Sisters are a prize

I have not won much in my life. It’s very rare I will enter a contest because I don’t want to face the disappointment of losing. When I was about eight years old I mustered up the courage to enter a competition sponsored by a cereal company. It entailed writing a commercial. Mine involved cavemen, a time machine and a box of cereal. To my amazement I came in second place. I won money and my very own camera. I was overjoyed. That camera was a treasure. I took it everywhere and held it in the highest esteem.

Without my realization I had already won a prize that exceeded that long forgotten camera: It was my little sister. When I was six years old, my life changed forever. It was the day my sister was born. I can’t remember being very impressed with our first meeting. But my apathy soon turned to affection. This new addition to our family was just what we needed. Much like my youngest daughter, my sister was spirited and stubborn. She was tenacious! You must need these qualities to thrive as the baby in the family.

For the first time, I felt a bond that I would only feel again when my own children were born. It was a protective, maternal love. I worried about her, I tried to discipline her, I watched over her. At the same time she drove me crazy. I felt my parents let her get away with more than my brother and I could even think about.

Then we grew up. I moved out and our relationship changed. I would come to visit and we began enjoying spending time together. We had the same perspective, came from the same background and had inherited the same sense of humor. What more could you ask for in a friend? To this day, my sister is my closest ally. It’s hard to find a better companion than your own flesh and blood.

When I was pregnant with my third child, I hoped that it would be a girl. I wanted my daughter to have a sister. They too are six years apart, and my oldest has taken on the same motherly role. We let our youngest get away with more than my first two could even think about. They fight, they laugh, they cry … in short, they’re sisters. I hope that someday they realize how valuable they are to each other. Because a sister is a prize of the highest esteem.

I wish I was more like my father

My dad was exceptionally smart: he avoided my teenage years. He was a kid at heart, which made him a much-desired father until I reached the age of about ten and his crazy antics started to embarrass me. We had many good times and imaginary adventures. I only saw the good side of my dad. That can be an advantage of not living with one of your parents.

After I had my first daughter, our relationship changed. Here was a man that I had not seen more than once a month, but who was now at my house almost every day. He adored his first and only grandbaby, and I got to see a side of him I never knew. He was a natural grandparent, fun and silly, despite his silver hair.

A good father will provide their children with strength and security. An excellent father will couple this with tenderness and playfulness. Their children know they have nothing to worry about, they enjoy themselves, they have fun. They experience the true meaning of childhood.

My father may have failed in other areas of his life but being a dad wasn't one of them. He possessed qualities that I will always envy. He had the ability to make others shine. To make them feel as if they were truly special. He was strong, but his strength never overshadowed his tenderness. Despite heartache his playful spirit never evaporated. Laughter was always his antidote. These are gifts not all possess, myself included, which is why I can tell you with all my heart that I wish I was more like my father.

PERSEVERE

This is my mantra: PERSEVERE, PERSEVERE, PERSEVERE! What is perseverance? Adherence to a course of action, belief, or purpose with steadfastness. To stay the course, to hold steady in the wind, to be firm and resolved about your purpose. I would much rather be flighty, restless and squirrelly (as my dad would say). If you have seen a squirrel trying to cross the road in a frantic, confused manner, you can picture how I usually live my life.

Persevering means to continue on a course even when it’s lost its pizzazz, sparkle and newness. It’s looking at the path far ahead and plotting the right direction. This can be difficult in an instant-gratification society. When you don’t like your job, you quit, when your car loses its new smell, it’s time to upgrade, when your spouse seems dull, you trade them in for a new one.

Anyone who is truly successful has learned to master perseverance. They have experienced all the phases: Phase 1) Newness and excitement. Phase 2) Challenges and overcoming difficulty. Phase 3) Mastery and monotony. Phase 4) Persevering.

I love the first stage. The "what if" stage. The possibilities are limitless. A new love, a new job, a new business, a new house, a new town. It's easy to want to stay in this stage, to live only on excitement. When phase two starts and you feel the slight twinge of discomfort from dealing with challenges and difficulties you are ready to abandon ship. But if you do, you will never make it to the crucial stage: the phase of perseverance. Without it, we give up too soon. With it, the rewards are finally realized, and our efforts and endurance are returned with interest.

