Mother of the Year

It was nearly three and a half years ago when we made the decision to move to Haiti. I said at the time that there were many wins and losses inherent in that decision. There were wins, for things I love about Haiti, and there were losses that I loved about the States. Gwenn had wins and losses as well, some the same as mine, but some were different. Our kids, the oldest being four at the time, didn't realize what they were getting into, but I knew that there would be wins and losses for them as well.

Many of our biggest losses involved family. Before moving to Haiti, I had never lived more that 45 minutes away from my mother. From Central New York to Central North Carolina I had followed my parents down the coast. And while my family has never been close from a talk-every-day, share-you-feelings standpoint, there was always a comfort in having them nearby.

So one of the hardest parts of deciding to move to Haiti was making that decision for my mother. Sure it was hard to decide for my kids as well, but at least I knew that there huge wins for them and, ultimately, I believed it would be best for them. But my mother got none of those wins and all the losses.

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Not every day, not even every week, but I do remember playing board games as a family when I was a kid. Simple games, like Sorry or Trouble, were typical-- something that could be played by all of us. As I got older, because I was the youngest and, hence, the weakest link, were started to play more complicated games. My personal favorite was Clue. Clue is a murder mystery game. Three cards-- one room, one person, and one weapon-- are chosen from the deck and hidden under the board. The goal is to be the first to guess all three of the cards. But there is a board as well, and a particular challenge in the game is that you have to get your piece into a room before you guess that room-- if you think the murder is in the kitchen you have to be in the kitchen to say so. So, often, a game will end with two players knowing the answer to the mystery, but racing across the board to get into the right room before making their guess.

My mom didn't typically win this game. I guess her tremendously creative brain didn't mesh well with the analysis required. But one evening she found herself on the cusp of victory, racing across the board to make her final guess. She slipped her piece into one room, then used her next turn to take a secret passage way directly into the room of the murder and win the game. Only somebody (probably me) had to point out the obscure rule that you couldn't take that particular secret passageway into that particular room. And somebody else (probably my brother) got there first and won the game instead. I don't know why I remember that night. But, 20 years later, my heart still hurts when I think about her disappointment

It's the same feeling I get when I remember our conversation at Schlotsky's Deli shortly be I left the country with my family. She cried over her pizza and puts words to what I knew she must have been feeling. Nothing surprised me, but my heart still hurts when I think about her disappointment.

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While we're on the topic of ways I've disappointed my mom :) few people know that my parents lived apart for a few years while I was in high school. My dad got transferred to NC during my junior year and my parents decided that, instead of forcing me to change schools in the middle of high school, my mom would stay with me while I finished school and my dad would go ahead of the rest of us.

As their time apart neared its end, I prepared to live on my own for a few months before following them to NC for college. My mother had taken good care of me as a child, so before she left she wanted to teach me how to do my own laundry. The day she was going to leave approached and I continued to blow her off. I played with friends, I played video games, but I didn't give her the time to teach me one last thing before she left. Her last day came and went and I know she was disappointed I didn't make time for her. But the next morning, when she was gone and I was on my own, I found a loving, hand-written note explaining exactly how to wash my own clothes.

Because that's who my mom is. She loves in spite of her disappointment. She nurtures without thinking of herself. And she pursues her family, even across international boundaries.

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My wife has a phrase that she likes to use: Mother of the Year. She normally uses it tongue-in-cheek in the context of one of those moments where one realizes their inadequacy as a parent. But, and this may sound cheesy, I want to use it without any sarcasm or irony. I am so blessed that my mother really is Mother of the Year.