It’s no secret that I’ve been purging lately, cleaning out physical and emotional stuff.  At one point, Aaron said to me, “Mom, I’m somewhat like Dad.  I don’t like to throw things away either.  What if you get rid of something really important?”  My parenting theme the past two weeks is  that we don’t need stuff when we have memories.  Today, I am remembering some Daddies. 

My Dad, Bill Blose, was like no other. His laugh and exuberant spirit would light up a room.  We couldn’t go anywhere in town without someone knowing him, and as a little kid, I thought he was famous.  We could be on vacation in Colorado, and he would be talking to someone like he had known them his whole life.  “Does Dad know Flo, the waitress?”  “Of course not,” Mom would say.  He sincerely wanted to know about other people, and he wanted them to know about his family. He trusted people, at times, too much.  When questioned about his trustworthy nature by Mom once, he shrugged and said, “I can look myself in the mirror, but I wonder if he can too.”   He had seven girls and never wished for a boy.  Whenever he was asked about the son he never was granted, he would crinkle up his eyes in his typical manner and say, “If the good Lord thought another man was needed around here, he would have sent one!”   He showed me what I wanted in a man:  one fiercely devoted to family, fearless, strong, loved by everyone, kind and affectionate.  I loved catching glimpses of him hugging Mom and stealing kisses when he came in from the farm while she worked on dinner.  I wanted a man like that!     I got most of that from Tony, but I would often tease him and say, “There are two people that I would want with me in a deserted alley.  One of them is my Dad and I am sorry to say that the other is not you, but your friend Kevin.”  Tony would say, “Yeah.  I want Grandad and Kevin to protect me too!”

When Tony was sick, I started a Caring Bridge page so I could keep friends and family informed.  Tony and I read every post written by people from all over the country.   There were literally tens of thousands of visitors to our page.  One of my favorite posts was written to Tony by his friend Kryss Shane three days before he died.  I read it to him, but he was sleeping quite a bit at that point.  I’d like to think he heard it, and I printed two copies for Aaron and Lauren to keep.  Kryss granted me permission to share it with you and I feel it’s appropriate for Father’s Day:

Hey Tony!  I just wanted to add some thoughts to this guestbook.  I’m not the religious sort, but you’ve been added to the prayer list by the staff at my office and by the senior citizens who are my clients.  The way I figure it, it’s never bad for a musician to get shout-outs in NYC, right?  I think about your wife a lot, but I think about your kids most.  I think about how you are probably worried about them being without you and how your wife probably can’t imagine raising them alone.  i hope you’ll both have the opportunity to realize that those things won’t happen.  Kids are resilient but also have wonderful memories.  While the difficult parts will will suck, of course, the part that will always remain is who you are to them. Every moment you’ve shared, every lesson they’ve leaned by watching your actions will remain with them no matter where either of their parents are.  Sometimes people think that having two parents means literally having two people who live in the same house who sit at the same dinner table.  Most kids don’t have that.  Many kids never meet their fathers or live with few positive memories of their biological male parent.  Many sit on steps waiting for deadbeat dads who never come, many listen to moms who cry over how alone they feel without a partner’s help. Your kids will never have that.  Your kids get to spend their entire lives with heads and hearts full of memories of their dad. They get to fill their ears with CDs/MP3s (or whatever new thing they create next )of the soul of their father by way of music.  They get to recall the hugs, love, happiness and safety he brought to them.  And when they hear their mother cry, it will be a reminder to them that love is real and that it transcends all space and time.  They get to grow up wanting to find their own love and not being willing to settle for less than what their parents had.  I can’t imagine the stress you all must feel and the decisions being made that no one wants to make so young.  I can’t begin to assume what that tastes like. What I do know, however is that there are future children who will be born to yours, who will hear stories and music from their grandfather.  They will know love and feel love because they were taught how to parent by two amazing people.  They will have each other to lean on in difficult times and to share the recollections of the goofy things their dad did when they were young.  And your beautiful wife, made gorgeous by genetics and by the love shared with her soul mate, will get to watch it all, will get to see you in them and in their children.  As I said, I’m not the religious sort and I don’t know what religious books say about these things.  I am, however, a social worker and a human, and a person changed by the few times we’ve been in the same room at the same time.  I can’t back this up with scripture numbers. I can speak from what is already clear;  who you are and who you always have been, lives in the hearts of those who are lucky enough to love you and to be loved by you.  I hope today is a day of peace, of a moment to rest your heavy hearts, and of the awareness of how loved you are by numbers of people far greater than you’ll likely ever realize. 

