An Intimate Downsizing: Sorting Through Mixed feelings about my Two Breast Friends

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Back-to-school letter to my fourth grade daughter

Every year, I write my daughter a "pep talk" letter for the new school year. This year, because I recently shared  with you all my "tween" angst, I thought I'd share my letter with you because a lot of it will be relevant to all fourth graders.

 

 

August 11, 2014

My darling Marlena,

Where has the time gone? Today you will start fourth grade!  Seems only yesterday I was curling your hair tightly and walking you into the kindergarten building for the first time, part of me hoping you’d jump right into the new experience and the other part hoping you’d reach back for me and beg me to take you home. Because you are your momma’s daughter, however, you dove headfirst into your new surroundings and by the end of the week you had your first new friends.

In the last four years, I’ve watched you go through the transition of leaving all our family and friends in Michigan behind to move to a new state, begin school, learn to read and write, make friends and become your own little person.  It’s such a joy to watch you grow.   I have to hold back tears with every passing year and new phase you enter and I hope you’ll forgive your mommy for being mushy. I’ve shed tears of joy, pride and yes, a little bit of sadness as I grieved the end of your sweet little girl years.  As much as it might bother you, please understand that I love to capture nearly every cute moment of your life on camera. It’s because there isn’t a minute of my time with you that I want to ever forget once I’m a little old lady in a rocking chair, so please bear with me when I run and grab my camera or iPhone. :)

So about fourth grade….it’s kind of hard to see what this new school year holds for you. In Kindergarten, you learned how to read and the Golden Rule. You had your big “graduation” to look forward to. First grade was all about learning how to be a good student and getting through the day with two snacks and timing your potty breaks. Second grade, the highlight you prepared for all year long was your First Holy Communion. Third grade will go down as what you called your "hardest year yet" because it was really the first year the teachers truly expected your homework to be turned in on time, complete and

with all the right answers. I bet you’ll someday look back and call 3^rd grade the year you realized that school was no longer all fun. J  Your biggest challenge all year was getting enough AR points to go to Lake Winnie. You worked really hard and although it took you to the day before the field trip, you not only made 100 points, you made 101! I am so proud of you for never giving up! Thank you for trying so hard every year!

I’m sure there are so many things you’ll learn this year but instead of focusing on your schoolwork, I’m going to give you a few tips that I hope you’ll use in fourth grade and for the rest of your life.

On schoolwork:

·       Always give everything you’re taught your full attention and never be afraid to ask questions until you fully understand it. There are no stupid questions and just maybe, something you dare to ask the teacher is exactly what someone else in your classroom wanted to know but was afraid to raise his or her hand and ask. When it comes to learning, be BOLD and ask until you understand.  

·       I want you to know that not every class from here on out will be so easy for you and that's OK. You know I’m not the kind of parent who will punish a bad grade so please never worry about that. My only expectation is that you gave it your all and you never kept your teacher or your mommy & daddy from knowing any struggle you’re having. Never be afraid to share this, especially with ME.

On people & friendships

·       Sometimes no matter how nice you are to a person, he or she might just be mean. Or insensitive. Or selfish. The list can go on & on. I know your first instinct is to be like your hot-headed mommy and to show your anger in order to try to look tough. If there is any area I hope you don’t take after me in, it’s in the temper area. It took me more than 40 years to learn that anger and a short temper get you nothing but a lot of “I’m sorry’s” and more anger. Always try to keep your anger from bubbling over and spilling out at least until you’ve had the chance to stop, pause, take a breather and think about a better response, one that will get your point across without causing a big blowup. I’m not saying to hold back and not have your opinions be heard but I’m saying to do it in a calm manner. You can catch more bees with honey, sweetie. Oh how I wish I knew this decades ago! 

