looking through me

Tag: love

October 10, 2014

home alone

My parents decided we—in sixth grade, third grade and second grade—could stay home alone while they went to parent-teacher conferences.

We pulled out a salvaged wrapping paper tube. The perfect size to use as a bat. Home plate was by Dad’s chair at the table. The pitcher stood in the middle of the family room.

Then the impossible happened.

The thin cardboard tube connected perfectly with the soft, blue Nerf ball. It sailed through the dining room, arced through the family room beyond the fingertips of two fielders and then bent hard to the right through the door into the entryway. There it found the small shelf holding the tiny antique pelican. Colored glass shattered on the bricks below.

This was no ordinary trinket. Aunt Erna—Mom’s great uncle’s wife—gave it to Mom. Of all the pieces she passed down, it was the only pelican. Mom and Dad collected pelican figurines; and we broke their oldest one.

Tears streamed down our faces as we knelt and swept the fragments into the dustpan.

That’s where our parents found us. Mom assured us we hadn’t done anything wrong. We were allowed to play Nerf ball in the house. We’d done it before with no casualties. But we felt no better.

The middle child has always been the handiest of us. He pieced the biggest sections together and rotated the smaller slivers into place. He meticulously glued the pelican back together. We never did find the last piece of its beak. But the broken bird lived on in his room for years.

 

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.

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October 9, 2014

special days

Do parents start with a parenting strategy or do they make it up as they go? I’m pretty sure mine came equipped with some ready-to-implement plans. My evidence?

Special days.

Each of the three of us had one special day a summer. They were glorious. In every way.

My special days were all about me. The boys spent the day and night at Grandma and Grandpa’s. I had Mom all to myself all day to do whatever I chose (within reason). And once Dad was off work, I had both of them all to myself. What we did, what we ate, where we went . . . my choice. Some years the big event was in the evening when Dad was part of it. Some years—like when I’d earned two free tickets to Knott’s Berry Farm—the highlight happened earlier in the day and the evenings were lower key.

And on the boys’ days, they picked what they wanted to do.

And the children with the grandparents? It was almost like getting two more special days. Full days and nights at Grandma and Grandpa’s meant Grandma’s cooking and whatever treats she had in store. It meant games of hide ’n’ seek and kickball and building elaborate contraptions on top of the pool table. It meant triple-checking candy bowls to make sure I picked real pieces, not the rubber ones.

I don’t know where the idea came from, but it was amazing. The days weren’t elaborate or expensive, but they were priceless. The time, the memories . . . special days indeed.

 

This post is part of the 31 Days: Family series. Read the beginning, and see a full index of posts, here.

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