It’s not about things, it’s about people

I am about things, not people. I wake up thinking of all the things I need to accomplish. This habitual “multi-tasking” leaves me concentrating on my to-do list. If you need my time, let me know and I can pencil you in. So how does being about things and not people ruin you?

Life is about people. Some people alter who we are. Others let us change them. It’s like the tides: you can’t control them, you just learn to appreciate the high and lows. How long would you be happy without people? We need them just as much as they need us. How much of our happiness is dependent on things?

The people who make the biggest impact on our lives are never about things. They appreciate your value. They cherish their relationships, and that is what makes them rich. My dad was one of these people. He always found the time just for you. I always thought I was one of the few my dad would call regularly, but at his funeral I realized he kept in touch with everyone. His life was about people.

When we base our lives around things, people get crowded out. We miss the precious moments that can never be duplicated. We don’t enjoy the laughter, we have no time for solitude, we miss the abundance of the little things around us. The most valuable treasure is our memories. We never remember how much that car loved us, or how great that television treated us. The inanimate things fade from our minds. But we do remember how our children smelled, how someone felt in our arms, the sound of our favorite laugh, the sparkle of adored eyes. These are small things that happen every second of every day. They make an imprint on our soul, never to be erased. Life is about people, not things.

Appreciation is a protection

Saying my son hates the dentist is an understatement. After eight cavities, he knows what going to the dentist involves. We usually tell him the morning of his appointment. This will be followed by crying and moaning, until the dreaded event arrives. When it’s all over and the dentist gives him a wink with the words, “No cavities,” he will sigh and say, “That wasn’t so bad.” Yet I know that in another six months we will repeat the same routine.

His fear of the dentist does motivate him to do one thing: he will spend an exorbitant amount of time brushing his teeth each evening. He will floss, use a special mouthwash, and take as many preventative measures as he can to avoid the agony of another cavity.

In any relationship, appreciation is the preventative care. In order to have a good marriage, you must have two appreciators; two people who are indebted to each other, who overflow with gratitude, who never forget to acknowledge the other person’s efforts. Appreciation can be self-centered. It’s the realization that your life would not be the same without this amazing person. But at the same time it requires you to take the focus off yourself and put it on someone else. It’s not assuming that this person knows how you feel, it’s expressing it. Appreciation is treating a person with dignity: bestowing honor, giving worth, adding to their self-respect.

Why is this one preventative measure so hard for people to perform? One reason is that appreciation requires time and effort. It’s like cooking a good pot of chili: the more you let it simmer, the better it taste. If we slow down and reflect on our lives, the better the appreciation will be. It‘s easy to be rushed, overwhelmed and annoyed. This leads to complaining, fault-finding and minimizing. A second reason is that some people have never been appreciated. They have never heard the words, “I am proud of you,” “Thank you for being a part of my life,” “You are an amazing person.” So to them, showing appreciation feels like getting their teeth pulled. You have to tug and wrench on them before they will show an ounce of gratitude.

I have witnessed a lack of appreciation, and it can be as painful to watch as seeing my son get a cavity filled. I have seen someone’s hard work go unnoticed. I’ve observed efforts go unrewarded. Failure to appreciate is like the sweet, syrupy foods that get stuck in your teeth, slowly starting the decay, forming holes in a relationship. Appreciation is the toothbrush and toothpaste. It is the preventative measure that you perform every day, to keep your loved ones healthy and happy. In any relationship, appreciation is a clinically proven cavity protector.

Get Out of Jail Free card

My dad’s philosophy was that every child should have a Get Out of Jail Free card. That meant that he would bail each of his children out of jail for free, one time. He was not encouraging jail time, but seemed to understand that if we made the huge mistake of getting arrested, we would need his help. The good part is that he was able to use this for each of his children.

My brother was the first to use his card. Because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong friends, doing the wrong thing, he managed to end up in the county penitentiary. In his defense, he still claims that the drug paraphernalia the police found in his pocket was not actually his. So in the middle of the night my brother used his one and only phone call, to let my dad know that he would be cashing in his Get Out of Jail Free card.

