Recalibrating

Tags

Childraising, Faith, Family, Marathon training and running, Parenting, Quakerism

To prepare for my 20th marathon, I ran 9 miles yesterday.

Well, to be more accurate, I ran and walked the miles.

With a milestone marathon in December, friends have wanted to know when and what was my fastest of the 19 so far.

I’ve lost track, so I had to Google to find out. I knew it was in the same city where my daughter was born, but before she was born. As the years go by and numbers accumulate, especially after one becomes a parent, one sometimes needs to double check.

The city and time were correct: a 3:40 in Scranton, Pennsylvania, at the Steamtown Marathon! The number of years ago, though, a bit fuzzy. Now I know: 12.

I ran a 3:40 in 2005.

It might have been my 8th or 9th marathon. I’m not exactly sure. What I do know for sure is that I never ran a faster marathon.

But 3:40 is a nice number to remember. Of course I did not realize at the time it would be my fastest marathon. Nor did I know that five years later, the person for whom I wake up every morning, my daughter, would be born in Scranton. But she was, and Scranton, a city I’ve only been to twice, will always be one of my favorite places on our earth.

So what does the title of this post mean? Isn’t recalibrating an unusual word?

Not for athletes slowing down!

I ran a few more marathons after Steamtown under four hours. Then I took a year off from distance running. When I came back, I accepted that I needed to adjust expectations, that finishing a marathon under five hours was fine.

Now, approaching my 20th marathon, guess what?

If I finish under six hours, as I just barely did for my 19th, I’m grateful.

I’m still out there. Just like yesterday, when I ran/walked 9 miles, my legs at times felt like they did 12 years ago, even if for only a few minutes.

But muscle memories, like many consistent, fond memories, bring joy even if that joy is fleeting.

I know 10 years from now, when we are deciding on a college for Ellen, what I will remember most will be the moments of joy, that all the training, all the perseverance, was worth every mile.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Cliffhanger

Tags

Blogging, Buddhism, Childraising, Community, Down syndrome, Faith, Gay parenting, Girl Scouts, Living in Hawaii, Marathon training and running, Parenting, Trisomy 21, YMCA

Dear Readers,

I love keeping streaks going.

Once I set my mind to something, I usually follow through.

Like writing this blog every day of the year in its first year (except weekends and holidays).

Like writing this blog every weekend (Saturday or Sunday) and every Wednesday in its second year.

Like finishing every marathon I have ever entered.

My entry on Sunday about parenthood promised a conclusion and some backstory.

And here we have Wednesday already!

So here I go.

Last weekend was typical for our family. Our seven-year-old daughter does not believe in sleeping in so The Three of Us were up by six, trying to stay pretty quiet for the neighbors, getting ready for a day of Hawaiian Studies and hula at the YMCA followed by exercise, followed by chores, meals, homework (for our daughter and her two dads for their jobs!), a lovely drive to take in Hawaii that we sometimes forget to do with the rush of everyday life.

Sunday brought a lot of excitement. Our daughter read an aspiration at Temple service. Her fathers squeezed in work. She then was installed as a Brownie at a large gathering of Girl Scouts. Her fathers held back tears and squeezed in a little more work.

Then we visited Ellen’s favorite museum for two hours while her one father tutored to pay for our daughter’s summer school. (We like to plan ahead.)

This father, the author of this blog, took Ellen to her favorite places. We had lemonade. The two hours went by quickly. We met a new family with two young daughters close to Ellen’s age. The girls played games together and really seemed to enjoy each other’s company. The father I met teaches special education. His wife is a specialist in genetics. Our conversation was easy. They both remarked how they could instantly see that Ellen is a smart, alert, and physically strong young girl with great social skills. Full of hope, I gave out my business cards. They could understand why I dream that she one day go to college. They said with a daughter like Ellen, they would do the same.

The girls left the volcano exhibit to play on a great lawn outside. The girls’ laughter filled the air. But the museum was soon closing, Ellen’s other father, who watched from afar, was wrapping up his tutoring. My new friends wanted to leave. We talked about a possible playdate which is such a rare occurrence for our family. Even when Ben and I have invited families to our home, prepared wonderful meals, engaged in fun conversations, we rarely hear back or are offered an invitation in return.

