Day Twenty Three- The Ground is so Small From the Highest Tree

    In the park near our house when I was in middle school there was the tallest pine tree all by itself, growing in the field.
    It whispered, "Climb me. To the top. Where my branches touch the cloudy Oregon sky."
    For a while I ignored the tree, knowing that it was bit higher than my Mom would want me climbing. I can't say for sure how high it was, I'm horrible at judging distance, my brother Chris, would probably know since he was often there with me, wanting to climb the same tree. But it was definitely taller than four or five stories, which was off limits to us.
   One day though, the tree was extremely loud and we decided we were going to climb the tree...all the way to the top.
    The absolutely wonderful thing about trees in Oregon are their solid branches that grow densely together. It's perfect for tree climbing, which Chris and I had done plenty of times. There's a few rules to remember when climbing a tree.
   1. Don't step on branches thinner than your wrist. That's just asking for trouble.
   2. If you start to step onto a branch and the tree groans and complains and screeches at you, perhaps you should pick another branch. Listen to the tree.
   3. Ignore sap, it's sticky but Mom's are great at getting it out of your clothes. They may roll their eyes at you when you hand them your clothing in a sticky bundle of fresh tree sap but they will get it out. They're amazing, Moms.
  4. Windy days are for flying kites, not climbing trees.
  And finally.... 5. Don't climb so high that the ground is now so small it has became a deadly weapon should you fall on it.

   I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. I love climbing trees and this one was tall with the perfect amount of branches.
   I grabbed the first branch and hauled myself into the tree. It had that fresh scent of pine that they try to bottle but will never succeed because humans can't duplicate the natural part of a smell. Somehow your nose will always know.
   Chris started climbing the other side and we made quick time as the branches had grown just like a ladder. They were never far apart and they were all nice and sturdy. Every once and in a while we would peek out of the branches, noticing how the park was growing smaller and smaller.
   But still we climbed.
   Then my brother, who was younger than me, stopped. He was not going any higher.
  I was in middle school, the big sister and the family tree climber. I wasn't going to stop. So higher and higher I went. It was amazing. The tree was so well built all the way to the top. Most of the time a tree starts to tamper out too thinly before you can reach anywhere near the top, so you have to stop...it's rule number 1 and 2. But this tree, having grown in the middle of the field didn't have to share nutrients from the ground or any rain water. It was king.
 
   I climbed until the branches finally were too small near the top. The palm of my hands were scratched from the rough bark and covered in sap but I was grinning. I took a look around me and was amazed that I could see over most of the other trees, across the neighborhoods surrounding the park, and past the sugar beet field growing on the other side of the running track, I could see my friend's houses and I could see a vast expanse of cloudy Oregon sky.
   And then I looked down...and down and down...to where my brother stood so tiny against the green grass that was so far away. My stomach lurched and my throat tightened. I gripped the tree tighter and felt a bit sick.
   I had never felt afraid of being high up in a tree before. Ever. But I had never climbed so high up either. A gentle breeze blew across my cheek and I really started to realize just how far above the ground I was. If I were to fall, I would die. The thought was that simple and that direct.
   The view was stunning but I suddenly had this intense and pounding need to touch the ground again but my hand wouldn't let go of the branch I was on. My fingers had suddenly started thinking for themselves and they refused to do anything that had to do with letting go of the tree.
   Being the wildly creative person I am, I suddenly starting wondering if the fire trucks could reach me and how would they pluck me out of this tree and would they even drive on the grass to get me, or would that grouchy park manager that always scowled at me send them away because he didn't want his grass messed up? Would they leave me up here? And oh, boy, how mad would Mom be if she found out I climbed this far up into the tree. She would never allow me to go to the park again. I would be grounded. I was too old to be grounded. Urghh. I could not live in a tree even though it is a very Oregon thing to do.

    Finally my thoughts turned back to my fear and knowing I couldn't allow it to win. I refused to live up in the tree and I decided I rather conquer the anxiety coursing through my veins than have to send my brother to fetch Mom. Parents can be great motivators. :)
   Slowly, I made my way down the tree, my heart pumping quite fast and sweat dripping down my back. What had I been thinking? Apparently, there were trees that were just too high to climb, no matter how great and thick their branches were.
   I jumped onto the ground, wanting to kiss it. I had always wondered why they did that in movies, it seemed so yucky, but now I understood. There is something immensely wonderful and grand about the ground...and your feet actually touching it. 
   Chris stared at me and I simply stared back. He knew I had went too far. But we both knew that we wouldn't speak a word of it to our parents. Perhaps when when we were thirty. We left that pine tree king alone for the rest of the time we lived there. It had somehow earned immunity from our tree climbing.
   The rest of the trees had not and we spent a great deal of time climbing them. I was not going to let that moment of fear in the tallest tree keep me grounded.