·       There’s always gonna be drama and conflict with your friends. It’s all part of how you  area learning to deal with each other. If you do nothing else, just remember it’s not as serious as it feels right then and it helps to be quick to make up and move on. If someone apologizes, accept it. If you’re misunderstood or lost your temper, YOU be big enough to say you’re sorry. People appreciate it and even the toughest mean girl out there has a heart, deep down. 

·       Remember that every person you deal with, whether it’s a busy teacher, a mean girl or that pesky boy in homeroom, has God in their heart, too. Mother Theresa once said to see the face of Jesus in every person you meet. Seeing Jesus in others is how we all take care of each other. 

 

·       I know you love having my old iPhone to play with, to text your friends and to play games on, but using the phone with your friends around is simply not polite. Please don’t point to me when I say this. I’m a different case. I’ve had years to make and retain friendships. I didn’t have my head in my cell phone every time I met a new group of friends. If I did I guarantee you I’d not have as many lifelong friends that I have today. Try this: Be the girl who makes each and every person feel like he or she is the most important person in the room at that very minute. I've read many biographies about very important people, presidents and kings and queens, who do this. It's not only polite, people will always appreciate it about you. Trust me on this. You’ll be an unforgettable friend.

·       Don’t be a slave to a machine….Smart phones make life so much easier. I keep my calendar and basically my whole life on mine these days. But I also believe that nothing replaces a phone call to a relative or a friend. Maybe it's easier to text with your friends. But wouldn't it be more fun to play with them in person? I hope that when you grow up to have a smart phone of your own, you and your friends will remember that no gadget, a phone or a computer, will EVER replace real people.

·       If you see someone who is alone, or sad, or struggling, never hesitate to reach out to that person.  Same goes for a person being bullied. I know you’ll always be that person’s biggest support so I won’t say anything more about this. I’ve seen you in action. You’re great at this! J

·       Always remember someone’s name and one little fact about him or her. This is fun for you and means a lot to that person. Think about the time someone did that to you. You felt so good knowing someone took the time to actually learn about you and they remembered it, am I right?

On GOD:

·       You will always have God in your corner,  He is as close to you as speaking His name. Talk to Him every single day, even when you’re not in school. Thank Him, praise Him, confide in Him but most of all TRUST Him. If there is something you’re being challenged by, just ask God to show what HE hopes you'll do. YOU choose what you want to do but He is always there to guide you. Please know you can ask Him WHY something happened. But remember you must also quiet yourself down to hear His answer in your heart. The old saying goes that God couldn't be EVERYWHERE, so He made parents. OK so we know technically He can be everywhere, but stop being so literal, just like your engineer father.  :) 

On singing and dancing

·       You're a wonderful singer and dancer. Your voice comes from God. Always thank Him for it and honor God in all you do with your voice and body.

·       Know that as good as you are, there will always be something new to learn and there will always be someone out there who can do what you can do. I don’t have to say this because you never do this….but as you grow and get even more experienced, never, ever let it go to your head. (I think even more than your voice, I'm proud of how you NEVER brag about it and I just know you won’t start doing it, but as your mom, I still need to remind you.)

·       Also know that every talent still takes practice. It might come naturally but unless you want to stay the same the rest of your life you must seriously practice your skills and not only during your voice lessons or dance classes.

·       If you’re struggling, if anything ever becomes too much, you will never disappoint us if you want to back off or stop altogether. TELL us. We will help you work it out. You are only 9. You can decide what you want to do a bunch of times in your lifetime!

·       HAVE FUN!!  Singing and dancing are some of life's purest joys and they are among the best ways to honor God!!

On your parents:

·       We will always be here to boss you around. It’s what we do. But it’s only because never in your life will you have two better cheerleaders in your corner. The only thing we’d hold you back from are the things that are not good for you. This is not up for discussion. Until you're a grown-up we'll make the big decisions about what you eat, wear, watch on TV and who you hang around with. End of story.

