 |
| Norman Rockwell’s ‘Rosie the Riveter’ The Saturday Evening Post |
I knew I'd be crossing the Rubicon of Culture as I spoke up to this strong mama. I don't remember what I said, but it wasn't as stupid as it would be if I tried to recreate it now. She was flattered and kindly turned towards me and greeted my boys. They weren't all smocked up, so we didn't appear to be aliens. Little did she know, she was the pace-setter for the next 10 years of my life.
The next friend I met was at Tae Kwon Do for my homeschooled kids. Juli Wisotsky. My heart swells thinking of that day on the bench in the Carter's Dojo off Alps Road. She was in the process of specializing in adoption law. Already an attorney, she was refining her work to serve now hundreds of parents, both adoptive and birth, in life changing decisions. She took note some years later that one thing she knew about me, I'd always have on the same pendant nechlace, a gift from Drake and Kelley for my birthday, when we first moved here. Lisa Leonard's 'tree of life' with our little family's names circled about the tree. It's a raw and a simply stamped metal pendant. Sacred. I've only added and swapped it out a few times for a more polished version Mom gave me, and the addition: a small ring from Kelly Bell with a friendship message engraved inside. But I always return to the original pendant. I tend to stick to less painful engravings and stampings to share experience or passion. Take for instance bumperstickers- I blamed the kids for them for a while, but now it's me. I'm the one picking them out and putting them on the van. But I think all these things serve as reminders and markers that declare something about us we wish not to forget. But also, we wish for others to know. A declaration of sorts. But some markers we would change, some mantras we'd rather swap for a newly discovered truth, when the image we bear no longer suits our soul. If I recall correctly, Juli told me that exact thing, that she wished she didn't have the tatoos, not that she's against tatoos, but because they were a part of a life she no longer lived. They were a reminder of a past she'd given up, a life she'd left behind.I heard a favorite line about parenting in the movie, 'Eat, Pray, Love'. The character played by Julia Roberts is unhappily married with no kids, struggling in her life-plan, who shares her angst with her friend played by Viola Davis, who has just had a baby. Viola turns to Julia, in character of course, with swagger and gust, holding and consoling her babe, and replies adroitly, "Having a child is like getting a tatoo on your face. You have to be committed.' The Jonas Brothers have a current pop-hit that includes the line, 'You're the tatoo on my brain.' And I think of my children, and that tatoo on my brain and how some thoughts are hidden in our hearts, like Jesus' mother, Mary. Some thoughts we wish we didn't have to hold. But we do. When our children look at us, they expect us to hold every memory, like it was yesterday, just as they remember it. We are the marker-keepers, the arm that wears the tatoo, the van with the stickers, the bearers of the good choices and the bad.
Eric and I would agree that both boys will remember this as a good summer. And that is what I can hope. I hope they remember predictability, consistent joy, safety. I pray they remember their mother and father laughing, praying, keeping a rhythm that is steady, prepared, and ready with space on that same van for the next bumper sticker -- and flexibility and patience for even -- the unexpected tatoo.