Today marks two years since Tony’s passing, and it’s so cliche, but it’s true that time heals.  I had a yard sale today and I put out some of Tony’s jeans to sell.  As I was setting them down, a guitar pick fell out of a pocket onto the sidewalk.  It made me smile, but I didn’t need to keep it as a reminder of what I had.    

I received good advice two years ago when Tony passed away after his fifteen month battle with cancer:  Don’t change anything for one year.  I did add a few pictures to the house, a couple of Pottery Barn pieces scattered about,  but I didn’t take one thing out of his closet.  After six months or so, I gave some things to his musician friends:   pictures,  favorite stage shirts,  a 12 string guitar went to his good friend, Andy, but I didn’t touch the rest.  At year one, I sorted through most of the closet, giving away things he really could have cared less about : ties (he refused to learn to tie a tie or else he would have to get a “real” job), dress clothes, shoes, suits, etc.

 It’s been almost two years and the time has come to clean up this place a bit.  If I move after Lauren graduates, I don’t want to be faced with all of this junk that is just taking up space. I decided to tackle the basement studio closets and file cabinets.   Aaron has dubbed his Dad an “organized hoarder.”  Seriously, my husband kept EVERYTHING.  I found band agenda meetings from 1989, ticket stubs, every laminate that he ever wore backstage, his Cub Scout jacket with all his badges, and the eight years of Franklin Planner binders.  Aaah.  His beloved planner.  I remember when he first got it for Christmas of 1993.  He was obsessed with this thing and once left it behind at a show in Richmond.  You would have thought the world had ended.   He used to chastise me for my loose organization with my “pile” of papers and notebook paper used as my to-do list.   “Yeah, but if I lose something, it’s no big deal because I have come to grips with my lack of organization, but if you lose something Mr. Al-O, you need a psychiatrist and an antidepressant”   I opened up the binders and just started pulling the pages out and placing them in a pile.  One page stood out on the top of the pile and was marked from 1997.  Curious, I searched for May 28, 1997, the day Lauren was born.  Written on the journal side of his planner in his combo cursive/print style :   “Lauren Arrives.”  I went back to March 26,1995 when Aaron was born,  and written on the journal page in big letters:  “Hello Aaron!  We love you!”   I searched through July 1994 when I told Tony that I was pregnant.  I found this written out to the side:  “We found out we’re going to have a baby-Sarah played me “Danny’s Song” by Kenny Loggins to let me know.  I didn’t know what she was trying to do and made her wait until the Batman cartoon was over!”   I searched for a day in January of 1997 when we had to have amniocentesis because the doctors feared something was wrong with our baby.  I found it on January 29th:  “Our Baby’s Fine!!!”  On all of the days of birthdays, written at the top of his list was :  “Call Aaron/ Lauren for birthday.”  Each wedding anniversary was celebrated in enormous font.  

 I sat amongst my pile of thousands of Franklin Planner pages and had a good cry for many reasons.  I cried because I had been angry with him and felt guilty.   I cried for my children and future grandchildren who would never know their grandfather’s signature laugh.  I cried because I had a hell of a lot of stuff to still sort through and this was the tip of the iceberg. Then, I allowed my tears to turn to gratitude.  It was a blessing to have had a sensitive, loving partner and devoted father to my children, but I’m still throwing some of this stuff away!   

I sat down with my yoga class last night before class and told them my story.  Somewhere amongst all of our physical and emotional junk, piling up and longing for a Franklin Planner, there lies something beautiful,  something to strengthen and to move us all forward.  Sort through your junk pile today and find your treasure. 

I suppose this saying is to satisfy people who aren’t as fortunate as me when it comes to family.  The Blose family is a rock star family, and anyone lucky enough to marry into my family has won the lottery.  The great thing is that I didn’t have to wait and become an adult in order to realize what I had.  After high school graduation, friends were planning beach trips together but my family was going to the Outer Banks that same week.  I knew where I would have the most fun and chose to go with my family.  I even had to sleep on a raft on the front porch because the house was so full,  but every belly laugh made it all worth the sacrifice.    