·       There is a big difference between speaking up and voicing your opinion and being disrespectful. Daddy and I will never stop you from expressing yourself. But shouting at us will get you nowhere. It only causes more trouble between us. Let’s work on keeping the peace. PLEASE. (I’ll do this too!) Let's use our journals and remember to use our funny word: "Snagglepuffin."

·       Daddy and I are the two people on the planet you can trust to the moon and back, so never be afraid to share things with us. Some kids don’t get that chance. Maybe they have trouble at home or they have one parent who works two jobs to make ends meet. Maybe they don't live with family. Be blessed knowing you have parents you can use us as sounding boards, people you talk to who will help you make decisions with NO motive (look up that word) other than wanting the absolute best for your happiness.

And finally, on living day to day as a fourth-grader:

Smile. Be happy and find time to be silly and laugh. EVERY day.  You have YEARS to be a grown up. Trust me, it's overrated and not as much fun as you think it looks right now.  Don't be in too much of a hurry to grow up too fast. I know you hear it a lot. But fourth grade is the perfect age to run outside and play in the rain. And to take your dolls for a walk in the wagon. And make funny faces with your friends. And swing as high as you can on a swing set at the playground. And to sing into your hairbrush and pretend the bathroom mirror is your audience. (Not that I'd know about THAT...) LOL ;) 

Sometimes I get grumpy or tired or impatient. Sometimes I get frustrated by things you say or do that don't fall into the lines I want you to fall into but that's something we will work through in the coming years. Meanwhile it's important that no matter WHAT you think, the one thing that is constant in your life is my love. You must remember that you’re the beautiful, sweet-natured child I prayed to God for every day, for many years.  You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a daughter. Every day of our life together is a delicious journey for me. I'm sure we’ll have lots of arguments. You’ll make me mad, I’ll embarrass you. But one thing will NEVER CHANGE. I will love you forever "to infinity and beyond, beyond, beyond" until the day I am no more. And then I'll just love you from the stars.  

Love,

MOMMY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On parenting a "T'ween" girl...



This sassy look used to be cute on my child...but now it's becoming a reality!

Pssssst. Hey moms of sweet little toddler girls: I’ve got a secret but before I spill, you’d better sit down and hug your little tu-tu-wearing girl really tight and take in all of her sweetness right now. I’ll wait.  You see, I was once where you are. As I tucked my three-year-old daughter into bed I thought I had so much time before she grew tired of tea parties and bedtime stories. I had my mind set on or about age 11 or 12 before the dreaded moodiness of teenage hormones begin to seep in and invade the walls of our happy little home.

My own darling daughter Marlena was born in March, 2005. When you’re walking your fussy baby at 2 a.m. you do a lot of trivial thinking. I did the math and I knew that 2018 was the year she’d turn 13. But that was a loooooooong way off, I told myself.

 

 

My pre-baby memory told me that nine-year-old girls are FUN. They can be your little helper at home, and playing with others is a dream. They play with their dollies and they chatter endlessly about girly things. No one fusses or argues, they’re perfectly agreeable about everything. Sleepovers are a dream, they giggle until midnight and then drop off to sleep, only to wake up and skip outside to play some more ‘till their parents come and round them up. There are no petty complaints or mild jealousies because of course, that’s only in high school and then only in the first year, right?

Yeeeah that was some funny fiction right there but listen up: here’s what they don’t tell us mommies of girls. Those milestone markers for each age….you know… the ones that say they will be potty-trained by 18 months and outgrowing the binky by two are NOT exactly accurate.

Just as I haughtily thought I had sailed through the terrible twos, only to discover that age THREE was the year my sweet chubby cherub morphed into a little three-headed monster, the traditional baby year markers are flawed. There’s no easy way to break this to you so I’ll just tell you that nine… is the new 13.

