Tag Archives: siblings

Family Dance

They barely made it to the cabin before the roads became impassable. The snowstorm has been raging for over two hours.  There wasn’t any going back now. Sarah could barely make out the cabin through the snowy veil. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She was having difficulty catching her breath. 

“Are you alright, Sarah, you look a little pale?” asked her husband, Paul.

“Yes, of course, I guess I’m just a little nervous about seeing all of them. It’s been a long time.

Paul hears Sarah take a deep breath and exhale. “Truthfully, I’m dreading it. Every conversation with them is like walking over an abyss. I always feel as if I take one wrong step, down I’ll fall. Never to be found again.”

“Don’t you think you’re a little overly dramatic, Sarah?

“No, I don’t. You don’t understand because you came from a normal family. Your parents and siblings love one another. You know when you tell your brother or sister something in confidence, it won’t come back and stab you in the heart. Your parents didn’t pit you against one another and make you feel you had to compete for love and acceptance.”

“Well, this is the last time you will have to see one another if that’s what you want. It’s only two days you’ll be all right, Sarah.”

As Paul pulls their Jeep into the driveway, Sarah can see that they are the last ones to arrive. She takes a deep breath and ties her scarf around her neck and puts on her gloves. Although it’s only a short walk from the car to the cabin door, she feels like she needs armor to guard her against the onslaught of pain and heartache that is sure to come her way.

“Go ahead in Sarah. I’ll get the luggage. Be careful the snow is quite deep, and there’s probably ice beneath it. There always is up here in the mountains.”

Sarah plows her way through the nearly two feet of snow. She feels the snow covering her boots and falling inside with each step. The wind is blowing with such force. She can hardly make her way to the door. She pulls open the heavy door, and the wind grabs it out of her hands. It bangs closed. Sarah pulls it open again, using all her remaining strength.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Sarah close the door. We just got it warm in here. I always forget how thoughtless you are.”

Sarah steps through the doorway and directly into the living room. It looks the same. Somehow, she expected it to look different since her parents weren’t here and never would be. “Hello Henry, nice to see you again too.”

“Where’s that good-looking husband of yours, Sarah? Did he run off with a younger woman?” Ask her sister Kate.

Sarah can feel her heart pounding nearly out of her chest now. She takes deep, slow breaths as she tries to compose herself. “He’s bringing in our luggage. He’ll be here in a minute.” Sarah thinks she rather be an orphan then be a part of this family, not for the first time but perhaps the millionth time.

When she was a teenager, she often fantasized that someday her real family would come and rescue her. She prayed and dreamed the wrong parents had somehow taken her home from the hospital. But the dream was just that a dream. Even she couldn’t deny her uncanny resemblance to her siblings.

Paul pulls open the door and throws the luggage through the doorway and lunges into the room. He slams the heavy wooden door closed.

“Well, no one will ever claim that you two don’t know how to make an entrance. What took you so long, anyway? We agreed to meet here at one o’clock, didn’t we?”

Sarah opens her mouth to answer, and nothing comes out.

“Well, perhaps the four of you didn’t notice, but there is a blizzard out there, and while you all only live an hour from here, we drove six hours. Do you have a problem with that? You’re lucky we made it here at all. The roads are nearly impossible to get through.

Sarah looks first at Paul with a small grateful grin on her face. Heaven’s she knows after a lifetime of experiences never to show any fear. For fear is a catalyst to attack for her brother and sisters. “Where’s Ellen, isn’t she coming?”

Sarah feels a slight lifting of her spirits at the thought that she wouldn’t have to endure a weekend with her older sister Ellen.  Ellen took exquisite pleasure in presenting to the world a mask, of a benign and thoughtful person. But that’s all it was, a mask. In reality, Ellen is a wolf, whose saccharine words are laced with strychnine. Her words could cut you to the core and reside there in your soul and slowly eat it away. If you dare to protest, she would say, “Oh, Sarah is so sensitive. You can’t say anything to her without hurting her feelings. She never let’s go of the little hurts. She holds onto them forever. She’s always trying to get attention and make people feel sorry for her.

“Oh, Ellen’s here. She’s taking a nap. She said she’s been having trouble sleeping. Why don’t you two put your bags in the back bedroom while the rest of us start making lunch.”

Paul and Sarah pick up their bags and go into the back bedroom. “I’ll go get some bed linens, Paul. I’ll be right back.” Sarah stands in front of the linen closet, staring. She walks down the hall and quietly opens the bedroom door where Ellen is sleeping. She looks so innocent in her sleep, but doesn’t everyone. Sarah quietly closes the door and walks back down the hall to their bedroom.

