"We'll see"

"Mom, can I have this?"
"We'll see."
"'We'll see' means no!"

How many times did that exchange play out when we were kids? At least once a week during the trip to Granite Falls to get groceries and [maybe] stop by the Ben Franklin, at least when Grandma was working. I'm sure it happened even more frequently when we visited the metropolis of Marshall and went to Woolworths, ShopKo, Alco, and (on rare occasions) the mall.

My brothers and I longed to have the toys that the kids in the TV commercials played with, thinking that we too could make the Hot Wheels cars fly off ramps and magically land on the ground and keep rolling through the checkered flag... or the My Little Pony that would gallop along, mane flowing in a gentle breeze, then returning to the stable to be groomed and pampered and tucked into her little pony bed. All the wonderfully fun-looking games like Hungry-Hungry Hippos, Rock-em Sock-em Robots and Simon, and don't get me started on all the cool action figures and special edition Barbies and Cabbage Patch Kids, not to mention the always-coveted video game systems.

I'm not trying to paint a bleak and sparse picture of my childhood. To the contrary, we did get toys for Christmases and birthdays. And I'm sure each time we bargained, begged and/or pleaded for a certain toy, mom was making a mental note of it as she said, "we'll see." But to us at the time, we felt horribly cheated and marginalized. We were absolutely certain that "all the other kids had [insert-over-priced-plastic-toy-or-sugary-candy-here]" so why couldn't we? It wasn't fair! Ah, the eternal childhood lament.

My mom was, and is, a frugal person who has always had a keen eye for a discount, bargain, deal, freebie or coupon. We would often tease her about it and try to get her to buy things that weren't on sale, occasionally slipping full-priced items into the cart, only to have her immediately notice it and tell ask us to put it back.

As a kid, I accepted that that's just how it was. And a part of me was eternally pouty. I thought that "we'll see" was just a cruel phrase -- that mom never intended to buy whatever "it" was for us, before or after we asked for it, probably out of some arcane philosophy that kids should play outside with sticks and dirt (or something).

But as all kids do, I grew up.

Now, more than ever, I realize what mom's true intentions were. Clipping coupons and watching the sales circulars weren't just fun hobbies while we were growing up, it was a necessity. There were some pretty lean years on the farm, particularly during times of drought, and with one income, every penny had to be stretched to the absolute limit.

I'm sure it was hard for mom to see her kids yearning for toys that she truly did want to buy for us. I'm not yet a parent, but I do have an understanding of wanting to spoil little kids, just to see their faces light up and hear them laugh with delight. It had to be especially hard for her when we kept asking over and over again if we could have this or do that, knowing that each request carried a significant price tag and that she would have to somehow convey that we couldn't.

All this is to say that I suspect mom chose the words, "we'll see" because it was less painful than "no." The word "no" is so final and completely squashes any hope, and telling your child "no" when you so much want the answer to be "yes" had to be crushing. "We'll see" was a way around that, leaving the possibility open, just in case something changed and she would in fact be able to give in to our whining.

This Mother's Day, I wanted to write this blog to let my mom know that I get it. I get that she was doing the best she could with the resources she had at the time. And that even though I never did get a Lite-Brite or a Moncchichi Girl Doll or Perfection or a Skip-It, I wouldn't have traded my childhood for that of any of the kids who had all those toys and then some.

Now I understand that "we'll see" meant LOVE.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom!

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10/10

Not talking about the Olympics.

My mom was recently going through some of my brothers' and my "junk" at home, and she came across an old writing assignment of mine from Mrs. Paradis' English class in 11th grade. The assignment was to write a short paragraph that conveyed a mood.

Here's what I wrote:

The melancholy tapping of the colorless rain against the windowpanes made the rest of the mansion sigh with mournful recollection of the earlier years that brought with them such life and vibrance. Those things seemed to be only vast memories, swallowed up by the looming tapestries in the hall and the worn rug in the foyer. Time had greedily taken its toll and the swaying pendulum of the grandfather clock added with each movement another second, minute, and hour to remember. The dusty books on the shelf had been audience to many children's laughter but now hear only the echoes of the clouds' tearful goodbyes to their soulmates who had once danced in their puddles and sang songs under their mist. Inevitably, the last generation was gone, and with them many treasured secrets found their long-awaited resting places.

My paragraph got a 10/10 and a "Wow!" Funny how reading that immediately brought me back to the classroom on the second floor of my old high school that is now just a patch of grass next to Cottonwood Lake. I can practically smell the air and feel the heat coming off the radiators.

It has almost become cliché for adults to thank our primary and secondary teachers for the role they played in helping mold who we are today. "When Mrs. Jones taught me how to fold a paper airplane in first grade, that's when I knew I would one day become a pilot." 

But really, who's to say there wasn't some truth in that? A seed of curiosity could have been planted in that first grade classroom, which would one day germinate, grow and bloom. 

I had a lot of great teachers growing up, and Mrs. Anne Paradis was one of them. There was no "easy A" in her classes. But working hard translated into real learning. Thinking back, I am sure her classes were the foundation for my writing aptitude today. I now earn my living by writing compellingly. 

Mrs. Paradis also directed all-school plays. The spark that was ignited during my role as Donna Lucia d'Alvadorez in Charley's Aunt was reignited eleven years later when I got my first professional acting gig for Barksdale Theatre as Denise in Smoke
on the Mountain.

So, thank you, Mrs. Paradis. Cliché or not, you played no small role in the life and livlihood of this grateful student. 

I give YOU a 10/10!

Thanks, Mom.

I have a follower!

Thanks, Mom.