This week could have been really tough for me as Aaron and Lauren reached milestones that I dreaded since their  Dad died.   Aaron was graduating from high school and Lauren was turning sixteen.  Who would have been whooping up this occasion more than Tony?  He was always so proud of both kids that I often was embarrassed by his bragging to our  friends.  How could I possibly stand in this moment all alone? 

But I didn’t have to be alone because here they came.  Susan and Grace came on Thursday and even though she doesn’t want the attention, she’s getting it.  If you want something done, just ask her.  I had to go to work on Friday and had a mile long list of things to get done.  She somehow sweet-talked a construction worker named Carl (think CaddyShack) into using a backhoe to dig up the tree stump left from my fallen tree.  She dug a hole and planted my new tree.  She painted a wall.  She went grocery shopping and she cleaned my floor.  She even helped me scrub the skunk spray off of Delilah. Thank you, Susan and Grace.  

Mom, Betsy, Mark and Andrew all came next.  Of course, Mom had already made dinner which was waiting for me when I came home.  We watched a video of Aaron’s life which my sister Barbara lovingly completed a month before.  Although it made us all teary-eyed, it was uplifting enough that we went honky-tonking.  I was the designated driver and although I am very tempted to post the video of Mark and Andrew singing along to the bands loud, proud and completely off-key, I will keep that for just family.  Anne and her three little ones came the next day with all of their energy to remind us that this family is still growing.   It’s reassuring to know that there will always be little ones to play with legos, shoot water guns and refuse to eat anything that looks remotely healthy.  Many couldn’t come but called to send their good wishes. My mother-in-law and father-in-law were there as well to add to and soak in all of the Blose love and energy.  

I credit my Mom and Dad with some good old common sense parenting.  I am going to do my best to make a small list of what my parents did.

1. Bite your tongue before you criticize.  Think before you speak because you can’t take back what you say.  We did a horrible job at this when we were kids but that’s when we learned the lesson.  It’s not worth telling an adult sibling if you think they are doing something wrong. 

2. Laugh.  A lot.  The things that I remember from my childhood were not big momentous occasions but something funny that happened.  When I’m feeling down, I think of one of these moments off my list and can’t help but feel good. I added about five things to my list this weekend thanks to my family.

3.  Invest in a family trip once a year.  It doesn’t have to be a big trip to Europe, but shared experiences add to your family’s emotional bank account. 

4. Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Bigger stuff is inevitable and if you’ve not dealt well with a fallen tree or a dog sprayed by a skunk, you won’t be able to pull yourselves  out of a hole when a parent or spouse passes away.   

5. Give some of your family’s love away to others.  My mother took in foster babies, even with seven of her own.  We fed, diapered and bathed these babies and loved them just like a sibling before they left us.  My Dad showed grace to the homeless and down-trodden, often picking up hitchhikers and giving them money, much to my mother’s dismay. 

6.  Teach your kids that the sun doesn’t rise and set on their behinds.  I had to wait in line to use the bathroom.  I sometimes got left behind at church (I am kind of small and hard to see).  I learned how to entertain myself.  In high school, I drove a huge wood-paneled station wagon that cut off every time I went around a corner.  I never felt unloved or unimportant, but empowered to be confident and self-reliant. 

7.  Don’t think that your kids don’t make mistakes.  Even though we didn’t get in much trouble, my parents always took the teachers’ and coaches’ sides.  As a teacher, I see parents crippling their children by always defending them rather than helping them learn from their mistakes. 

8. Get your kids a pet.  It teaches them unconditional love, responsibility and to ultimately deal with death of a loved one.  Make it a fish or a butterfly if you need something simple.  Of course, you will teach the death lesson much sooner if this is the route you choose. 

9. Don’t compare your kids.  Each has a gift and purpose in this world.  If you are trying to make one into another, you are suppressing a purpose that needs to be nourished. This must have been hard for my parents, but they did it.  Some of us could sing, some excelled in sports, some were creative, and we each had different academic abilities.  I never felt like I was less of a person because I wasn’t super-athletic.  But…I can do some pretty wicked yoga poses now! 

10.  Give your kids some sort of spiritual foundation.  I went to church every Sunday and for the most part, my kids do too, but I am not trying to convert anyone.  I don’t care if you are Jewish, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Hindu or any organized religion at all.  Teach your kids to believe that there is something bigger than any and all of us.   I have some atheist friends but as I ask them..how’s it working for you?  Not so good most of the time.  