My sister was the second. Being a nurse and never having a run-in with the law, my dad realized she might never need to cash in her card, so when the time came for her to buy her first home he gave her the down payment. He called it her Get Out of Jail Free card.

I was the third and last one to use my card. I cashed mine in for an all-expenses-paid, absolutely unforgettable trip to Disneyland with my dad. He was generous beyond compare, and even though we had to suffer through “It’s a Small World (After All),” it was much better than a night in the slammer.

So what lessons did I learn from my dad’s funny generosity? That most parents would never even consider the idea that their angels could end up in jail, but my dad did. When and if it did happen, we knew that we had someone to call. It also taught me, once again, that my dad loved us all, unconditionally. He knew we would make mistakes, and he was realistic in his expectations. We were not chastised for our bad decisions, but were given a second chance. And we were also rewarded for our good decisions.

As a parent, I hope that if I get a phone call at 3 a.m. from the local sheriff, I will calmly tell my child they can cash in their one Get Out of Jail Free card, and if I never get that phone call I will find an amazing way to let them cash it in anyway.

You need them

Why was my first phone call after my dad died to my mom? Because I needed her. I needed her strength in order to break the news to my sister. No matter how old we are, we still need our parents. We know that even if our mates or significant others don’t believe in us, our mom and dad will. They have the ability to support us the way no other human can.

My dad would tell me that he only heard from my brother in rough times. If things were going smoothly in my brother’s life, my dad wasn’t needed, and my brother could depend on himself. Sometimes, though, we reach the point emotionally when we don’t have the strength to take care of ourselves. Maybe it’s a tragic event, a bad week or some unexpected news. We manage to hold it together emotionally for our children, our mate, our friends. Then our mom or dad walks into the room and we break down like a little baby.

No matter how badly your parents treat you, no matter how old you are, you need them. I am a married woman with an amazing husband and three children of my own, but I will tell you that without a doubt the hardest part of losing my dad was that I still needed him. When I was a teenager, it may have been for superficial things: to borrow his car, to help me fix mine, gas, food, money—all those things you need as an adolescent.

But as I grew older, I needed his support, his understanding, his strength. All those times when your parent is the only one who will do. So the next time you feel like an independent and capable grown-up, take the time to appreciate your parents when you don’t need them, because the day may come when you do.

When did you need your parent's the most? Please feel free to comment.

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I drove my parents crazy

I feel deceitful. I have managed to trick the universal forces that my mother set in motion with the infamous words, “I hope your children are just like you!” I am blessed, and a little sneaky, to have basically escaped this curse. Most of the time I have three manageable, kindhearted, easygoing children.

And then there are the other days. Days that make me wonder what I did to deserve this. Those are the days when my childhood flashes before me and it all becomes clear. I remember the days of driving my own parents crazy. There are certain personality traits that make a child loveable, that draw adults to them. I’m pretty sure I didn’t have any of them. I was at the opposite end of the spectrum. I didn’t have looks, so I learned to rely on my personality, and boy, did I have a lot to offer! I was extremely picky, exceptionally whiny, painfully shy and gravely serious.

I know I was whiny, because I actually remember my mom telling me, over and over again, to “STOP WHINING!” I hated everything my mom made, except sweets. I was sure that all adults would kidnap me, and prevented this from happening by staying in the house at all times. My parents would tell me “It’s okay if someone takes you, because they will bring you back.” I don’t remember laughing much, and took myself and others very seriously. I was afraid of my own shadow, and was without an ounce of hand-eye coordination. To top it off, I thought I was an adult trapped in a child’s body. I couldn’t understand why my mom would make me leave the room for adult conversation. My parents nicknamed me “Memorex,” because not only did I love listening to adult conversation, I would repeat it word for word at the most inopportune times.

I imagine my parents developed qualities of patience, endurance, longsuffering and mildness every day of my childhood. So on those days when I am ready for a nervous breakdown, I have to laugh, think of myself as a little girl and thank the stars that my children are not even close to the child that I was. Hallelujah!


What did you do as a child that would have drove your parents crazy?

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Loss is inevitable

There are two types of loss, and I have experienced them both. The first type involves losing touch with a person for one reason or another. This is the loss suffered from broken relationships, severed ties, damaged alliances. The other person is still living, just without you.