I know. It was a shock to me, too. I learned this only the other night, as I sat at my computer, wide awake at 3 a.m., scrolling the Internet desperate to find everything and anything on how to deal with “tween drama.” This HAD to be a fluke, I told myself. This bickering with the little girlfriends she loved and was always begging to have over for playdates. The increasingly frequent spats I was having with this child who only five minutes ago thought I hung the moon. The eyerolls, foot stomps and the change from the way she used to call my name “Mommy?” to the now overly-exasperated “MOOOOOOOOMMMMM…”

Marly still has a little bit of her chubby cheeks left and she still carries her “Snoodle,”  her equivalent to a blanky. Yet after consulting nearly every mom I know and trust who has or raised daughters, I’m afraid the evidence is stacked against my delusions.

It seems I’ve entered into uncharted waters. I’m now parenting a “tween.” I used to hear that term and laugh, before I had one of my own. To me, it was strictly a marketing term designed to pitch beauty products to a younger audience. I mean, c’mon, a nine-year-old is still a sweet little girl who plays with Barbie Dolls and reads Tiger Beat Magazine.  She still believes in fairytales and she loves her mommy sooooo much, right? After all, I did…or did I?  It’s one of those things I’ll never be able to ask my mom but I recently asked my dad if he remembered me being so….well, teen-age-y….at my daughter’s age.

“Ohhhh, I don’t know,” was his answer. “Your mother handled all of that stuff.”

I know there were squabbles. I vividly remember having a screaming match with my mom on picture day as I scrambled to get out the door that morning. I don't recall what it was about but today I still detect puffy eyes whenever I look at that picture of myself.

When such little dramas arose, however, the most I ever did was slam my bedroom door, throw myself onto my little bed and scream into my pillow for 30 seconds. That usually did the trick and I’d be out the door and back into the sunshine in mere minutes.

With my daughter, the smallest things seem to be filled with such drama and it takes less and less to make my once sweet-natured child angry. Most days she’s happy and carefree and thankfully, at least as far as I can tell, I’ve been able to keep her fairly innocent to things I know are just around the corner. Lately, though, there are more moments when it feels like she’s morphing out of the sweet little girl I love right before my very eyes.

It recently occurred to me that maybe I’m watching MYSELF morph from the mommy she idolized only last year into the dreaded "nag" mom all teens think they "report" to....how could it be that I had a love-fest with this child just last summer?


These days, even reminding her to make her bed or get some reading done before school starts is tantamount to me "yelling" at her and in her eyes, acting as if she'd committed a major crime. Another hallmark of dramatic teens, and hence, T'weens, is exaggerated overreactions. To.Every.Little.Thing.Mom.Says.

She seems to be growing bored of me, too. For instance, when I turn off the radio during our commutes, so that we can just talk, I’m now met with a deep sigh and an exasperated plea to turn Ariana Grande back on so she can hear the rest of her song. NOW.

Even though I pride myself on being a hip mom, dressing appropriately without being frumpy and being able to keep up with kids’ pop culture, I still seem to easily embarrass her just because I’m her mom. The other day she glared at me all through lunch because I asked her, while shopping at Target, if her bike shorts for underneath her school jumper were getting too tight and would she like a couple new pairs. First came the eye roll, followed by the punctuated whisper, asking if we HAVE to talk about that HERE? In the store?  You’d have thought I’d discussed the birds & bees in mixed company! After all, I was standing in the school uniform area where the bike shorts were conveniently on display…

The girl drama that is a rite of passage for all of us seems to come about way earlier and it's way more intense than it was when I was her age.  I also see more drama stemming from technology, these days.  For instance, we all know how an innocent text, minus cadence and facial expression, can send even the most confident adult over the edge if something gets lost in translation, am I right? Imagine, then, how badly a little girl can overreact to an innocent text message that goes unanswered or worse, is met with a one-word answer.

“Is she mad? I think she’s mad. Do YOU think she’s mad?”

“Mommy look at this picture. Do you think she sent that picture because she’s trying to show off that she went to Disney and I haven’t gone yet? They think it’s lame that you haven’t taken me to Disney yet. WHY haven’t we gone to Disney yet?”

