February 20, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
We are dog people. We appreciate the stealthy mannerisms and general “guardian of the underworld” vibe that cats give off; but we are dog people. Specifically, we are lovers of Boston Terriers. If I had a quarter for every time I heard “hey your dog looks like he was chasing parked cars,” I would be comfortable; if I had a dollar for every time my dogs with the smashed in faces elicited squeals of delight from total strangers we could buy our own island. At your age you have already been owned by several Boston Terriers and by the time you are grown you will most likely be unable to look at any other breed with as much love and trust as you do the black and whites. What you already know is that dogs are fun to play with, they warm cold toes, they try to hog the blankets on the couch, they eat stray crayons and they are considered members of the family. What you will learn is that they become much more important as you grow older. In a few years, after you have gotten over the need to dress your dog up and she has gotten over the trauma, the two of you will become inseparable playmates. Your entrance into a room will inspire eagerness in her rather than an assessment of the fastest escape route. You will look forward to naps because she will be your snuggle buddy; she already loves to nap she is just waiting for you to get with the program. When you hit double digits it will more than likely be time to say goodbye to your beloved Gigi as she is already nine and starting to go white around her eyes and muzzle. You will miss her terribly but be consoled by the fact that Bumpa will have a playmate in heaven and all of her toys will no longer be missing their squeakers. At that time we will both plead with Daddy to let us get another Boston as no home should be without one, he will eventually acquiesce and we will again be owned by a short snouted pup with bat shaped ears and tuxedo like markings. When you are a teen you will tell all of your secrets to your furry confidant, you will shed tears and your best friend will lick your face like mad trying to make it stop. You will be comforted by your dog; she will give you a sense of belonging and purpose. Once you have left home and you embrace the world beyond Waverly you will measure others by their penchant for the canine. You will learn that while you can be friends with someone who doesn’t like dogs, something will always be just a bit off. You will decide that if your significant other cannot abide dogs in the house, you cannot abide your significant other. It is possible that you will make significant decisions in your life based on the ability to be owned by a dog; makes sense to me. We are dog people Little One; it is your destiny to be owned and loved by a dog and it is the one of the best gifts that Daddy and I could ever give to you beyond our own love and affection.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged best friend, Boston Terrier, Bumpa, dog, Gigi | Leave a Comment »
February 17, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
You are unique, one of a kind; my proudest accomplishment to date. I think you are perfect just the way you are. Many parents share my sentiments with regard to their own children, which is the natural order of things. You are easy to love; you are precocious, cute, lively, witty and have the vocabulary of a college sophomore. The attention that is showered on you by my college students makes you one lucky duck; you are loved Little One. I am grateful every day that I have been called to a profession that allows me to meet so many different families; one that allows me to become a part of my students’ extended family. How fortunate we both are to meet a variety of people, to share in their accomplishment, their joys and sometimes their sorrows. In the fall of 2005 I met a very special family; one that would become an extended part of ours. A beautiful and intelligent young lady came to college in Waverly and joined the speech team; this was before you were born and I traveled every weekend with a bunch of rowdy college kids all over the Midwest. Young Meaghan joined our team and those of us who knew her, and her family, would never be the same again. Megs was unique; energetic, goofy, loud, poised, talented and loyal. We were a close family on the speech team; each with his or her own special niche that contributed to the overall dynamic of our little merry band. When Meaghan first joined the team she was a bit reserved, we didn’t know much about her or her family. As time went on Megs began to feel more comfortable around us, began to trust us I think, and opened up about her family. There was one subject about which Meaghan was very guarded; her little brother Josh. It wasn’t until we first met Josh that we understood her reticence to open up. Josh was born with a disease at birth that altered his growth patterns and limited his intellectual capacity. Walking was hard for him, he was mostly confined to a wheel chair, and it was difficult at times to understand what Josh was trying to communicate. I am not sure what Meaghan thought our reaction would be to Josh but we thought he was the greatest. Josh had an awesome sense of humor and loved to tease the ladies, especially Tiffany. Josh adored Megs and she adored him right back. Well all loved Josh and he became