Writing is my artistic expression. My keyboard is my brush. Words are my medium. My blog is my canvas. And committing to writing daily makes me feel like an artist.
This time of year can feel like a grind. So much to do, so little time. So when we get a little reminder of why we do what we do, it’s special, and uplifting. Tonight is our senior spring formal and the evening will be one of those reminders. Seeing our now grown up students all dressed up, and remembering their younger selves when they first arrived at the school, will be a reminder of the growth and development we’ve supported in these young adults.
Yesterday we had another little reminder. A card and gifts for the staff from the parents of a grade 12 student. What makes this card extra special is that it comes from a prof in teacher education. Here is the letter, a wonderful battery charge as we head into the final few weeks of school.
Dear IHub Faculty and Staff,
Thank you for an amazing four years! We could not have asked for a better or more supportive learning environment for [student name]. We are so grateful for all you do to provide engaging apportunities for students that connects them with their passions and gifts.
Thank you for supporting [student name] unconditionally and for all your patience and flexibility. You are the gold standard of what education should be. We raise a glass to you all and honour all of your contributions to the lives of the students in the graduating class of 2025!
When you call a sibling, text a friend, video chat with a kid or a parent…
When you go to a birthday, an anniversary, a reunion…
Will a memory from today come up in conversation?
What separates today from the many days before, now long forgotten?
Of course if every day were truly memorable, it would be unlikely that we could recall them all, and peak experiences do not feel like they are special if they occur every day… but the question still holds, “Will you remember this day?”
If not, what can you do to make it more than just another forgotten day?
Dean Shareski asked this question on LinkedIn: “What’s your favourite story or experience with exceptional customer service?”
I shared:
Mine was in the Bahamas. I asked a waiter for pickled conch at dinner and he went into a bit of a dramatic show about how I didn’t know conch until I tasted it fresh. He asked me what I was doing the next morning and said to meet him in the lobby at 7am. So me and my sister’s boyfriend met him. He took us to a small convenience store and bought two Tupperware containers. Then we drove across the toll bridge and wound around under it to a kind of open sea market. He bought lemons and tomatoes from one vendor, peppers from another, and took them to a conch vendor who broke open conch shells in front of us and made conch salad for us, while telling stories about conch diving while high. The waiter then took us back to the hotel, two full Tupperware containers of fresh conch salad in hand, and refused to take any money from us. “Absolutely not, you haven’t had conch until you’ve had it fresh, this was my pleasure!” It was indeed delicious, but the experience was even better.
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I wish I remembered his name, it’s on the back of a photo I took with him on our last day, him holding the huge bottle of rum we bought him… But this was over 30 years ago, and the photo is buried in a box in my garage. All these years later, I still remember his kindness and hospitality. What a wonderful memory he created for us!
When was the last time you heard a dial tone? When was the last time you used a rotary phone? Or a pay phone?
I tend to use Siri a lot. I don’t go to my phone app, I just ask Siri to call the number for me. And I call people a lot less than I text them.
We’ve come a long way from a family phone being connected to our wall, with a long cord attached to the handset. We’ve moved the phone from a side character to the protagonist. From an item to occasionally connect to one person to a tool of constant contact to the world.
Along the way, the idea of the dial tone disappeared. What else has disappeared?
I started writing this in my head just over 7 years ago, in August 2017. We were all in Victoria, and had just finished moving Cassie into her tiny, very green, residence room for first year university.
I was sitting on her bed. As we chatted I thought about what a milestone this was… one of our babies was leaving the nest. I felt overly sentimental, and started thinking about all the ideas below. Over the years I’ve thought of different ways of saying this, always feeling like I’m not doing the ideas justice.
Today I decided that since you are already 25 and almost 23, I need to get these thoughts out. I’ve put off sharing this for too long. So here goes…
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Firsts and Lasts
Dear Cassie & Katie,
I remember.