As Sarah makes up the bed, she keeps telling herself, everything is going to all right over and over again like a mantra. Maybe if she says enough, it will be. There’s a knock at the door, and Paul opens it. Henry is standing there. “Well, I have some bad news. It seems as if the power is out. Hopefully, it’ll come back soon. Anyway, we’re going to have sandwiches, and I’m going to start a fire so we can have some hot coffee and tea. Later you and I will have to go out and see what the situation is with firewood. There should be some in the back, and there is a cord or so on the front porch. Lunch, such as it is, is ready. Henry turns on his heels and goes back to the kitchen.

“Oh my god, no power, this is going to be a long weekend. I’m going to lose my mind for sure.”

“Sarah calm down; it’s all going to work out. Don’t get so upset. Everything will be alright, I promise you.”

Sarah and Paul sit down at the table. Sarah looks around the table at her siblings. “What no, hello, no fond embrace Sarah?” Ellen’s expression is one of benign indifference.

“Hello Ellen, how are you? It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has Sarah. Did you forget my telephone number?”

“No, I didn’t think there was much more to say to one another since our last conversation. You were very clear about how you felt about me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Sarah, you and your active imagination. Always making things bigger than they are. You really ought to see someone about that, dear.”

“You know what Ellen maybe you should keep your mouth shut once in a while.”

Everyone stares at Sarah with disbelief. It seems almost unbelievable that she has finally stood up to Ellen after an entire lifetime of keeping her feelings to herself.”

“Good for you Sarah, it’s about time you told Ellen where she can stick it. She has always been such a bully with you. I always thought she was jealous of you.”

“Jealous of me, whatever for?”

“Well, your talent, slim figure, and sweet personality, to name a few. But I could go on and on.”

“Henry, thank you so much. I’ve always felt like such an outsider in the family. Even Mom and Dad often forgot about me.”

“Forgot about you? Dad treated you like the sun didn’t rise and fall unless you were around. He favored you over all of us.” Ellen all but shouted.

“Not that I was aware. Dad was always saying Sarah would argue with the pope, Sarah stop crying, or I’ll give you something to cry about. Oh yeah, I was his favorite, all right. He never once hugged me or told me he loved me in my entire life. I hate to think about how he would treat me if I weren’t his “favorite.”

“Sarah, maybe you forget he brought you a bagel home every day from work.  He helped you buy your first car. He bought you that new sewing machine when you mentioned you like to have one. Why he never gave me the time of day. And when you moved away from home, he wrote you a letter every week. It broke his heart when you moved away, Sarah. How blind can you be? Oh, Sarah, why do you think he gave you the power of attorney when he was dying of cancer? You’re the youngest one. Henry should have been the one to take over their finances.”

“Well, I didn’t ask Dad to give me his power of attorney. He asked me to do it after he had a stroke. How can you or any of you blame me for what he did? If you remember, because I was given his power of attorney, I had to make all the hard decisions when he was dying of lung cancer. I had to take care of Mother after Dad passed away. I even had to pick out their caskets and pay for the burial ground. Not one word of thanks from any of you in all the years that followed.”

“Thank you, thank you for what?” Ellen asks.

” I’ve lost my appetite. It’s been a long day. I’m going to lie down for a while.”

“Oh, running away again, Sarah, how typical of you.”

“Just what do you want from me, Ellen? Do you want me to apologize because you felt Dad loved me more than he loved you? I never felt anyone loved me until I met Paul. He is the first person who ever showed me any kind of love.”

“Oh Sarah, we all loved you, you must know that. We’re just not a very affectionate family, are we?” Kate asks.

“Not affectionate that’s the understatement of all time. I can’t think of a more cold and uncaring person than the three of you. Not one of you has ever had a kind word for me in my life. At every opportunity, Ellen, you have ridiculed me and made light of my feelings and my accomplishments. I don’t give a damn what reason you have for the way you have behaved towards me.”

“Sarah, for heaven’s sake stop carrying on, you’ve always been such a crybaby. No one could ever say boo to you without you running off and crying to mother. You run away whenever things get difficult. Well, go ahead and leave tomorrow. I certainly won’t miss you.”

“Ellen, you always take things too far. You know that Sarah is a sensitive person and easily hurt, and you take advantage of it. Sarah, please don’t go tomorrow. This weekend is our last chance to work things out between us, besides it’s not safe to drive on the roads. You’ll have to wait until the roads are cleared off.”