I hesitated today to write this because I know of people who haven’t been as fortunate as I have regarding family.  I am not naive and realize that there are families scarred by alcoholism, abuse, resentment  and some just plain drama.  Maybe you can find this in your friends or maybe you can make it for yourself.  It is worth noting that my father grew up in a home where there wasn’t abundant laughter and love, but he set an intention for himself in his late teens to have this and he did.  If you want it, you can have it, too. 

I am having an ADD moment, and no I don’t have ADD.   I’m having an evening when there is so much to do on my to-do list (finish planting trees, send MP3s of songs to record label, order mulch, finish yoga anatomy lessons before Friday, confirm that Aaron’s prom corsage is ordered, start graduation announcements and more) that I would rather just say screw it, pour a glass of horrible Trader Joe’s wine, reflect and write.   

Have you ever had a day when you look around at your life, and ask yourself, “How did I get here?”  For most of my childhood and even through high school, I assumed I would raise some kids on a farm, teach in the same school, live close to my family, and live a fairly simple life.    Instead, I married a guitar player, have taught at six schools in my 24 years, moved eight hours away from my home in Virginia  and now the closest thing to farming that I do is yard work and plotting to kill moles.   How did I get here?  How did I transform from the cry-baby kid who couldn’t open my milk carton (thanks, Dawn) to the single mom juggling multiple responsibilities?

Hmmm.. First, I figured out what I had going for me.  I realistically recognized my limitations (too short to focus on athletics, not thick-skinned or patient enough to be a singer or actress, not smart enough to be a doctor) and I heeded the call to use what was available to me.  I think we do our kids a disservice by telling them they can be whatever they want. Guess what?  You think you’re doing little Johnny a favor by telling him he can be an astronaut but if he can’t reduce fractions, it’s time to burst the bubble.  And if Susie can’t sing without making the dog howl, she is not going to be the next Kelly Clarkson.  They’ll be fine.  Gently guide them to another dream. 

 I got here with hard work.  Call it my farm-girl upbringing, but if I didn’t do a job right, I did it again.  There was reward, usually intrinsic, for a job well-done.  I didn’t get bribed with money for good grades.  As my mom said, “I already got good grades.  Your good grades are for you and are the reward or maybe the lesson to work harder.”  (Side note to politicians:  you can’t bribe a teacher with money to work harder.  All of us understand intrinsic rewards.)  Every teaching job I take, I make certain that my principal is going to be affirmed every day with his or her decision to hire me.  

  I got here with some tears, maybe not as many that I shed when I was an insecure little girl who hid behind her Daddy, but I allow myself a good cry every now and then.  It’s rather cleansing and keeps emotions from getting bottled up.  Honestly, sometimes my life is lonely, scary and poopy.  A good cry helps me move forward. 

 I got here with love and support from family and friends. The secret to making  new friends is to get involved in your school, community, church, yoga studio, etc.   I learned a long time ago that being shy just wasn’t going to work for me.  I have many, many friends, some get to hear more secrets than others, but that is the way it should be.  

So I guess it doesn’t really matter how I got here, but I am so grateful I’m here.  

We just came back from a culturally invigorating trip to New York City.  I am so glad that I taught my kids to appreciate the arts by taking them to plays and museums as young kids. It is a very cool experience to hear from your teenagers about what they know about artists and their work, the chemical formation of gems and minerals (I must have slept through that in chemistry) and discuss symbolism in theatrical productions. 

 I saw that Pippin was playing and jumped at the chance to buy tickets to a matinee.  I had done this show in high school, and really wanted the kids to see it.  It  is  a phenomenal new production with the same amazing music, but with incredible acrobatics and a new ending.   It’s a bit racy for young kids but mine could handle it.  What I didn’t know is that the theme of the show couldn’t have been more appropriate for the evening ahead of us.  

