Among my earliest memories are those of my mom leaving for work while I was at Babysitter’s house. Tearfully clinging to her leg, I was begging her not to go. But she had to go. Babysitter gently pulled little four-year-old me back inside the gate and said my mom had to go make money to buy me bubble gum. Bubble gum? Is that it? Well, if that’s all it is, then I don’t want any bubble gum…I’ll give up bubble gum forever! I don’t NEED any bubble gum. No, it wasn’t for bubble gum that I couldn’t see my mother for more than a couple short hours each day, usually around lunch time. There was no one else who was going to help us, so she had to go to work six days a week, from 2:00 in the afternoon till 2:00 in the morning for us to live the humblest of lives. That left many sad and lonely hours for me to fill.
Once I started attending school it didn’t take too long before I was reading everything. I remember reading and spelling out every word of every sign that we drove by. T-E-X-A-C-O, Texaco. J-A-C-K-I-N-T-H-E-B-O-X, Jack in the Box. Words. Words were everywhere and I loved them! Glorious, wondrous words. They are the key ingredient to the most magical of all things I knew of—BOOKS! Kindergarten was a wonderful time in my life. My teacher was kind, the playground was fun, there was no anger, no terror, and no one got spanked, and there was Reading Time! I loved reading time, and before long, there was also Library Time! This was the best of all because we got to walk down the little hallway, through the doors that were too heavy for tiny children to open unassisted, across the covered walkway, into the Big Building with the long hallway, all the way to the end to the most special room in the entire school, the library. I hit the jackpot. I was searching for treasure, and I found the mother lode.
My favorite books at that time were the Madeline books. I loved reading them over and over again. The rhythm of the words, the continuity of the stories. I’m not sure just exactly what it was, but I still remember the books with great fondness. I even remember the opening lines, “In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines, the smallest one was Madeline.” I related to Madeline in some way. There were many, many wonderful books to read with great adventures available in my school library, and the librarian would try to introduce me to new ones, gently nudging me to expand my interests. I loved many books, but I still would make my way back to my beloved Madeline from time to time. When my daughter was going into Kindergarten, I bought the set of Madeline books for her. I created an extensive children’s library and reading nook at home for my family.
Books help to create an expansive view of the world. They open doors to wonder, adventure, and magic. I wanted to make sure that my children were exposed to many cultures and different views. Classroom readers when I was in school included illustrations of predominantly blond-haired, blue-eyed girls and boys. The boys did seem to have a bit more diversity—some had brown hair, light brown. This always bothered me as a little kid. I didn’t look like those girls. I wanted to make sure that my kids never felt there was only one way to look or one way to be. This was accomplished in part by having a rich collection of books about many people, different cultures, and different backgrounds.
One of my greatest joys as a parent was the time spent together reading. I read to my kids since they were just little babies. My little daughter by marriage was barely three years old when I became her mom. She loved her naps. To surprise her, I frequently placed a new book by her pillow before she woke up. She would get so excited and run out to show me, almost like it was Christmas morning. We would sit and enjoy reading together in the quiet of the afternoon. She still has all those books I gave her way back then and reads them now to her own little ones. My precocious son would joke with me during reading time when he was less than a year old! One of his favorite books at that time was a little board book that talked about the sounds that animals make. He loved to make the animal sounds. One day we were reading the animal sounds book, and when I said “The cat says…” instead of his usual purr, he replied with a bark, then he smiled broadly. Then I read, “The dog says…” and he then meowed and giggled! He thought that was the greatest fun, and it was! We were both smiling and laughing. My youngest daughter and I were reading chapter books together by the time that she was three years old. She loved books like most kids love candy. Her kindergarten teacher told me that she had a wonderfully long attention span and attributed it to our extensive reading. My daughter and I had to finally stop our evening reading hour when she was in junior high school because they piled on too much homework. We both missed that special time, but it has evolved into literature discussions that I now treasure. We have a wonderful mother-daughter bond that is made even stronger by our mutual love of literature. Time spent reading with your children can be the most rewarding experience. Those cozy, cuddly times are also the times that children often open up about their thoughts and observations. You will learn more about your child by sharing this time with them then you ever thought possible.
Another set of books that became great childhood friends of mine was the All-of-a Kind Family series. I think there were five books in all about a big, wonderful, loving Jewish family in New York. Their mama didn’t know much about the outside world, but she was wonderfully wise raising her five little girls. I adored this family so much that I wanted to be a poor little Jewish girl, too. I wished that I was a part of their family. This series of books brought me so much comfort. They made such an impression on me that years later I was thrilled when I was able to buy library discards of these books when my daughter was little. She loved them almost as much as I did. I could not find them in print at the time, but I know they are in print again now for more generations of children to cherish.
When I was a young child I did not own any of my own books, but I longed to. That was a luxury we could not afford, but sometimes my mom would take me to the big library in our city. It was a huge building…so many books, never enough time! I would leave with as many books as my arms could hold. My mother always encouraged me to be an avid reader, but it didn't take much encouragement—I loved reading! Books are now my favorite gifts to give children. When I found out I was pregnant with my daughter, I ordered a matching set of the complete works of Jane Austen to save for her till her thirteenth birthday. I put together baskets containing a book or series of books with a related item from the story. Recently I gave a set of The Chronicles of Narnia as a gift with a special compass to help find adventures, and a box of Turkish delight. It was a fun gift and well received. Gifts that don’t have to be plugged in or turned on can provide a welcome break from all the high-tech gimmicks of today.