I remember the moment in the hospital when I first laid eyes on you; the first time I held you, and kissed your cheek. I remember your first smile, (that wasn’t just passing gas), your first laugh, and the first time you said, ‘Da-da’. I remember your first steps. There were so many firsts in those early days and, although they slowed, they still kept coming. From your first tooth to your first tooth falling out. From your first day at daycare to your first day at school. And from your first birthday to your last one as a teenager.
And so it is that I remember many firsts, but unfortunately I don’t remember too many lasts.
I don’t remember the last time you fell asleep on my chest or came running towards me and jumped unabashedly into my arms for a big hug. I don’t remember the last time we were walking together and you reached up to hold my hand. I don’t remember the last time I did a push up with you on my back, or the last time you danced on my feet, or the last time I gave you a piggyback.
And such is life that as we grow up together, parent and child, we carry with us these moments, momentous ‘first’ occasions, but we never know what other forgotten momentsdisappear as we get older. We remember the firsts, not the lasts. We savour the memories of so many special occasions, and we lament those things that we take for granted only after they no longer happen.
I won’t ever forget our Christmases in China and Spain. I will never remember the last story I read to you while you sat in my lap. Firsts… and lasts: Lifetime memories and forever forgotten interactions that fade away secretly. Photographs and movies that play in my mind as well as on film, photo paper, and digital jpg’s stay with me, like first school concerts, and graduations.
Meanwhile I’ll never remember the last time I fed you porridge, or tricked you into eating healthy baby food by burying it under a layer of dessert on the spoon. The fact that I can recall this interaction tells me the memories still resonate. Sure, it may not have been the last time, but I remember feeding you in your high chairs. I also remember the frustration of you trying to feed yourself. Sometimes it was your frustration because it was too much work, sometimes our parental frustration because feeding yourself took so long. But we wanted to give you your independence, and so we let you do it even when it would have been easier to just keep feeding you… and then you just didn’t need us to feed you anymore. It just happens… and after it happened one last time that time was not remembered.
It sounds a bit sad, and in a way it is, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ve watched my two girls blossom into wonderful young women. I see you as adults that I don’t just love, but love being around. I’ve seen you both develop amazing work ethics, and carry with you a kindness to others that I want to see more of in the world. These things do not happen without forgotten lasts along the way.
And now as you head into adulthood I look forward to many more firsts. You might not dance on my feet anymore but I look forward to my first father daughter dance at your weddings. You might not fall asleep in my arms, but I look forward to being a grandparent and having your kids remind me of that wonderful feeling.
Along the way there will also be more lasts, and while I know they will come too, I will only think of them afterwards, unable to recall when such moments came to an end. Such is life. And so as I look to the future, I can’t wait for more first, and yes, more lasts too. Moments to cherish, milestones to achieve, adventures to experience. Your mom and I are excited to see what our amazing girls do next. We cherish you, your firsts, and your lasts.
My oldest kid turns 25 today. How did I get to be old enough to have a daughter that old? I only ask that question partially in jest, because there is a part of me that is really baffled about how fast time flies by. I remember holding her in my arms for the first time, her first words, and her first steps. Did all that really start a quarter century ago?
With age, time goes by faster. I think it has to do with reference to the length of our lives. To a 10 year old, 5 years is half of a lifetime; to a 15 year old, 5 years is a full 1/3 of a lifetime. To a 60 year old, 5 years is 1/12 of a lifetime. So that same 5 years is relatively shorter as we get older, and represents less significance to our overall lifespan.
I think about how much my life changed from ages 26-31… I moved to BC, met my wife, started my career in education, got married and bought a house. Then we started a family and the next 5 years are a blur of joy, stress, and core memories of our kids having first experiences.
In comparison, the last 5 years have felt a lot more like status quo, and have seemed to fly by a whole lot faster. I can remember the excitement of starting a new school year, and now it’s already just a week away from the Christmas holidays… where did the last 3 and a half months go?
