Letters To Lyla

Dear Lyla,

It is fitting, perhaps, that I begin to tell the stories of my childhood in the autumn. You see, it is my favorite time of the year. I look forward to the chill in the air, the change in the colors of the trees and the sound of the leaves as they rustle in the blustery winds that are the hallmark of a Midwestern autumn. Yesterday you helped daddy rake up the leaves and put them in giant orange (pumpkins) bags. I watched the two of you from the window for a few moments before resolving to sprint upstairs for the camera to immortalize the moment. I was reminded of the days when I was just a few years older than you. When I was a little girl, we lived on a resort on Ottertail Lake, every fall my daddy (who I will refer to as Bumpa, the name Kaila gave him when she was old enough to talk) enlisted the help of everyone in the house to complete the monumental task of collecting all of the wayward leaves that had scattered themselves over our little half acre resort. When we were very little, Bumpa and Grandma would rake and my sister Patti and I would gather up the leaves in the wheel barrow. Bumpa burned the leaves in little piles that lined the gravel roads of the resort. Patti and I were not allowed to go near the fires when we were little. But one fall, after Grandma had just purchased a new pair of shoes for me, I decided I was big enough to help. A gentle breeze from the lake had stirred up some of the leaves from one of the piles. I observed Bumpa and Grandma stomping on the leaves to put them out, for fear they may start a grass fire. Like you, when I was little all I wanted to do was help. I was very enthusiastic and raced to stomp out any wayward leaves that dared escape the fire. I was perhaps a little too enthusiastic when all of the sudden my brand new shoe flew from my foot right into the fire. I immediately broke down into tears, my beautiful new shoe (they were black suede) was ruined and I knew Bumpa would be upset. Grandma took one look at my tear stained face and down at my shoe-less foot and took pity on me.  Grandma did not scold, she did not have to, I knew the value of those shoes. I tell you this story because I think it was the first time that I realized that something had real monetary value. Grandma and Bumpa had saved up for the school shopping trip and I had wanted those pretty suede shoes so desperately. I also remembered that Grandma had asked me not to wear them outside, but I did not listen. Sometimes we just have to learn the hard way that our actions have consequences. I also learned that my parents were compassionate people who only wanted the best for me. I think in the autumns to come after that I was much more diligent about how I “helped out,” but the memory is an important and indelible one. So little one, in the years to come I hope that the lessons you learn, although at times they may be difficult, are softened by the knowledge that in your parents you will always find the solace of love and compassion.