You may have noticed that I have made a number of book suggestions throughout this book, well, that’s because I am a bibliophile. I love my books! When I want to learn about something new, I usually turn to books. When I am feeling certain emotions, such as loneliness or sadness, my books are waiting for me. When I want to relax and enjoy a bit of free time, I often sit with a favorite book. When I want to learn about new places in the world, I search books and maps and the greatest of both worlds: atlases. When I needed a wise, loving family as a lonely kid, I turned to books with big families, where they had time with their mothers and their fathers helped to take care of them. And where else, for about the same price as a cheeseburger combo meal, can you travel to any land in the realm? You can find just about everything you need or want to know about in books on just about every subject imaginable. Books enlighten and enrich our lives, expand our knowledge, and increase our pleasure. They are an immeasurable treasure.
Escaping into the world of books was one way I learned to comfort myself as a child. As a teenager, I still loved to read, but I also spent a lot of time with friends. And telephones were big in my day, too, we just couldn’t carry them in our pockets. I had one in my room, though, which was kind of a big deal back in the day, and I was on it all the time. By this time my mother had a more normal work schedule, I no longer needed a babysitter, we moved away from the rough neighborhood, and we were living a fairly comfortable, middle-class lifestyle. Still when upsetting things would happen, I dealt with them by pretending that they didn’t matter. I also made lots of jokes about things to deal with heartache; the pain was still there, but it couldn’t hurt me much if I could pretend that it didn’t matter or if I could laugh about it and possibly get others to laugh, too.
As an older teen, I discovered self-help books. Now these were speaking my language. Not only had numerous friends told me for several years that I should become a psychologist, I also had a strong interest in psychology. Apparently I was observant, an active listener, and I offered minimal but sound advice. I could almost see a Freudian sofa in my future. I read stacks of these books back in the late 70s, early 80s. Some of them were helpful, maybe. I probably did need the books pertaining to assertiveness training. I was a bit of a doormat. I practically had a kick-me sign tattooed on my back! Unfortunately, I made many immature mistakes and did not prioritize my life properly in college. I spent too much money and had to work a lot while attending college. Due to my crazy work hours, I ended up dropping class after class after missing too many lectures. My transcripts were a disaster and I felt like a huge failure. I had A’s, W’s, and F’s. The W’s were for withdrawing from classes I had missed too many of, and the F’s were due to missing too many classes and not withdrawing from them in time. I had great difficulty finding my rutter. I needed to focus on school, but I liked my newfound ability to spend money and my employer kept increasing my responsibilities. I was making good money for my age. Boss Man had told us, “Take care of your job, and it will take care of you,” so saying that I was unavailable to work felt wrong to me. I did not know enough to handle the situation well. I was too much of a people pleaser in certain situations. Trying to balance work and school without enough hours in the day was stressful. By the time I was twenty-three years old, I had only amassed a little over two years of college credits and they were all hodgepodge. I definitely had not been living up to my potential. I had been told how smart I was for years, but clearly I was not making the best choices. I eventually had a small apartment across the street from the beach and I drove a new sports car, neither of which brought me any real joy or satisfaction.
Back when I was a kid, divorce was rare. None of my friends had divorce in their families when I was young. It wasn’t until high school that I had a friend whose parents were also divorced. I always felt tremendous shame that my family was “broken.” I dreaded when friends asked, “Where is your dad?” When the television show The Brady Bunch came out, it was the first time I ever saw a blended family on TV. It wasn’t from divorce, but still it had an impact on me. It was a big, blended family. Mrs. Brady spent a lot of time with the kids and Mr. Brady cared for the family and was always there for them—these were obviously important things to me. They learned how to work things out during difficult times. With my background and experiences, I didn’t think I would ever want to get married, but I vowed that if I ever did, I would never get divorced. I would learn to work things out…like I saw on TV.
I started dating someone, a science major who also got all A’s in the classes he could complete. He told me I was the most wonderful person in the world. He said I was the smartest woman he’d ever met, and he loved all my books. Could he read them, he asked? Hmm…no boyfriend had ever asked to read my books before. I liked the idea of that. He said I was the most beautiful, the best kisser, the kindest, the hottest, the sweetest, and on and on and on. His insecurities met my insecurities and convinced them that we were meant to be. He also had a big family, which is what I had always wanted. I said I didn’t believe in divorce, he said he didn’t either, yet he already was divorced. Maybe I didn’t think this through enough. We married. From the beginning it was stressful for me. I gained weight. I lost weight. I did not have the skills to know how to handle all of the stressors in our lives. I was too idealistic. I said I would never divorce. I made myself stay in the failed relationship. I never saw married people successfully resolve any conflicts, work through disagreements, or even just get along. My mild depression became more difficult for me to handle. Compulsive snacking became habitual during this time. I told myself that I just needed to work harder, try harder, be more, be better, and unlike on television, most real-life problems cannot be resolved in twenty-three minutes. I am not going to get into any of the details about the disaster that eventually became our lives, but I had to get out. I said I would never leave, but I knew of no way to fix things. Breaking the promise I made to myself many, many years prior in childhood, I now found myself going through divorce—my children were now from a broken home. I, too, felt broken and completely lost.