a fixture at speech tournaments; his dad “Bear” would drive him to tournaments and he would hang out with the team. After Meaghan graduated Bear and Josh still came to tournaments to cheer on our team. Not only did Josh have fans on our team, he was quite the favorite with others as well. You see Little One, Josh was truly one of a kind; his enthusiasm for life was infectious. Although unable to walk unassisted, communicate without translation from those who knew him best or construct higher order thought patterns; Josh was a teacher. Josh taught those who knew him to focus on the present, to love with abandon and to appreciate those around us for who they are and not what we would wish them to be. One of the dangers of the disease that Josh lived with is a weakened immune system; today he lost his battle with the body he was born with. While I wish that Josh could still be here with Megs and Bear and my heart aches for the loss they feel tonight; he was perfect just the way he was born. We all have our parts in the play of life Little One and while some acts may be shorter than others they are no less impactful. At bedtime as we say our prayers we will pray that Josh’s family will find peace in the knowledge that tonight he dances with angels.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged Angel, Bear, Josh, Meaghan, Perfect, Speech | 5 Comments »
February 15, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
This year was the first time you really got excited about Valentine’s Day. For you this holiday was on par with Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas; you even had a count down on your calendar. I believe that you were excited for a couple of reasons; because you really like holidays and because the idea of celebrating how much you love people was incredibly appealing to you. You have never been reserved with your affection or verbal declarations of your admiration and that is one of the things that I love about you. It was fun to watch you plan out what we would make for your school friends and it was a joy to observe you carefully select cards to send to family and close friends. I do not believe you expected any reciprocation, you were always focused on giving, another characteristic of yours that I adore. But receive you did; cards in brightly colored envelopes arrived in the mailed and you wiggled with anticipation as I slit the seals. On two occasions as you opened the cards grayish green paper floated out of them on to the floor; you had been sent money for your piggy bank! At this age you do not know the value of a dollar but you can count and you figured that you could buy presents for at least ten people with the money you had received (I love the fact that you are generous but college will be expensive so in your piggy they go). Seeing the money fall out of the envelope brought back a memory of both my Grandpa Henwood and your Bumpa. Your Grandma Jo thought I forgot this memory, but I hadn’t. Not at all. I knew it would be the subject of my next letter to you. Bumpa admired your Great Grandpa Henwood a great deal and over the years he adopted some of the same mannerisms, phrases and habits that Great Grandpa Henwood had exhibited. One of those quirks often displayed was, upon receipt, to shake a card and its accompanying envelope vigorously. The point of this exercise was to make sure that no monetary gesture of love from the sender had been carelessly overlooked in the card reading process. If greenbacks fell out there would be immediate squeals of delight followed by criticism of the paltry amount offered. If there was no monetary accompaniment you could hear “cheapskate” muttered not so subtly. Either of those responses was generally received by other adults in the room with laughter or lighthearted chastising. I didn’t understand until much later that the façade had a purpose. We were to feign belief that Bumpa and Great Grandpa Henwood were Scrooges and misers, grumpy old men that were prickly and not easily moved. You may ask why we all played this game; it is a fair question. You see Little One, Great Grandpa and Bumpa were easily moved. Both had soft underbellies and it was easy to touch their hearts with the mildest of gestures. But in their own way they were each a bit shy and embarrassed by such attention; and so they turned to humor in order to participate in such social conventions as gift giving. If truth be told, your Daddy is a lot like Bumpa and Great Grandpa Henwood in that regard; but you already know that Daddy is a big softy who acts silly a lot of the time. (When you are older you will learn that these behaviors are called “defense mechanisms.”) For now Little One, enjoy every holiday that you can. Find any excuse to show those you care about how much you love them. Little One I want you to remember that when the grumpy guys in your life tease you it means you hit your mark and we both know you are a crack shot.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged Bumpa, Cheapskate, giving, Great Grandpa Henwood, love, money, Valentine's Day | Leave a Comment »
