struggled with dealing with his anxiety issues.

Sometimes I wonder what his last two years of high school ball would have been like if he had not had anxiety issues; he still played well and especially excelled in the team's two spring break tournaments each year, but his team played in the toughest conference in the state and it was hard to stand out with so many talented players in the area. I'm just so thankful that David feels good and is happy and that the anxiety has not affected him since the winter.

I'm so glad he's excited about going to UNC-Wilmington for his freshman year. I know that he will succeed in whatever he does and that there are so many opportunities waiting for him. I remember watching him stand at the plate and hit the ball out to left field for a double. I know he loved that feeling. But yet there are so many other successes he will have, other ways to hit a ball out of the park, figuratively. I know he will. Batter up.