Good Brothers

I have been richly blessed with really good brothers.  You can look at the previous posts if you want to know more about them, but trust me they are really, Really good people.  I’ve also raised good brothers.  My sons are kind to each other and to their sister – genuinely supportive and fond of each other.  That is so satisfying to me because they are each and all so very, very different.  They are loosely aligned on politics, not aligned on religion, very aligned on education but in vastly different fields, and most importantly, they do truly love each other.  That is pure joy for a mom.

Husband is a good brother – the best if you listen to his mom.  He is the “star” child.  Does everything right, including the fact that he calls her every.  single. day.  If there’s a squabble among his adult siblings, he is the voice of reason.  If his mentally disabled sister needs someone to laugh at her jokes, he’s the guy.  He doesn’t usually agree with his sibs, but he refuses to fight with them.  Life – and love – is just too important for that crap.  He doesn’t go along with all their stuff.  He just loves them in spite of it.  Sometimes that requires forgiveness in copious amounts.  He’s very good at forgiveness.  It’s one of the things that makes him a good brother (and a good spouse).

Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by growing up with such great brothers – they were definitely the role models for raising my sons.  Husband didn’t have any uncles as role models.  Both of his parents were an “only” child.  They had multi-generational family reunions every time his grandparents came to dinner.  A multi-family generational family reunion in my family requires a city park and assigned- color T-shirts.  Our kids have 25 first-cousins.  There were a whole lot of “brothers” in their lives. (Sisters too, but that’s another post). My brothers love my kids as if they were theirs.  They play with them.  Teach them.  Eat with them.  And they listen to them – genuinely listen.  They are fountains of advice – if asked.  And mind their own business if they’re not asked.  My brothers and I don’t see eye to eye on everything either – but we absolutely love each other.  We would go to the mat for each other. And, of course, with each other because we are Italian and Scots-Irish so we fight.  All our lives.  We’re kind of over that now, but we’re still competitive.  And it’s just all so super fun!  Love is definitely an action word with my family – and “the boys” provide a lot of the action.

What would the world be like if everyone had really good brothers.  Or uncles.  Or dads.  Or cousins.  How amazing would it be for everyone to be loved and valued and stretched and forgiven?  The value of a really good brother is probably underrated.  I’m voting for a Brother’s Day.  Not just their individual birthdays, but a whole celebration for these guys.  It would probably involve grills and gentle noogies.  I’ll bring the cookies.

Whack

 May 5, 2018

Today, I’m laughing.  Laughing because it’s all so crazy.  Cinco de Mayo is not a Mexican holiday.  It’s an American holiday.  Because people need to drink cerveza.  Especially here in Texas.  Which is a little ridiculous because lots of these people drink beer 24-7.  But today, they have a holiday they can claim in order to up the consumption.  But that’s not why I’m laughing.

I’m laughing because my life is seriously so whack.  Like, I mean it’s actually Out of Whack.  Whatever Whack is.  I don’t even know anymore because I don’t know what’s typical or normal or average or regular… I just know that all of those words are not, in any way, representative of my life.

Yesterday my husband was “forced” to join the NRA.  My Husband, the Pacifist, is a card-carrying member of the National Rifle Association.  Long, complicated, messy, family story, but he has never wanted to be a member of that organization.  And today, he is.  I don’t know whether I’m appalled, surprised, bewildered, or just okay.  Husband has never carried a gun in his whole life.  He is totally anti-gun.  Well, not anti-Second Amendment, but anti-war and anti-killing anything kind of guns.  He doesn’t like hunting, even though he’s never been hunting.  He’s a software engineer.  Not an outdoor guy.  His idea of outside time is a baseball game watching the Dodgers at home.  Or any (all) of his kids’ soccer/baseball/football practices.  He doesn’t like to fish, camp, hike or even ski.  He’s a suburban screen guy.  But not movies.  Episodic television.  The older the better.  He has recorded Series 1 Episode 1 of Gilligan’s Island, Green Acres, Star Trek and a host of others.  No guns.  Tasers, yes, but no guns.  And yet… the NRA counts him as theirs.

This is in direct opposition to our last-born child (the one he produced and didn’t adopt because I had the other three when he asked me to marry him.  Really.). Our son and his wife are feminists – far more left than the bra-burning generation of the ERA (Equal Rights Amendment for the not-so-old).  I was that girl.  Equality for Women!  But I still had to make dinner and check on the homework and get the kids’ teeth brushed and make sure they prayed and get the them to bed and do the dishes…. My feminist son and DIL are card-carrying members of the ACLU.  The American Civil Liberties Union.  That rages against the NRA and vice versa.  And here am I, a voter not affiliated with any party because I think they’re all corrupt, but not on the conspiracy space craft either.  I believe the earth is round, even though I’ve never been in outer space.  I have enough to think about right here on this round-ish earth.  And, the more I think, the more I just… laugh.

