The teacher asked us to take notes.
I had no idea what she meant by that.
Pauli saw the panic.
She met me where I was.
She calmed me down and step-by-step, taught me how.
I will never, ever forget her kindness.
“Look for the helpers.” Mr. Rogers said.
I did.
And I still am.
In fact, I’ve become one.
My car broke down.
My dusty, musty, rusty ole’ van that has seen 10 years of abuse by children.
Her rugs are crusted with smashed applesauce.
Dead bugs lie unreachable on the dashboard but close enough to the windshield that I’ve had the privilege of watching them decay for years.
And let’s not forget that my youngest proudly carved the first four letters of her name into the side of it at the ripe age of four.
When faced with the choice of dumping five grand into a vehicle on her final wheels or starting anew, we felt torn.
Ultimately, finances forced our hand, so to the repair shop our trusty van went, and in our driveway, a brand new loaner car, while we waited.
So. Many. Buttons.
The girls had to push them all. Their eyes twinkled with excitement.
And, I admit. It was fun while it lasted.
The new car smell (similar to the allure of a new puppy!). The magnetic phone charger (game changer).
But I was annoyed when my car told on my speed so that my children called me out. I needed my speedometer back.
And I didn’t need my car to lower my side mirror to see the road when I reversed, thank you very much.
I lived in a city and can parallel park in my sleep.
Days went by and as the newness wore off, I realized I missed the familiarity of my old van.
In the age of “House Hunters” in which we are encouraged to update to keep up with the Joneses, I found myself, instead, revering all that I already have.
I walked into rooms in my house that I’d previously seen through a critical eye and I smiled. Grateful for the memories made in each.
I relaxed.
No need to trade in.
No need to keep up.
Time to maintain.
Seek, don’t settle.
That’s pretty much it.
“Just pick up fast food!”
My husband was out of town.
Gosh, if only it were that easy.
I feel like I’ve spent adulthood explaining this notion of “privilege” without realizing I’ve even done so.
Fast food?
That’s privilege, at least for my family.
We have a child with severe food allergies so “fast food” is not an option.
Instead, we have to plan painstakingly ahead.
“You were meant to be her mother.”
Was I, really?
What did I do in my past life to deserve this honor?
That’s what I would like to know.
It’s not her fault and it’s not mine either, or maybe it is- I don’t even know anymore.
What I DO know is that giving grace to any and everyone is the very best thing we can ever do.
Because, how otherwise, could we ever truly know their story?
We cannot.
So, we give grace.
Always, we give grace.
“This is my dad,”
I introduce my step-dad to my boarding school Headmistress.
“And this is my Dick.”
I introduce my biological father.
We all inwardly and outwardly cringe.
“I mean, this is Dick. My father. Dick Parise.”
Crawl in a hole. Die. I’m 15. Please, just let me go ahead and die.
Here they both are- a rare moment- both of my fathers.
The one who created me and the one who raised me.
A chuckle. A laugh. An inward mortification. We move on to pleasantries.
But then came my wedding less than a decade a later.
I’d always imagined both of them on each arm.
But then he said, after their divorce, “You know that would be hard for me.”
I paused and reconsidered the definition of “dad”.
And then, I walked down the aisle with my father.
It’s been a lifetime of regret
For a crime I never committed.
I was born.
The illegitimate of a love affair.
Forever, a child, apologizing for my existence.
I’m so sorry.
And yet, Here I Am.
You’ve welcomed and accepted me,
Flaws, painful memories and all.
I’m so sorry.
I was born.
It’s been a lifetime.
But, here I am.
Here I am.
“Have you eaten breakfast?”
I stared at him, confused.
Milliseconds passed as I wondered what on Earth had prompted my misinterpretation of this question.
Surely he had asked something else.
I was in the Apple store, after all.
He must have seen the perplexed look on my face when he followed with,
“I just know that when we are under stress, we forget to eat.”
I wanted to bawl cry into his arms.
This simple act of human kindness had reduced me to near tears.
I was there on business.
My phone battery was dying mid-day, every day and had been for months and now, as I sat by it, waiting for important calls from doctors, it felt more dire than ever.
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back- the reason I’d finally relented to replace my battery.
And now I found myself in front of this young man, asking if I had remembered to eat breakfast.
“Yes.” I managed. “I don’t normally, but today, I ate.”
He smiled.
And I left with the reminder that, life or death, humanity perseveres.
Camille Vaughan Photography
New Leaf Parenting 