“I KNOW she's not texting back because she doesn’t care about me.”

She only has my old iPhone that she uses to play games and text a few approved friends but this texting business is tough for little ones. It can be tough on their confident mommies, too. I’m doing my best to keep her use of that little used iPhone to a minimum and no number of her own till 14...of course I remember saying she'd not wear dangly earrings till 12, too...

This drama, coupled with the fact that she lives in a house built into the side of a hill, with no kids to play with living in the immediate neighborhood and no flat land or sidewalks on which to ride her bike and you can see my frustration this summer. Unless I drop everything to call another parent and drive her to their house at least a few miles away, she’s either reading or she’s bored and all that time on her hands makes her THINK.TOO.MUCH.

Our anticipated move in the coming months will remedy at least this part, I hope, and perhaps living in a neighborhood filled with kids her age, like the one in which I grew up will remove some of the current angst and drama and replace it with the more fun, carefree aspects of being nine or 10. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Still, I know that this “tween” phase is only a small preparation for what lies ahead a few short years from now, when I imagine my daughter’s colorful, bling wardrobe will change into Goth black and her mood will follow.   

Just as I sat here tonight trying to finish this entry, my moody girl from earlier climbed onto the couch beside my desk, put her little arms around me and kissed my cheek.

Marly: “Whatcha writing about?”

Me: “You, actually.”

Marly: Are you tellin’ about my dance showcase today?”

Me: “I’m writing about how hard it is to watch you grow up.”

Marly: “Awww Mommy, I already told you! I’m gonna grow up to be a singer and dancer and when I make enough money I’m gonna buy you and daddy a big mansion and I’m gonna buy one right next door for me with a connecting underground passage so we can just run back and forth in bad weather.”

Me: (tears welling up) “I’d like nothing better, beebee.”

Marly: “OK now come tuck me and all my babies into bed, Mommy.”

And just like that my so-called “T’ween” was in her bedroom kissing every stuffed animal goodnight as I called each one by name. Tonight I lingered longer than usual after she fell asleep, feeling both a sweet joy and a tough tug at my heartstrings as I reflected how far we’ve come these past nine years,  knowing how quickly the next nine years will fly, all the while thanking God for it all.

 

# # #

A thought on being Mother-less and Kid-less on Mother's Day

 

As wonderful as Mother's Days are for me now, I can easily look back to my very last Mother's day before I became a mother.  It was what I now call my " in-between" Mother's Day.... a painful moment where I realized I had neither a mom here on earth to celebrate, nor a child of my own, to allow ME to be celebrated. As I reflected on the past nine Mother's days I've enjoyed since my daughter Marly was born, I thought about women who this weekend might be feeling that same sense of dread that I felt that year. 

In May 2004, I was married more than a year and had been trying to get pregnant for exactly that long. After all, I was now past 40 and according to my endocrinologist, way past my prime fertility. By then I'd finished taking the fertility drug Chlomid more than six months ago and was now taking daily "trigger" shots to stimulate my older eggs and enduring monthly IUIs (Intrauterine Insemination....you get the picture...) I guess you can say the "fun" part of TTC (AKA "trying to conceive," ) was replaced by less romantic things like basal charts and thermometers.  Just days before, I'd suffered through my seventh unsuccessful IUI.

That second Sunday in May rolled around and there I was, sitting in mass, holding back tears as they handed out roses to female parishioners. Red roses for the moms, white for those of us who've lost our moms.  It had been four years since my mom had died but I refused to go up and get my blessing and my rose. My husband, John, whispered that  a blessing might help us finally get pregnant. This year, however, I felt nothing but anger. I was deep in the midst of my own pity party.

After mass, I went for a drive.  Of course I visited my mother's grave. I brought the obligatory potted floral arrangement and sat there in silence. Usually I talked to Mom. This time, I cried and said nothing. Right next to  the cemetery was my favorite nursery and on this day I decided to literally stop and really smell the roses.