I remember my mother-in-law saying to me that she didn’t know where the time went, and how she felt that she was a young person in an old body. I think of that now because about 26 years later I realize that I’m almost the age she was when she told me that. Is this just a cycle of life that the older we get, the more we recognize that time speeds up for us?
Today my oldest daughter turns 25. This is a reminder to me that I’ve got to value the time I have, and to spend it wisely… no matter how fast it seems to fly by.
As time passes, and I’m looking ahead at retirement, I think about the time I have left with family and friends. I wonder how do I create experiences rather than just reminiscing? When we meet up, are we doing something together or are we reflecting and sharing stories of the past?
On Facebook Al Lauzon commented,
I don’t think you are wrong but we need to recognize that developmentally we revisit our past and tell stories as we are engaged in making sense of our life as we age. Even in the elderly the repeating of the same stories of the past is making sense of our life. We have tendency to attribute the repeating of the story to forgetfulness but that is not necessarily the case. It is our attempt to make sense of our life. We should also note that we are not always conscious of what we are doing when we are engaged in this developmental process. According to the psychologist Erikson successful development during this stage of life leads to integrity and peace. Failure to make this developmental transformation leads to despair. Revisiting our life is important just as engaging new experiences is important.
And I responded,
Al Lauzon well said. I completely agree. My thoughts while writing the post related to my friends at a distance that I don’t see often. I think it’s easy to get caught up in the mode of ‘catching up’ and reminiscing, without planning new experiences. It’s wonderful to look back at old times fondly and conversations can fill with laughter and happy thoughts as old times are re-lived. You are so correct about the value here… but when you don’t see someone often and that’s all you do, then you are missing out on creating new memories to hold on to at a different, future date.
Then today I saw a clip of a podcast I heard not too long ago. It is of Trevor Noah talking to Steven Bartlett on Dairy of a CEO. The title on the clip is ‘The importance of Liming (Caribbean style)’. The clip describes hanging out with friends, with no agenda, just to be together.
It reminded me of a Bajan saying growing up, ‘Le-we-go-lime’, an accented, Bajan way to say, ‘Let us go hang out together’. Unlike a set plan, that statement could be said even before a destination is chosen. It’s not an invitation out, it’s an invitation in… in to a circle of friends that are just getting together to be together.
Al’s comment and Trevor’s video clip are reminders to me that although it’s important to create new experiences, it’s also important to find time just to be together with friends, and with good friends you don’t need to have an agenda, an activity, or even a plan beyond just being together.
Case in point, I haven’t seen Al in over 30 years, and if I had a chance to see him face to face, I really wouldn’t want to be doing an activity beyond sipping a coffee or a beer when we got together. I’d want nothing more than some good time to lime.
I’m fortunate to live a life surrounded by people I love and who love me. I don’t take this for granted, it truly is a blessing and a gift. I feel lucky to have this, and I know not everyone does.
I also feel fortunate that I have always enjoyed alone time. To me, moments of solitude are precious as well. As a kid, I spent a fair bit of time on my own. I shared this yesterday,
“I grew up on a dead end street, and there were no kids my age nearby. This was in Barbados, and my grandparents owned a motel (actually rental apartments) on our street. I had a few friends that visited yearly but a lot of summer days I spent either playing with my younger sister or an older cousin when he’d put up with me. Or, I played on my own. I had quite an amazing imagination and could entertain myself for hours.”
I was often alone and never felt lonely.
My grandparent’s house was across the street and I probably spent more waking hours in that house than in my own. It was like their house was the main house and ours was our sleeping quarters. I remember driving my grandmother crazy. I’d go to her dining room table on one end of her huge kitchen, a massive table that could easily seat 12, and often did for dinner, and I’d pace around it.
Flat footed, I’d walk circles around it, my feet slapping against the tiles. Twenty, thirty, fifty times I’d circle the large table in a meditative state of imagination. Like an autistic child stimming, I’d find pleasure in the repetition of motion and sound as I circled the table. Externally I was in a monotonous or boring behavioural loop. Internally I was in an imaginative world far removed from my stimming body.
