Category Archives: Family

“It takes a very long time to become young.”*

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We all have that one person in our youth, or at some point in our memorable life keystrokes, that stands out. They made an impression on who we were and who we are. I won’t pretend that I don’t have more than one that fits this bill; however as of late,  one has been on my mind.

Bull in a China shop.

I may have been 80 pounds, soaking wet, with large green glasses and a penchant for books; the larger the book, the larger the berth for my escape from my own home challenges. She was boisterous and made it a point to sit next to the private Catholic school girl who transferred home on the public school bus. This fortunate soul happened to be me. Sweet one moment when she wanted to borrow my radio, then cruel the next when she would hit me in the head with its antenna, which often would be followed by uncomfortable laughter from the other kids who only did so because they were safe, at that moment, she was a delicate bull. Only a few could see this.

“Angry people are not always wise.”**

There was never a moment that I was angry with her. Instead, sad is the adjective I would choose. I cannot paint a lovely picture on the exacts of how the tides changed, but I do know it involved telling her she was being mean and pretending I was bigger than my 80 pounds would prescribe…

Melissa. Missy.

We had sleepovers. We built forts. We put on make-up and dressed up in her huge selection of random and unique clothing. We talked about periods, and tampons when no one else would with me. We snuck out. We drank my first beer together. We talked about our first kiss. We talked about who we were – because all teenagers know this definitively, right? We talked about where we wanted to be, never who we wanted to be…

Blond, brassy, buxom, boisterous…all those things defined the girl I called my best friend, at that time. As the sun started peeking out from the sky while giggling and walking, at a mere 13, the sight of a strong tall woman in a long flannel nightgown covered in sheep standing on Missy’s front porch will never ever leave my mind. I panicked. My mother only knows now, because I shared our late night drunken sneaking out meanderings later in life. My friend sweet-talked our way out of trouble and what remains now as one of my many early amazing adventures.

“Tears come from the heart and not the brain.”***

Her sad was always there,  just bubbling under the surface. Quiet reflection on those who surround me was what I brought to this friendship table and there were moments when her sad erupted.

She was an artist, but didn’t know her passion. Perhaps she did later in her short life, but what she painted for me was a door to delving into my need for adventure head first and being ones authentic self. Few teens get that gift from an adult, let alone a peer.

It takes time…

..to become young within your years, and this, sadly, wasn’t part of her life journey. She’s gone now, and rifling through old pictures reminded me of her spirit and all that it exuded on me, and countless others. Her mother mourns, everyday. While I hope to never experience this loss, I pray tell she takes comfort in knowing that Missy was and remains a joyful memory whose adventurous zest for life lives on in many of those small town kids from Hermon, New York.

She is still loved.

Missy

 

 

*Pablo Picasso

** Jane Austen

***Leonardo da Vinci

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Tis the Season: Make It Count

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At nine years of age it was no great secret to me that my mom was struggling to make ends meet. Waking up for school on wintry mornings in Upstate New York to get ready for school meant I’d bring my outfit downstairs so that I could dress on the heating grate in the living room.  Often, there were mornings when there wasn’t any oil in the tank, which meant there wasn’t any heat to accompany this ritual.  Days like these were greeted by my mother pulling out the kerosene heater and our bundling up in the kitchen and playing board games.

We never went hungry.

The occasional monthly trips to the food pantry provided us bCHEESEoxes of dried milk, canned goods and HUGE blocks of cheese. I remember standing in line wondering what in the world people would make with THAT MUCH cheese. My Grandmother – who lived with us – would make homemade macaroni & cheese, cheesy mashed potatoes, grilled cheese served with tomato soup… The cheese recipe list was endless, as was the knowledge that we would always have food on the table and cheese. LOTS of cheese!

Christmas is meant to be *magical*.

Christmas eve would abound with  my sister’s and my whispering of what Santa might bring us and promises to stay awake until we heard him.  On two occasions, Santa’s delivery stopped short of landing under the tree and instead was found on our front porch. Our questions of “why” were met by mother’s explanation that Santa probably had a busier year than most and was running out of time to bring them inside.  It didn’t matter where the gifts had landed, Santa made me feel like a special little girl.

ME Small

I was an Angel Tree Kid.

Later on in my teens, through tears, my mother shared that my sister and I were Angel Tree Kids and that without this program, and the help of our church, Christmas wouldn’t have been a possibility during those years.  The reality that  those toys and the clothes wrapped under the tree and on the porch came from people who truly cared about kids who were in need moved me then and  moves me today.

There is still significant need.