We’ve often wondered if people are a bit scared of their children having friendships with a girl born with an extra chromosome, or with her parents who often feel we come across as a bit needy or too hopeful.

A natural suggestion many people have is to join groups with other families with children with “disabilities,” a term that I avoid, especially around my daughter. It has always been our goal that she hold her own with “typical” children. And so far she has — at school, at the YMCA, at Temple services at Girl Scouts. She is thriving.

But she needs friends. So when at the great lawn at the museum when we were all getting ready to say goodbye, and my daughter inexplicably shoved her new, younger friend out of the blue, my heart stopped. It was not a hard shove, but a clear one. I made Ellen apologize. The girls hugged. The mother assured me her daughters shove each other all the time. But I was crestfallen.

At home, not the calm, steady Quaker I try to be, my voice shook a little when I explained to Ellen that a strong finish is perhaps more important than everything that came before, whether its miles in a marathon, the end of a tennis match or playdate, finishing a semester, the last sentence of an exam or poem.

I don’t know how much of that life lesson she took in. Why should I expect so much from her when I am still reminding myself how valuable strong finishes are?

It is no surprise for me that I have not yet heard from the girls’ parents I met last Sunday at the museum. My disappointment about how the Sunday afternoon ended is less intense now that it is Wednesday. I am, though, waiting for a few miracles to come my way. Maybe they have and I’m just a little too tired to recognize them.

 

 

Mixed Blessings

Tags

Childraising, Early Education, Marathon training and running, Parenting, Quakerism, Trisomy 21

If I were not so exhausted by the weekend, I would elaborate on why every weekend since I became a parent more than seven years ago has been a mixed blessing.

So I will save my ruminations for Wednesday’s post. Suffice it to write that except for 10 seconds, I was proud of my daughter most of an exhausting yet fulfilling weekend that soon will be past. Unfortunately, those 10 seconds came near the end of a lovely Sunday.

I know from thousands of tennis matches and 19 marathons that a good finish really counts. I’ve tried to impart this wisdom, in my imperfect way, to my daughter.

Stay tuned for Wednesday’s post!

 

 

Unfathomable

Tags

1984, Faith, George Orwell, Presidential election

So now the chief occupant of the White House is accusing a congresswoman of fabricating her version of what he told the widow of a slain soldier, that he [the soldier] “must have known what he signed up for.”

Of course he tweeted this morning that he has PROOF to back up his claims about the fabrication.

In my early 20s, I taught teenagers in Austria. Together, we read Nineteen Eighty-Four by George Orwell in German and English.

The teenagers, most of whom had never been outside Austria, took delight in teasing me, an American who has lived his life in both languages and cultures, about how Orwell’s world was really the United States. They would see the slightly embarrassed look on my face, listen to the mild surprise in my voice when I would explain how America is a vast and complex country that has done a lot of good for the world, that it was founded by highly intelligent statesmen who were champions of democracy.

And now we have our current president.

 

The Innocence of a Sunday

Tags

Childraising, Early Education, Education, Faith, Family, Fate, Friendship, Gratitude, Living in Hawaii, Parenting, Presidential election

I’ve always savored Sundays. I loved going to church and everything that came with it and afterward.

If I were with my grandparents, I would sit with them and near my vast family in what was called the German Church in a small town settled by Bavarians in Pennsylvania. To this day, on a rare visit, I love reading the stained glass windows, all in German.

For quiet people, we certainly had plenty of gentle conversations on Sunday mornings, usually with relatives. Most people in that town were related in some way to each other. To my husband’s astonishment, I know many third and fourth cousins. On the rare times I see my Pennsylvania family, I slip into some form of the local dialect that is English but to this day has subtle Bavarian shadings.

I loved the doughnuts or family meals that were part of those Sundays, buying a big city newspaper, and returning to my grandparents’ home on a wooded hill to read it then or later if cousins, aunts and uncles appeared.

I think of those Sundays when I hear my daughter’s sweet voice in the morning, the excitement in her words about what the day holds — for her two dads and Ellen, usually joining the Buddhists, now and then the Quakers, then mixing with the community, then eating, then a trip in the afternoon to her favorite museum.