Alone, not lonely. By myself and fully enthralled, even entertained. Until my grandmother interjected. “Boy, what’s the matter with you?”
She wasn’t being mean, she was concerned. I’m sure she was thinking, ‘What’s my grandkid doing, stuck in an en endless loop, mindlessly circling my table?’
“Stop that boy, why don’t you go outside and play?”
“I’m fine.”
“Go play outside. It’s nice out.’
So, I’d go outside and find somewhere else to be comfortably alone. But I’d often find my way back to circle the big table. A place of comfort, shaded from the hot sun, and feeling the cool kitchen tiles with my bare feet.
I may not take being surrounded by family and friends for granted, but I have always known that solitude is comfortable for me. Nowadays I tend to fill my alone time with audio books and podcasts. This is partly because I have tinnitus and quiet time is no longer quiet, it is interrupted by a continuous tone in my ears. So, I fill the quiet with external input. It’s also because I love to learn and find joy in learning on my own time.
So now I have less true ‘empty’ time compared to when I was a kid. I’ve come to realize that my writing time is my quiet time. This is my time of solitude, just me and my thoughts. Me in silence, alone every morning. Thinking. Writing. Absorbed in my own words, my own world. Alone. At peace, and very comfortable. I love that I never feel lonely when I’m by myself. This, like being surrounded by loved ones, is a blessing and a gift, and I cherish it.
I grew up on a dead end street, and there were no kids my age nearby. This was in Barbados, and my grandparents owned a motel (actually rental apartments) on our street. I had a few friends that visited yearly but a lot of summer days I spent either playing with my younger sister or an older cousin when he’d put up with me. Or, I played on my own. I had quite an amazing imagination and could entertain myself for hours.
My swing set was a space ship and I’d visit distant worlds. I had a bionic (6 Million Dollar Man) doll, and a Stretch Armstrong doll that I tried to stretch too far, but could never stretch him enough that he didn’t shrink back to his normal shape. While I played with these toys sometimes, most of my play was in my mind.
For a while I was fascinated by electricity, and this was the focus of my imagination. I remember being told that I would be electrocuted if I got the hair dryer wet and I thought that if I were to drop a hair dryer into the tub I would electrocute the whole world. I actually imagined that I’d put everyone on earth in space ships, and I’d be in the last one to take off. I’d wait until my ship left the ground, then I’d drop a live wire into a tub to watch what happened when the earth got electrocuted. It would be embarrassing to tell you how much I thought about this… if I wasn’t a kid. What does a kid with a big imagination know about electricity?
I also remember seeing a sunken ship from a glass bottom boat. The old wooden boat had a huge steering wheel on it. This made me think that the bigger the boat, the larger the helm wheel needed to be. That’s just the way a kid’s brain operates. I remember seeing a massive cruise ship and asking my dad how big the steering wheel would be on it, thinking it would be bigger than the car we were driving in. I was disappointed when he explained that wasn’t how it works.
That’s the workings of a 7 or 8 year old kid’s imagination. Imagine if I still thought these things… what would you think of me?
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When they came out I had to fact check these two videos, looking for multiple reputable sources to make sure they were not an artificial intelligence created farce.
My brother-in-law was speaking to my father-in-law about moving into an assisted living home from a rancher. He said, “I guess practicality needs to be a priority over sentimentality,” and my father-in-law agreed.
Moving isn’t easy. Downsizing isn’t easy. Letting go of things with sentimental value isn’t easy.
The knowledge that ‘we can’t take it with us’ on the next journey anyway offers little solace. Furniture, framed pictures, books, souvenirs, trinkets, antiques, old treasures and keepsakes all hold memories within them. Reflections of the past stir, and the desire to hold on to yet another item, another memory, pulls at the heartstrings.
Eventually realization kicks in… practicality over sentimentality. You just can’t take everything with you.
