A Long-Term Well-Being Win

My best friend Robby of 45 years always likes to tell the story of how he almost wasn't part of our long-term friend group. The one that keeps getting together year after year, decades after high school. We first met in 7th grade, and while we became best friends later on in high school, my best friend in 7th grade at the time, Brad, saved Robby from being bullied in wood shop class. Back then I was a skinny, asthmatic, shy, and fearful kid, not a hero, and was relieved and grateful with Brad's intervention. I was also grateful that Robby and I befriended each other through goofy humor and the music of Cheap Trick, Kiss, and many other rock groups at that time.

Our long-time friend-group origin story birthed sometime between our sophomore and junior years in high school. That's when, Robby jokes, he was "included" in our group of friends. It wasn't like one day he got a pass, or any of us for that matter. We had already been amalgamating into this cohort for a few years, based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more. 

The thing with me was, I struggled to exclude others. Even when I probably should have. Beyond Robby, my other close friends back in high school, and family, I've had many acquaintances and friends from many differing backgrounds. From college to work to other parents of kids ours go to school with. What I know now, but did quite understand then, was that there was always something to learn from others, friends or not. Sharing knowledge and experiences with one another was how I grew as a person and how it's shaped my life awareness and belief systems over the years. Still is.

The hard part was and is the adulting. My nature was always to be liked, and to exclude others was to not be liked. That can get you in trouble when you're in middle and high school, always trying to please, with it only to backfire on you when you do and say the wrong thing to people about other people. Mercy me I had some failures there.  

But as I failed, grew,  and evolved, there were some difficult adulting decisions to make -- getting a divorce and ending an old friendship from our long-time friend group, just to name a couple. I had to learn boundary-setting and how to exclude others when it came to my own happiness and well-being, sanity and safety, and unfortunately not always empathically either. Conversely, I had to learn that I wouldn't always be included with others and their activities, even when hubris shoved my empathy and understanding to the ground like a bully and said, "What the hell?"

And now our teens are learning about inclusion and exclusion with their own friend groups, and like most normal teens, they want to be liked and included. They need their own space, too, and boundary-setting is new to them and a struggle, but we listen and provide parental and our own experiential feedback. We tell them they don't always have to include, and they will be excluded, and that's okay. 

Boundary-setting and exclusion for well-being and safety is one thing, but exclusion based on fear, ignorance, prejudice, and to purposely hurt can lead only to painful isolation, loneliness, or worse, for both perpetrator and victim. That's a lesson for us all. 

But if they have enduring friendships based on mutual affection, trust, support, shared interests, communication, respect, humor, and more, then it's a long-term well-being win for sure. As I've written before, I'm grateful for the dear inclusive and loving friendships I've had over 40 years now. Blessings to them. I wish the same for our teens as adults. 

The Ride Home

As soon as they get into the car, both girls shout, "I'm going to talk about my day first!"

"No, I'm going first!"

"No, I am!"

"Dad, who gets to go first?"

Sometimes I tell them it's whoever said it first. Other times one of them will concede and let the other go first. The other day I actually had them pick a number between 1 and 10, and whoever was the closest got to go first. Haven't done that in years.

Our daughters have always felt safe and comfortable sharing their experiences with us, something we've fostered and have been quite grateful for. But now that they're both in middle school together, 6th and 8th grade, it's become a race to tell us about their "work" days. Good, bad, or indifferent. Sometimes in mind-numbing descriptive teen detail. About lunch drama with friends, that to me didn't seem all that dramatic, but to them was. Or, classroom drama about group projects where others in the group didn't do very much of the work. Or, more classroom drama about teachers who stress them out. More of these dramas from our oldest Beatrice than her younger sister Bryce, but both of their days are shared with us, drama or not.

My wife Amy takes them to school in the mornings, and unless I'm traveling for work, I pick them up most of the time after school (if they're not riding their bikes or walking, which they're doing sometimes). I love that time with our kids, just listening to them, asking further explanatory questions. That can lead to either further clarifications, or sassy retorts, depending on the context and their mood. It's only a 10-minute ride home, but for me it feels like hours listening to my children grow up. 

The fact that our teens are comfortable talking with us is so important. They tell their mother more than they tell me, but they're still comfortable sharing with me. One of the things that's made a difference is that we listen and let them talk. That doesn't take the parenting out of the equation, because there are situations that call for parental oversight and insight, and for me, judgmental interjections. I try to not to do that, but still do. And both girls call me out on that -- "Dad, I'm not done talking, so please don't interrupt."

The loving bonds of trust are there with our daughters because we listen to them without judgment (again, Mom more than Dad) and without directly trying to solve any of their problems they may have (school, friends, etc.). We help them, of course, but we also want them to learn how to figure things out, how to help themselves, work with others, and self-advocate. 

If there are issues that involve emotional, social, or physical safety, including things that we weren't aware of because they didn't want us to be aware, then there are definitely parental interventions and controls. Hiding things from us are rare, and when it happens, we deal with them immediately.

So, after arguing who tells Dad about their day first when I pick up our girls from school, they tell me about their days, and then argue who's going to tell Mom first when they get home. It's a gift of grace that they both are willing to share their days with us, every day. That's why the ride home is a highlight of my day, every day. 

The Positive Spread

Our first-born loved dandelions. When she was nearly two years old she loved to pick them and run with them and blow the parachuting seeds into the wind and watch them float away. She'd giggle and do it again and again until the dandelions were all gone. 

When I think about those seeds now, and how many took root where they landed for other children to pick them and blow the seeds away, I think about both our daughters and how they've taken root and grown into positive, loving, empathic, and resilient little humans. 

Our children have become what I'll call the positive spread -- sharing freely a part of their empowered positive souls wherever they go and with whoever they meet. Something it took me decades to be comfortable with. Something I still work on every day. Something we should all work on every day.

