BuckyThe Wonder Dog

It’s a rare and frigid night.  I have the house all to myself.  It’s the perfect night to snuggle up in a blanket and catch up on show’s I’ve missed, or to read more than a page of a book before being interrupted, or to soak in a long hot bath.  But instead I’m simply going to spend a quiet evening with one of my best friends in the world. 

We met him seven years ago.  He was a rumpled, shaggy mess, full of anxiety and pent up energy, and bursting with love to give.  He had big soul-searching brown eyes, velvety soft ears, crazy unruly bear-like fur, and longer than normal legs for a Golden Retriever.  He was timid and shy when we met at the Humane Society, but what he lacked in exuberance he made up for with his persistence, continually reminding me to pet him by gently placing his paw on my knee whenever my hand left his head for more than a minute.  His off kilter way of lying down so that his front legs splay outward, much like a seal, endeared him to us even more.  He was lanky and clumsy and adorable. It was love at first sight.

We brought him home and he was an instant fit for our family, smart, quiet, obedient and friendly.  And so gentle he once carried a squealing baby rabbit inside his mouth from one side of the yard to the other, then gently deposited its saliva-covered body at our feet, unharmed. 

He’s been known as Bucky for the second half of his life, we will always wonder what he answered to during his early years and how it is that we got so lucky to have him. 

 

We do know he’s a creature of habit.  He knows mealtime like clockwork, both his and ours.  When we sit down to dinner, he perches under the table on high alert for crumbs, spilled milk, or any random tidbit he can scavenge.  Just the other day he was able to sample the crust of Jake’s grilled chocolate cheese sandwich.  We had experimented with the concoction, giving the old favorite a twist using thick slices of sweet fudge-like chocolate cheese.  As crazy as it sounds, Jake deemed our experiment delicious, and said, “Wow who ever heard of chocolate cheese! What are they gonna think of next, tomato flavored cotton candy?”

We laughed and figured it was actually possible in this world where it seems nothing is impossible anymore.

But tonight, I know the reality is, everything really is not possible.  Our old friend’s time shared with us is winding down.  His spirit may be as young as the day he came to live here, and his will to please and play is still as strong as a puppy’s, but his body just can’t keep up.

Of course we aren’t alone.  So many others are saying good-bye to their own fragile friends just like I am tonight.  We all see the signs. We slow the walks, fight the arthritis, guide the blind, dish up special food, direct the confused, itch the now unreachable favorite spot, and tell them every night what a good dog they are. 


Another family we know was also watching their dog grow older.  Their daughter said of their dog, “Mom, he isn’t old, he’s just wearing old pajamas.”

     

I like that.  I think Bucky’s in his old pajamas here beside me tonight, sweet and quiet, and I wonder if he is also thinking back to our long walks, stopping at his favorite tree in the fall so he could enjoy an apple along the way, visits to the dog park, putting up with the cat preening him, chasing squirrels, and sneaking away on his own for secret jaunts around the neighborhood. 

Saying good-bye is not easy. That’s why the only thing I’m doing tonight is hanging out with my best friend one more time.

Spin Doctor

“Mom, this big kid at school keeps pushing me.”

“What?” I am surprised and worried. “When is it happening?”

“Usually at recess but sometimes in school too.”

“What are you doing when it happens?” I ask.

“Usually just standing around with my friends,” he says.

“Does he say anything to you?” I ask.

“No, he just shoves me in my shoulder and walks past,” he replies a little tearful now.

We sit down together to talk more about the circumstances.  Is my son being bullied? Should we call the school? Should I be worried about his safety? Then we consider another possibility.

“If you’re just standing there, and it doesn’t seem like he wants to hurt you, do you think it’s possible that pushing you is just his way of trying to get your attention?” I ask.  “Do you think he might just want you to include him as one of your friends, and has a different way of showing it?”

“I don’t know, maybe,” my son says thinking it through.

At 11 years old words aren’t always at the top of the list for ways boys get their point across.

