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The gift of trust

20 Jun

IF I go to the graduation open house, it will be with you, and I promise we will not stay long, I said. I know you have other things to attend to, but no need to take two cars. It is mainly symbolic for all of us, but could be a powerful symbolism of affirmation and support. Just as they have supported us. We all are wishing one another’s graduates well, and look forward, with a little wince at the anxiety for the one recovering from the head injury, to seeing you all make us proud as you go on growing and finding your calling. Actually, I expect that sometimes they will make me a little envious.Their style has always been of the more lauded kind of success, as in class president and team captain, while yours is more along the lines of being recognized for your quiet intelligence, your willingness to listen, your slow, deep responses and careful wording. Sometimes you lean away sideways when you speak–did you know that? On one foot, diagonally leaning. yesterday I wondered if I should video that, and show you what it looked like, but didn’t want to imply criticism.

We went early, so we’d make the David Suzuki talk at eight, and right away your dad found a fellow college alum he hadn’t met before, and they brought up one of his favorite subjects for light conversation–the football glory days, and deeper conversation–theology and spirituality. The other man was darkly tanned, and his blue eyes contrasted with the brown of his handsomely weathered skin. He probably sails, I thought.

I was introduced, made my taco salad, hung around a little, then moved off among the family’s friends and relatives with whom I was not acquainted, until I saw the round, smiling face of Mary, whom I hadn’t seen in years. Had she recovered from that brain surgery years ago? Seemingly. At least she still had that gently, humorous sweetness I remembered, though her brown curly hair had been lightened, easing into grey–she smiled and lifted her hat to show me. Compared to her steady gaze I felt as if I my glance shifted often, and I wondered whether I wasn’t sufficiently “comfortable in my own skin”. Had to settle down to allow her to discern me full on, as she stood closer than most people do, and said less, smiling. She was safe to be around, even comfortable, and I stayed there until someone else came along to enjoy her company. I like it when someone takes the time to try to penetrate the mask

For a while I watched the young people play badminton in the back yard. Such a mild and innocuous celebration, a real contrast to the one I was part of after my grad, where a set of well-to-do parents lent their beachfront cottage to swimsuit clad, alcohol-sodden minors and hung around the fringes to laiser them faire ce qu’ils voulaient. Those parents were from the sixties, all grown up and well heeled, but maybe nostalgic, living vicariously through their youth. What were they thinking? Thank heaven for allowing me to avoid the worst of the stupid paths I could have walked down that night, between the fine, cold, white sand and  clumps of saw grass, passing figures in pairs giggling in the dark. Some of my better instincts were working, at least.

The sun had shone all day, all week and it felt like mid July already. Tans, cool drinks, parents borrowing grad gowns, parties popping up all over town. My son came over to me by the deck rail to inform me he was getting a drive with a swim teammate to another grad celebration. I send him off with good wishes and trust.

The next day, my daughter alluded to something she had heard–and she exhibited a certain disdain for the friend who had shared this gossip–that my son did not always make wise choices. Not being specific, and I didn’t ask. She said she wished she didn’t even know, and that her friend would mind her own business. I tried to give the friend the benefit of the doubt, having known her since she was a preschooler, and heard many a news flash inaccurately told, all in an attempt to build connections between people.

But the implication hit me hard all the same. Not making wise choices? What had she heard? I felt a kind of grief, of disappointed expectation, that my son, all of my children, really, might not sail through the temptations of youth unscathed and unfallen. Not very reasonable, but there was the hope. My imagination started working into the present, the future. But not for long, as I am naturally averse to worry and anxiety. I set aside my speculations, and slept well.

A day or so later I obliquely approached the subject of wise choices with my son. He asked what it was about, and I said I was just checking in, because he was out a lot with friends, and I knew that sometimes companions didn’t always make good choices. “Like what?” he asked. I said, like underage drinking, or weed. Though I trusted that he would be a good example, I added, and a driver, if necessary (as my parents had requested of me). But not expecting perfection, I added, and I hope that he wouldn’t feel he had to keep secrets. Unbidden, he said, lightly, on the way to his room, “I solemnly swear never to do drugs.” Which I thought was kind of him. He does not utter words lightly, so I ended in believing that the rumor was another instance of my daughter’s friend getting her facts wrong.

Today my younger teen daughter paid me a great compliment, one which is not erased from my memory by her soon after calling me pathetic and ridiculous (in reaction to a disappointment, I decided). She said that she liked my parenting style, that I trusted my children, and that being trusted made her feel good. This was after being picked up from a friend’s house after a sleepover. I don’t really know the family, though I could see the girl was a solid contributor to my daughters’ school volleyball team, and that the mother had a nice countenance. I told my daughter that I did feel she would make wise choices, and was old enough to discern people to know what environments were good ones. That if I felt she was making unwise choices, I would indeed bring it up. Told her I had appreciated being trusted by my parents too.

Somehow I have accomplished communicating trust, though I do my share of warning, scolding, checking up, saying no, and imagining the worst. So that’s something. I want the to be the foundation of a self-fulfilling prophesy, that our children will surpass us, including in strength of character and wisdom. I choose to believe that, or at least project a trust toward that end.

Meanwhile, soon we’ll be having our own party, and darned if the thought didn’t cross my mind of allowing some alcohol-induced merriment among us of-agers, along with volleyball, bocce, and mingling around the neighborhood pool as the young folks splash around. When do the temptations ever really go away?

 

 

 

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One response to “The gift of trust

  1. jdawgsrunningblog

    June 21, 2015 at 6:57 am

    Changing voice in this piece–begun in one place—ended up in another–very reflective–felt like it would have been enlightening to return to the vein you opened with–either in tone or content–never hurts to add another paragraph. Good luck with your bash!

     

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