I felt this loss when my parents divorced. It was the first time my dad was gone. The man I knew, who gave me life, was no longer a part of mine. He had moved to Arizona searching for comfort from his own mother, sister and brother. The impact of the divorce left a crater in his heart. Who better to fill it than his children? That is what his sister hoped, when she brought us for a visit. But that is not what happened. After driving for ten hours, we saw my dad for ten minutes. At the time, I did not comprehend the depth of this loss. It wasn’t until I had my own children that I understood why my dad chose not to see us. His life was dark; it centered on alcohol, depression and hopelessness. Thankfully, this loss was temporary. After a few years, my dad found his spirit and started putting his life back together, which included seeing his children again.

The second type of loss is even more devastating, because it’s permanent. It’s the unimaginable loss of a family member. It might be a mate you have spent your life with, the person who brought you into this world or a child that was a part of you. It really doesn’t matter who it is; we all feel the same: utterly devastated. Everything in our world is thrown into to the air and, unfortunately, it never seems to land in the same spot.

The agony of loss has no limits—it’s endless. But it can still teach us a valuable lesson. This is what it has taught me: there are no guarantees in life, you may never heal, life is never what you expect, things are not always fair. Even though these realizations may seem morbid, they have changed how I view my life. They have taught me that, no matter how much it hurts, loss is inevitable.


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Love, the unconditional kind

The day I got married, I took a vow that went something like this : “I, Aubrey, take you, Jonathan, to be my lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part.” These vows are spoken every day; they are also broken every day. But unspoken vows can be more important than uttered promises.

The love I have for my husband is not the same adoration I have for my family. Marital love is based on conditions. If your spouse cheats on you, abuses you, steals from you, lies to you, or ends up in prison, it usually affects how you feel about him or her. This can lead to divorce court or embarrassing yourself on Judge Judy.

That’s not the love most family members have for each other. I feel differently about my children than I do about my mate. If my children cheated, stole, lied, or ended up in prison, my love would not change. I might be embarrassed by their choices, but I would still love them as much as I did yesterday. This is the absolute love that you share with your flesh and blood. It’s not one many people talk about, but it is one I have seen displayed over and over again.

My parents demonstrated this hopeful love with all three of their children. They believed in us, they wanted the best for us, and they recognized hidden greatness, even if it might not have existed. I am pretty sure my parents did not make this vow the day I was born: “I take thee, little baby Aubrey, to be my family, in absolute love, unconditionally. For dumber or smarter, in bad choices or good. Through jail time, addictions, evictions, even when you’re misunderstood. I will hope for the best, with no expectations, and will hold your hand through all your afflictions.” They may never have uttered those words, but I have seen them in action, and it gives me confidence that, no matter what poor or wise decisions I make, whether or not they express it in words, my family will always be there with open arms to show me love—the unconditional kind.

We all live with our mistakes

This goes hand in hand with forgiveness, because sometimes we think it is our job to punish people for treating us badly. “I’m going to make them pay!” “They’ll regret ever hurting me.” “I’ll get them back!”

But I have some good news for you! When someone has a tendency to treat people badly and does not take others’ feelings into account, they will end up hurting themselves more than anything you could ever do to them. I’m not saying this will happen overnight. And sometimes we may not think it’s a mistake at the time. Take, for example, a parent who works excessively and does not have time to spend with their children. They may reason: I am working hard so that I can provide a nice home, clothing and a comfortable lifestyle for my kids. Truthfully, those are all good things, and there is no right answer. The problem will come twenty years from now, when the children are grown. How will they feel? Will they be thankful that you provided them with an abundant home, designer clothing and all the best money can buy, or will they be resentful because they felt you were never around when they needed you most?

Or let’s use a more black-and-white decision as an example: to have an extramarital affair. You can do it—many people do—and you probably won’t get arrested, but what consequences will you have to live with from that one mistake? Divorce, guilt, loss of trust. You may not see the consequences right away, because you are caught up in the moment, but there will be consequences and they will produce a ripple effect for years to come.