The news I gather on Sundays is usually on the Internet or on TV. Today, though, I had to turn it off to preserve some innocence in our home. The reporting may be excellent, but the content drains most of the optimism I wake up with. I want to keep my daughter safe as long as I can, for her to savor Sundays and have those memories with her decades later, to hold onto faith, and to know that the world can still be good and fair.

Staying a Little Ahead of the Game

Tags

Faith, Fulbright Program, Gratitude, Growing up gay, Parenting, Presidential election, Quakerism

With so many “weighty” headlines in the world, to borrow a Quaker term, I’ve needed a little more discipline than usual to keep myself centered.

A good friend once gave me this advice during times of too much or too little noise: complete one task, celebrate, complete another. Soon, the checklist will be calming. I love the simplicity and wisdom of her words!

Yesterday, when I was making those checkmarks and thinking about my young daughter and how she finds peace when she needs to, I remembered another technique that has helped me in life in surprising ways: getting a bit ahead of the game.

I wanted to graduate early from college because I couldn’t wait to work full-time! I also wanted to save money. I took a few extra classes each semester. When summer came around, I took a few courses while holding a job. In that way, when the official fall semester began, I felt like I was starting ahead. I graduated in three years.

A year into the working world, I realized I loved it but also wanted to go to graduate school — and live in Europe! I applied for many scholarships. Instead of letting the applications pile up, I tried to fill them out the day I received them. For one, I needed letters of recommendation from college professors. Whom should I ask? I took a day trip to my alma mater, visited a few professors, and asked if they could kindly write a few paragraphs. Fortunately, they said yes, so the money I spent on a round-trip train ticket was worth it even though for this particular scholarship I felt I had no chance!

But I also had a sense of relief when I finished the application a few weeks ahead of the deadline, fully expecting many more application deadlines in the next several months.

Guess what? I received a Fulbright scholarship. It changed my life forever. In direct and in indirect ways, it brought me to Hawaii many years later.

All because at the time, barely 20 years old, I wanted to feel I was ahead of the game.

I still like to have that sense, to achieve it costs very little, and years later the benefits can still be palpable! It’s wisdom most of you, Dear Readers, have probably realized long ago but I wanted to share.

Until my next post this coming weekend. Maybe I’ll write it ahead of time!

Has Being #1 Lost Its Luster?

Tags

Faith, Gratitude, Poetry, Tennis, Women's and men's professional tennis tours

On Monday, Simona Halep will be called the best female tennis player in the world by the Women’s Tennis Association.

Simona will join such legends as Chris Evert, Martina Navratilova, Steffi Graf, Monica Seles, Serena Williams, and other women who have been ranked Number One.

Let’s be clear: Simona has a solid, consistent game that has taken her to the top of her sport and to two French Open finals, both of which she lost. She has also, but just once, reached the semifinals of the US Open and Wimbledon. She hits with power and covers all corners of the court with great speed.

But …

Consider this: Evonne Goolagong, who won seven major championships, only held the top ranking for two weeks in 1976, and due to the early days of computer rankings, her belated but well-deserved recognition as the best female tennis players in the world early in 1976 only came in 2007.

After winning the Australian and US Opens in 2011, Kim Clijsters held the top spot for exactly one week. Earlier in her career, in 2003, Kim was ranked first in the world for 12 non-consecutive weeks, at that time the first player to gain that honor without winning a Grand Slam singles title.

Other players followed Kim who are not exactly household names for the average tennis fan: Dinara Safina, Jelena Jankovic, Caroline Wozniacki. All three could technically claim to be the best player in the world, but without ever having held the winner’s trophy of a Grand Slam tournament, did they or tennis devotees believe in their hearts that they truly were?

As a high school poet, I often did very well in competitions, but usually I was a finalist, with many second and third places and honorable mentions. My placing in those contests helped me obtain college scholarships. Was I ever Number One? Only once! I’ll never forget it. The envelope arrived in the mail and I was speechless. So was my mother who taught poets. I felt like I had won Wimbledon or in my case the junior Wimbledon tournament!

Nearly a year ago, at a conference in Honolulu for fundraising professionals, the featured speaker mentioned his days as a high school poet who had entered the same contests I had. I introduced myself to him during the lunch break. It was the first time we had actually met even though we knew each other’s names from way back when. I asked if he still wrote poetry. He said that he had stopped decades ago. He asked if I did. I told him that I still write about 20 new poems a year and have recently been published. We laughed about the contests where we competed against each other as teenagers.

