View from a Child

My son wrote this paper as part of his senior project.  I was moved by what he wrote that I asked him if I could publish it here to share with you, so today's entry is written by my oldest son from his perspective.

2 is Not Always Better than 1

Growing up with one parent can be a blessing in disguise 

Growing up my family was the typical American family, happily married wife and husband with three amazing, young, and talented children. My sister, brother, and I were involved in sports throughout the year depending on the season, soccer in the fall, basketball in the winter, and, everyone’s favorite time of year, baseball season in the summer. My mom and dad were involved in everything we did. They would take us to practices and games not because they had to but because they wanted to. Some would say I had the perfect family growing up, and I didn’t disagree with them, but then suddenly my life was flipped upside down.

            My family was broken down and torn apart by someone that I looked up to and admired. My amazing family of five was now cut down to four struggling individuals. I had known people who only had one parent and I thought maybe that would be cool but I was totally unprepared for how hard it really is. The first year, which would have been my ninth grade year, was the hardest for everyone. My mom was struggling to raise three kids by herself that were used to getting what they wanted. I could see how bad it hurt her to not be able to buy us that one toy we wanted or going out to eat because she couldn’t afford it. Also adding to the situation, every social event we went to we were constantly being stared at and ignored. All the people we used to hang out with no longer were part of our lives. Fortunately my friends have stuck by my side and think nothing less of me because of the mistakes by someone in my family. I wish I could say the same for my sister, girls bullied and talked about her behind her back and still continue to today.

            After the first year things started to get better for my family, thanks to help of my mom’s boss for giving her extra money and also the ability to leave to get us places and attend all our games. My mom has kept this family together through the toughest situation imaginable and no one could have done that but her. As I grew up and become a sophomore and junior I realized what my mom sacrificed for my sister, brother, and I. I have also learned lessons that many kids will not learn for many more years. I have learned to persevere and fight through adversity. Growing up with only one parent showed me the true meaning of family and commitment that I wouldn’t have gotten if I grew up with that so called “perfect family”.

            Since that dreadful couple months when I was in eighth grade my mom, sister, brother and I have done nothing but push through and fight for each other. I had dreams of becoming a great athlete in high school and after I lost my family I thought that dream was gone. I persevered and remembered all those people that left my family when we needed them the most and that pushed me to show that the son of a thief and liar can achieve greatness. My sister and brother have also proved everyone wrong. My sister has played and started on varsity soccer and basketball as a freshman and continues to play travel league softball with only the highest level of competition while my brother is swimming on varsity as an eighth grader. I am proud of my family and how far we have come together and the future looks even brighter for a family of five that is just getting used to a family of four.   

Reading this I can not help but feel a great amount of pride in who my children are becoming and that the world is wide open for them to succeed in whatever they do.  They have always been my pride and my joy and will continue to do so.

Grief for Another, Offers Hope

I attended a memorial service this weekend of a very special man and great role model and because of that I think his story is important to share. 

This man, lets call him Joe, was born and raised in the small community that we moved into.  He was a natural part of the community while we were transplants and did not always feel completely welcomed.  Joe however, had grown up, went away to college, worked in Washington D.C. for a while, married someone from outside the immediate community and then eventually settled back home again.  Joe was active in the community, serving on various boards and volunteering.  He thought education was a gift and continued to educate himself in all areas.  I am not sure if it was because of his worldly experiences or just his kind nature, but from the very first day that we met Joe, he made us feel like we had been friends for years and made us feel welcomed in a town that had a hard time accepting outsiders. 

Through the years, Joe was a good friend and always good for a smile.  His children became friends of my children and spent many hours between the houses.  Unfortunately, shortly before law enforcement crashed into our lives, his job presented another opportunity to move.  This time it was a few states away.  Joe and his family moved and it was then that we found ourselves deep within the justice system.  But it is at that time that we learned what a kind, christian man Joe was.  In the midst of all the trouble, Joe had to come back to prepare the house to sell, and at a time when no one in the community was talking to us, Joe came over and knocked on the door.  He talked like we were old friends, and he knew everything that had been reported and gossiped about.  How could he not?  It is a very small town after all.  He talked with us about all the things other people only had the nerve to gossip about.  He asked question after question and offered his support.  The entire time he was visiting, he talked with us and treated us no differently than he would have treated us before.  His kindness was something we all treasured during that dark time. 

Imagine my dismay when I learned that Joe, a man in the prime of middle age, had suffered a heart attack and passed away.  I immediately sent my condolences to the family and shared the awful news with my husband.  Which leads me to this past weekend.  Joe's family came back to the area to have a memorial luncheon for all of Joe's family and friends here.  The kids stopped over during the preceding days to visit and asked if we were coming to the luncheon.  Many of the people who would be attending are people that used to be my friends, I am not as stressed about being around them anymore, but I find that I don't really want to spend time with them anyway.  But it was important to me to attend and let Joe's wife know how wonderful her husband had been. 

I am not sure what happened, but when I had the chance to offer my sympathies to Joe's wife, I too fell apart and started crying.  I am not sure I completely understand why.  Is is because I see another wife left to raise her children as a single parent?  Is it because I see the outpouring of support for a "good guy" and his family that I never got?  Is it because my heart aches at seeing more loss?  Was I mourning the loss of a truly good man who had so much more to offer this world?  Is it the grief that I carry with me and is always just below the surface? 

I don't know if I will ever understand the emotions that caused the out burst, but I bet tongues were waging after we left.  But I don't care, I needed to let Joe's wife know how much her husband's friendship meant to me.  I don't know if he knew how much his kindness and open mindedness meant to us at such a low point in our lives, but I am sure he is now somewhere watching over us all, and I can assure you that I will try to live by his example.  With people like Joe leaving his mark on this world, there is hope that the world could someday live in peace and joy.