After the show, we rested in the hotel for a couple hours because we had tickets to the NBC Studios tour where we would see the SNL set and some other tv show sets.  I looked over to Aaron to tell him that it was time to go, and he was visibly upset.  “You didn’t get into Duke, did you?”  “No.”   I think I then said an expletive and jumped on the bed with him.  Lauren started crying, and she and I just enveloped Aaron in our arms.  We let him get everything out that he was feeling: all of the emotions that go with the injustices of being a kid who has worked so hard even during tumultuous times and rarely asks for anything.  Hmmm.  I had a choice.  I could have very quickly and easily become Mama Bear and defended my son.  I could have told him that this all was not fair, that he deserved to get in and that Duke was the worst university on the planet. I knew that wasn’t true.  I decided to take the advice that I often give out to parents in conferences to “look at the big picture.”   I gave him permission to be sad for two days only and then it was time to pick himself up and get on the new path.  This is what his Dad and I did each time we got bad news about the cancer.  We would curse the universe for our misfortune and scream our lamentations to God who didn’t seem to be listening to our prayers.   Aaron had an amazing offer from the University of Virginia and many kids would love to have the opportunity to go there.   Transferring to Duke would not be an option because he would never allow  himself to make connections at UVA and immerse himself in the amazing college experience.  I am a big believer in intention and if your intention is to find light and joy, then that is exactly what you will encounter in your life.   I told him that I am not a huge believer in fate, but that we were going to give it a chance in our lives.  This could be exactly where he needs to be:  close to his Virginia roots at one of the most prestigious universities in the country.  As far as money, I told him that it would all come together.  He would have to do a work study and take out a small loan, but I would figure out the rest.  He started to come around a bit after the NBC tour and at dinner we talked about the theme of Pippin which I didn’t fully appreciate as a 16  year old, but I definitely do now.  

Pippin searched endlessly for something that “had to be completely fulfilling.”   He tried being a soldier, a king, a priest, an artist, and frolicking with beautiful women.  He was taken in the home of a widowed woman and her son and for the first time, felt love and contentment. But in a moment of feeling trapped, he fled, still searching for something more to life.  It turns out, there wasn’t anything fulfilling.  Living a life of simple joy and love was everything that Pippin needed.  I told both kids that their own father was constantly pushing himself in his career, often lamenting when the music industry didn’t “get it” and pursuing the ultimate moment of fulfillment in his music career.  It never happened, and it wasn’t until the last two months of his life that he said, “I have had everything I’ve ever needed even though I didn’t get what I wanted.”   I smiled, kissed him, and told him I knew it all along but he had to figure it out for himself.  I am eternally grateful  that he recognized it before he passed away.

Am I disappointed for my kid?  You bet I am.  I waited to have an ugly cry early the next morning in the hotel shower.  But, more importantly, I’m grateful that I resisted the urge to blame or denounce but instead pulled myself back to point out the beautiful lessons of rejection.  It won’t be the first time that Aaron is rejected in life, but I’m here  to give him the tools to deal with it down the road.  I’m here for him just like I was when he would fall on the sidewalk and scrape his knee or when his ice cream cone would take a nosedive into the sand.  He will probably search for gratification in worldly things  just like the rest of us have done, and he may even get everything he wants in life.  Who knows? Some people do.  What I really pray for is that he gets everything he needs.

The yoga I do is Baptiste yoga, a heated, power flow.  It’s very physical, but it can be done by anyone and perfected by no one.  One of my favorite things that Baron Baptiste talks about in his books is to give up what you think you know.  The older and wiser I get, the less I really know and the more questions I have. Today, I had a couple reminders that I really need to rid myself of preconceived notions.  I’ll share one and keep the other between my Epic yoga teacher friends. 