In 2014,14.8% of the US population were living at or below the poverty threshold and 2015 is on track to exceed last year. “The poverty rate in 2014 for chil­dren under age 18 was 21.1 percent.”  As I type this and you read it there are parents –  like my mother – who are working and struggling to feed and clothe their children.  Children deserve to enjoy the naivety and magic that comes with childhood and the holidays… Sadly, many know that a meal, a new outfit or even a tiny hope for a gift is wishful thinking, at best.

‘Tis the Season

ANGEL TREEAgain, this year I’ve “adopted” a 9 year old Angel. She’s the same age that I was when I first became an Angel Tree kid and she too comes from a single-parent household. Her wish list: a pair of $20 jeans, a candy land board game and three miniature Disney Frozen princess figurines…

Once upon a time, someone made my mother’s, sister’s and my Christmas magical. I only hope that in some tiny way I can do the same for others. Helping a family in need, “adopting” an Angel Tree child, donating food to the local food bank/ pantry or taking a shut-in a Christmas meal truly makes a difference my friends.  And in the end isn’t it always fun to make *magic* happen?

Happy holidays everyone – I hope you make the season count.

 

*This is an updated post from 2012

Ummm, I Have Teenagers? Like, WHOA!

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 Rivers flow backwards 

My BabiesDolly Parton’s, “The Grass is Blue” came on the other day as I drove home from a friend’s place. Suddenly images of soft and rosy toddler cheeks with chubby little fingers grasping for my hand, wispy baby hair that can’t really hold that barrette (but I somehow found a strand to attach it to) and whisking my children in their toddler and baby-ness up into my arms while dancing around the house singing this song and others into their ears flooded my mind.

 I just can’t make it one day without you
Unless I pretend that the opposite’s true

KIDSIt was that moment in my car that all my “they’re getting so big” under-the-rug-sweeping realities hit me; they’re mini-adults, teenagers, fairly independent, occasional eye-rollers who will be in high school/college soon and they are SO BIG.

When did this happen? How did this happen? Most importantly, WHY does this sudden wave of tears welling up in my throat, a really ugly cry face and mini-sob shock me when I’ve had nearly 17 and 14 years to know this was happening?

How much can a heart and a troubled mind take
Where is that fine line before it all breaks

As parents, we ask ourselves often if we could have handled a parenting situation better than we did and on occasion the answer is yMy Baby Boyes. But as I sit here reflecting on my parenting “career”, thus far, I’m not asking myself if I am a good mother. The question is, have I done a good job of being present and in the moment? Then and now.

Sadly, my answer is not a resounding yes. There were moments that I was and am… But not always, and typing out my list of excuses of why I haven’t been isn’t going to fix it.

Can one end their sorrow
Just cross over it
And into that realm of insanitive bliss

As I pulled the car over and had my “this is for real-real and not for play-play” moment, I knew that I had to accept that they are growing up and that I must be in the moment with them as:

  • They begin to like boys and girls and I’m not speaking in the “friendship way” and will need guidance in the many nuances relationships like this will introduce. (BREATHE, Tammi… <– that’s me)
  • They think they know EVERYTHING and I have to actually listen to this new found worldly knowledge and politely remind them, on occasion all while figuring out which all-mighty-knowledge battle to fight, that they do NOT in fact know everything.
  • They begin toTHINK they hate me… Ugh, this is one of the most terrible parts to be present within, but they can think anything they like. They best not tell me this – EVER.
  •  They have to be reminded that they are still kids/minors who need to be validated in that it’s okay to be sad, to cry,and to be told NO. Everyone needs boundaries and oh, by the way, that cell phone is a fringe benefit and I own it. So, there!
  • They have their hearts broken, by friends, significant others, unrealized dreams and other unknowns…

And this is just the tip of the iceberg of things that I may or may not be able to control, but will be present and constantly in the background for… Accepting all of this and knowing that I can’t protect them like I used to really sucks, guys.

I’ve had to think up a way to survive

So if you’re a fellow parent, sit with your baby, toddler, tween, teen, four-legged, twenty-/thirty-/forty-something child and be in whatever that moment looks like. To do so is not only a gift to ourselves, but also serves as a great example for the parent our children could one day be…

I know I’m going to embrace every moment – even if it’s a rough one – moving forward because driving and balling my eyes out due to lost moments is not only unfortunate, it’s really dangerous.

 

Make It Stop

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Sexual Molestation.  Yes, it’s ugly. Yes, I know we don’t want to talk about it. But we need to. Did you know, of those who reported sexual assault to law enforcement agencies, that, “67% were under age 18, 34% were under age 16, 34% were under age 12, and 14% were under age 6?”  I am part of that 34%.

 I was 8.

Most children are molested by someone they know. A recent demographic study showed that:

My Uncle was my perpetrator.

“Behavioral changes are often the first signs of sexual abuse.”  I started sucking my finger at age 8. This may not seem like a huge behavioral change, however; most children begin this habit before age 5. It comforted me.

