March 02, 2018

You on a Crack Pipe

I get up early every Thanksgiving morning. No, not to cook. To run a 2.5 mile Turkey Trot with you. Regardless of the snow, the holiday, and the fact that I am no kind of runner, I rouse you (sleepy, regretful you), stuff power bars in my sleeves, smile, cheer, and act like there's nothing I'd rather be doing.

I shiver in long lines for my turn at a smelly port-a-potty and prick my freezing fingers on our race bib pins. And even though you sand bag me every year and kick it on the final stretch like a terrified gazelle, I know I'll do it again next year and the year after that and the year after that. Because I never want to find you on the end of a crack pipe.

I've sorted, collated, and stapled nearly 10,000 pages of Scholastic Books fliers. I have convincingly feigned interest in My Little Pony, Star Trek, Minecraft, and Logan Paul. No one can tell I'm fake laughing at those not-at-all funny "Try Not to Laugh" videos you love. I've smeared enough peanut butter and sunflower seeds on enough pine cones to feed all the birds in all the world for the next 50 years. I once wore a hand painted macaroni and yarn necklace to a job interview because you made it for me. And homemade Slime. Yeah...

You asked me to join Kuk Sool Won (Korean martial art) with you, so I parked my pride on the shelf and became an adult newbie in a class of 8 year-old black belts who could take my head off if they wanted to. The only one in class with a bursitic shoulder and a torn up knee. The only one with hips, whose dobok fits snugly across their butt. Because I never want to find you on the end of a crack pipe.

I have researched whether or not jelly fish have eyes (they do), elephants can jump (they can't), and if the outer shell of a jelly bean is made from the same stuff as the inner bean (it's not). I have filled entire spreadsheets with detailed cost-benefit comparisons of different Nerf guns.

I've lost sleep over finding black pants for your school concerts - black pants that aren't denim, aren't leggings, aren't a polyester-elastic-waistband reject from the Grandma factory, and don't look like something your father or an LPGA pro would wear to work. Because I never want to find you on the end of a crack pipe.

I have solemnly dug graves for road kill frogs. Examined rabbit poop under a microscope. Pureed bushels of leaves for baby caterpillars. Tracked slime trails along the kitchen cabinets to find the snails you liberated from the fish tank. (Speaking of fish, I once spent a guilt-ridden week babysitting a few hundred newly hatched goldfish the size of eyelashes and flushing them one ladle full at a time as they fell victim to my inability.)

All this I've done of my own free will. I invest myself in you because I'm your mom and I love you. And you don't owe me anything in return. Regardless of how much you love me and no matter how close we are, most of the decisions you make in your life will be made with your interests in mind, not mine. I knew that going in.

What I mean by all this is I hope I've given enough. I hope you know you belong. I hope you've felt my strength and cultivated your own. I hope you see how much you matter. I hope you realize that the collective existence would be diminished without you in it. I hope I've shown you how to create enough of what's beautiful and true that you never fall for less. I hope you understand that you have within you everything you need.

Being your mother is an honor and a joy that takes my breath away. And I never want to find you on the end of a crack pipe.



1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Sally - I've missed yoru blog and how you make me smile and cry at the same time! Lin