“Kate, you’re a little late to be sticking up for me now. Neither you nor Henry ever said a word when Ellen browbeat me throughout my childhood. The only reason I came here was to say goodbye and good riddance to all of you. When you sell this house, I don’t want any part of it. Divide it between the three of you. We’ll be leaving as soon as it’s safe to drive on the roads.”

“Paul, how about going outside with me and collecting wood for the fireplace. Just in case we don’t get the power back for a while?”

“What now? Yes, alright, Henry, let me get my coat. I’ll meet you outside.”

As Paul and Henry step out into the howling snowstorm, Kate walks over and puts her arms around Sarah. Please don’t leave Sarah. Henry and I and especially Ellen, want to work towards becoming a real family. After all, we are the only people left in our family. You know it was Ellen’s idea to have this get together. I know she can be a total ass sometimes, but she wants things to get better.”

Sarah looks over at Ellen and says. “Well, it must be deep inside because I don’t see any evidence of her trying to change her behavior towards me. All right, I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises. I’ll give her another chance but only one.”

“Wonderful, why don’t the three of us start looking through some of Mom and Dad’s papers and see which ones we should keep and which ones we can get throw away. Ellen, will you come over here? We’re going to start looking through the paperwork. I’ll get the boxes out of the hall closet.”

As Kate goes on her quest,  Ellen comes over to Sarah and sits down on the couch and says,” look, Sarah, you’re right, I’m being a jerk. I’ll try and be less of an ass, old habits die-hard. I know you don’t believe it, but I do love you and always have. I’m just not good at expressing it. I’m jealous of you. You always keep in such great shape. Everyone adores you on sight, and it seems you were the recipient of all the talent in the family.”

A tear slides Sarah’s cheek and is quickly followed by another. Ellen hands her a tissue. Sarah wipes her face dry and says, “Oh Ellen, don’t you know how much I looked up to you all my life. I wanted to be just like you, so full of confidence. Successful at whatever task or goal you set for yourself. I used to follow you all over the place when I was a kid.”

Ellen puts her arms around Sarah and gives her the first hug she can remember. And before you know it tears are flowing down both their faces.

Kate looks from one to the other and says,” What’s happening here, jeez? I was only gone a few minutes?

“I think that we’re having our first real conversation that’s what’s happening. Well, let’s see what kind of papers you found.”

As the day passes, the sisters’ find pictures of them from all the summers they spent here with their parents all those years. Sarah is surprised by how many pictures there are of her and Ellen doing things together when she was little. She looks at one picture of the four of them together in their old rowboat, and the joy that their faces described is priceless. It means more to her than any amount of money they might make from selling the cabin.

Paul and Henry come blustering back inside. And Paul is amazed to see Sarah and Ellen and Kate with their heads bent down and alternately laughing and crying. He and Henry exchange looks and Paul says

“Well, Henry, why don’t the two of us play chef while these sisters spend some time revisiting their past and becoming reacquainted.”

“Yes, why don’t we? It looks like we’ll be spending the next few days together, after all. I never thought losing the power would bring about such a happy ending.

It’ Monday Night So We must Be Having Meatloaf

My father sits on his faded orange rocking chair in the living room. He is watching the news on our new black and white TV. Walter Cronkite is saying, “And that’s the way it is.”

As he gently pets our dog Andy he absentmindedly stops. And Andy pushes his wet nose up into my father’s palm until he starts stroking his head again.

My father shouts, “Marie could you get me a cup of coffee.”

Marie is my mother’s name but my dad usually calls her Mom. My father is the king of this castle.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table staring at my spelling words. I’m supposed to be memorizing them for a test tomorrow. But instead I’m kicking my sister Karen’s leg and she’s pinching my arm under the table.

My Mother is busily wiping the kitchen counter unaware of the silent battle Karen and I wage just five feet from where she stands. We know better then to make any noise because my father doesn’t put up with any boloney while Walter is discussing the world news.

The problem is Karen is left-handed and I’m right handed. We’re both stubborn and refuse to change seats, so every time we try to write or turn a page, we bump arms. The battle would be on. My mother calls out in her sweet voice, “Be right there Harry.”

She fills his cup and adds three teaspoons of sugar and brings it into the living room wrapped in a dishcloth. My father has diabetes but he doesn’t let that affect what he eats, or drank. He adjusts his insulin shots depending on his blood sugar level.

