Kids- you were one, you are one, you have one, you know one. And, kids have stories. As a grandparent, you hang on every word, hoping that your grandchild, might take in one or two of yours and let them seed deep and well. As a parent, you hear everything number one says, because of course they are brilliant. Number two is full of stories made of heart and courage. And, number three… well, (god love his sweet heart) he starts over a lot. By three you’ve learned to hone in on the main topic, capture the highlights and press on. But, this one, Peter Pan, won’t let you multitask. He simply has to say it all. He can’t say it slowly. So, his brain is constantly telling his mouth, he missed a part. Do over. From the beginning. Are you listening? Mom? Dad? You nod, or say yes because, well, you are, kinda. And, then suddenly you panic. You panic because this is the child who will politely ask for the family sized jar of vaseline and then “lotion the cat”, the entire cat. What did you say “yes” to? Oh, Lord! Where did he go? Dear number three, thanks for the memories.
My mom let us each take one thing from her house when we graduated high school. Back in the day, you graduated, got a full time job and moved the heck out. My brother took a piece of furniture. Smart guy. I took a vase. It held a memory for me. In todays fast paced, “I’ll get what I want, no need to take moms” first world America, our kids don’t have the same feels about things that belong to us as we did our parents. As a matter of fact, unless it really suits a need, they’d rather you didn’t give it to them. I mean, for crying out loud, they won’t even take whatever is offered, like we did and hide it in the attic for years. How rude. Anyway, the vase. My mom loved seeing it sitting out when she came to visit. And, I love the fact that I have been able to count on that vase being with me, wherever we moved, as many times as we moved, from the time I was 5. – A solid visual that one thing didn’t change.
The memory? The day my mom brought it home, centered it on the new stereo, looked at my clumsy little hands, leaned in close and said, “DO NOT touch!” So, I stared at it… a lot… in awe… it was amazing and obviously priceless. The only thing it means to my kids is it has never matched my decor, it’s crackled, old, chipped and maybe not worth a dollar at a thrift store. Its life ends with me.
They will remember that I had it. But, they won’t keep it. It means something different to them. And, I have to be ok with that. Even the memories we make together, the same day, the same time, the same place come from different perspectives. I have to embrace that as well. While I was listening to number three, he was watching me, so were his brothers. That’s why it’s important to remember the kid-ing and to talk about it, laugh about it, comfort, console and care about it. Share the feels, the thoughts the reasons. Be open to the differences in the memories.