My parents, my grandparents, my aunts, my uncles, my brother and my sister, as well as myself, are all living with our mistakes. No one can do more damage than we can do to ourselves. So when you feel like it’s your job to get even, just step back and smile, fully confident that things have a funny way of coming back around.

Forgiveness is the ONLY option

I consider myself to be a logical person, so I have explored all of my options. Here they are: resentment, anger, bitterness, blame, hate. Truthfully, I have tried them all on for size. Do you know which one fits best? None of them. They all felt uncomfortable to me. I have seen many lives ruined from not letting go of the hurt people have caused them.

Let’s say you’re in your twenties, thirties or forties. You’ve jumped around from relationship to relationship, you’re broke, rely on medication or alcohol to deal with reality, and you relive all the past hurts inflicted on you. What right did they have to say that to you? How dare they treat you that way! Those many little conversations you have in your brain when you’re all alone. All those feelings of anger, hurt and resentment. Never directed at yourself; always at others. They are the reason you are broke, homeless, divorced, addicted.… So let me ask you: how far has that gotten you? Has it benefited you in any shape or form?

I am going to go out on a limb to say that every family member you know has been hurt at one time or another. Imagine two siblings with the same parents, raised in the same household. One turns out to have a happy life and the other only finds misery. What is the difference? Forgiveness.

This is probably the hardest lesson I have had to learn. To forgive is to grant pardon without harboring resentment. Do you know how hard that is? How many people actually do that? That’s not to say you were not hurt, maybe severely. You may never want to see that person again. But for your own sake, can you forgive and move on?

What if every time you felt anger, resentment, blame, bitterness and hate it cost you $100, and every time you showed forgiveness (even to yourself), you earned $100. How long would it take you to change? Could you change? We all can … it just requires more effort than we are willing to invest. Forgiveness is hard work. It does not come naturally. From this point on, think of forgiveness as the ONLY option.

It’s our quirks that make us lovable

First off, let me define quirkiness: a peculiar behavior; idiosyncrasy. Now, I want you to think about those you love the most. What is it that made you fall in love with them? If you could describe their personality in three words, what would they be? What peculiar behavior makes them who they are? We all have unique characteristics: some of us are creatures of habit, some are frugal, some are blunt, some are hermits, some are flaky. If you died tomorrow, what would people remember most about you? What would make them laugh when they reminisced. I have found that most of these peculiar behaviors are actually subconscious, developed over years of adapting to the life we have been given.

I learned this valuable lesson after my dad died. I realized that it was his quirkiness that I missed the most. I missed his ability to tell the same joke over and over, making himself laugh every time. I missed his unorthodox outlook on life. I missed his love of the transient lifestyle. I missed his exaggerated stories. I missed his passion for eccentric music. These peculiar behaviors added to his lovability. Was my dad the only quirky one in my family? Unfortunately not.

I discovered that my mom, who might not appear quirky on the surface, has her own peculiar behavior. We lovingly call it W.C.S. She has the ability to tell you the Worst Case Scenario in every situation. This may not seem like a bad trait, until you are in a San Francisco elevator with her and she tells you how horrible it would be if a large earthquake were to hit at that precise moment. Or when you are ready to board an airplane and she tells you how many birds she saw on the landing strip, and how likely they are to get caught in the engine of the plane.

Almost everyone around us has some sort of behavior that makes them stand out. You can allow these qualities to irritate you or you can savor them, laugh about them and store them in your file for later, because those same quirks are what make us lovable, especially when we are gone.

I am really not adopted

Have you ever heard of children who find out they are adopted? It shatters their world. Everything they thought they knew about themselves is not true. They may have a need to find their biological parents and start a lifelong quest for answers.

That is not me! My dream was actually the opposite. I had this childhood fantasy that I was switched at birth, and that someday my real family would figure it out and come and rescue me. They would be wealthy and refined, loving and kind.

When I was a teenager, this dream came very close to reality. Applying for a social security card, I had to fill out a form listing all the information on my birth certificate. So I listed my parents’ names, dates of birth and so on. When I approached the counter, the woman looked it over and said, “I’m sorry, but the names of your parents that we have on record do not match those you listed.”