His drink of choice is watered-down ketchup. My Mom places the cup on the table next to my father and warns him, “Be careful Harry, it’s hot.” Looking down at Andy, she says, “That animal has the life of Riley.”

My father loves Andy and lavishes all his attention and affection on him. Once a week he walks down to the corner store and buys him an ice cream cone. Karen and I sit there with our tongues hanging out wishing we could get a lick in, as he holds it to Andy’s mouth.

My mother would offer the same reframe, “Oh Harry you’re spoiling that dog.” Then she glances over at the two of us with a look that says, there’s not much I can do about it.

After we finish our written homework, my mother quizzes us on the spelling words. If we aren’t sure of the spelling, she’ll give us a little hint by saying the first two or three letters.

That night I have math homework. I hate math, hate it even more because my father tutors me when I have trouble. This is a daily occurrence. He’s very good at math. My father is the Head Bus Dispatcher at PTC. which stands for the Pennsylvania Transportation Company. He’s been working there forever. He created the procedure of scheduling the buses and trollies that’s still in use today.

After I complete my math homework my father says, “Give it to me. Let me have a look at it.” I lived in terror of this moment every day. My father expects nothing less than excellence and perfection. I feel I’m far from excellent. He would go over each problem, while I sat on my hands because they’re sweating. Praying that they’re correct.

He makes me so nervous I can hardly think straight when he asks a question. He looks over at me and says, “How did you get these answers? Show me the work, do this problem.”

I stare at it for a moment, my mind is a complete blank.  I ‘m afraid that I will disappoint him again. He says, “What are you waiting for? Get to it!” I finish the problem.

“Let me show you how you are supposed to do it.”

He shows me how to do it his way. I look up at him, afraid to speak.

“Well?”

“Dad, we use the new math, we don’t use your old math.”

“Old math, what are you talking about, old math?”

“But Dad, that’s the way Sister Joseph Catherine told us we have to do it.”

My father’s is a very bright man. “Alright Susabelle, use the new math at school. But when you need to do math in your life later on, you’ll see that my way works better.”

“Daddy, When Sister Joseph Catherine calls on me, she says, Hey you, and not my name.

“Well Susabelle, just tell her that Hugh is your father’s name not yours.”

My father doesn’t make jokes very often but when he does it would behoove you to laugh along with him, even if it’s at your own expense. After our homework is finished, we all go and sit in the living room to watch TV. I hear, “This is Walter Cronkite and good night.”

My mom sits down probably for the first time all day. She has a cup of coffee, and we watch Matt Dillon on Gunsmoke. My dad’s favorite show. Andy lays asleep next to my father’s chair, snoring quietly.

You Ain’t No Miss America Lady

Well here it is picture day, isn’t that just grand, as my mother would say. All the kids at school are always so excited about picture day. For a couple of reasons; one we go to Catholic School, and therefore we have to wear hideous uniforms everyday.

The girls’ uniform is a wool, maroon jumper with a pleated skirt,  and a button-down white shirt with short, sleeves, and lucky us, a Peter Pan collar. No matter how fat or thin you are, you look horrible in this outfit.

I never get a new uniform because they cost a lot of money, which my family doesn’t have. We have six children instead. I’m the youngest. Sometimes I have to wear the same uniform for several years, and by the time Karen passes on her old uniform to me, the one I’m wearing waist is up under what I suppose what will someday be my boobs.

Anyway, I was saying I never get a new uniform, I get to wear my twin sister Karen’s hand me downs because she is a bigger size then I am. To top off this outstanding look, is the OLPH beanie. Which is also maroon, and has a peak in front, and a little maroon covered button on the top.

Sometimes if it is a first Friday, we get to wear a mantilla on our heads when we are all herded to group confession. A mantilla is a round piece of lace, also maroon. What’s with maroon already? Why pick the ugliest color in the world? We Catholic kids get to wear it for eight long years. Probably has something to do with the fact that we have original sin. And they are trying to get us used to the idea of eternal damnation.

Wow, that’s another story I could write a book on just the whole Catholic Church, Mass, and Confession ordeal. I’ll tell you about it later. Anyway, I was saying, the boys are not blessed with the whole horrible uniform thing, like the girls are. They get off easy with wearing black pants, white shirt and a tie. I’ll tell you life is just not fair. I know this and I’m only eleven years old. So, get used to it.

Back to picture day, everybody was looking forward to it because they don’t have to wear the ugly uniform for one day of their pathetic lives. I knew it was going to be torture for me, and I guess my sister Karen too.