Living in Michigan, I usually waited until Mother's Day weekend to pony up the cash to buy my outdoor flowers. That was my own barometer for when plants won't likely die from overnight frost. On this sunny afternoon, I took my time browsing at plants and trees and even watching a few botanist presentations. I then selected lovely hanging plants and three trays of perennials to plant. I realized an hour in sunlight among lovely flowers can be most healing. I was almost feeling like myself again when the young man behind the counter said the most crushing words to me.

"Happy Mother's Day!"

I looked behind me, thinking he was speaking to someone else. I was alone. I felt rage bubble up as I thought about how presumptuous that was!  I glared at him and told him bluntly that I had no kids, feeling satisfied by the pinkish blush that came over his face as he apologized for his assumption. Apparently, however, he didn't learn his lesson about making inaccurate assumptions. After a moment of silence he said,

"These are lovely, are they for YOUR mom?"

Another glare by me told him he'd again misspoke. Like an out-of-body experience, it flew out of my mouth before I could stop it.

"My mom is DEAD and I can't have children. Anything ELSE you'd like to know today?"

The poor guy looked as if I'd slapped him and at the time, I wished I could have.  He stammered through the rest of the transaction as awkwardly as he could while hot angry tears stung my eyes.  I never expected to behave quite so harshly and yet I think it was the acknowledgement of my words having given me a label....I realized in that moment that I was motherless and kid-less, which, thanks to Hallmark not having a card for women in my boat, made me feel invisible and unlovable.

As I stomped out of the store pushing my flowers in a cart, I felt a moment of sympathy for the guy. After all, he knew nothing about me and was just trying to be nice.  It was better than having a rude cashier. I was just about to turn back to apologize when I bumped right into him. He had followed me out to my car because in my haste, I left my credit card with him.

As he handed me my card he started to apologize but I told him it was me who needed to apologize, I was having a rough day and I shouldn't have taken it out on him.

"It's OK," he told me. "My wife had cancer and she's in remission right now. We can't have kids, either," he said softly. "We're both working two jobs so we can afford to adopt, maybe you and your husband can think about that, there's lots of kids without parents," he explained, as he helped me load my trunk. He proceeded to tell me he was an accountant during the week. Wow, I thought. This guy's wife might die and he's not even angry.  It was a humbling moment for me. As I slammed my trunk closed, the same young man I'd shouted at 10 minutes earlier was now wishing me luck and offering to pray for peace in my life. It was now my turn to stammer. Feeling like a piranha, I got into my car, put my head into my steering wheel and bawled.

I drove back to Mom's grave once more and this time I asked my mom to pray for me, for acceptance of God's will, either way. I'll never know if it was Mom overhearing my prayer or the goodness of the man in the nursery, but for the first time since our journey to become parents began, I felt a sense of peace come rushing over me, telling me I'd be OK either way. Suddenly, I didn't care that there were no cards for a married woman with no kids, whose mom was gone. Hell, I'm a creative person, maybe I'd create a card for myself and others like me but even if there were no such sentiments to validate myself, I knew I was just fine.

It was that night that John & I decided I should stop the awful fertility drugs that made me "bat shit crazy."  We'll try adoption, we  decided.  I excitedly called my brother who was, with his wife, already in the process of adopting my nephew.  I excitedly told him we would be looking into adoption, as well. Less than two months later, despite the fact that we were now off all fertility drugs, we learned I was pregnant. It seems that once I'd embraced my role in the universe, once I'd started taking acupuncture to relax and once I'd stopped trying to control it all, I'd become pregnant. the main point here is that, like it or not, I conceived on God's time, not my own.  Maybe there really was something to the old notion of  "stop trying."  This holds true for many other things in life. Looking for love?  Don't stop looking altogether, get yourself out there on the internet dating sites or take up a hobby that will introduce you to new people but stop trying to control every aspect and trust in providential timing.