   I tell this story because there are some things we can't learn from the confines of our houses, watching television or chatting on the computer. We have to be outside, in nature, learning from all of creation just how far we can push ourselves. To be able to recognize the pounding of our own heartbeat, pushing ourselves pass our fears to accomplish the tasks before us. It is sometimes the closest I feel we can be to God in this physical world we inhabit.
   So I give thanks that through a simple pine tree I learned that only my silly fears keep me from climbing higher on this journey of faith.
  But I have to say, I wouldn't mind a parachute some times either. :)

Day One- Teenage Parents

  


  I seethed with all the rage my fourteen year old self could muster...which didn't amount to much as I was the good sibling. So a very unflattering glare, accompanied by a loud, childish stomping tantrum up the stairs was my rebellion.
     Followed by slamming my bedroom door.
     There. That would show them.
     Those uncaring, non understanding, always telling me what to do-
     PARENTS!!

    They simply didn't get me. I know they didn't. How could they? There were old and couldn't understand what it was like to be a teenager. Especially if they were going to laugh at me while I was trying to make a statement with my purposeful stomp up the stairs.
    I threw myself onto my bed, staring up at the ceiling, clearly experiencing the most horrible of ordeals- A teenager trying to talk with her parents.
     Were all parents so tough to communicate with?
      They didn't even speak the same language as me.
      And they weren't any fun. All they did was work, clean and drive us kids around.
     I flipped on my music and ignored the happy family sounds coming from downstairs.
    After a while of pouting I was bored but unwilling to leave my room. What to do?
    I idly sifted through my special box. Silly things, precious things, just a small collection of my first fourteen years of life. Nothing real special. And then...photos of my very young teenage parents, smiling shyly into the camera, looked up at me.
     My Dad wore a blue long sleeve shirt with a seventies styled print on the front. He was barely eighteen and was already taking on the responsibilities of a wife and child. But he smiled.
     My Mom was beautiful in her high school photo, wavy blond hair, much like a Charlie's Angel, dressed in a blouse of red, brown, and orange. She had taken her glasses off and her brilliantly blue eyes sparkled.
    They had been teenage parents back when society wasn't quite as demanding, as say the fifties, for having to wed just for the baby. But it was still expected and assumed.
    My Mom said they didn't marry just because I was coming along though. They married because they were madly in love with each other. I always thought that was cool. Probably the start of my wildly romantic notions.

    My fourteen year old self sighed at the photos. They weren't much older than me and suddenly they had found themselves trying to raise a baby without any higher education, or great job prospects.
    The idea of it was frightening. I could never imagine being such a young mom. Ever.
    I flopped back on my bed, still mad at them but wondering how they did it. How did they raise me while being kids themselves? It must have been so difficult.

    Years later, I look back at my young self and my lack of understanding. Without having the experience of being a grown up and having my own children, answering those questions wasn't possible at the time.
    How had they done it? Through the rough start, poor paying jobs, crappy apartments, health issues and not much family support, how had they pulled it off?
    My answer leads me to love. It started with love and it is what has driven most of their decisions.


    They met in high school, surprisingly I live just a mile or two away from it even though I spent my childhood 1100 miles away from where the path of my remembered existence started.
    (I don't recall the time before my birth. Although, I would love to. Abu, when she was a toddler would always tell me about the angel house she was waiting in before her birth. Probably just fanciful stories of a small child but I will always wonder...)

    Anyway, it was a typing class that changed their life. I'm not sure if they learned how to type in that class or if they were too busy exchanging giggles, blushes, and grins.
    But I am completely grateful that they were forced to take that class together.

   From there, they were together and some time when my Mom was seventeen I was on my way. Ready or not.  With a great amount of courage and stubbornness and with the help of a special teacher my Mom graduated from high school.
   I will always feel gratitude towards that teacher, even though I never met her. She was there for my Mom, helping her accomplish something that was important for my Mom to be able to say 'I did it.'
    Angels come in all shapes and sizes.
  
