Today we attended a baby shower for my granddaughter that is due on February 21st. She seems so far away but I know when she gets here we will have a lot of time to hold her, teach her, listen to her giggle and see her grow. I have three other grandchildren. They are all beautiful but sometimes I get too busy. Too busy to play in the leaves, to work puzzles, to sing silly songs. Then as I throw back the covers and get ready to say my prayers a squeaky little voice in my head screams, "you could have stopped long enough to work one little puzzle."
Now my youngest child is 19 years old and though he and the state of Texas consider that to be an adult, I ain't done raising him ju st yet. I would like to be walking the stage to take ownership of a quartz trophy for mother of the year but I'm not preparing the acceptance speech just yet. I learn something new about parenting everyday. I even learn and relearn things about my own kids every week. Just when I think I have a grasp on today, the sun goes down and I start over again. I have made some mistakes. I pray that one day they will forgive me for rushing around trying to make sure the clothes were washed instead of sitting down to watching a Disney flick, for going to the grocery store instead of Chuck E. Cheese, for raking up a pile of leaves and not letting them plow through them like a bowling ball hitting the pens. I pray. I pray that my best was good enough. I pray that all the advice I gave was received in love. I pray that they forgive me for the junk that cluttered up my thoughts and my evenings at home.
In the bathroom that was used by all of my boys as they were growing up there is a small sign with a quote from E. E. Cummings; "it takes courage to grow up to be who you really are". Not by accident but strategic placement, the sign hangs where it can be seen as they would brush their teeth or shave in the morning. One thing I always want for my boys is honesty in their lives; to live genuine.
And joy. I want them to have happiness that stems from living a honest life, that bubbles up from the center of a full heart. What mother would want anything less for her children.
At a recent Christmas party I struggled to hear the soft words spoken by a coworkers wife. Her Cuban accent and tone of her voice was mild. She smiled sweetly as she spoke and I listened politely though I found myself eager to quiz her on the details. She recited the story she has probably told many times during her very colorful and painful lifetime. It was a movement; powerful and purposeful. A movement that separated children from parents and sent them thousands of miles from everything and everyone they had ever known to live with strangers, foreigners, and volunteers. It was a sacrifice. It was attempt to protect and preserve and survive. As many as 15,000 Cuban children, most of them were boys in their early teenage years, adjusted quickly to foster care. Some struggled with diet, authority, separation.
One of the others listening waited until a pause in her story to ask, "what did you think on the day Fidel Castro died?" Her smile changed. As if it were a burden of disappointment.
"We sat on the back porch and popped open a bottle of champagne!"
Many details of The Pedro Pan Movement can be found on Pedropan.org It's a humbling read.
As a parent, I am ashamed of how whiny I have been. Ashamed of the times I felt sorry for myself because my kids wanted for things I couldn't give them; ashamed of the little moments I have taken for granted; ashamed of the times I didn't stop and absorb all the hugs a little boy could give; ashamed of many selfish days.
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