Thanks to the love and support of my family, I was able to pull myself together enough to go back to college, but this time with purpose, focus, and determination. Only a handful of my previous college credits were any good to me now, so it was almost like starting at the beginning again. Almost, except that I was saddled with the handicap of those F’s from my old transcripts. I retook those classes and received A’s in them from the original issuing college, but the university still calculated the F’s into my GPA when I transferred, which seems a bit unfair, but trust me, I know, life is anything but fair. I have never shared this with anyone before, but for a while I looked at the Magna Cum Laude on my diploma and saw only failure. Without those early F’s I would have graduated Summa Cum Laude, but I have come to accept it for what it is and see it now for more of the victory that it is. In the scheme of things, it is completely unimportant; it is only important to me. It took a bit of time and I had to work through it. I tend to be quite hard on myself and failure is something I do not accept well. This was definitely an opportunity for a lot of growth!
That first semester was tough. I didn’t know if I would be able to do it. Emotionally I was a train wreck. I remember sitting in the back of the classroom in most of my classes, hiding the tears that sometimes streamed down my face. Some things discussed in class were too familiar and too painful. Since I was studying psychology, I had a wealth of relevant information and experts at my disposal on nearly a daily basis. Many compassionate, encouraging professors helped me as I pieced my life back together.
Public speaking was my weakest area. I signed up for as many giant lecture hall classes as possible so I could remain invisible and because I knew that in the large classes students never had to give speeches or presentations. But then I saw the flaw in this plan. If I never attempted to do what I was struggling to do, how would I improve? I would remain an ineffective speaker and possibly fail in future pursuits. At that point I decided to fully face my fears, and that the best way to overcome them and improve my weaknesses was to minor in communication studies. Since it was my weakest area, if I could tackle that, I figured I would be able to do anything—give or take. Although public speaking never became my favorite thing, I no longer feared it to the point that I felt like I was choking on a tennis ball, and I improved with each presentation. It took many years, but I finally learned that denying the significance of sorrow in our lives or making a joke out of painful memories isn’t necessarily the best way of coping but meeting the situation directly and dealing with it honestly, mindfully dissecting the issue and seeing just what the difficulties are and how they can best be improved, now that can make a positive difference.
While divorce was rare when I was a kid, it seemed like all the adults in my life partook in putting asunder what God had brought together. During my entire childhood, I never witnessed a married couple that I thought of as having a good relationship. Almost every adult close to me had been divorced at least once. My parents, my maternal grandparents, Babysitter and her substance abusing husband were separated for years and eventually divorced, Babysitter’s daughter, Babysitter’s pastor (who made a pass at my mom when she sought answers to Biblical questions from him), all my stepfathers, Boss Lady, my mom’s wife-in-law divorced a few times…I’m sure there were more, but Covid brain is protecting them. I’m not trying to find fault here or assign blame, just trying to gain understanding. As I wrote in a paper once, “There is no need to throw anyone under the bus, the road is rough enough already.” Those who were instrumental in the pain I experienced were also recipients of pain and heartache in their lives. Pain, abuse, neglect, mistreatment, whatever the source or degree, often replicates itself. My mother had to deal with a lot of pain from her troubled childhood. She was born during World War II and did not see her father until she was three years old. After his lengthy time in the Pacific Theater, he was suffering from PTSD and was abusive to my mom, so my grandmother left him—it went downhill from there. Babysitter was born during the depression and her mother was involved in bootlegging during Prohibition. Her mother had, at some point, tried to commit suicide, but I don’t know any of the details of that. She never spoke of a father, and she failed in her marriage. Stepfather number one was adopted. His adoptive mother was one of the kindest people I have ever met. I do not know the source of his pain, but I am sure of its existence. No one has had a perfect childhood. Pain is part of the human condition. But my theory is that those who handle life in a more effective way had greater stability in their young lives overall, and they learned to deal more effectively with their pain.
During my most recent college years, I had a wonderful psychology professor whose partner, also a psychologist, was a guest lecturer in our class once and I had the opportunity to see the two of them work together. They discussed marriage and life in general, and it occurred to me that they were the first happily married couple I think I had ever met. They found the answer, and from what I could glean in the short time I saw them together, it was the complete respect and admiration they had for one another. I suggested they give talks together because surely I cannot be the only person to be in awe of their amazing long-term relationship. Their total unfaltering support of each other, the respect they have toward the other, every possible consideration you could think to have in a desirable union was clearly present in their relationship. I am sure this is a result of many years of fine-tuning, of working through difficulties, of many late-night discussions, and of plain hard work by both partners joined together in a common goal. Successful marriages are out there, but from what I have seen, they are exceedingly rare.
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