Last night, my mother said,” Susie and Karen, after dinner I want you two to get a bath and wash your hair. Oh, and Susie don’t forget to wash out the shampoo.”

Jeez, one time you forget the rinse part of the hair washing and they never let you forget it. “Yeah, Ma, I know wash and rinse, wash and rinse.” I take my sister aside and say, Karen,”let me go first. You always take too long.”

“ Ok Susie, but if you don’t clean out the tub before I have to use it, I’ll make you sorry.”

“ Yeah, yeah, I’ll wash it already.” I go into the bathroom with my pajamas in hand. My favorite ones with the cats all over them, luckily, they are my favorite because I only have one pair.

I would like to wear them, all day everyday, I love pajamas. I hope someday, people will be able to wear their pajamas all day. I have told my mother this many times. And for some reasons she keeps saying, “Watch what you wish for Susie, you may grow to regret it.”

She has a lot of sayings like that like, keep making that face, and it might stay like that. Keep crying, I’ll give you something to cry about. She sounds mean but she’s really not, she just doesn’t put up with a lot of complaining.

She never complains about anything, I mean never. If she ever got run over by a car, she would just get up and take an Aspirin. She thinks aspirin is the answer for all that ails you, cuts, sore throats, Charlie horses (which I get in my legs all the time.)

If Aspirin doesn’t do the job there is always Vapor Rub, or as a last resort butter and sugar mixture, which is disgusting. Let’s not forget Exlax, God forbid.

I don’t tell my mother when I’m sick, unless I feel like I am close to death, if I see the light at the end of the tunnel. One time I had a really bad toothache, it hurt a lot. It hurt all the way up into my ear, especially after Sister Saint Joseph clapped her hand against it because she thought I wasn’t listening.

So finally, my older sister notices that the left side of my face is swollen up. And says, to my mother, “ Hey Mom I think there’s something wrong with Susie. Her face is all swollen up on the one side. Didn’t she already have the mumps?”

My Mom says come here, “Susie let me have a look. She looks at my face , in my ear, and then, open up, what is going on in there? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she has a big cavity, and an abscess in there. She’s going to have to go to the dentist. Oh God, your father is going to be fit to be tied. Do you ever brush your teeth Susie?”

Next thing you know, I’m at some dentist in  Philadelphia, the only one that my parents could find open on a Saturday. By then, I was in such pain, I didn’t care what they did to me, as long as the pain stopped. And sure, enough he had to pull that sucker out of there. He told my parents that they should be ashamed that my mouth was in terrible shape, and had all kind of cavities, and it looked like I never took a brush to them ever.

My parents were pretty upset with this, and my Mom got a job after that so she could pay for my sister Karen, and I to go to the dentist. I had to have three teeth pulled out, and so many fillings, I lost count. My father was pretty mad at me about that for a long time. My mother checked my teeth  every day after that. I never had a moment of peace.

Back to the night before picture day, I get my bath, and do a quick rinse on the tub. When I come out my mom calls me  to the kitchen and says, “ Susie, I am going to set your hair, so it looks nice for picture day. Good Lord, I’m thinking will the punishment never end? What did I ever do to deserve this? My mother sits me at the table she has long strips of white cloth about an inch wide (probably an old sheet) and starts rolling up sections of my hair and tying the rags in a knot at the end.

The next morning, when my mother unrolls my hair into long curls, she has a big smile on her face and says,” Oh Susie, you look just like Shirley Temple.” I look in the mirror, and I see that I am transformed from my usual straight hair, pulled back in  a ponytail to God knows what!

Then Karen, comes in and my mother says, I have a surprise, your brother Harry bought you two dresses for Easter, but we decided you could wear them for picture day. She shows us twin dresses, yeah, that’s right twin dresses. Identical visions of blue satin, and blue chiffon that are fitted at the waist, have a bow in the back, and best of all big, I mean really big puffy pleated sleeves that come down to our elbows. “ Oh, I can’t wait, go put them on.”

Karen and I go up to our rooms and put these fashion nightmares on, when we get upstairs, we discover to my horror , that there are matching crinolines that we will get to wear all day at school. You just cannot imagine how uncomfortable they are.

I have it on for about two minutes when I realize that until now, I didn’t fully understand what the expression hell on earth meant. I have only my sneakers to wear, or my school shoes, so I opt for the sneakers, at least one part of my anatomy won’t be suffering.

