1978—HEAD ON COLLISION
THE FIRST IN A SERIES OF STORIES CONCERNING EMOTIONAL GROWTH ON BOTH SIDES
Part 1a
THE FIRST IN A SERIES OF STORIES CONCERNING EMOTIONAL GROWTH ON BOTH SIDES
Part 1a
Within less time than a blink of an eye, years seemed to fly by, so that Will and I had become the proud parents of three bouncing boys. (Let’s stop for a moment to consider this insight: If change is the only constant in life then we’re always in the act of becoming.).
At the time of our life threatening auto accident, Will had become a 35 year old, husband, father and solo practicing, Orthopedic surgeon, living far from the Midwest as we’d chosen to raise our family 'neath the blue skies of the Southwestern sun, where summers were hot as blazes. If you glance through our copious photo albums (Mom! Put your camera away! We just want to play!), you’d see that I’d become a 34 year old wife, mother and certified instructor of family communications, teaching at the college level; Barry had become a highly imaginative, nine year old boy, whose strong-spirited energy level was non-stop; Steven had become Barry’s constant sidekick (and sometimes punching bag) while simultaneously becoming his own, unique, existential being, and David, at 18 months, had grown from babyhood toward becoming a toddler, whose adoration of his older brothers was as clear as a sunny day—his face beaming with joy and his entire being bouncing with a bursting sense of happy anticipation, matching the eagerness of a puppy ever ready to join in whatever fun lay directly ahead whenever one or both of his best buds walked into the room, flashing an inclusive smile in his direction as if to say age differences matter not at all. Seriously, how many children have a sibling so adoring as to happily become enslaved to satisfy his brothers’ every command?—uh—I meant to write wish ...
On school days, at the appropriate hour, I’d say: David, your boys will be home, very soon. At my signal, David’s wheels would spin, lickety-split, plastering his button nose against the large picture window of our family room, offering his bright blue eyes a clear shot of the curb so that as soon as the dynamic duo dashed out of whichever neighbor’s car had been scheduled to be that day’s bat-mobile, to and from school, our family's caboose would chug-a-chug as fast as his little legs could carry him toward the front hall, so gleeful was he to welcome his gods—who’d never failed to race each other up our walkway where, upon reaching the front door, one rapped loudly while the other rang the bell continuously as though their pants were on fire while inside the foyer, we'd see David, leaping up and down in puppy-like fashion, yipping away: My boys are home! My boys are home! (Are third children destined to be born sharp as a whip, or does the encouragement of four cheerleaders inspire the team rookie to catch on fast in hopes of catching up so as not to be left behind?)
The moment I’d open the door, a whirlwind of high spirited, emotional energy, infusing every particle of air with electrical vibrations, swirled any attempt to regain peace and quiet out of the house, and knowing that peace and quiet would not so much as even try to slip back in under that door until our three munchkins, having tuckered each other (and me) out by the end of another adventurous day, much of which had seen the older two at school, working valiantly at suppressing their natural source of physical energy, which by 3PM had begun to wriggle with need to be set free from sitting at desks where their mental absorption of bite-sized portions of reading, writing, and arithmetic had been satiated in school, tumbled into our kitchen so hungry as to gobble up whatever healthy snack had been purposely placed on the table before dashing outside, where, upon running round the backyard, like a litter of pups in need of releasing tightly wound coils of energy, they'd play with neighborhood pals before homework, team sports and dinner saw the last few sunlit hours fly by, landing three active minds, one at a time, in the tub, after which freshly washed hair was brushed, water gulped, teeth brushed, pj's pulled out of dresser drawers and bedtime stories were read just before a private Three Minute Miracle, one-on-one time was enjoyed by each one with me, as all three had been trained to discipline his brain to await his turn patiently in his own room, after which a trio of sleepyheads were seen to settle peaceably on pillows, bodies tucked up to their chins under colorful comforters in the aftermath of our bedtime routine, which had rarely deviated from ending with hugs, kisses and smiles, all around, so that I, having witnessed my trio of strong spirited, power houses of energy close their eyes and fall peaceably asleep in record time, breathed a sigh of release, freeing me to gather together books, handouts and props in readiness for whatever lesson, concerning family communications that I’d planned to present at the college in the morning, followed by readying myself for bed where, upon climbing in and pulling the comforter up around me, I’d gently kiss Will goodnight (if he'd not been called to the ER)—why gently? Because, generally speaking, the conscientious nature of the tired surgeon with whom I'd shared very few hours, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year, was known to fall asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow—and so, it had become my habit to climb into bed, lean over to kiss his cheek and pick up whatever parenting tome was on my nightstand while Will, breathing with an even cadence that assured me of his having caught the dreamland bus, after which, I'd absorb additional knowledge concerning parenting lovingly and effectively, knowing that before too many pages had been turned the Sandman would circle back and beckon to me, and for the most part, this snapshot of our daily home-life (whew!) pretty much illustrates the mutually enriching way that our union would continue to fertilize an emotionally sunny environment in which two unique individuals, both deeply rooted in family values, planted a family tree that bore fruit, which upon multiplying continued to taste so sweet as to inspire my conscious awareness to satisfy my think tank's insatiable hunger to expand my personal library of parenting books, though I'd had no conscious clue, that while building my professional library, the well-organized shelves of my memory were being stacked with an expansive sense of emotional intelligence as naturally as my conscious connection to scholarly information had continued to fill the floor to ceiling bookcases within our home office.