I think of real poets as those who live and breathe poetry. I wish I did, but succeeding at parenthood, my marriage, my job, and devoting energy to my faith take precedence over spending more time I could or want to give to poetry.

Most of us can never even contemplate what it would mean to the best in anything. If we are fortunate, we can focus on what I believe really counts in life: finding and staying in love, becoming and staying a decent person, giving back to others, learning to let go.

Simona Halep is among the very few in this world who can ask herself what being Number One truly means. That alone is a stunning achievement. But until she wins a major championship, it will be one with a footnote for tennis historians.

 

 

Holding Las Vegas in the Light

Tags

Blogging, Philanthropy, Presidential election, Quakerism

For all the countless victims, families, survivors. For those who against their choice have left us and for those left behind who will be haunted the rest of their lives? When will the leadership of this country come to its collective senses and wisdom?

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?

Where have all the flowers gone?

Sharing Cultures

Tags

Blogging, Childraising, Early Education, Friendship, Fulbright Program, German Heritage, German language, Gratitude, Living in Hawaii, Presidential election, Trisomy 21

Yesterday morning at this time I was working with my seven-year-old daughter on her homework assignment for Tuesday: sharing with her classmates and teacher a piece of her culture. The options provided for second graders were fun: a song, for example, clothing, a game.

We chose a book Ellen has loved for years: Kennst du das? Mein buntes Bilderwörterbuch or Do You Know This? My Picture Dictionary.

In the next few days Ellen will practice telling why the book is important to her family and culture. She will present verbally to her classmates the reason she came up with on her own: “So that we continue our heritage and language.”

My daughter has been raised in two languages since she was born: German and English. She is now learning Hawaiian and a bit of Japanese. Her other father, a Harvard-educated linguist, feeds her Basque and Cornish words for fun. We keep it light in our home when we use languages other than English either in speaking, playing games, singing or reading.

For me, German has always been part of my life even though I lived only about six years in German-speaking countries. When I did, friends from those countries who knew I that I had grown up in the United States would either say I was an “honorary European” or that I was American. I would gently correct them and state that I was German-American, even Bavarian-American.

To many of those folks, this seemed incomprehensible. If you grow up in the United States, you love McDonald’s (I actually do have occasional cravings for McDonald’s fries), baseball, American football, violence, and only speak an English many Europeans, as best as they try not to, look down their noses at. You care only about being an American, have no interest in other cultures or languages.

Right?

Well, no, actually for many of us!

In my vast family with our German surnames, we pretty much know our family roots from centuries ago — where and how they lived, whom they married, when they came to the “New World.” Many of us grew up with the German language or at least German words that became kind of a family dialect on my mother’s side. A few of us are bilingual.

When my husband and I visited our daughter’s pediatrician when we were living in Germany, she asked what language we spoke to Ellen. Ben said English. Sheepishly, I said, “Well, I prefer to speak German to her.”

“Of course,” Ellen’s pediatrician replied, “That’s your mother tongue.”

Well, that was enough for me to keep my vow going that I had made to my maternal grandfather: that I would always keep the language going in our family.

So when my daughter said to me yesterday that she speaks and reads German because that way our family’s heritage stays alive, a shiver went down my spine in a good way.

She gets it. She lives in a city where you can walk down the street and hear four different languages at any time of day, is part of a faith community that traces its origins to Japan, learns Hawaiian culture, language and dance on Saturdays, and then unwinds at home by reading German!

This is all balm for my soul after reading news articles about a president ensconced in his golf club for the weekend in New Jersey firing off vicious tweets to the mayor of Puerto Rico’s largest city, a woman of non-white heritage, who has been working nonstop to deal with a hurricane that has devastated her island. The reason for his cowardly, disgraceful attacks on her? She had the nerve to question him and his lack of leadership, of understanding.

I want my daughter to continue to embrace other cultures, traditions, languages, to appreciate that if you do, you can go anywhere in this amazing world and find community. How lucky we are to be in a part of the world where that is valued deeply. How lucky we are that our last president grew up in Hawaii. How lucky we would be if only our current president could open his mind and heart just a little.