We come down the steps, Karen, is walking like a queen. She always did like being dressed up. She is just not normal! I walk down the steps like I’m walking the last mile to the death chamber. My mother claps her hands when she sees us. I have never seen her so excited, my father has his camera out and takes a picture of us together, in front of our glass fireplace. He says, “you look beautiful.”

It’s almost worth the torture to see my parents look so happy, and my father has a big smile plastered on his face. Which is a sight I have rarely seen. Together we walk to school, I can only imagine the horror that awaits me, and Karen is grinning away.

When we get to our classroom, all the kids are excited. The girls are all wearing their Sunday dresses with shiny patent leather shoes. They have barrettes in their hair, and I could be wrong, but I think some of them have on lipstick.

The boys have on corduroy pants, dress shirts, and bow ties. Their hair is all slicked back with Brill Cream. But nobody, I mean nobody looks like Karen and I, when we take off our coats, everybody looks at us as one. Their eyes are big, their mouths round. Sister says, oh now don’t you two look beautiful. You look like you belong on top of a wedding cake. You two can be the first to get your pictures taken.

I think oh my life is complete. I can never top this experience. The only thing that would top this is if , I have to have to marry Robin Schultz my nemesis!

SHAKE THREE TIMES, THEN IRON

I read in the news today that the Hasbro toy company is tossing out the iron token in the Monopoly game since they consider it to be a passé` icon. Their argument is that only our grandmothers, or perhaps great grandmothers would recognize, in our high tech, high def world such an old fashion household appliance.

This may be overwhelmingly true for the Millennial Generation. I’m sure they don’t own irons. And it’s possible even their mothers shunned this homely gadget.  Perhaps viewed as a shackle that chained their mothers for hours in the kitchen. When they could be out in the world making a real difference for themselves, and their future generations. I have to confess that I too, hate to iron. However, as a frequent sewer, I consider it to be a necessity, not a pleasurable activity.

On the other hand, some of my warmest memories of my childhood revolve around the kitchen, and my mother bent over the iron. My mother was a prolific ironer; she ironed everything from our clothing, to sheets and pillowcases. You name it if it had been in the washer; eventually, it did its time on the ironing board as well. She kept a 7-UP bottle filled with water and plugged it with a metal sprinkle head as her constant companion. She would sprinkle all the stiff dry clothes with the bottle.

These were the days before wash and wear, permanent press, before we had a dryer. The clothes were hung on a line in our backyard to dry, regardless of inclement weather. My mother would clip them with wooden clothespins to a clothesline that was suspended by two metal poles cemented into the earth.

Even Hurricane Hazel didn’t knock that sucker down, it held. When the clothes were dry, my mother brought out her wicker clothes basket, gather the clothes to be ironed. We were a family of eight, so there was an unending supply of things that my mother deemed in need of ironing.

When I arrived home from school at about 3:00 pm, I would find my mother ironing. Perhaps even in the early sixties, this was a passé activity. I not knowing any differently believed all children’s mothers spent hours daily washing and ironing their clothes.

I can picture it so clearly as if it were only yesterday. I run at fast as I could home from school, burst in the front door. My mother was always home, standing there perhaps suspended in time waiting, waiting for me to come home, and tell her all the news of my day.

“Hey Mom, I’m home, I’m starving, anything to eat?”

“Oh Susie, there you are, I was beginning to get worried. How was your day? What did you learn today? Where is your sister Karen? She would pepper me with questions, not giving me a chance to answer her. “Let me get you some milk and cookies. Daddy went shopping today, and he bought your favorite, Fig Newtons, won’t that taste good?”

She would quickly run over to the refrigerator, and fill a tall glass with cold milk, and put two or three cookies on a plate. I would pull out a chair and have a seat next to her near the ironing board. She would get back to ironing and I would tell her about my day.

No matter how insignificant or mundane my day had been my mother would give me her undivided attention. She made me feel as if I was in that moment the center of her life, in a world where I didn’t often feel I was important at all.

Those few moments my mother and I talked were the most life-affirming, and memorable of my life. I can still hear the hiss as the iron struck the damp clothes; smell the fragrant air that perfumed the basket of clothes. And most memorable see my mother smile and hear her gentle laugh at the stories I told her while she ironed her afternoon away.

Perhaps in this hurry up, can’t get things done quickly enough world, we should stop for a moment, and take a breath, and listen to what our children tell us. How they experience the world, how they feel, and let them know that no matter that the cell phone is ringing, or we have dinner to cook, places to go, meetings to take. That just for those few moments suspended in time, we are there, really there for them to lend a listening ear and an open heart.