In 1947 an 18 year-old girl named Dot and an (almost) 21 year-old guy named George tied the knot. He having recently completed his stint with the Navy in World War II and she fresh off the farm, these two kids met in August of 1946 and were married the following spring. For him it was love at first sight. For her it took a little convincing but not too much.
Sixty-nine years, four children, seven grandchildren, ten great-grandchildren (with an eleventh on the way) later, my parents are celebrating their wedding anniversary. And their love endures.
In an ever-changing world they have been a constant in my life. They have shared good times and bad. They have laughed and cried together. They have worked hard and played even harder. And their love endures.
Their marriage has survived 12 U.S presidents, 7 popes, the Korean War, Frank Sinatra, the building and demolition of the Berlin Wall, the Cold War, Elvis Presley, the Cuban Missile Crisis, the Kennedy Assassination, the Vietnam War, the Tonight Show, the political turbulence and racial unrest of the 1960’s, the Beatles, the Moon Landing, the “Me Decade” of the 1970’s, disco music, the Watergate Scandal, the Aids epidemic, Reaganomics, the technological advances of the 1990’s, Madonna and Michael Jackson, the Oklahoma City bombing, Oprah Winfrey, the 2000 millennium, Nancy Grace and Doctor Phil, hip-hop, 9-11, American Idol, gay marriage, iPhones, iPads and cars that can parallel park themselves. And their love endures.
I am blessed to be equal parts of both of them. I’d like to think that I’m the best parts of both of them. I know that I have Dad’s ears and chin and forehead and well, pretty much everything else. But the important parts are less about physical attributes and genetics and more about what has been imparted. Mom taught me how to pray. Dad taught me how to tell a good joke. Mom taught me the importance of cleanliness. Dad taught me the importance of family. Mom taught me how to do math in my head. Dad taught me how to build and fix things (and how to cuss when things don’t build or fix easily). Mom taught me that “early risers” get to enjoy the best part of the day. Dad taught me that watching old movies late at night can be just as rewarding. They both taught me how to love.
And Dad gave me the best advice ever on my wedding day. “When you have a fight, and you will, always be the first one to say you’re sorry. It won’t matter if she’s wrong and you’re right – just say you’re sorry. It’ll be the truth, too. Because you’ll be sorry that you fought.” I’ve never forgotten Dad’s words.
Having raised my own family and watching my grandkids growing up, I realize how important family is to me. I also know that the legacy of love and devotion of Dot and George will live on in generations yet to come.
Because their love endures.
Peace,
Denis
We need the joy of Easter. It is a welcome balm that can ease the pain in our world. I for one love the carnival atmosphere of Easter Sunday services. Kids dressed in itchy new Easter clothes barely able to sit still because of all the candy that they have consumed before breakfast; beleaguered parents who rose before dawn to hide eggs and prepare baskets full of the aforementioned candy for the little darlings; folks who have not been to church in a while looking conspicuously out-of-place; ‘the regular-attenders’ barely able to conceal their annoyance of having to share their pew. We squeeze in and make room for all. And we love and forgive and ask for forgiveness for the times that we have failed to love. The Alleluias return!
Today I’m writing about how much some kids act like their parents. This “acting-like” behavior is not just genetic imprinting. I believe it’s a learned behavior. I’ve seen it in adoptive families. We all model the behavior we learn as children. Our parents (good or bad) are our first teachers. As adults most of us have experienced the sensation of opening our mouths only to have our mother’s or father’s words come out. It’s almost as if we lose momentary control and someone else takes over – if not our thoughts, definitely our words. Sometimes with regret but always with a sense of astonishment, we hear the words once spoken to us as children and now we are actually saying the same things and WE CANNOT STOP IT.
And then comes change. Change creeps in and well, changes everything. How many times in my life have I had to adjust to change? Another baby. A lost job. A new home. The death of a loved one. A promotion. An illness. An accident. A marriage. A new grandchild.
Sunday at mass it will be the same priest, the same boring or out-of-touch homily, the same listless liturgy, and sometimes I just want to “phone it in”. I’ll go through the motions but I can’t help but wonder if my time might not be better spent cleaning out a closet or organizing the cabinets in my office. I suppose I could pray while I straighten out my clutter. Isn’t cleanliness next to Godliness or something like that?
This morning he didn’t think he could make it to school. He pleaded his case but Mom and Dad assured him that he would be okay. They offered him a favorite stuffed animal to take for “rest time” at pre-school (which is apparently a common practice for others in his class). The stuffed animal might offer some security and reminder of home but he refused it in a very adult manner: “No thank you Mommy, there are two reasons I don’t want to take my stuffed animal. First, I don’t want germs from other kids to get on it. And sometimes people play with their stuffed animals when it’s not resting time and our teacher doesn’t like that.” Apparently he knows his limitations.
Short and sweet can grow tiresome when the rest of the world (or classroom) is tall. My wife has reaching sticks and step stools and similar aids but I’ve heard her say many times that it would be nice just to be “tall enough”. Tall enough to reach the top shelf in the grocery store. Tall enough to buy pants that don’t need to be tailored. Tall enough to do some things without help from the Tall Ones.
Journeying & Journaling 