The Wilsons

My mom recently posted a comment on a post I wrote a while back. Though a little uncharacteristic as a post on our blog, I decided not to comment on her comment, but to write my thoughts here, out in the open, sharing with y’all a letter to my mom in reply.

I was never ashamed of my parents. In fact, I bragged often about having the best parents in the world.  This (18-30 years old) was a time for me of stretching out, trying new things, wondering and wandering…

On the selfish side, I made my friends a priority, considered people important, but took for granted my family, as always being there.  So I worked hard to be there for others, to maximize trips out to mom and dad’s house working in a way to see two or three other friends.

I never thought - at the time - of it as selfishness, but a product of getting older and somewhat moving on. In fact, many of my friends often commented on how well I was able to stay in touch with all of our college friends after graduating. And I did, but I wasn’t doing that with mom and dad.

We, as a family, had uprooted ourselves from Michigan out to Arizona - a land I spent 3 years in, graduated high school from, and that would become host to one of my biggest life disappointments — for years I would continue to be disappointed about having my opportunity to be Valedictorian stripped from me by an idiot principal such that I ended up Salutatorian.

That sort of tainted Arizona for me, and when I left, I didn’t want to go back.  I didn’t care about that old high school, nor my friends in it.  With college, I made new friends, and came to believe that college friends replaced high school friends as one’s lifelong buddies.  All of that sort of worked against my returning often to Arizona.

We had moved our roots, and I took to moving mine.  I now had two different answers to the questions: where are you from (I quickly replaced AZ with California) and where were you raised (Michigan).  I left little room for Arizona.  So part of my not returning home often, if I really sit down and analyze it hard, is a result of the fact that I busted my a$$ for four years of high school, only to have what I’d worked so hard for taken away from me. It had nothing to do with avoiding mom and dad, but more avoiding Arizona.

Losing the Valedictorianship was a huge blow, bigger than I ever let on around the house before and after I left. My whole life had been about academics, about earning the grade, about being the best in the classroom - and when I got to the end and saw that, even if I finished the best, met my goal, it could easily be stripped from me on the whim of a principal, by someone who could not appreciate the very effort I’d put into that goal, the fact that my identity rested largely with that goal - well, at that point, I just felt like, I wanted nothing to do with Arizona.

And I’ve no doubt that, my identity shift which began that summer when I first set foot on Point Loma’s campus, was a direct result of my previous identity being stripped down. I just didn’t have a desire to “make the grade anymore.” In fact, as I think on this, this may be the very reason that it became harder for me in life to “finish the last paper” in both masters degrees and in my Ph.D.  Because my very first finish line left me with a disheartened experience. To that end, maybe that’s why I never seemed, in my own mind, to finish strong in those degrees, but to eventually just sputter across the finish line.  I’d finished strong once, and the reward I thought it held, wasn’t there.

Having said that… even though I saw us move on from Michigan as a family, one of the things I really failed to recognize during that time, was dad’s commitment to Grandma Jo, to his own mom.  Dad moved, but he maintained his relationship.  I didn’t work as hard at that in college, but I think, I was probably better at it in college and gradually got worse and worse (letting more time pass between calls).  I somehow forgot that my dad called his mom every week, almost without fail.  For whatever reason, I didn’t internalize that own practice.

But never think that I was ashamed of you, mom; I loved you. I just didn’t love Arizona.  It was always, “the place I graduated high school.”  Other than you both, I had no reason to be there. And after my HS experience, I didn’t want to be there.  When the principal made me Salutatorian, that essentially meant I had failed.  In fact, my first semester at Point Loma, I earned three Bs.  My first Bs since when, like 6th grade? But I didn’t care so much; I’d already been shown that you can work hard for something, legitimately earn it, and have it taken away.

In fact, as I grew to cope with it over the years, one of the things I loved to point out in telling that story was the fact that, at the end of the year, I was alone at the top of my class in GPA.  But since Val and Sal are determined by the end of the first semester, and since the Principal didn’t want co-Val’s when we tied in GPA, I got bumped.

To this day, I always point out to people (like what I wrote in the about us section) that my final high school transcript was hand altered from a class “rank” (see image at above) of #1 to #2, because (my guess), since I was titled Salutatorian, the fact that I ended the year ahead of everyone presented a problem in the class rankings, and so my #1 needed to be a #2 on the records because I’d been chosen to be Salutatorian, not valedictorian.  And yes, I made sure to get and keep a copy of those transcripts, even to this day. LOL. The hand-written 2.  Why couldn’t they just leave it a 1?

Also during this 23-30 time, I was very much wondering about my own life; and if I’d ever get married and be able to start a family.  And I was so bothered, with each year, at how old and how late I’d be starting my family if I ever started one.

You and dad started young, but you made it work.  I remember you making it work.  I wished for years that I could start young, too (at least younger than when I was hitting 25 and still no one, then 26, 27, 28, 29, 30… I was about ready to throw in that towel).  I still fear I won’t see my kids graduate, I won’t see my kids have kids, etc.  I hate that I fear it; but I was 15 when you turned 30 - I always loved that.

In addition to my selfishness, I was really independent; not wanting to be tied down. Heck, I couldn’t stand to live in the same place for more than a year (though I managed to stay in that Pasadena apartment for two - that was a fun little place you picked out, one of my favorites - and ol’ Jack).

It really was a time of growing up. But it hurts to think that you both thought that I was ashamed or loved you less.  I just failed to communicate it.  I’ve told so many people about you and dad in the course of my life. Dad was always my hero. In fact, on numerous college writing assignments, in creative writing, poetry, etc., I wrote about dad.  To me, he was the “man of steel” given his welding past (which at the time was his career his whole life to me).  Being the “man of steel” made him Superman.