 A very southern tradition is cotillion.   I really thought I grew up in the south but have learned since I moved to Tennessee that Virginia isn’t that southern.  Virginians don’t say “fixin’ to,” eat boiled peanuts or fried okra, and I don’t recall ever hearing of a cotillion.   When Lauren first joined the Brentwood Girls Cotillion, I have to admit that I wasn’t terribly excited.  I knew they called the club a “sorority,” I had heard rumors of parties with drinking, and it just seemed a bit snooty to me.  But it was clearly so important to Lauren that I paid the dues.  Heck, even I fell for the Jordache jeans and Candies heels (which looked like hooker shoes)back in the late 70’s/early 80’s  so I understood the need to go along with the crowd.   The club has had some meetings,  a dinner, and a few charitable fundraisers.  But it was time for the last event of the year: the presentation.  My inner Gloria Steinem was totally against a daughter of mine being “presented” to society in a virginal white dress, finally eligible for marrying and birthing babies. Ugh. I have  learned that sometimes the best thing to say is nothing, but I will admit that I’ve done my share of eye rolling over this whole thing.  I helped pay for some of the dress, and even helped with the jewelry and gave her tips on makeup which she actually followed!  I know.  I’m shocked, too.  I  rushed home from yoga training today to jump in the shower, throw on a hat to cover my yoga hair and get to the event to show my support, not necessarily to the idea of this, but to my Lauren.  Turns out…it was fine.  No big deal.  I was wrong.   She looked beautiful and laughed with her friends as I looked on with pride.   This has been another lesson for me on this journey.   Give up what you think your life was supposed to be. It is what it is.   If you have been hurt in love, give up the notion that you are not made for love.   If you have preconceived notions of what love is supposed to look like or when it is supposed to show up in your life, give that up.  I recall my late husband telling me when we were juniors in college that I was exactly the right girl at the wrong time.  I said that was fine with me, and he quickly figured it all out.  Give up what you think you know about parenting because as most parents know, just when you think you have it figured out,  something new pops up and you are left to improvise.  Give up what you think you know about being afraid of being alone because as I found out today with my friends, I am really never alone.  

Today has been another step forward in the story of how Sarah is getting her groove back, slowly but surely.  Who knows? Someday, I may even borrow that silk, ivory cotillion dress  from Lauren, wear it on a beach, barefoot, happy and in love again.  Better yet. Maybe I will wear a bikini and a toe ring  and throw out everything I know.  

I’m having one of those evenings that instead of a deja vu, it’s a glimpse of my future.   A few weeks ago, I had jumped on an opportunity from a friend to see Jack Hanna, the famous zookeeper who often does the talk show circuit, freaking out David Letterman with snakes, tigers and obnoxious monkeys.  He was doing a private show downtown for a group of benefactors of a charitable organization.  The kids had a busy weekend, and I was a bit worried that they were going to be too overwhelmed with homework, but they weren’t.   Instead, last evening their friend convinced them to go out to eat tonight and then to downtown Nashville for a hockey game. Brentwood High School is playing another local rival for the state championship.  I encouraged them to go and even threw in some money for their dinner out and tickets.  I came in from yoga and they were leaving.   We exchanged goodbyes, I reminded Aaron to be a safe driver, to have fun and they were off.  They hadn’t really remembered about the Jack Hanna date night with Mom and that’s fine.  But, some things came up for me after an intense yoga practice today.  My instructor reminded us of how we go through our yoga practice always anticipating what the next move is going to be.  He challenged us to give that up both in our yoga practice and to stop living in autopilot, constantly anticipating what lies ahead.   I reflected on this on the drive home. I think my autopilot life started with getting pregnant.  At the school where I taught at the time, four  teachers, all good friends became pregnant with our first around the same time.  All of us read What to Expect when You’re Expecting, the sacred book of pregnancy and delivery, where you learn every detail of your pregnancy, including comparisons of  your baby’s size each month  with some sort of fruit (“Wow! Your baby is the size of a blueberry this month” Yuck!) When Aaron and Lauren were babies and toddlers, I would be in constant preparation for the next meal and for the next nap.  I would question everything, wondering when they would reach the next milestone.   What was wrong with Aaron that he didn’t have any teeth yet when Sean was two weeks older than him and he had three?   Why wasn’t  Lauren walking yet when some of my friends’ kids were running?   We went through the motions of each year of school, planning for Christmas vacation months ahead of time, spring breaks and summer camps.  Things have changed, but we are still going through the motions. Now, it’s all about planning for summer jobs,  college, and  preparing for the dreaded junior year of high school.  I have learned that the best life for me is one without regrets so I won’t begrudge my past decisions to plan ahead.  I think there is probably some truth that my kids are well adjusted and do well in school because they plan and budget their time.  I know that I can’t stop meal planning because as I’m writing this there is a chicken roasting in the oven for tomorrow night’s dinner because I have a meeting after school.  I really want to live a more present life, a “go with the flow” mindset, but the truth is that my Jack Hanna-less night has given me a glimpse of a very quiet house, something I really didn’t plan on. 

