But I often realize how much I want to know about my parents when they were more than parents... about how my Dad played trombone in the band and his and extensive career in Finance beyond what I think of as "being a Daddy." Or that my mom is fully educated and is the oldest of four, a junior bowling champion, the Pinterest champion of the world before Pinterest ever existed, and so much more than "my mom." She was PTA president, girl scout leader and all around educator to more than just her own children. But even then, I'm thinking about them as what they did for me, after I was born.
And I ask them, tell me stories about you, and I think they don't know where I want them to begin. Tell me everything, I think. Everything. But if my kids asked that, where would I even start? My life didn't begin when they were born, but it sure got a whole lot better.
My mom is an amazing genealogist. People ask her to research their families ... Because once you realize how time consuming it is to do that kind of research, you see that it is a special skill and not everyone cares about the history of where you came from. They might care, but don't have the time or skills do go get it.
When I was in elementary school, I had a project to interview someone, perhaps it had to be a family member, I don't really remember. But my mom suggested I interview my Grandma, her mother, and it was recorded on cassette tape. I happily did it, shyly, because I was extremely shy, and I was so little (and have a terrible memory, except for images), that I only remember that I did it. I remember sitting across from her at the same dining table that my parents still have, in the house they still own, asking her lame little kid questions and not knowing what a blessing I was being presented with. I don't recall what I asked or what she said, only that I loved her.
Now, as an adult, I would love to have that tape and listen to every word.
When I went to college, I was beyond depressed. I had no reason to be. I signed on to play soccer at a Division 1 school, we went to Germany for preseason and then won the Big 12 championship that year. I had an academic scholarship to Baylor University. I had friends. I was not too far from home. But I was uncontrollably, deeply, devastatingly, clinically depressed.
One evening I remember being fed up and fleeing to my grandparent's house in Mexia, to see my Dad's parents, Granny and Pop. I didn't call ahead. I got in the car, and didn't know where I was going but fled to the fastest "home" I could, and showed up at their doorstep. They were thrilled to see me. We talked for a few hours, not about life's mysteries or my troubles... I don't remember what we said. I remember sitting in their living room and being happy, but I don't remember their voices or what they said to me. I only remember my dad telling me later how much they loved that I came to them. What I wouldn't give now to relive that night and write down what we talked about.
I remember at my wedding my Grandpa, my mom's dad, being so, so happy to
have that night with me. I remember him saying that it was the best
night he had had in a long time. I recall him staying up with all of us
and not wanting to go home. I remember dancing with him and feeling his
happiness and mine... But I don't remember what we said. I don't
remember our conversations.
What I would give to hear what he has to say again.
What I would give to hear what he has to say again.
I eat up every single moment that I get with my parents. That my parents get with my kids. I recall complete conversations but only if I type out every word in my head, because I read it back to myself and that's how I remember. If I don't do that, and if I don't write it down, I forget. I have a photographic memory, but it only works if I can SEE IT. If I hear it, I have to write it in my head or I don't remember it. And after time passes, I forget it.
That's why I write this blog. I want my kids to know all the ways that I love them, and I want to remember and relish every second of the good in my life.
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| Just to re-iterate, this is me, although it looks an awful lot like Claire. |
And in that thought, I realize that I am being somewhat selfish. My kids may not care what my "life" was like before them until they are 25, but am I doing them any justice by only recording their lives and not explaining my own? Am I doing myself an injustice by failing to record the best moments of my childhood? My parents' childhood? Their parents and the generations before? Maybe not. But I think i would do them a great service in helping to give them pieces of where we came from and where their dad and dad's family came from.
I want to do a better job of that.
I remember very little about my childhood because I had to see it to remember it. But I'll start with a few memories and try to go from there. They may seem insignificant, but they are building blocks in the person I am.
I remember:
I played soccer. I'll always talk about playing soccer because thats where my heart is. But I played other sports for years too. I ran sprints in track. I was sorta fast for a little while, and even won ribbons. I ran the 100, the 4x100, the 400, and did long jump. I hated getting up before the sun. I did a week long speed camp, mostly for soccer skills, with four other boys - my brother and three of his friends. I remember one of his friends making lude and sexual comments about me and being embarrassed, but the male coach heard and ripped those boys apart, punishing them with extra push ups and conditioning and all the while telling them that I was an equal and was to be treated with respect. That resonated with me beyond anything that any coach has said, because I was at an age where I could have doubted it and believed I was less. It did not change me, but seeing that reaction from a male coach made me understand the truth behind it when I needed it. My dad ALWAYS said it. My brother always said it. But to have an authority figure who i barely knew validate it with that much fervor gave me a quiet power for the rest of my life.
I played basketball. I could have been pretty good, but had a terrible (female) junior high coach who belittled me and I gave up, even though the (male) high school coach wanted me to play.
Mostly, I remember a special moment with my mom, who came with me to my softball games. I was always in the infield. I played short stop, second base, third base and catcher. I really enjoyed playing catcher... You always got to touch the ball and be involved. She told me before one game... "You know... If the batter hits a foul ball, and you catch it, they are out." That game, with that knowledge, I did just that. I was a hero because the coach never thought to tell me. For the rest of my softball "career", I wanted to do that. And everytime I did, I did it for my mom. My mom was at many of my soccer games but people remember my Dad being my main "always there" guy for soccer, and he was. But I don't know if my mom realizes that I count that as one of my top athletic memories. I'm also good at bowling because of my mom. Genetically, but also because she sent us to bowling camp and took us to play a lot. Guys don't like to bowl with me because of it, and I take that as a compliment. Many times I realize that my dedication to remain in sports comes not only from men who treated me with the respect to live up to my potential, but also the positive reinforcement from women that there is absolutely nothing wrong with being a strong athletic girl.
Another top memory from my childhood, which has nothing to do with sports, is when I was little and hated going to bed (no wonder where my kids get it). I snuck downstairs to see if I could... Ya know...NOT go to bed, and found my dad watching a Peter, Paul, and Mary concert on PBS. He was feeling nostalgic, I think, and sitting in"his" chair, and when I peeked around the corner he invited me to stay and watch. It was late, and it was a school night, and I wanted to spend time with him. And he let me. I was elated.
He talked to me about the music, we listened to a lot of songs including "Puff the Magic Dragon," and he had tears in his eyes for some of the most serious ones. I remember this night because I knew he wanted to spend time with me. I knew I was getting a special treat, and because of one of the rare conversations I do remember...
"Look, Erin, they keep showing the girl in the audience. She's smiling, pretty... That's what your mom looks like. Big, pretty smile, pretty eyes. She reminds me of Mom."
That's one of those moments when you realize you want to be exactly like your mom, and you want to marry someone who loves you like that.
I could try to write posts that could be generic, and be viral, shared across the world because it is generic enough and short enough to touch many people who want a quick enlightenment, but what good would that do? Life might be a popularity contest, but the really good parts don't have to be. My kids deserve to know the details. So do I.
When I get brief moments, I will share more about the memories that made an impact in my own life as well as the current ones that fill my heart now.
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