My heart began to race. Was my dream coming true? I knew it!
“Can you tell me who my real parents are?” I asked.
She replied, “Sorry, that is confidential information.”

Oh, how high my hopes were running. I soon returned with my birth certificate, listing my supposed parents. When she wasn’t looking I snuck my head around to peek at the computer screen. I had to know. Who were these secret parents of mine?

The names on the screen were Herb and Evelyn. What? My grandparents? Of course, they had been mistakenly listed as my real parents. Oh well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.… I left, with my shattered dream.

I will admit that, even as an adult, I still wonder if there was a mix-up at the hospital. But would I really be happy if you told me today that my family was not really my family? Probably not! I would then inherit another family that would have just as many quirks and probably be just as dysfunctional. What if they were worse? I’ll stick with the family I know, and appreciate the fact that I am really not adopted.

Maybe they’re the normal ones

I have spent many days talking to others about my family’s crazy antics, and have enjoyed quite a few laughs at their expense. My dad, who has an amazing sense of humor and is one of the few who did not move to North Carolina, would call on a weekly basis and we would joke about my mom’s side of the family, whom he knew all too well. I think he got a sense of satisfaction from it.

Then, early one morning, I got the worst phone call of my life. My healthy, vibrant dad had suddenly died!

My sister and mom (who had divorced him twenty years earlier) had to fly out to California for his funeral. Now, you may believe that grief brings out the worst in people, and I am sure that is true for some individuals. But soon after arriving, I realized something profound: my dad’s side of the family, which I was rarely around, was just as crazy as my mom’s. That was the first phase of this light-bulb moment. The second phase came when I was talking to an old friend and telling him a story about my grandfather, who was on the top of my most-embarrassing list. My friend jokingly said, “Have you ever thought that maybe you’re the weird one and they’re the normal ones?”

Had I ever thought that? Not in a million years! But I couldn’t shake the comment. Maybe it’s because deep in my core I knew it might be true, but I didn’t dare admit it. What if I was the weird one? I had always felt different from the rest of my family. The puzzle piece that never quite fit, the incorrect color, the misaligned pattern, the piece that you were sure was in the wrong box. Everyone else seemed to have weird idiosyncrasies, but not me, I was the most functional normal of them all … or was I? This may be a sobering realization, but if you have gone through your whole life thinking you are normal and everyone else is weird, you may be wrong. That actually is the bad news. The good news is: we really don’t know what normal is anymore, so if 99% of people act a certain way and you are the 1% who doesn’t, who’s the odd bird? I realized that it was me.

In a way, this is a liberating feeling, because I can stop trying to be normal and finally let some of my quirky personality shine through. It’s actually fun joining the majority!

They make you stronger

Being part of a dysfunctional family is much like getting an immunization shot. As a parent, you know the agony involved: the dreaded anticipation, holding your own flesh and blood down as the nurse quickly stabs multiple needles into a little leg, the tears, the aches that last for days and the trauma of willfully inflicting pain on your beloved child. So why do we allow it? First, for the stamps that will be required before your bundle of joy can even dream of starting school. And second, you hope the injections will somehow protect your child from a preventable disease. The little amount of a toxic illness injected into the bloodstream will actually make your child’s immune system stronger.

A similar thing happens when you’re born into a broken family. As a child, you’ll experience multiple stabs, many tears, long-lasting aches and trauma that is willfully inflicted by your parents. If you’re fortunate, you may realize at an early age that these small toxic substances that you were exposed to on a daily basis will eventually make you stronger. Better yet, they may help you avoid the dreaded disease in the first place.

I am not a sculpted masterpiece, and neither is my family. We are more like an average coffee cup that has been dropped, broken and glued back together. We still serve a purpose, but you will always be able to see the cracks. I hope that, despite the imperfections, you will still appreciate the usefulness of these lessons.

I am thirty-four, with a husband and three children of my own. Like most of us, my life has turned out quite differently from what I had imagined. There is no perfect world and no perfect family—and mine is no exception to that rule. Despite their obvious flaws, I am forever indebted to my family because of the life lessons they have taught. I have not been able to avoid the dreaded disease of being dysfunctional, but the small toxic substances I have been exposed to on a daily basis have made me much stronger.