I know it sounds odd, I don’t even know the man but it feels like a personal loss. I’m speaking of course of the death of Maurice Sendak.
My connection began many, many years ago. I’m going to guess the year was 1979. My mother introduced me to The Nutshell Gang and Really Rosie and if you do not know what I am talking about I highly suggest to get thee to Amazon and purchase these books (these too) and albums at once. I was a dramatic, ok…theatrical kid basically from the time I was in utero and would make up the story lines of my life all the time. So did Rosie.
I took both my kids (11.5 and 9) to see Bully and I am so glad I did. For those who don’t know, Bully is a documentary that follows five kids and their families who are being effected by bullying in different ways–some more grave than others, all heartbreaking. I took a little flack for it from some friends as it was before the NR rating had changed to the PG-13, but here’s my POV: if I let my kids watch the news (kinda) and read The Hunger Games (yes), then they can see this movie–which, btw, is far more relevant to their lives than the news and more appropriate for them than Hunger Games.
Disappointments from childhood are the most complicated to unpack. I say this without reservation and with total authority.
“Closeup Caterpillar On A Green Leaf” courtesy of iamharin / FreeDigitalPhotos.net”.
When I was twelve, my mother was diagnosed with a (then) rare but very treatable form of cancer. It shook us all to our core since she was the one who “lived clean”–juxtaposed against my Dad–she had no history of drinking, didn’t smoke, avoided the sun. We found out that it had also metastasized (spread) and she was going to have to have surgery to remove the cancer and aggressive treatments of iodine therapy to remove anything left. During iodine therapy she couldn’t have visitors and couldn’t touch certain types of people so I could not see her. The therapy coincided with a pre-planned annual vacation we were to take, so my father decided instead of being home and not visiting my mother we would go and I would bring a friend with me.
I’m getting ready to go on vacation for spring break and nothing is better than the anticipation of having free, uninterrupted family time to relax and enjoy each other. It’s times like this that I am reminded of the vacations I spent as a kid in the Caribbean with my parents, as they were probably the happiest of my entire childhood and because of that they leave me with a deep ache and a profound sorrow for the loss of my Dad.
Tomorrow we are having a birthday party for my littlest one. My baby. Although his birthday isn’t officially until Monday, this party is one of the “primary” celebrations we will have for him. See there are a few different kinds of parties. There are “school parties”–these happen at school, there are “family parties”–just family, and there are “kid parties”–kid only celebrations. Then there is the Mack-daddy party, the kid-family mash-up. That’s what we are doing tomorrow. Now you may think that based on how I’m talking about my little boy he must be a tiny tyke… Well you’d be wrong, in one way… ok in a major way. But I wouldn’t totally disagree either.
I’ve got about two or three posts in various stages of completion. This makes me feel very unbalanced and unorganized– a physical manifestation of how I am being pulled between many different places, themes, needs and all of them need a voice, none of them have my complete attention for long enough… Many would call this a luxury problem and they would probably be right on some level.