Unfortunately, once they do start using them, it isn’t always easier to communicate.

 All my life working in the public eye I have wrestled with how to manage the feedback I get.  It is an inevitable part of the job and not hard to reason why so many feel compelled to sound off with their thoughts since the talking heads are right there in the living room as though a surrogate part of the family and pounding out an email takes so little time and somehow relieves some pent up tension.

But the question for me, is how to manage the message when frequently the intent is not constructive, and the message isn’t that they want to be friends. 

Over time, you grow thicker skin.  But every now and then something can wiggle it’s way under there and fester just enough to make you second guess, to challenge your confidence, to sucker punch your self esteem, or as I like to think of it, to give you a chance to test your will power.

Often times it is the bizarre and random comments that get stuck in my head, not because I think they are true, but because they seem so odd I can’t help myself, I get sucked in, a moth to a light, banging my head over something so ridiculous yet irresistibly captivating.

The latest is this; an angry complaint that this column always focuses only on good news.

Yes, guilty as charged, read the other sections of the paper.  Walk away without another thought, right?

No, instead I actually spend hours trying to think through how to focus on bad news. 

There are many options after all, murders, sports doping, political disagreements, health problems, financial stress.

Each topic negatively impacts lives around the world every day.  Just not mine.

I don’t choose to ignore the negative stories of the day.  I choose not to allow them to make me a negative person. For me, the real lesson in all of this is the kind of spin you choose to put on your life and those living with you and around you.  You have a decision to make every day.  You can see the world as a dark place and choose to be bitter and angry.  Or you can choose to see the brighter side, to look for the good in people, to live a thankful life of purpose that pleases you and believe that is good enough in spite of criticism to the contrary.

That is the path I choose.  Those are the conversations I have with my boys.

That is the spirit in which I sent my son back to school the following day just to see what would happen if he looked at his pushy challenger differently.

“Guess what happened at school today?” he offered, hopping into the back seat after school.

“What?”

“When that kid pushed me, I just pushed him back the same way and said hey what’s up.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He just smiled at me and said ‘nothing much’ and walked on by,” my son said grinning.

“Guess you have another friend, huh?” I said.

“Yep.”

Fond Farewell

My morning started this way:

One son to the other, “Can I wear your white socks?”

Other son replies, “No!”

“Why?”

“Cause their mine!”

“So?”

“You will put a hole in them”

“No, I won’t”
“Yes, you will”

As the discussion escalates to shouting, followed by the inevitable shoving, I’ve had enough.

“Are you guys really arguing over a pair of socks?” I ask exasperated.

“Do you have any idea how much stuff you have?  You can’t possibly wear every pair of socks you own, anyway, you have so many!”

My tirade continues: “Do you know how lucky you are? You have food on your plate at every meal, a warm house, a family who loves you! And you can’t find it in your heart to share one pair of socks?”

By now their eyes are glazing over and I know they are in the just-act-like-your- listening mode.  But I forge ahead: “Learn to be grateful and generous with all that you have, share willingly, give happily!”

And with that we have officially launched into the holiday season.  It’s the season of giving, but so quickly turns to the season of getting. 

I worry about how to raise a child in this world of newer, better, faster. Can they truly be thankful; can they truly appreciate what’s important in life; can they become a strong, successful, satisfied adult who is still kind, thoughtful, generous, and yes, thankful. Can you even teach that?  Can they learn? 

I am banking on it, literally.

Just shy of 20 years ago my husband and I were attempting to purchase our first house together.  We weren’t even married at the time, and had a mere 5% as a down payment.  We were not getting very far with banks willing to take us on as a loan risk.  But one banker did.   We were grateful and told him so at the time.

Seven years ago we purchased our 4^th house since that day.  We loved its location, with trees, room to run, privacy and all we could dream of in challenges and charm.

We didn’t think the neighborhood could get any better, but it did.

To our surprise, right across the street lived the very banker who gave us our start.

