Month: March 2018

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Priorities

We visited family out of state this past weekend.

There was a party at my sister’s house, and I arrived early to drop off a flying squirrel. (That’s another blog post.) But when we arrived, my sister’s mother was sitting in the kitchen.

My sister’s mom is my ex-step-mother. She was married to my dad for about 5 years between 1983-1988. I never lived with her, but I spent long weekends and summers with her and my dad during that time. We never had a hostile relationship, but we were never close. After she and my dad divorced, I had no reason to see her. I’ve bumped into her maybe 3 times in the three decades since they split.

I give you that background to give you a sense of our relationship, which is basically nonexistent.

So, anyway. I was the first to walk in to my sister’s kitchen, as my family trudged through the snow behind me. I said hello, gave her a friendly hug, and (re) introduced her to my youngest son who was right beside me. She commented on how much he had grown, and then asked, “Don’t you have a daughter, too?”

Time stood still. My other son was coming up the stairs. I could see him kicking the snow off his shoes, about to open the door and walk into the middle of this conversation. I felt two simultaneous urges. First and foremost was the urge to protect my son. But creeping in quickly, in a close second place, was the impulse to defend my ‘choice.’

I wanted time to explain it to her. I wanted to tell her the story of his transition. I wanted to describe the sullen, sad, suicidal daughter that I had at 5 and 6 and 7 years old. I wanted to emphasize that this transition has changed our lives for the better. I wanted to tell the stories that clearly illustrate that this isn’t a ‘phase.’ I wanted her to understand our story.

The fact that my sister hadn’t shared Lee’s transition with her may or may not have been relevant. My sister has been one of Lee’s staunchest supporters. These two have a special relationship (hence the flying squirrel. I promise I’ll explain that later. It’s a good story). They share a love of animals and a spunky sense of humor and total disregard for my overly anxious parenting. Maybe she didn’t share because she knew it wasn’t her story to tell. Maybe she didn’t share because it wasn’t relevant information for her mom to have. Maybe it just never occurred to her. But in that split second, I wondered if she didn’t share because she knew it wouldn’t be well received.

All of this passed through my mind in the nanosecond before Lee walked through the door. I was unsure of how this woman would react. I didn’t have time to be tactful or feel her out or provide a thorough explanation. I had a second. So I turned to her and smiled as my child turned the doorknob. “Not anymore!” I quipped, just before I cheerily turned and put my arm around my son. “This is Lee.”

I couldn’t really read her reaction; surprised, for sure. Appalled? Supportive? Confused? I don’t really know. And I’m just beginning to realize that I don’t really care. Because Lee bounded through the door and hugged his Aunt and said hello and ran off to play with his cousins, knowing that he is surrounded by love and support from the people who really matter.

And I learned a lesson. I got my priorities straight. Because my initial impulse was so much more important than that second urge.

I’m slowly learning that it’s not my job to make others comfortable with our family. It’s my job to love and support and protect my kids. It’s my job to teach them and help them to grow into the best possible versions of themselves. If we can open some hearts and minds as we travel this journey, then we’ve accomplished something beautiful.

But we’re bound to encounter others. We’re going to run into people who don’t understand or people who don’t agree. We won’t always be able to explain things thoroughly and kindly and get people to understand.

Sometimes, we will have to smile, and hug each other and walk away, knowing that our family is strong and faithful and beautiful and supportive…  and we don’t need strangers or acquaintances or ex-step-mothers to validate our love.

 

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Friendship

I’m at a point in my life where my friendships fall into categories. I have high school friends and college friends. I have book club friends and church friends. I have teacher friends and mom friends and almost-friends.

I recently had the chance to get together with some college friends. Three families, including ours, gathered in our small cape, set up some air mattresses, and reconnected. Sixteen people- six adults and our combined ten children- shared one bathroom and a dozen old memories and hundreds of laughs. We bravely conquered the commuter train and the New England Aquarium with our brood and a backpack full of juice boxes. It was chaotic and crazy and absolutely fantastic. We played board games and watched movies and made meals together. We reminisced and we disagreed and we herded children, and having this crew in my house made my home feel more home-y.

The aftermath of this visit had me thinking a lot about friendships. Who ARE my closest friends? Why? How are my friendships impacted by time and distance and life’s circumstances? How can I still feel such connection to people I haven’t seen in years? Why can’t I be more connected with the teacher down the hall, who I see almost daily? Why do those friendships from my childhood (and I’m old enough to think of college as part of my childhood) hold so much more strength than the ones I formed as an adult?

As an adult, I think friendships are harder to find; primarily because we’re looking.

Finding adult friendships seems to me a little like internet dating; it’s too easy to dismiss someone for the wrong reasons. Poor grammar? No way. She homeschools her kids? Nope. She eats all organic? Forget it. You see what I’m saying? We all do it. We make ridiculous snap judgements about whom we should befriend based on stupid, superficial things. At least, I know I do.

But when I get together with these college friends, I am reminded of how little these things matter. We disagree about things. We have different parenting styles. We have different likes and dislikes. But the thing is, we’re friends first, so none of that means anything. What’s true is that we love each other in spite of our flaws and our differences; maybe even because of them.

I met these friends twenty years ago, and I’ve known them more than half my life. I cherish these friendships tremendously. So if one of us eats vegetarian, it’s not a deal breaker. If somebody makes an off-color joke, it’s not a crisis. If somebody screws up the bacon, the only one who rides her about it is her husband. The foundation is so much stronger than anything we set upon it.

The same is true for my book club. We meet once a month; these friendships are also lengthy and cherished.  I met these women my first year teaching. But if you had asked me 17 years ago (when I began my career), who I thought would be part of my life when I was pushing 40, I’m not sure these are the women I would have named. We taught together for fewer than 5 years, but we’ve remained in touch for more than a decade. We get together once a month, and while we do actually read the book (contrary to popular belief), these monthly gatherings are more importantly about showing up. We show up to celebrate and grieve and support each other. We show up to share and laugh and debate. And by showing up, month after month and year after year, we’ve built something beautiful and honest and strong. These women anchor me, and I am so grateful for them.

My newest group of friends is a group of women from my church. It’s been a long time since I’ve formed a group of friends so quickly, and it feels really good. We’re similar but also incredibly different. We push each other out of our comfort zones and then provide comfort during the tough times. When someone is mourning a loss, we pray and we cook and we offer condolences. When someone is questioning a choice or facing a challenge, we listen and we support and we show up with wine. When someone has a flat tire, we pitch in to pick up the kids and put on a spare. We don’t have a long history (yet), but we all seem to know what the foundation is. We don’t need to agree on all things. We don’t need to pretend to be something we’re not. We just need to keep showing up.

I haven’t stayed connected to all of the people I’ve ‘clicked with’ in my adulthood. I’ve stayed connected with the people who made it a priority to show up through the ups and the downs, the good and the bad. So as I look to build better adult friendships, I feel like I’ve figured out where to start. The good news is, I don’t have to try harder or be better or change who I am. All I have to do is show up.