    My parents married and from there on out it was full speed into motherhood and unfortunately the eighties. :) Luckily, her taste in music was hard rock not Madonna or Tiffany. Thank you Mom!

   Until I became a parent I never realized just how tough it must have been for them. How many hard decisions and difficult times they endured all in the name of love.
   Love for each other.
   Love for me and then my siblings.

  So on Day One of my blessings I find that the path to reclaiming my faith starts with love.

  I think it might even be the main ingredient.

  I thank my parents for giving me that firm and unshakable foundation. I hope and pray for my readers that they had someone in their own childhoods that gave them that same starting point. If not a parent; perhaps a grandparent, teacher, coach or neighbor.
   Call them, if you can and tell them thanks.

   I wish my fourteen year self had known just how important and tough her hippie wannabe parents were... if she had, she wouldn't have spent the next year finding trouble. (grin)

Why We Need Good Dads

     I think every child should be blessed with great parents. The world would be such a better place if everyone had parents that were responsible, caring, generous, and  followed the golden rule. And since today is Father's Day, lets talk about Dads in general. Because where would we be without great Dads?
     This discussion is going to stick to the things that make a wonderful Dad. I'm not talking about the males that deposit their 23 chromosomes, a monthly check and a whole lot of heartache. Just about any guy can become a parent, not all of them make a good Dad. 
     I have a great Dad and I know it. I try not to take that fact for granted. And maybe because I realize just how lucky I am, most of my stories feature characters that are orphans and they have to find their own way in the world.
      Now Dads are completely and wonderfully different than Moms. (Great Moms are a blessing too and since I didn't have the time to write about them around Mother's Day, sometime this summer I will discuss them).
     Here are five rough and tumble ways why Dads earn a day of appreciation.
    
     #1. Moms are usually in charge of our nutritional needs, that's why cookies are outlawed before dinner time, for breakfast and in quantities of more than one. But Dads don't know these rules. They appreciate a good chocolate chip or peanut butter cookie. So the rule in my house was if you wanted a second cookie or absolutely needed one right before dinner, bypass Mom (who was busy anyway) and ask Dad. Not only would he say yes, he would join you and usually share more than one too.

      #2. Nice days are for mowing the grass and raking leaves. But Dads love the idea of taking it easy too. They're almost always up to an extra game of catch, an afternoon of fishing, a hike through the park or an all evening bike ride.

      #3. Bedtime to a Dad, unless he's trying to watch a television show or check emails, means that it is time to get rowdy. This, for some odd reason to a Dad, is the best time to chase the kids around the house causing them to scream, hide and giggle. It's the perfect time to toss small children so high in the air Moms are sure kids are going to end up bruised. And then when the kids are completely wound up and using their beds as trampolines, Dads decide to go back to what they were doing and it's Mom's time to tuck them in.


      #4. Dads understand that Moms are just being overly nervous about the entire learning to drive thing when Moms come home from teaching you how to drive and they're threatening to never take you out again. I beg to differ, the line of cars parked along the side of the road were still half an inch away from my car and were in no danger of being side swiped. Dads understand this and they will risk getting into the car with you so you can finish learning to drive. And besides they make you feel better when you fail your first driving test.

      #5. They believe in you. They're the first ones to let go of the back of the bike, to have the patience to teach you to skip rocks and have enough faith in you that eventually you can learn algebra. At least enough of it to pass the math class. And they won't even tell anyone that you were crying over negative and positive numbers.


     Bonus Reason: They're also the last threat in Mom's arsenal of weapons. If she has already used your full name, grounded you and took away your favorite show, then if she reaches the 'you just wait until your Father gets home...'
     Well, good luck. Because Dads are also good at reminding you that you might have taken it too far. Frustrating but it helps you turn into a decent human being. :) 

      So I don't have a study to reference to prove my point. But I have to conclude anyway,  I know we need good Dads in the world. My Dad is eating ice cream sundaes with his grandkids this afternoon and still enjoys getting the children wound up at just the 'right' time.
      Hero hottie gets a whole big grilled dinner with lots of manly foods and plenty of hugs from his children. I'm a lucky gal, I had a wonderful Dad and I married a man who is a great Father to our children. So Happy Father's Day to all the men in my life.

P.S.- According to my youngest, Dads are also great because they're like big, hairy gorillas that wrestle you all the time.