Now a tween and a teen, both of our children have grown up with positive discipline and Kidpower. They've learned a lot about natural consequences of their actions; about being calm, confident and aware wherever they go -- to be able to set healthy boundaries and always be emotionally and physically safe while inspiring others in kind. It doesn't mean they always like it when we reference these life skills they've grown up with, but even when they push back on their influence, they embody them each and every day.

I thought I was done with writing in this space, of sharing my family's journey and my own thoughts and feelings about parenting and personal leadership, and I thanked you all for reading. 

But I'm not done. Life is a work in progress and the past two months have been a deep reflection for me of what I thought I'd let go of, but instead what I've held onto. I allowed resentment and anger to reboot inside me after decades of damaged trust with myself and others I thought I had reconciled, but instead, only shuffled around inside my always hopeful heart. 

A heart full of love and optimism ever since I had picked dandelions as a child and blew seeds of hope into the wind. 

We all deserve to be loved and to be safe, and to be given the chance to learn and practice the skills that make it all reciprocally so. This is why I'm rebooting this blog to continue the positive spread that my children and my wife embody every day. I am so grateful for them. 

Blessings to you all. 

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The Friend in Family

She asked me to dump the turkey carcass into the green can. The clippings can. The one for grass, weeds, branches, etc.

“Are you serious?” I said.

She smiled and said, “Yes, why?”

“Why would you put the turkey into the clippings can?”

“Because it’s organic; I do it every year.”

I thought about it for a minute. I didn’t think that was right and would swear that if the trash collectors caught it, they’d tag her can. A tag that read something like This is a notice of non-collection because your can is contaminated. 

“You all right? You need me to walk you through it?” she said.

Now she was just being a smart ass and trying to be funny.

“No, I’ll go do it.”

And I did. I dumped the carcass out of the plastic bag it was in and on top of the branches and grass before. I stared down into the can and thought, There’s no friggin’ way they’re taking this.

“They’re going to tag your can,” I said when I came back in the house.

“No, they are not. I told you I do it every year. You going to be okay?” Again, my sister shared her cute snark. She leaned in to give me a fake supportive hug and I moved away.

“Ha. I’m good, they’re just not going to take it,” I said, smiling.

“Yes, they will. It’s just turkey bones. You can put those down your garbage disposal.”

I laughed. God, you really sound like Dad, I thought. That would break the garbage disposal.

A while later, the Mama (what I lovingly call my wife), looked it up online and sure enough, you don’t put turkey carcasses into your clippings can. Even my sister’s son, my nephew back from his second year in law school, agreed.

“So,” my sister said to me, “go dig it out then.”

“I ain’t digging anything out,” I said.

We laughed. It was funny. And I still thought her can was going to get tagged.

A day later we packed up our things and headed home. It was another very nice Thanksgiving with my sister and her grown children. We also got to visit with my newborn Great Niece, my niece’s baby girl, and she was such a delight. The newest member of our extended family, today.

We’ve been going to my sister’s for Thanksgiving the past five years now, starting the year after both our parents passed away. It’s very important to my sister and I and our families, even if we only see each a few times per year. Since we were children and for most of our lives, we've been very close.

The year our parents died was a rough year for us all, my mom leaving us four months after my dad due to a health complication we knew nothing about until it was too late. And then there was the in-between time before she passed that went okay until it didn’t when my mom stayed with my sister, before we had taken her in and then I returned her back to Oregon. And then there was the six years before that when my sister and I didn’t speak at all. Plus, the way before then of violence and abuse, and the since then of other extended family relationship ups and downs.

Both the Mama and I have the loving memories of big family gatherings during the end-of-year holidays and multiple times throughout the year (even daily when we lived near each other). But then, family fell away and moved away, new family was added and old family taken away. Maybe we see each other a few times per year, if that. (The women in my life have always done a much better job at keeping in touch with extended family than I have.)

Trust and empathy are vital to nurturing any relationship, as well as the reciprocal investment of communication and time. And yet over time, life happens, we fail each other, and even the seemingly best intentions can and do tear at the fine family fabric. We’re hurt. We resent. We retaliate. We cut off. The friend in family is lost. Sometimes forever.

The Mama and I have been listening to Dr. Brené Brown of late, a research professor who has spent the past two decades studying courage, vulnerability, shame and empathy. In Rising Strong as a Spiritual Practice, Brené Brown shared a conversation about forgiveness she had with a rabbi. She’d been doing research about forgiveness, and the rabbi told her that true forgiveness can only transpire when something else dies. Not literally a person or thing, but a manifestation of something, letting go of resentment for example. Literally letting it die.

This is the first year in my grateful long life to date that I've accepted I can no longer hold onto any resentment for being hurt. That I can no longer beat myself up for my own past transgressions, or that I can keep judging others because I don’t feel they’re being their best selves (because maybe they are), or because there are those who I don’t see eye to eye with (because sometimes we don’t). I just can’t do it anymore. I've really needed to let those things die. It doesn’t serve a work-in-progress healthy heart and spirit at all, and it doesn’t help me to be a better parent or husband or human. There are so many more benefits to channeling my energy into me being my better self and sharing that with others. God knows it's taken long enough to get here.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t boundaries on how I handle any relationship going forward post whatever traumatic event, and what I want our children to understand about betrayal, heartbreak, personal responsibility and forgiveness. Forgiveness is a feral animal, one that is unpredictable and not easy to tame, even when you feel like it’s ready to give itself up to you, and for you. And forgiveness doesn’t mean that all what ailed a relationship makes the relationship whole again. It just means all what ailed it is finally dead.

Trust and empathy take time to build and rebuild, and a lot of continuous reciprocity to sustain, but without forgiveness, there can be no friend in family.