February 12, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Even as a baby you loved stories. You loved the excitement of the various characters created for you and you would anticipate the cadences Daddy and I used to bring the story to its peak and eventual closure. As a baby actions and realistic sounding animals noises were not optional in your world and poor performances by your parents were scarcely tolerated. As you grew the stories became more complex and your standards for acceptable storytelling increased. Daddy and I were excited to see that, while you still liked to be read to, you began to make up your own stories; and what stories they are (complete with illustrations and thought bubbles you learned to make in Mrs. Taylor’s kindergarten class). Like you, when I was little, I loved to hear my mommy read stories to me. Grandma Jo was very good at reading stories. Grandma has the perfect voice for storytelling; not too loud, not too soft, not too high and not too low. I know that Grandma read to me a lot when I was really young, though I do not have very clear memories of her doing so. My sister and I learned to read at a very young age and, being as independent as I was, I soon preferred to read on my own. I imagine that this may have made Grandma a little sad, I know that I will miss our time together reading when you will neither require nor want my assistance; I will even miss your bony little chin digging into my shoulder as you peer over it to get a closer look at the pictures. I do hope that you will remember our time together; our silliness, the characters we created together and the funny noises and grunts that punctuated our stories. Even though my own memory of reading with Grandma is foggy there is one story that I will never forget; The Emperor’s New Clothes. I remember this story because it was one of the few books that was available in the doctor’s office we used to visit as children. For me, going to our yearly checkups was always a bit scary and in order to get me to relax Grandma Jo would read The Emperor’s New Clothes to me. I remember the illustrations clearly, a tiger played the part of the emperor and his subjects were a motley and colorful crew. I recall asking grandma what an emperor was; she said he was a kind of prince. I thought he must not be very bright to believe in invisible clothes but I was mortified that people would let the prince go naked and cheat him out of money; that was not very kind. Grandma said the moral of the story was to think for yourself or you would end up like the naked prince; sage advice indeed. At an early age I learned to love books and the wisdom they offered. The stories I read took me to faraway places and offered adventures of every kind. The love of good storytelling is a precious gift that Grandma and Bumpa gave to me; a lifelong relationship with the written word. A well woven story can transcend differences, heal hurts and open our hearts to different realities. A good book can be a beloved friend, a source of inspiration and a fountain of wisdom; it can even save you from becoming a naked prince. It is our hope that you will come to love reading Little One. That you will have a deep and lasting devotion to storytelling; one that fosters curiosity, imagination and an abiding respect for the human condition.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged reading, The Emperor's New Clothes | Leave a Comment »
February 10, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
When you are young it seems like the adults in your life think they know what is best for you; and often that is true. With age comes experience, with experience comes wisdom and with wisdom comes the ability to predict outcomes based on observed variables and past outcomes. I know that it can seem horribly cruel and unfair sometimes when adults dismiss the intuition of a child; nevertheless it is done out of love and no parent survives child rearing without making an error or two. I am positive that on more than one occasion as a young child I stomped my feet, stuck out my lower lip and declared that my parents hated me, were unfair and I might as well pack a bag and move out. For the life of me I cannot recall with any certainty more than one or two instances where I had felt truly wronged and misunderstood by my parents. However, one such breach of trust in my gut instincts by my parents is forever burned in my memory and it is the first recollection I have that my parents were not immune to making mistakes themselves. I was nine years old and it was summertime on Ottertail Lake. I had become enamored with nature’s creatures and my mother had become quite accustomed to the strays I would bring home (dogs, ducks and chipmunks just to name a few). Up until the sunny day on which this particular tale plays out, I never received a great deal of resistance from my parents when I brought injured wild animals home to nurse. I was particularly delighted to see that a turtle had dug a nest to lay her eggs in the ditch next to the county road in our back yard. Mama turtle had been out and about for a couple of weeks and had always confined her travels to the patch of prairie grass between the ditch and the lake; she steered clear of the road which was busy with tourists during the summer months. One afternoon I went out to check on her and to my horror she was in the middle of the road. I sprinted back to the house and breathlessly begged my mom and dad to help me get her back to the ditch. You see she was a very large turtle, a snapping turtle, and I knew it was dangerous for me to approach her. I also understood that she could be run over, or worse, caught and turned into