Wendy Karasin – Musings of a Boomer

Why we keep going….

I’ve always had a soft spot for kids. I suppose what I did not receive as a child, I took on as a mission for other young people. Much of my life has been devoted to children in some regard. I was a camp counselor, I babysat, my college degree is in elementary education and child psychology. When I taught, I taught the whole child, as interested in their social/emotional development as their academics. When kids came to school sad or out of sorts, I hugged them and gave them an opportunity to express themselves through words, drawing or play. I knew the curriculum could not compete with a dying pet or Mom and Dad fighting. I worked with Autistic kids in NYC before we really understood much about them and emotionally disturbed kids in Palo Alto, California.

I have two younger brothers that I cut my “mommy” teeth on, even though they had a Mom. And then I had my own children. Nothing prepared me for the total love and devotion I felt the second they entered my life. Our children, and the children of others, are the way we save our world (and maybe ourselves) one little person at a time. Children deserve our love and protection. I believe it is our earthly, and cosmic, responsibility, to do so.

Dad felt like a soft breeze, a hug, a kind word. He treated me as though I was a precious, beautiful offering. With him, I felt safe and loved. I have very dark eyes which he called black cherries, but it was his dark eyes that bespoke everything.

He was thoughtful, calm, reasonable; gentle when sharing difficult news – enthusiastic when sharing happy news. We had a father-daughter language which emanated directly from our hearts. We did not work to develop this, it was an ability given at birth.

Life became difficult when Dad and Mom split. I knew it wasn’t my fault as I was told this often, but egocentric children make everything their own. I felt responsible, fogged as I was in some vague, opaque mist. However, walking with the sadness availed me a depth of awareness that I shall forever be grateful to have received. I was buoyed (catapulted?) to another level of existence that began formulating the person I’ve become.

I could not have asked for a better father, he brought me Lil and my brothers. He taught me to ski, tie a boat to a cleat and drive one through a hurricane. He asked what happened to the other 2 points when my test grade was 98. He visited me in college on a motorcycle, and made me listen to the best jazz jams, on reel to reel tapes, I ever heard.

My father taught me, through word and action, what commitment looks like. It has been my honor to know him, love him and be loved by him. I wish him peace, abundance and song, and know he sings freely now, in that wonderfully out of pitched voice. I wish him strength and offer him mine. Thank you, Dad, for the explanations, adventures, lessons and love. I will never forget you.

My relationship with my mom was deep and far reaching. When housed within someone’s body for 9 months,  you get to know one another from a most primal perspective. I felt our attachment the moment she laid eyes on me. Even though in later years she teased me about being adopted because my almond shaped eyes were unlike hers or my dad’s. Her bear hugs told me everything I needed to know about being loved. 

More through actions than words, she taught me the serious side of life; responsibility, hard work, social consciousness. I was taught that people should be afforded equal opportunities to better themselves. My mother was against violence, and a breath of fresh air in a neighborhood otherwise filled with status-quo behavior and stagnant thinking. I was proud to have a mom so global, independent, and outspoken. She taught me to stick up for what I believed and she was in the armed forces in World War II. Innovative and irreverent, she was far from perfect, yet I seem to remember the good things. 

We listened to Joan Baez and Bob Dylan, singly loudly and with a sense of purpose. Our entanglements with the petty sides of life got re-framed through the benefit of distance. When my mother bought me a gift, she would feign indignity and tell me to “Get into your room” with a point and a scowl. We both knew it was a ruse for the present I was about to receive. We had a lot of fun together. But there were bad times too. When you and Dad split, it was horribly sad. You cried often and I would try to cheer you, and be a good girl, but I was afraid too. On the flip side, it allowed me the depth of feeling and thought to write poetry. My writing has remained a considerable comfort, at times, a life line.

You brought me Chet, you were the best grandma, you understood the give and take of family. You never failed to remind me when I needed to wear a coat (even when I myself was a mother). You are special and dear to me. The strength of my/our convictions shall remain alive as long as I do. You were funny and sincere and kind in a way that raised those around you. Thank you for everything, Mom.