Many victims don’t come forward because they’re ashamed and scared. My Uncle was revered by my family. Rarely was there a family conversation about respectability that didn’t involve him as a shining example. He  lived right next door to my Grandparents, his brother. I would often think about who would believe me if I said anything. I also felt dirty…

Vividly I recall my father telling my mother that he didn’t trust a janitor at the local elementary school. He looked at me and said, “baby if anyone ever touches you inappropriately, you tell me. Okay?” At a mere 9 years of age I said to myself, “it’s too late.”

But it’s not too late for us to educate ourselves and protect our children from sexual assault. I grew up in an environment where we didn’t talk about our bodies, sexuality and sex. When I had my first period, I was ashamed and embarrassed to tell my mother.

Eventually in my freshman year in college, I told a relative who was going down the wrong path that I had been molested. Her “woe-is-me” outlook and blaming “life” for her wrongdoings was going to be her demise. So, I shared my story as an example of bad things that could bring someone down, but I hadn’t allowed it to do so. The relative shared this information with my mother. Years later when I told my mother – the one I wanted to protect because I feared she would blame herself – she told me that she knew and brushed it off as though we were talking about the weather.

We Can Stop This Cycle

T_ScottLynch_BABYAs parents, we can create an environment that allows our children to feel safe to share. I never wanted my children to experience what I did. Age appropriate conversations about their bodies, inappropriate touching by others and creating a safe haven where they could share anything was of utmost importance to me.They’re now 19 and 16 and now know that I was sexually molested and I’m not ashamed.  

While we cannot fully protect our children from tragedy and harm, we can reassure them that we are their childhood innocence advocates. Empower yourself to tell them that if someone touches them, it’s not their fault and that you will protect them. Because no child should ever have to secretly think to themselves that “it’s too late.”

‘Tis the Season: Make It Count

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At nine years of age it was no great secret to me that my mom was struggling to make ends meet. Waking up for school on wintry mornings in Upstate New York to get ready for school meant I’d bring my outfit downstairs so that I could dress on the heating grate in the living room.  Often, there were mornings when there wasn’t any oil in the tank, which meant there wasn’t any heat to accompany this ritual.  Days like these were greeted by my mother pulling out the kerosene heater and our bundling up in the kitchen and playing board games.

We never went hungry.

The occasional monthly trips to the food pantry provided us bCHEESEoxes of dried milk, canned goods and HUGE blocks of cheese. I remember standing in line wondering what in the world people would make with THAT MUCH cheese. My Grandmother – who lived with us – would make homemade macaroni & cheese, cheesy mashed potatoes, grilled cheese served with tomato soup… The cheese recipe list was endless, as was the knowledge that we would always have food on the table and cheese. LOTS of cheese!

Christmas is meant to be *magical*.

Christmas eve would abound with  my sister’s and my whispering of what Santa might bring us and promises to stay awake until we heard him.  On two occasions, Santa’s delivery stopped short of landing under the tree and instead was found on our front porch. Our questions of “why” were met by mother’s explanation that Santa probably had a busier year than most and was running out of time to bring them inside.  It didn’t matter where the gifts had landed, Santa made me feel like a special little girl.

ME Small

I was an Angel Tree Kid.

Later on in my teens, through tears, my mother shared that my sister and I were Angel Tree Kids and that without this program, and the help of our church, Christmas wouldn’t have been a possibility during those years.  The reality that  those toys and the clothes wrapped under the tree and on the porch came from people who truly cared about kids who were in need moved me then and  moves me today.

There is still significant need.

In 2014,14.8% of the US population were living at or below the poverty threshold and 2015 is on track to exceed last year. “The poverty rate in 2014 for chil­dren under age 18 was 21.1 percent.”  As I type this and you read it there are parents –  like my mother – who are working and struggling to feed and clothe their children.  Children deserve to enjoy the naivety and magic that comes with childhood and the holidays… Sadly, many know that a meal, a new outfit or even a tiny hope for a gift is wishful thinking, at best.

‘Tis the Season

ANGEL TREEAgain, this year I’ve “adopted” a 9 year old Angel. She’s the same age that I was when I first became an Angel Tree kid and she too comes from a single-parent household. Her wish list: a pair of $20 jeans, a candy land board game and three miniature Disney Frozen princess figurines…

Once upon a time, someone made my mother’s, sister’s and my Christmas magical. I only hope that in some tiny way I can do the same for others. Helping a family in need, “adopting” an Angel Tree child, donating food to the local food bank/ pantry or taking a shut-in a Christmas meal truly makes a difference my friends.  And in the end isn’t it always fun to make *magic* happen?

Happy holidays everyone – I hope you make the season count.