turtle soup! To their credit my parents came outside to see how dire the situation truly was. Mama turtle was almost to the other side of the road and my parents felt that since she only had a few feet left to go that it would be in her best interest not to disturb her journey. In my heart I knew they were wrong. I felt my chest tighten and my respirations rapidly increase as I begged them to do something. I told them I had a gut feeling that something would go wrong; that she wouldn’t make it back to the safety of the tall grasses of the ditch. A few moments later a truck came speeding down the road and I was terrified that the truck would hit her; Grandma said not to worry that the truck would see her and slow down. Grandma was right, the truck slowed down to avoid hitting her. Not only did the truck slow down, it came to a complete stop; at which time a man got out of the truck picked up the mammoth turtle and put it in the back of his truck. I knew that this man did not intend to release her into a more appropriate habitat; I understood that turtle meat from a female this size could feed a family for a few days. While I was no stranger to the realities of country living and livestock, I could not bring myself to accept her fate as being a part of the natural order of things; and I could not help but blame my parents in being complicit in her demise. It is a rite of passage Little One, the moment where the veil has been lifted and you no longer see your parents as infallible and omniscient; and it is rite we must all partake of. On that day I felt my own mortality, not because the turtle met an untimely fate, because I understood that my parents were human and not beyond the reach of the cruel realities of the world we live in. In that moment I was filled with fear, uncertainty and sadness because somehow, at the tender age of nine, I realized that this day marked the beginning of the end of my childhood. Little One someday the age of innocence will end for you; I don’t know when and I don’t know how. I do know that it can be scary and a bit overwhelming. I want to share with you something that I wish I knew then; to understand the fallibility of human nature, and to accept it, is essential in creating a caring and compassionate human being. Thankfully, you are much wiser and more intuitive now than when I was your age. While I already mourn the day you will meet the sunset of your tender years; I am quite certain that when your time comes you will deal with the revelations gracefully, compassionately and wisely.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged animals, growing up, innocence, mortality, parents, turtles | Leave a Comment »
February 8, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
The vocation that I have been called to, that of a college professor, is full of discovery, joy, wonder and love. It is also rife with frustration, sadness and, at times, a feeling of helpless futility. Some weeks fly by with the hum of activity that gives the building in which I work the aura of a living, breathing creature; students the blood that courses through its veins keeping it alive and giving it purpose. Other weeks move at a glacial pace, each hour seemingly longer and more laborious than the previous; it has been one of those weeks. There is an old saying “when it rains it pours,” and this week seems to be torrential in scope. Midweek came and I felt as if there was no possible way that I would be able to make it to Friday. I contemplated calling in sick and cancelling my classes; I was in the process of crafting a plan on Wednesday afternoon when it occurred to me that it was time to leave my office early to go the after-school program at which I volunteer once a week. My schemes were abandoned as I reached for my briefcase, coat and keys and headed out to the car. Upon arrival the director informed me that, since she had enough volunteers to teach lessons and hand out snacks, I was on craft detail. For the next hour I sat at a table cutting out paper projects that third and fourth graders had made. I was to affix them to a giant piece of yellow paper so they could be prominently displayed. As I cut I admired the bold color choices and the flagrant disregard for formal artistic aesthetic used on these projects; pink, red, green, orange and brown go together very nicely thank you very much. In a word, these crayon offerings were “hopeful.” For the first time all week I began to relax. I surrendered to my inner five year old self as safety scissors and scotch tape became the center of my universe, if just for a little while. As the afternoon wore on the volunteers who had to pass by the long white table in the recreation hall where I was working stopped to admire the children’s work. No words were spoken as I continued to work on my display, but I did observe that each person who stopped to look could not help but smile; hope, it seems, was to rule the day. Several of my students also volunteer at this after school program and I began to notice the looks on their faces. Gone were the furrowed brows, tight smiles and harried looks that had plagued all of us back on campus. Instead their faces housed bright smiles and their eyes twinkled as they basked in the delight of playing with the children. Indeed hope was waging a war against despair and it was winning. It would be disingenuous for me to tell you that I left that evening feeling as if all was well in the world and all of the week’s problems had simply melted away; they had not. There will always be frustration and vexation in our lives, it is unavoidable. We cannot know true happiness without experiencing sadness; the trick is, Little One, to not let hope be defeated by despair. Perhaps we adults get too caught up in the minutia of the world or perhaps we convince ourselves that hope is fickle and elusive; perhaps we ought to pick up crayons more often.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged children, crayons, despair, hope, service, teaching | Leave a Comment »