I wish it weren’t so, but my teenage daughter is hooked on the tv show “The Bachelor.”  Call it middle age experience or possibly cynicism, but every week when she catches up on the latest episode on Saturdays, I troll about the kitchen muttering all sorts of things to myself.  She usually has to pause the dvr and say, “Ok.  Mom.  Stop already. I get that you don’t like this show.”  I refuse to apologize.  I fear that this generation is not going to know what real love is all about.  This show is anything but ‘reality tv.’  First, I feel it takes women back to the years where our only option in life was to marry well.  I watch these women preparing themselves for their presentation to the guy, gathering in a big room in slinky dresses to sip champagne, giving nasty glances to the competition and bashing the other girls any chance they can get.  Charles Darwin would have a field day.  My other problem is how easily they throw out the three little words.  Raquel (all names have been changed to protect the innocent, but actually I have no idea what their names are) today said, “I am finally going to tell Chaz that I love him.”  And then Chaz proclaims how he feels that he really is falling in love with two of the women.  What?  Please!  These people have no idea what real love looks like. I would like to see a Bachelor episode with a little relationship reality.  How about having the guy pass gas in front of her after a couple of chilli burritoes?  That always takes the relationship to a new level.  How about he finally comes home after two weeks of recording and leaving the bachelorette to take care of the kids (ok for the show they could put her in charge of 2 baby goats,  but they have to be in the house) and then he decides that he needs to get away from it all with the guys in the band for a little ski-trip-male-bonding. Yes.  That happened to me once.   Ask me if it ever happened again.  How about she works all day and then he snores all night, but doesn’t want her to sleep on the couch or go to the guest room because it makes him more secure to have her body next to him in bed.  Yes.  This happened off and on for 20 years. I finally learned to hold his nose until he stopped breathing and then he miraculously would stop snoring.  I really wasn’t trying to kill him.  Wink…wink.   I think Americans would enjoy watching this reality show.  Gosh….snoring, selfishness and flatulence.  Do I miss this?  Maybe a little bit. 

I was singing along to the radio on my drive to school Friday morning when a bumper sticker on the car in front of me stopped me mid song.  “Remember who you wanted to be.”   Hmmm.  Had I become who I wanted to be?  I thought back to my childhood dreams.  I used to play school with sister Cathy in the back porch bathroom (I have no idea why we chose a bathroom in a very large house as our classroom).  Maybe I had become who I wanted to be:  a teacher.   But, then I remember wanting to be an actress/singer for about four years, but then I met my future husband,  who was more talented and had way more drive,  and decided that I didn’t really want to make the sacrifices to become  a singer and actress. The more I think about this bumper sticker, the less I think it’s about our chosen professions. If you allow it, this bumper sticker has the power to make you crawl into a hole, full of regrets, unfulfilled dreams or dreams deferred.  What I believe it calls us to do is to be introspective, to “process” as a good friend often reminds me to do.  If I asked all of my 125 students what they’d like to be doing in 20 years,  I would speculate that 95% would say they want to be a famous athlete, actress, singer or anything that would bring riches and fame.   Most would not mention wanting to just be satisfied with a simple existence or to be a good father, mother, or friend to others.  Why would they?  We have set them up to have extrinsic goals:  get good grades or you won’t get into a good college, work hard at your jump shot and you will make the travel team, practice singing and participate in more plays or you won’t get a bigger part.  We place our kids, at a very early age, on the treadmill of life and dangle carrots in front of them.  I’m as guilty of it as most parents, and I don’t think there is anything completely wrong with it.  If we don’t tell our kids to work hard and set goals, then they will never cut the umbilical cord.  They’ll become adults like the character Chaz from Wedding Crashers, yelling for Mom to make them some meatloaf!  What I do know is that it takes years of introspection to understand that who we really wanted to be had nothing to do with the salaries we make or the prestige of our jobs.  I can assure you today, on what would have been Tony’s 47th birthday, that in his last few months, his regrets had nothing to do with unfinished songs, awards that were never won, or money.  He once told me in a private moment that the kids and  I had given him everything he had ever wanted and needed: unconditional love, abundant laughter, and a peaceful place to set down his guitar.  Look at your life today as a spectator.  What are you grateful for right now?  What do you wish you had more of today?  Love? Peace?  Laughter?  It might be right there and you are ignoring it.  If not, do something to find it,  and when you find it, do everything to cultivate it and let if flourish. It takes a little work, but it’s worth it in the end.   And then you will have everything you want and need.  After all, this is who you really wanted to be.