Yearly Archives: 2011

Sorting God’s Laundry

October 20, 2011life, ParentingKirsetin

I’ve always been attracted to trouble.

My quandary is that I often see both sides of the story. This propensity manifests in many ways. One is that it’s hard for me to be an activist. Even if I feel strongly about an issue, I can often understand—even if I don’t agree with—the other side. Not always, but often. Another is that my heart goes out to the troublemakers.

Countless hours of my teenage years were spent listening to friends’ tales of angst: an emotionally absent father, a drug-addled mom, boy troubles, girl troubles, thoughts of suicide—I heard a lot. My friends talked and I listened. I kept their worries in my heart.

When mistakes were made and police were called and parents’ hearts broken, I still saw the good. I wasn’t naïve—the good was there. Sometimes it was buried beneath anger and sadness and general teenage drama, but it was there. The boy who stole liquor from his friend’s parents? He was kind and thoughtful. The one who had her stomach pumped? Heart of gold.

Maybe it’s precisely because of these experiences that I see both sides. Maybe it’s why I understand that good people sometimes make bad choices.

As a parent, this gets tricky.

Empathy = good. Hanging out with trouble = bad. Right? My mother must’ve been a nervous wreck.

Our tendency, I think, is to grab the label. He’s the One who stole the liquor. She’s the One the ambulance came for. It’s easier that way. Labels help us navigate life’s choppy waters. They help us identify the people we can play with; they help us identify the children we want our kids to play with. Labels are a convenient basket into which we can sort God’s laundry: That One belongs in the Good basket; wait, toss That One in with the Troublemakers.

We haven’t crossed that bridge yet in our house. Perhaps none of my children will inherit my affinity for listening to others’ tribulations.

But if they do, I want them to know this:

· There are two sides to every story. Sometimes one side is awful. Sometimes not.
· There isn’t a perfect person among us.
· There are a lot of opportunities for redemption between yesterday and tomorrow.
· Try to listen, to really listen.

What about you? Are you drawn to difficult stories or do you shy away from them? Do you share the complexities of your own story with friends? Do you sort the children that surround your kids?

Brotherly Love

October 14, 2011family, life, nostalgia, ParentingKirsetin

Re: my socks & brother’s whole outfit.
Please note that this was the 70s.

My little brother and I haven’t always gotten along.

There was the time, for instance, in elementary school, when someone ripped a whole in the fabric below the top bunk bed. My mother, having had enough of our antics of late, confronted us at breakfast.

Who did this? she demanded. No one leaves for school until one of you fesses up.

We scurried off to solve this fresh dilemma. Sequestered in his bedroom, we debated what to do. I was furious and desperate not to be late. “Tell her,” I hissed. “Tell her you did it or we’ll be late for school.”

We tromped back into the kitchen, slowly, one after the other, and my 8-year old brother confessed.

But why, asked my mom. Why did you do it?

I didn’t really do it, he claimed, head down. I just don’t want to be late for school.

His recant didn’t help. And naturally, I didn’t forgive the grievance for quite some time.

But, more often than not, we were friends. When the movers came, as they did every three years, and packed up the boxes with our treasured belongings, it was my brother who stayed by my side. When we climbed into the old Honda or Lincoln Convertible (sweet ride, I know!), and pointed the car north, or south, to the next military base, it was my brother giggling with me in the backseat, speculating whether the new base would have a nice swimming pool, and wondering how we’d find new friends.

The smell of the wrapping materials and cardboard boxes stays with me; if I close my eyes, I can conjure it in seconds. In a new place, the empty rooms echo for awhile, until bit by bit you fill them with tiny pieces of your soul, little slivers of you that say I live here now, this is my home. The room softens. In the midst of the Madonna posters, piles of clothes, and algebra homework I made my way towards new friends and new memories, until we moved again.

And always, my brother was with me.

He lives 1,200 miles away now, but it doesn’t really matter. The threads are woven, the bonds are strong. If I need him, I can count on him to be there.

What about my own boys? If they live far away—or even nearby one another—I wonder if they will share this type of bond. How about you? Do you share a bond with a sibling? Do you think your kids will?

Fall Wins.

October 10, 2011autumn, fall, nostalgiaKirsetin

It happens every year.

After a blissful summer of friends, cocktails, and sand, we wrap up summer and round the corner towards cooler weather. Fall calls to me, it whispers beguilingly, with its distinct smell of turning leaves and the delicious promise of hot cider. Through the crisp, cool air, I swear I can hear the cheering in the football stadium; I feel the wool of my fisherman’s sweater. I’m flooded with memories again and again.

As a child I looked forward to these memories, even though I didn’t have them yet. Back then, tempura paint pumpkins in the school windows and sugar cookies with orange frosting comprised my autumn life experiences. And I loved those, too. But I was wide-eyed and forward-looking and I knew that my fall collegiate days would be filled with good things.

College didn’t disappoint. The hills in central Pennsylvania are covered with brilliant foliage; the football games and tailgate parties were just as I imagined; the fisherman’s sweaters and conviviality, even better. These things come flying back to me, year after year, as I look forward to another fresh start—even more than I do at the turn of the New Year.

Hope. Renewal. Home.

As a mother, I wonder if fall will hold the same enchantment for my boys when they are grown and on their own.

How about you–what’s your favorite season? What does it mean to you?