February 6, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Putting you to bed is one of the most special times of the day. I love our snuggle ritual, your pleas to stay up just a bit longer and your most vocal opinion on how nighttime prayers are to be said. Two weeks ago you admonished me for reciting my part of the prayer in the incorrect order; praying for Mary Beth’s foot to heal comes after our prayer for Laura’s head injury since she got hurt first and could I please try to remember that next time? A few nights ago you instructed me to do an informal poll on all of those included in our prayers to make sure it was actually working, so far the reports have been positive. I suppose I should not be surprised by the lack of solemnity in your prayer habits, you are a straight shooter and have been from the beginning. Perhaps you get your predilection for infusing the secular with the spiritual from Daddy; unlike him, I hope that as you get older the privilege of praying aloud at gatherings will not be revoked. As you know we do not call upon Daddy to give grace any longer in our household; there is good reason for that, a reason I suspect that was concocted by your Daddy to avoid the task entirely. Years before you were born we began the tradition of traveling to Springfield, MO very close to Christmas to spend time with your grandparents, uncles and cousins. One year, before your Uncle Tommy and Aunt Ashley were married, they were to sing in the Christmas Cantata. Uncle Tommy had never sung in a church choir before and we went to the service in order to lend him moral support. Your Uncle Aaron, along with cousins Miranda and Maddie, went with us. I made the mistake of sitting the two girls next to me while Daddy and Aaron sat in the pew behind us muffling giggles, sharing jokes and making snarky comments (neither of them do well unsupervised in a church). At the end of the concert the pastor stood up, thanked us for coming and told us to take Jesus with us as we left; an appropriate and fairly common way to end a service. We found Ashley and Tommy, told them how proud we were of their contribution to the concert and piled into the van to head out to Grandma Atkinson’s farm for lunch; a twenty minute ride on the most curvy roads imaginable. About half way through the trip Daddy slammed on his breaks and shouted “Damn!” My heart started to race and I felt a panic creep over me in response to Daddy’s sudden stop and loud exclamation. When I asked him to tell me what was wrong he simply replied, “We forgot Jesus back at the church.” Your Uncle Aaron hooted and howled and before long we had to pull over to the side of the road because he and Daddy had tears running down their cheeks and were doubled over in fits of uncontrollable laughter. A few weeks later Christmas Day came to our house back in Iowa. Uncle Spuds, Grandma Jo and Dr. Earl were guests at our table. I had not known Dr. Earl all that long but I knew that he was devout in his beliefs and suspected that his approach to prayer was a solemn one. So on that Christmas I asked your Daddy to say grace; perhaps not the best request of someone who is an admitted introvert with a quick wit and a propensity to push boundaries on even the most stoic of occasions. Grace started out beautifully and in my head I was silently praising Daddy who had seemingly risen to the task. We were almost to “Amen” when Daddy suddenly said “…and God please forgive us for leaving your son at the church in Springfield.” We had regaled the others earlier in the day with Daddy’s antics in Springfield and he couldn’t wait to deliver the ultimate punch line. I was mortified and worried that Dr. Earl would be offended. Uncle Spuds, never to miss an opportunity to encourage Daddy but not wanting to irritate me, choked back on his laughter and tried to compose himself. Daddy was looking up at me from under his bowed head trying to determine just how mad I was with him. Grandma Jo raised an eyebrow, not quite knowing how to react. Dr. Earl, bless his heart, laughed out loud, long and heartily. At that moment I knew I had been beaten, Daddy would be given a lifelong reprieve on the task of saying grace at the dinner table. What you must take away from this story Little One, is that everyone must be able to practice faith in their own way. We say prayers at night together because I want to teach you that it is good to think of others and send positive energy their way. When you grow up your belief system may alter or you may encounter others who have different views about life and spirituality, and that is ok; everyone must take his or her own journey. In the end it doesn’t matter if you call them prayers, good wishes or positive thoughts when you think about the loved ones in your life; the point is that you take the time to consider them in the first place.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged Cantata, Christmas, church, Daddy, grace, Humor, prayer, religion | Leave a Comment »