As years passed and children of both genders, all ages, colors and ethnicities entered our home, they were spontaneously embraced within the welcoming presence of open demonstrations of love and laughter, building heartfelt interconnections, flowing naturally from one to another, as though an unspoken heartfelt pledge had become as self-evident as was the creed of The Three Musketeers: All for one and one for all with this difference—within our home two had become three, then four, five and more as the expansive nature of our family circle of love knew no bounds, being that I'd mothered every child who’d befriended my sons.
On Saturday and Sunday mornings, it was not uncommon to see me awaken, slide out of bed, tiptoe across the floor, open our bedroom door and stick my head out in order to glance around our spacious family room while getting a body count of six or seven sleeping bags lying every which way on our wall to wall carpet, offering me a clue as to how long I’d be flipping pancakes, dotted with chocolate chips, on the island’s griddle in the middle of our kitchen, knowing that once this crew awakened, hunger pains, rumbling in unison, would clamor to be fed before this passel of teens was seen leaping into our backyard pool, followed by wrestling all over the lawn (planted as an oasis in the desert precisely to cushion the physicality of boyhood play), or they'd be seen dunking the ball on our sport court until need to cool off saw them diving head first into the deep end of our pool—seriously, I didn’t call the acre of land surrounding our five bedroom home The Kidz Resort fer nothin ya know—and—with our friends’ tennis court, right next door, just beyond the shade provided by our grapefruit trees—uh—wait a second—look what just happened!
All I did was gingerly crack open the door to my memory, and whoosh—moments in time leaped up and out like jumping beans escaping from a newly unlidded jar, suggesting that I've gotten way ahead of today’s storyline, so let’s hit the brakes, throw the gear shift into reverse and back up this runaway train of thought so as to return to those precious days of yesteryear when David, the toddler, can be seen leaping, puppy-dog style against the front door of our first home, yelling: My boys are home! Mommy! My boys are home! And all was well until—
One Sunday morning an unsuspecting band of brothers, small fists still rubbing the sandman’s magic dust from their sleepy eyes—suggestive of the fact that they've just awakened from a peaceful night's repose—are seen staring down at a confounding situation while lining up according to height in step-like fashion in front of their baby sitter, who is stretched out on the family room couch, eyes closed, body wrapped up to his neck under a throw too short to cover his bare feet—no parents in sight—our bed still neatly made—leading my sense of hindsight to hint at the fact that something has gone terribly wrong during the still of the night while a trio of pint sized Mouseketeers had slept soundly—each feeling safely snuggled within his own bed—throughout the dark and starry (not yet scary) night ...
PS
While reflecting over our daily routine, did I think to mention—cookingfoodshoppingcleaninglaundryerrandsholidaysdoctordentistappointmentsreconcilingthecheckbookcoldssniffleschickenpoxgermanmeaslesearinfections? No. Why not?
Because more often than not, my memory releases countless moments when
Love, laughter and a joyous sense of fun were enjoyed, all around
While reflecting over our daily routine, did I think to mention—cookingfoodshoppingcleaninglaundryerrandsholidaysdoctordentistappointmentsreconcilingthecheckbookcoldssniffleschickenpoxgermanmeaslesearinfections? No. Why not?
Because more often than not, my memory releases countless moments when
Love, laughter and a joyous sense of fun were enjoyed, all around
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