Over the years our family came to know him along with his delightful wife as two of the most genuine, devoted people we have had the opportunity to know.

A true gentleman, and the love of his life, devoted and doting as though they were still courting even though they traded rings long before I was born. 

Without ever knowing, they have taught everyone in our family a little something about living the dream, openly finding so much more joy in caring for the other than in any selfish pursuits.  Their generosity and interest in our boys touched our hearts countless times with special little unexpected gifts and treats and the most lovely detailed thank you notes written in the most beautiful and delicate cursive script I’ve ever seen.

            

Their loyalty to one another was joyful, their love pure, a groom and his bride right to the end.

           

 We have lost them both now, he a long, heartbroken year after her.

They quietly lived their happily-ever-after in their little house in the woods, right across the street, but the lessons they were teaching us couldn’t have been shouted any louder.  

 It is with heavy hearts we remember so many of life’s most simple lessons and how quickly they can be forgotten in a busy rush to get it done world.   But I also find peace and hope in this joyful season, knowing that yes, you can learn these lessons of life if your lucky enough to have a good teacher.

Making the Team

I am cutting an onion and squinting into the stinging tears blinding me to my task.  But it feels good.  It matches my mood and I actually welcome the feeling.

We didn’t want, or expect it, but we have received the opportunity to help teach and guide our son through one of the difficult life lessons of overcoming disappointment and adversity.  Given the choice I don’t suppose there is a parent anywhere who would say they would choose to see their child go through these “life lesson” experiences, but then, it isn’t a choice of whether to go through it, typically, it’s a choice of how you decide to navigate through the fallout.

For me, it’s like there is a marble in my brain and it is rolling around in one of those maze games trailing down every path, every wrong turn, every dead end, trying to analyze every minute detail, every angle, every scenario of our current situation, not to place blame or point fingers, but to find some way, any way, to make it not hurt my son.  In the end, though, the marble comes to rest at the natural landing spot, the one that says, there is no way to make it not hurt.  It does.  He is.

Those old enough to have perspective on life, to have survived this type of thing and look back with wisdom and knowledge that time heals, and what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and you can make stepping stones out of stumbling blocks; those people will say that this type of experience will build character, or light the fire of a competitive spirit, and will turn good athletes great.  But those living in the moment just feel bad.  

Our son didn’t make the team.  We were sick as we faced the task of delivering the news and watching our sweet vulnerable boy experience the sharp pain of rejection, knowing we could do nothing to soften the blow, protect him from the fallout, or preserve his self esteem at the place it lived before.  He is too smart.

Looking into those sharp blue eyes, he called every bluff, he cut through every attempt to cushion the blow.  He got it.  Life isn’t fair, but it doesn’t matter.  It’s going to happen, like it or not. 

Here’s what I have learned. Delivering news to your child that you know will break their heart and crush their brilliant spirit changes a person.  For the first time that I could remember, I couldn’t hold him and say, “It’s OK.” In time it will be OK, but right now, it’s really not OK.  For every way parenting has stretched my emotions beyond anything I thought I could feel, this brought me to a new level, the other darker end of the spectrum of the joy I never knew I could feel until I first laid eyes on my son after he was born, or watched him speak, walk, and run for the first time.  The other side of joy is where I had now traveled.  This new place wasn’t nice, I didn’t enjoy it, but I’m changed because I went there. 

I also know this; my son reacted as I expected, with tears, questions, and heartache.  But my mind reels, and my heart melts at what else I witnessed.  I saw a grace beyond what few adults could hope for in accepting the unexpected news from his dad, I saw a depth of strength to muscle a smile for his mom through chapped tear stained cheeks so that I would feel better, and I glimpsed the man I would one day send into the world to face other unseen adversity, knowing there is more to life than making every team.  I saw someone I am proud of beyond anything words can describe, someone I love with every sense I have, and someone who is already a superstar, not because he made a sports team, but, this time, because he didn’t.