February 2, 2013 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
It has been a few weeks since I have written to you; the blog has taken a short hiatus while I recover from the holiday season as well as the start of a new semester. We had some grand times over your short break from the excitement of the Kindergarten room and my fleeting respite from the break neck pace of the college classroom. I think my favorite part of the holidays was seeing your face on Christmas morning as you discovered the mounds of presents under the tree all labeled with your moniker. There was one present in particular that gave me pause; you became the proud owner of a Furby. While this toy is reminiscent of an adorable Gremlin, its robot qualities give it an air of a science fiction plot line that is about to go horribly awry. All that I overlooked because you adored the teal and purple fur covered microchip with a love only a five year old could express. You were esctatic that this little bundle of joy could learn from you: show it affection and it will respond with mechanical coos and purrs, tease and torture it will earn you a response in kind. Your Aunt Jette discovered just how fast the Furby could learn when, by the end of the noon meal, Cocoa (as you named it) declared O.M.G. At that moment chills went up my spine; I had a prior experience with cognitive conditioning as part of a game once before, it did not end well. As you know Daddy likes to play games of all kinds. However, Daddy has an affinity for video games. When I first met him I had never played a game on a PC before, much less a console game. Daddy tried to convince me to play with him, but the types of gaming mayhem that he enjoyed held no interest for me. That was until he brought the game Creatures home. In this game you hatch your creature called a “norn” (they bear a striking resemblance to the Furby), and you nurture them to adulthood in the game. If you provide them with positive reinforcement (patting the head and tickling the chin when they exhibit a behavior you desire) they will be productive and live a relatively long time. They can learn vocabulary words if you are patient enough and they will teach each other what they have learned. I absolutely adored this game and I spent a great deal of time cultivating socially responsible and articulate norns. My norns were well behaved, had an extensive vocabulary and were teaching the newly hatched norns all that they knew; this only after a few weeks of playing the game. About a month into the game (I only played for 20 minutes or so a day) I had to go to a conference and I was to be gone for a week. I asked Daddy to look in on my norns, if you don’t feed them or interact with them they could get sick and I certainly didn’t want that to happen. Daddy agreed and I took off to my conference. When I got home I was eager to check on their progress and see how the newly hatched norns were fairing. To my horror my norms had turned into drunken little tyrants that belched, hit each other and proud of the obscene amount of flatulence produced by these wee creatures. I was mortified at this turn of events and confused as to what had happened in my absence. Your Daddy could not keep it together any longer; he burst out laughing and could barely draw enough breath to explain what had happened. Thinking that total corruption would be impossible, Daddy had hatched a norn on a different level of the game and had built a whiskey still right next to the norn. Each time the norn ate something healthy Daddy flicked its nose so it would associate healthy eating with something negative. Each time the norn drank Daddy tickled its chin to indicate that the norn was behaving properly. Soon the norn was beyond the point of amendment. Daddy was convinced the norn would be so lethargic that it wouldn’t seek out the other, sober norns. He was right, his norn was lazy and stayed by the still. However, my norns were curious and eventually they found the new norn (and the still) who taught them all how to drink. By the time I got home I had a whole community of furry whinos. Through his tears of laughter Daddy tried to apologize, I would not be consoled. I never touched the game again, I was too heartbroken. So you see little one, I am a bit nervous about having a Furby in the house. Who knows what diabolical plan your Daddy has in mind. Until the Furby has reach her full learning potential I am afraid I will be a bit on edge (and knowing the two of you if anything unsavory happens with the Furby you’ll have been in cahoots). I guess I cannot really blame Daddy for what he did, it’s in his nature to push both boundaries and my buttons. Sometimes Little One you need someone in your life that encourages you not to take life too seriously, to let your hair down and have a sense of humor. While I may not always appreciate your Daddy’s brand of jocularity, I do admire that he has the ability to fill the house with laughter. When I hear your tinkling tones mixed with his deeper ones I am reminded of just how lucky our little family is. Life can be hard my love but a sense of humor can be the best weapon you have in your arsenal.