Just today, some ten years later, I thought about that young man in the nursery. I wished I'd have thought about him sooner because perhaps I'd have gone back in there to tell him how well his prayers for peace worked in my life. Now that I live 600+ miles away, It's unlikely I'll ever get that chance.  I do hope that his own prayers to have a family with his young wife came true, as well. 

So that's it. No big "gotcha" here, today.  No thematic pull through the story to give my words a tight, snappy ending. Just a reflection on how differently one Mother's Day was from the next.  In one year's time, I'd gone from being a woman filled with despair, envy and yearning to a new mom, hosting my daughter's Christening Party the next year. Never think your life can't change for the better in one year's time, because, sometimes,  despite all the sadness and harsh reality we see every day in the news, dreams really do come true. It's not just something that happens in a Disney movie.

Today, as I give thanks for all the joys of my own motherhood, I'm also praying for women everywhere who want to become moms. I'm sending out a special prayer tonight, asking God to unite all who want to be moms with all the children, born and unborn, who need a mom.

I'm also asking God to console grieving moms or moms separated for any reason, from their children. Now that I'm a mom, I can't imagine a single worst feeling in the world than to be a mother who is separated, either by death or any  other reason, from her children. For those who, like me, miss their moms every day now that they've gone on to their rest, Mother's day might be the one day of the year where you still wish you could run back home to hug your Momma.  I send you all a prayer of consolation as well.

And finally, whether you're expecting your own bundle of joy, changing diapers, wiping faces, cheering on T-ball, grounding your teenagers or meeting your grown kids for brunch, I wish you all a peace-filled day, where you laugh often and hug tightly the people who first dubbed you with your most beloved name of all -- Mom. 

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How Camelot's Brief Tenure Defined My Life

 

November 22, 2963.  For so many of us over 50, the immediate image that comes to mind when we see that date is of a pink boucle Chanel suit worn by a beautiful first lady carrying roses. A handsome, youthful world leader smiling and waving from the back of a fancy convertible followed by the image of blood splattering and a panicked first lady climbing out of her car amidst secret servicemen scrambling to protect the motorcade.

On this 50th anniversary of the assassination of our young American president that day in Dallas, we pause to remember.  We hear people on television and radio relay the impact this monumental event had on their lives. The most common comment I've heard is how America lost its innocence that day.  I understand this, because after September 11, I saw our nation change into a world I no longer recognize.

Fifty years ago today, my parents had a brand new baby, (me.) :)  I was six weeks old. My mother, a devout Catholic AND a Kennedy worshipper, had two pictures on her wall.  The pope and JFK, who made Catholics feel proud of their religion. She could not wait for the 1964 election because she would finally be old enough to cast her first vote for President Kennedy's re-election. For Mom, it was personal. She actually shook President Kennedy's hand while wearing her wedding gown on the day visited Detroit and passed right by the bridal shop the day before her 1962 wedding.

Like countless others, my mom always remembered where she was the day of the assassination.  She lifted me out of my crib after a nap.  Mom and dad lived in the upstairs part of a Detroit flat occupied by their close friends. Mom was startled when her door burst open and my breathless "Aunt Chris"  ran over to Mom's little black & white television set and flipped it on without saying a word. The story I've always heard was that my mom's arms went loose and she nearly dropped me were it not for her friend, who quickly grabbed me.

Mom sat in a trance and chain-smoked cigarettes for basically the next three days. She didn't cook, she and dad barely ate anything and I was her only responsibility that dark weekend.

On this solemn day, as the world pays tribute to our fallen president, I reflect on how a president who was only "my" president for less than two months, impacted me.  Perhaps if my parents hadn't loved President Kennedy so, this day might not have had any significance to me at all, since I have no recollection of it. However, in the 49 years following the assassination, not one year went by without some mention of this monumental event every November 22. I distinctly remember how, home from college during Thanksgiving, I learned there were "secret documents" that held the key to unanswered questions regarding who was behind the assassination, which the Kennedy family said could be unsealed on the 50th anniversary.  I remember thinking that by 2013 I'd be "practically ancient." :) I wonder what ever happened to those so-called sealed documents.