Dad has always been the model for me of what true work looks like (even if at times, I’ve avoided it). Dad showed me all his life what work is.  I mean, really, did he ever eat lunch? I watched him time and time again as a kid miss lunch because he was working on something.  He didn’t come in, until it was done.  And some of that has stuck with me all these years.

Now that I have kids, I think often about this. I think about Wil, McKinley and Izzabelle leaving our house. I think about them being like me and traveling/living on the other side of the country, and I think about how as parents we probably know our kid best when they are born, and the rest of life is a process of knowing our kid a little less and less (glass half empty view, I suppose).

And yeah, it hurts to think they may be, as I was, this wanderer who hardly ever calls home, and that the kid I poured my life into may disenfranchise me for a time.

At the same time, the hope that I have always held onto whenever I’ve thought about that was this.  Even when I wasn’t in weekly contact with you both, I always knew how much I loved you; and I’ve always hoped that when my kids leave the house, even if they act as I did; wherever they are, they never doubt my love.

I never doubted your’s and dad’s. Never. Maybe in a sense, it made it easier for me to spend my time wandering out there, because I always knew I had you both.  And the only solace I have about my three little buggers growing up and leaving Melodia and I is the great love I have for you and dad.  Because I know, if they love me as I love you, it’ll be ok… even if I don’t hear from them as often as I want.

But I hear you on your comment on the Christian faith, and this is the challenge for all who claim to be Christian… does our walk and our talk line up?  Sometimes, we think we’re doing it right, and we’re neglicting a whole area of life.

In the end, I’m reminded that this walk is not about perfection but about grace and

mercy, because I will and I do fail all too often.  Unfortunately, it is also true that we may be the only Bible that some people ever read.  I worked so hard among my friends to make sure that they felt loved and important, and yet, I neglected my own family. That’s sad.

But you know, the other day, when I wrote to you on Facebook, and said that you could live with us.  I knew you’d never come to a place with snow again, but at the same time, I wanted you to know - and maybe you didn’t think of it when you saw it there - that that’s where I’m at in life.  I’d love for you and dad to be living with us. I’d love to have you back in my day-to-day life. I miss it.  I’ve been away from it for nearly half my life now, and I want back what I had the first half. 

When I married Melodia, I told her that I envisioned a day when either or both of our parents might need to come live with us (or, at least, as you noted across the street), and I was completely ok with that.  What we have in Buffalo right now, we can’t afford to leave until such time as that decision is largely made for us or impressed upon us.  But both of us lament on a weekly basis how much we wish we were living near our parents (and it’s not just about having babysitters).  We miss our families.  And we are sad that our kids are not growing up around them on a daily basis.  But at the same time, we feel this is where we need to be right now.

I guess, in closing, just know that I love you both; I always have; I just haven’t always been a good son. But thankfully, I don’t live by a theology that suggests that we’re judged by our works. I trust in grace and mercy, and only hope that you have afforded it to me, and that I will afford it to my own children.  The nice thing is I’ve never had to earn your love; the sad thing is, I haven’t always shown you how much I’ve appreciated that fact. Just know, mom and dad, that you are loved by your son, on a daily basis - I may not always be good at demonstrating it in the flesh - but that’s what’s in my heart. I love you both!  -Your son, Lonni.

So yesterday, Lonni and I spent the day washing clothes and cleaning the apartment.  The kids had to fend for themselves most of the day since Papi and I were busy working.

Today, the apartment is as clean as it can be with two toddlers running around, so I have taken some time to spend doing things the kids want to do.

We can’t play outside today because it is cold and overcast.  It just doesn’t inspire me to head outdoors.

If we had some snow we could bundle up and play in it, and if it was sunny we could put jackets on and head out to the sunshine; but it’s just muddy and cold, so we have to entertain ourselves inside.

We spent the morning reading books.  We learned more about  reptiles and dinosaurs (guess who picked the books).

McKinley entertained herself blowing bubbles in the bathtub.  I am also constantly amazed at how stickers can consume a good hour or two of toddler attention.  I don’t really understand the appeal, but it is universal.

So we spent time playing with a sticker book Wil got from Tio Izzy for his birthday.  Now the kids are sitting at their table painting with water.  Oh, the fun!

I tell you, between books, stickers, painting, and the all-time favorite, playdough, I can fill a whole day.

It is amazing that the same things that entertained me when I was little still work today.

Ok, well not so much airing our dirty laundry as a little girl laying in our clean laundry… uh… “helping” mami.

Her idea of helping at 2.5 months?  Actually laying there, not crying for food or a diaper change.  Hey, that is a big help.

At any rate, this little blurb is really just to throw in a recent photo of Izzabelle. We’ve been lucky a couple of nights this week, in that she skipped her 1am wake-up for feeding time and slept from her 11pm time to her 5am feed.  Those were nice evenings.  Now, if we could just get that to be a nightly occurance!

In other news, it’s starting to get more and more chilly here.  We had early am snow on Wednesday, but we didn’t really see it in our area of town.  It was just scattered in a couple of places and melted as soon as it hit the ground.  But, winter’s just about here.  It’s in the 30s in the mornings, and is still managing to make it to 50 in some of the afternoons… but we’re definitely getting cooler.

p.s. Izzy’s eyes are still blue and we’re hoping we’ll have hit yet another “trifecta” with her… one child with brown eyes, one child with green eyes, and one child with blue eyes.  Getting all the diff eye colors.

Actually, I told Melodia yesterday that her hair has hints of red.  A blue-eyed redhead would also give us a brunette, blonde and redhead.  Seriously, where did this kids come from. Is M and I’s gene pool that diverse!  (I don’t really think Izzy will be a redhead, just a funny thought).