My older sister was referred to as “Poor Christine” by Grandma from the minute she was born. Apparently she had a pointy little cone head that made dad cry the first time he saw her. Although, seventy two hours later her head was shaped just fine, the whole incident qualified her, in Grandma’s eyes, to be referred to as “Poor Christine” for eternity. When apparently malnourished “Poor Christine” grew up and went to live on campus at Gonzaga University, Grandma, who lived close by, made a habit of calling her at the dorm and insisting she come over for food. As Grandma saw it, Poor Christine was far too thin and desperately needed some help fattening up. After all, how was she ever going to attract a husband when all she was, was skin and bones? My sister would go to Grandma’s house and eat enough to hold her over for a week. “Oh! Poor Christine!” Grandma would cry at first sight of her. “Come. Sit. Mangi, mangi, mangi!” she would insist. My sister would eat, eat, eat, till she thought she would explode, then leave Grandma’s with her arms full. She would arrive back at the dorm with homemade…
Month: April 2013
Girly Girls
Powder Puff Football, 1972; need I say more? Imagine it, college freshman girls, out to have a good time and prove themselves to be tough young women of substance. Really, we just wanted to join the team because the coach was super hot as well as all of his friends who came out to “assist.” Lots of guys showed up for practices and hung out at the field, volunteering their services. They taught us how to pass and catch the ball, how to block and run, dodge and dive. We were accompanied as we ran around the track, encouraging cat calls spurring us on. It wasn’t long before we were referred to as “the cute team,” every one of us slim and fit and showing up to practice in full makeup with our long hair in sleek pony tails. They swished over our shoulders and swung back and forth as we ran, turned, and threw the ball. We didn’t have uniforms so bellbottom jeans and sweatshirts had to do. Somehow we managed to make it all a little sexy. It was fall and the air was crisp with skies crystal clear. We rose early and went to classes all day,…
What Else Is There?
When it comes to recognizing the important things in life, I’ve arrived slowly and a bit reluctantly. There was a time, after raising three children, that I ran as fast as I could down the road to just-leave-me-alone! I’d been missing out on all the stuff that I thought mattered to me, such as my music. Heading out in the car meant enjoying all the oldies I’d been missing, weather I cranked up the volume or listened at a whisper, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was my choice and no one elses, and most importantly no one was complaining about it. Another biggie to me was a clean house. Having no kids around meant no mess. No dishes stacked up, no stinky chaotic bedrooms, no mountains of laundry, no sticky kitchen floor, no broken down cars in the driveway or cluttering up our garage. Gone. All of it. Gone. The road to just-leave-me-alone brought relief and restfulness. Sleep came easier and in greater blocks of time when we were no longer waiting up for our teenagers to wander in by curfew, praying they would be timely and safe. Worry, worry, worry. Don’t drink and drive, don’t drive…
Happy Birthday Baby!
You not the boss of me!” she scowled, tiny forehead pinched, pouty angry face glaring our way. “Oh, yes I am!” Where had she gotten that? What made our adorable three year old defiantly stomp her itty bitty foot and say such a thing while pointing angrily at her parents? We exchanged puzzled glances. “Did you…?” “ No! Of course not!” “Then where did she get it?” We shrugged helplessly at each other. Where indeed! This was the beginning of many defiant years with a daughter who refused to acknowledge accountability to anyone, until recently that is. She was recently heard saying something about her boss. We snapped our heads around. “Did you say someone was your boss? Is someone finally the boss of you?” She laughed and sighed, “Yes. Someone is the boss of me. I have no options left. I have to acknowledge it or lose my job.” These were words we never thought we’d hear. Even as young as three years old she was determined to be her own boss, to stretch mind and limb for independence. One day, when Patrick and I were a young married couple, we’d spent a Saturday afternoon setting up our new…
The Grandma’s – Part 2
When I was in grade-school, my classmates often spent weekends with their grandparents, the girls having wonderful bonding times with their grandmothers. The following Monday would be a brag session. Their grandparents took them out to dinner and to movies and an assortment of other enviable things. I often wondered if my grandparents had any idea what they were supposed to be like and that they were failing miserably. One day, my best school friend asked why I never spent the weekends with my grandparents. I was at a loss not having any idea of why not and how to explain it. After school that day, I asked Mother. She stopped what she was doing in the kitchen and looked at me, sighed deeply and wiped her hands on a dish towel. She folded her arms across her chest and thought for a minute. “Well, you kind of got gypped, I guess,” she finally said. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mary Ann. You have one grandma who just isn’t much of a kid person and another grandma that’s too old to do anything with any of us. I’m sorry.” She shrugged and went back to making dinner. Well,…