I do have a quirky habit of automatically doing the math whenever people share their ages with me. Instead of thinking someone is eight years old than me, I add eight years to MY age and think "wow, he was in grade school when Kennedy died."  I don't know why I do this but it'll be that way till my mind fails, I'm sure.

In the years following the assassination, my mom collected all things Kennedy and she kept all she collected sacred. She was, after all, the uuber Kennedy family groupie. Today, I own volumes of books about the Kennedys, all read by my mother. I've enjoyed going through them this year as my own commemoration of this anniversary. I'm always surprised by how many of JFK's quotes and ideals can be applied to today's political and cultural events. Like most people, I wonder how life for all Americans might have been changed had he lived out his days to old age.

I doubt his life would have been quite as shrouded in secrecy as was Jackie's life. As a child growing up and thumbing through Look Magazine's glossy photos of the former first lady, it was easy to become obsessed with her. She was the prettiest first lady in modern time and remains that way to this day. All my elder ladies wore the pillbox hats made famous by Jackie sported Jackie's famous hairdos. My mom even bought me the iconic Jackie-O triple authentic strand pearl necklace replica for my 25th birthday. I'm even convinced that the reason I won the local Miss Westland pageant in 1981 was because I channeled my inner Jackie and donned a pair of cream-colored evening gloved with my gown, I was the only one wearing them. :)

I admit I sort of blame Mrs. Kennedy for my name. Apparently, on October 14, 1963, just an hour after my mom delivered me, a nurse walked in and asked Mom what my name would be. 

"Jacqueline," said my mom without missing a beat, to which the nurse exclaimed,
"OH LORDY! There are going to be so many little Jackies in your baby girl's classroom, someday! We've had three Jackies born this week!"

Oh, how I wish that nurse had never said this. I have always loved the name of Jacqueline. Yet my mother, not wanting to have me wind up being one of many little Jackie namesakes quickly christened me "Janice," a name of which I've never been fond. My daughter even named one of her American Girl dolls Jacqueline after hearing me say how much I loved that name.

Jackie's presence, however, followed me throughout my life. My very conduct as a budding woman was formed against the backdrop of her life. I lived by one principle... "What would Jackie do?"   Did a mean girl gossip about me or did a boyfriend dump me?  How would Jackie react? Should I wear a risqué blouse on a date? Would you imagine Jackie wearing such an outfit? Even how I used to react to tragedy was shaped by the image of a young widow in a black veil.  I think I didn't cry in public until my grandfather died in 1987 and even then, I was embarrassed. To me, the epitome of a class act was this tiny, reserved lady who said little to the public yet captured and held a nation's fascination for the next three decades until her death in 1994 and beyond.

No matter what you might think about his political or personal life and his playboy reputation, you must admit that the notion of life as an American during the height of American Exceptionalism in 1963 sounds infinitely more pleasant than life as an American today, where our country is widely disrespected both inside and outside of our country.  By all accounts, President Kennedy was a man with a sense of urgency. Those who knew him personally say it was as if he knew his life here on earth would be cut short. However inflated it might have wound up being, that magical presence of "Camelot" will always define an enchanting era that can neither be changed, nor forgotten.

Historians will continue to study his bungling of the Bay of Pigs invasion or his delicate stand-off with Khrushchev during the Cuban Missile crisis. In the broader scope, from a purely cultural standpoint, I think we can agree that John F. Kennedy represented all that embodied the youthful hope and energy of our nation better than any other president in my life time. In the 11 months of 1963 prior to that day, America felt invigorated and hopeful of all that this great nation could accomplish. As we commemorate him, let us all pray that someday, this once great nation can come together to experience such an invigorating resurgence once again.

 

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