Posted in February 2013 | Tagged Creatures, Daddy, Furby, game creatures, gaming, Humor, kindergarten room, Norns, science fiction plot, striking resemblance, videogames | Leave a Comment »
December 21, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Yesterday I learned that my Aunt Neda, Bumpa’s sister, went to Heaven. Although you two never met, she has already been an influential part of your upbringing. I adored my Aunt Neda when I was younger; I always got excited when she and her family were expected to visit us at the lake. We rarely got to visit with them since they lived in Grand Rapids, MI and the drive was a long one. When I was twelve Bumpa and Grandma Jo had planned a trip for just the two of them and Patti and I got to choose who we would spend some time with over the holidays; I chose to go stay with Aunt Neda, Uncle Gary and the boys in Michigan. I could barely contain my excitement, I was going to spend a whole week with one of my favorite people on the planet. That trip contained a lot of firsts; my first time flying alone and getting stuck in a snowstorm, my first time skiing (that is a story for a different letter) and the first time I ever really contemplated my own character. Meeting Neda and Gary at the airport is a memory that has not faded with time; Gary with his quiet smile reaching for my luggage and Neda’s strong, steady voice that carried with it an edge that assured you she said what she meant and meant what she said, “I see you survived the plane ride kiddo.” Her way of acknowledging the fear I must have felt while at the same time not allowing me to fall victim to it. I spent a lot of time alone with my aunt during that trip; she asked a lot of questions about my happiness. I thought it odd that she would ask such things but, in retrospect, I think she was just worried about how hard we worked on the resort and wanted to make sure I still was enjoying my youth. Neda is a lot like Bumpa, although the two of them would be the least likely to admit it aloud. I imagine them as children constantly butting heads; convinced that each of them were in the right. Their similarity is what in all likelihood drew me to covet my aunt’s attention; she was a straight shooter, like Bumpa, but she did it while hugging and with a great sense of humor. Little one you remind me of her a bit in your manner of approaching life’s stark realities. Upon hearing the news yesterday I was incredibly sad and you asked why, when informed you simply said “That’s ok Mommy, she’s in heaven; you will see her some day. I can meet her there too, we all die and then we go to heaven, so you see, it’s ok.” How your Great Aunt Neda would have appreciated that response. In my mind’s eye I can see her eyebrows raise, hear a “hmmm” from her lips and finally a “That’s about right kid” as a confirmation of the statement’s accuracy. You are more wise at five than I was at twelve, for on that trip to Michigan I did not yet grasp the concept that I could not control what life brings our way; but Neda tried to teach me that we can certainly control how we react to it. One morning I was very sullen, upset with how my hair looked; I had been given a perm against my will, I have curly hair, it was a disaster and on that day I could do nothing with it (quite tragic for an adolescent teen girl). Neda asked me what was wrong and I replied “nothing, nobody cares anyway.” Instead of cajoling and sweet talking me she simply called out “Pity party; table for one!” I was taken aback, she was not about to let me wallow in self pity and I didn’t quite know how to handle it, so I just stared at her. I was informed that if I wasn’t willing to do something about it she wasn’t about to listen to me whine; so I asked her to take me to a beauty shop, which she did. To this day I use that phrase, with my students, with my close friends and with you; Neda was right, it is a pretty effective rhetorical tool. What a lifelong gift to receive, the ability for self reflection; to appreciate what you have rather than to commiserate about what you don’t. Your Great Aunt Neda was headstrong, loving, generous, faith filled, and wise. Although we have only exchanged cards at Christmas and the occasional letter over the last few years, I am saddened by the thought that she has only ever been a phone call away should I need her sage advice. So little one, just for today, to grieve for my Aunt Neda and conversations that are never to be, I am going to throw myself a little pity party; table for one.
