Yesterday was a throwback. To nine years ago when we got out of the spa, and I asked him to leave. My boys were in 3rd and 1st grade. But he had to go. And I had to learn how to single-handedly make sure that my boys were okay.
To having hot meals for breakfast, even if I was tired. And packed lunches, even though I had gotten up at 4am to train for the marathons. To being on welfare and putting out bowls of carrots and raisins and crackers just so it would look like we had a lot. To boiling a vanilla stick and cinnamon to give the impression that I had always been at home waiting for them. To getting in every sport, to finding good men to talk with them, to giving them driving lessons on the freeway, even when they said they couldn’t do it.
To when she pointed me in every direction, crying with me, helping me pick up the pieces, pointing me to service, to sponsorship, to moving jobs in order to retain my sobriety.
Many times I have written about this.
And throwbacks. Sometimes I like them. When I look good, when I remember fun times, when I want to re-live a cool connection in an art gallery, on a San Francisco street walking through Korea town, then the Castro, then the Japanese festival, then ending up overlooking the ocean. When I took a wrong turn and spent the evening with some amazing people.
And then there’s yesterday.
When I went to both of them and said I hope that I always listened to you. I hope you know that when you cried, I cried. And these amazing, talented, smart boys both said they were fine. They were good. That it was hard, but they were good. That this experience made them who they are. And I don’t know if I believed them.
So. I made a throwback hamburger steak & gravy & onions. I sent them out with ice cream and home made cookies. They did homework. This warm bungalow. The hardwood floors. The hand washing of the dishes, listening to the hum of this place. This good house.
Sometimes I like Throwbacks. Just not yesterday.
So I hope when they selectively remember this day, I hope they remember eating hot blueberry pancakes and crisp bacon, and laughing at Living La Vida Loca as it booms through the living room of this small place. This living room that doubles as an office, and den, and kitchen. So small that we are just forced to be together.
Love to all. Happy #tbt