I guess it’s really not so much laughing as it is accepting the fact that life is so vastly different than I ever thought it would be.  It seems so out of control.  Like control is the very last part; the smallest aspect of my life.  It seems like there isn’t any.  At least not the kind of control that I had as a mom of little kids.  Not that I’ve given up being a mom – because even though I’m 65 those 30-40 yos are still my kids.  I don’t feed them anymore, unless we’re going to a restaurant that they can’t afford.  And I don’t do their homework with them anymore, unless they’re trying to figure out if they’re in the right career, or if they’re house is in the right location or if their budget is in disarray…. Speaking of budgetary considerations: It’s crazy to me that our ACLU kids ask their NRA dad to pay for their iPhones.  And he does.  HE DOES!!!  See – we’re definitely not typical.

I’m not really sure what “typical” looks like in families.  Husband and I have been married for 31 years this month. (Remember I had those other three kids when I married him.  Divorce can honestly be a blessing sometimes).  In all of that time, we’ve owned our home in the suburbs, been employed, driven cars that ran well, sent the kids to good public schools, had regular dental check-ups, fixed any and all broken limbs, attended graduations, went to church, served in the community, paid for college – all of the things that it seems that “typical” American families do.  Our kids were team members of athletic programs, were above-average students, had friends, went to school dances, and sometimes even ate dinner at the dinner table.  And yet, we are now all So Different.

All those Sundays in church?  One of my children is as devout as I am.  Another attends with his wife and kids and is involved and faithful.  Another is an atheist.  Another is… maybe… agnostic?  Not sure.  He’s uncomfortable discussing this with me because he doesn’t want to “hurt” me.  Like spirituality is a weapon or something.  So, sometimes I shake my head and sometimes I laugh and sometimes I pray and sometimes we talk a little bit and sometimes I just choose to think of something else.  Because I’ve lived long enough to know that many philosophies and attitudes and circumstances are temporary.  Some things are binding, but many times we just flow.  It might be friends, or location or professors or timing that create the flow that we choose to go with, and we might stay with the flow for a while… but inevitably something comes up and we divert to a little different direction and that takes us someplace we just never thought we’d go.  That’s where I am now.  So, I just have to laugh.

Teaching, Learning, and so on, and so on...

I'm a teacher.  Small "t".

When I taught at Cal State Fullerton, my position was Lecturer - although I rarely lectured.  My classes were small, highly interactive, and exclusively international students who were trying to matriculate into the university.  I taught English for Business - business writing, case analysis, business vocabulary, entrepreneurship, etc.

When I taught show choir at Esperanza High School, I was a choreographer.  The music teacher taught the girls the music (it was an all-girl choir) and I taught them the "show" part - the dancing and movement that would keep their audiences, and judges, riveted.  They performed all year, for the school and for competitions.  In our first year, we were third in the area.  Not bad.  Pretty good, actually.

When I taught (part time) at Olita Elementary School, I was identified by the curriculum I taught - the music teacher.  I visited each classroom in the school and taught music theory and performance.  We did two shows each year - one for Christmas (you could do that back then) and one patriotic show in the spring.  No one said, "Let's make America great again."  We were just busy being great.

But, the teaching that has been most instructive has been teaching seminary.  Teaching seminary is a voluntary position.  It was not a calling when I first started.  I was asked if I would like to volunteer.  I was Thrilled!  I actually was really excited at the prospect of arriving at the church at 5:30 am, preparing for the students who would arrive at about 6:00 am, and sharing a gospel discussion based on scripture for 50 minutes.  It was great to have my son in my class.

I've taught seminary for 14 years now.  This will most likely be my final year.  Not because I don't want to - I love it.  But because I feel like it's someone else's opportunity now.  And, if I keep doing it, they won't have the chance.  And that would be tragic.  Because when you teach seminary, you're not the Teacher.

These are the kids in my class this year - the Freshmen in Carrollton Texas Stake.  They're taking the assessment for the first semester - a semester exam.  The exam was instituted three years ago (I think).  It's an opportunity for kids to think about what they've learned - a good thing.

I love these kids.  I pray for them every day (almost).  Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the feelings that I have when I'm praying for them.  It's very clear to me that the Lord knows and loves them.  That's one of the things that I love about seminary.  It's the Spirit, the scriptures, and the kids.  And I get to be there and see what happens.  So Cool.  It's like a consistent observational opportunity as I watch the Teacher touch the hearts and minds of the learners - me included.

I had these kids when they were freshmen.  They're seniors now, heading off into their no-longer-children lives at the end of this next semester.  I love them with my whole heart and soul.  I want only good things for them.  I'm still Facebook friends with some of my former students.  It's such a joy to see them still learning and growing - because in healthy, curious people that never stops.

I wonder what's next for me.  I want to be sure that I still invest myself in the scriptures.  I want the companionship of the Teacher.  I want to learn and grow and somehow still teach... so I can still learn... and grow...