Posted in December 2012 | Tagged Bumpa, butting heads, death, Heaven, Michigan, Neda, pity party, quiet smile, religion, steady voice, straight shooter | Leave a Comment »
December 19, 2012 by Penni Pier
Dear Lyla,
Often when you hear talk of the Trinity it is in reference to religion; the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. When Daddy speaks of the holy triumvirate he is referring to Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and Indiana Jones. This is not to say that Daddy has no faith life, he does; it’s just that his approach to a spiritual walk usually involves a dose of dystopian narrative mixed with special effects and computer generated imagery. Daddy frequently articulates the Christ themes in many of the films and novels that have enjoyed longevity among the populous; it is the fact that these fictional creations can offer a moral examination of one’s own existence that most likely drew Daddy to English education. However, sometimes Daddy goes a bit too far in his effort to streamline the secular and the spiritual; usually at Mommy’s expense. When we lived in Columbia, MO the Star Wars films were being re-released in the theatres. Daddy had seen those films multiple times over when he was a kid. I, on the other hand, had only seen Star Wars as a rental on our television and so Daddy was determined that we would see them together on the big screen. It was a wonderful experience viewing the film with true Lucas fans; their energy and enthusiasm while watching familiar elements unfold was amazing. These Yoda devotees would shout endless warnings to the heroes and reprimands to the villains all the while knowing how the story would end. That Christmas, as a nod to Daddy’s obsession, I purchased three Christopher Radko ornaments for our tree; Darth Vader, C3PO and a Storm Trooper. Daddy was afraid they would get broken on the tree and so a special ornament stand was purchased for these treasures; to this day removing them from their padded storage boxes causes us to hold our breath until they are safely secured to their posts. As you know little one, I take holiday decorating very seriously; that year was no exception. I had decked the halls, trimmed the tree, hung the stockings with care and had displayed the nativity crèche that your Daddy gave me the year prior lovingly on the top of the roll top desk in our entry way. I was so proud of that nativity scene and it was so beautiful; all of the pieces were made out of off-white porcelain with gold painted accents. Almost everyone who saw it commented on how pretty it was and you couldn’t miss seeing the display, it was the first thing you encountered when you stepped into our living area. That season I decorated early and we had many parties and celebrations between Thanksgiving and Christmas, lots of visitors to our home. I began to notice something peculiar; when I would walk from the living room into the kitchen or from the kitchen back into the living room your Daddy and quite a few of our friends would quip “May the Force be with you Baby Jesus.” At first I thought it was quirky musings from a bunch of adults reliving their adolescence; but the frequency with which the phrase was uttered began to intensify. Just a few days before Christmas I had heard that phrase so many times I finally got fed up and shouted at your Daddy “What is wrong with you?” He laughed so hard that he cried; his response fueled my anger. Taking pity on me, or perhaps out of a sense of self preservation, he said “Turn around.” Behind me was my beautiful crèche, but for the life of me I couldn’t see what was so funny about a porcelain nativity scene; and then I saw it. Nestled between Mary and Joseph was a small plastic Yoda almost the same hue of the porcelain peering over Baby Jesus. From the peels of renewed laughter behind me, it had clearly been there a long time. Through his laughter I heard one last “May the Force be with you Baby Jesus” escape your Daddy’s lips. What other response was there from me but to laugh right along with him? Beyond the fact that your Daddy likes to aggravate and tease me any time the opportunity arises, I think he was trying to teach me a lesson. I was so caught up in the trappings of the season (baking, decorating and shopping) that I forgot to enjoy it and this was his subtle way of telling Mommy to chill out. I will admit little one that sometimes I do still get caught up in the busyness of the holidays, but when you came into our lives and as we get older it is easier to focus on the importance of embracing the love that comes with all of the laughter in our home. May the Force be with you Lyla.
Posted in December 2012 | Tagged Baby Jesus, C3PO, Christmas, Daddy, Darth Vader, George Lucas, Humor, Indiana Jones, Lord of the Rings, Radko, Star Wars, Storm Trooper, Yoda | Leave a Comment »
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Dear Lyla,
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