Benjamin: Son of My Right Hand

I've been thinking a lot about Ben lately. Today is the middle school musical: he'll spend twelve hours with the cast and crew of Elf Jr. Monday is his birthday: he'll turn 32. And six weeks from today is his wedding day: he'll marry his sweet Becca. As most of you know, Ben is our oldest child; he's the one who has been with us the longest, the one whose name means "son of my right hand."

They say there are a lot of advantages to being the firstborn in a family, but I think there are a lot of hard things about it too. First of all, firstborns have inexperienced parents who are still trying to figure things out. When siblings come along, the firstborn becomes the leader, the trail blazer, the first one to do almost everything. Because of this, firstborns have to have broad shoulders. They become a kind of link between the outside world and home life, a link between the parents and the younger siblings. Younger siblings look to them for help, for advice, for tips on how to navigate life; they expect them to know what to do and how to do it. And it's not just the younger siblings that lean hard on the firstborn, parents do too. Ben has done a spectacular job of fulfilling this role for the past thirty years. He's lived up to his name by being our "right-hand man" in more ways than I can count.

When Ben was young, he used our wooden coffee table as his desk. His desk chair was one of those chubby yellow Little Tikes chairs. On his desk he had a box filled with pens and markers, a red box for his completed paperwork, and a huge stack of paper. He made books, charts, and schedules--lots and lots of schedules. He used so much paper, we started buying it by the ream, well before we had any kind of home computer and printer. As he grew older, his paperwork often expanded beyond his coffee-table desk to the couch, the end table, and the floor. One night when he was about ten years old, he was heading off to bed, and I asked him to clean up his papers before he went upstairs. "I've already cleaned up after you once tonight," I reminded him. He called back over his shoulder, "I have a full life!"

It was true then and it's true now. Ben has always had a full life. And one of the things I noticed early on about Ben was that his full life spilled over and filled up my life in unexpected ways. He had big plans, big sleepovers, big birthday parties, and a big high school graduation party; he brought big groups of friends home from college for the weekend and invited big groups of friends to dinner. As a result, he helped me live a bigger, fuller life too.

After college, Ben came back to Fredonia to live and work. He teaches school and directs big musicals. His life is fuller than ever. And on December 29, 2018, it will fill up even more--in the best possible way.

So I've been pondering what this new chapter in his life might mean in my life. Will his marriage mean the end of watching West Wing and Blue Bloods together, the end of playing Yahtzee, the end of sitting around the dinner table at the end of a school day, the end of his full life bubbling over into mine? 

But then last Saturday, Ben, Becca, and I had tickets to see my husband Steve in Newsies at the Jamestown Community College campus. We went early with Steve instead of taking two cars, so Ben, Becca, and I had an hour to fill before the show. We found some seats in a downstairs hallway of the academic building that houses the theater. Before long the three of us were playing Heads Up and talking and laughing. And in the midst of it, I realized that even though my last child is getting married and my nest is finally well and truly empty, my life is filling up. The dining room chandelier that I wrote about in my very first blog entry isn't dimming after all; it is blazing with the added light of a new son-in-law and two new daughters-in-law. 

So Benjamin, son of my right hand, carry on. Live big and enjoy your full life. (Just remember to clean up your papers every once in a while!)

Advice to My Son

To my sweet boy,

One month from tomorrow is your wedding day, and my heart is already brimming with emotion. I think maybe parents of grown-up children all share a strange ability: when they look at their child, they see not only the current, full-grown person that child has become but also every single version of that child—from baby to toddler to child to teen to young adult. My mind is flooded with memories of the boy you were and visions of the husband you are about to become. Because I can’t get you out of my mind, I thought I’d take this opportunity to offer you some advice on marriage. I’m not sure you really need advice from me—but when has that ever stopped me?!

1.    I remember a hot summer day when you were helping me in the yard by hauling weeds to the compost pile as I was gardening. You disappeared into the house for a while, and when you returned, you had two Tupperware cups filled with lemonade. You smiled and said, “I thought this might hit the spot.” So my first piece of advice is this: Take lemonade to Emma. Surprise her with your thoughtfulness. Show her in unexpected ways that you are thinking about her and noticing what she needs.

2.    Another memory from much later on: you, Em, and I went sledding late at night on hill behind Eagle Street school. We were having a lot of fun until I bounced off my saucer and hit my head hard on the packed snow. You were beside me in seconds, helping me up, retrieving my sled, walking me home, and checking my pupils. So that’s my second bit of advice: Always watch out for Emma’s safety and well-being. Take care of her. Protect her. Cherish her. 

3.    I still have several of the notes you left me over the years of your childhood tucked away in my dresser drawer, and I know from a snap or two Emma has sent, that you’ve carried on your note-leaving tradition with her. Keep it up! Keep leaving her sweet notes.

4.    Recently you were telling me about putting together the hammock you got as a shower gift. You were saying how much you love it, how nice it is, how you plan to take care of it and bring it in when it rains. Then you said, “At least for the first year. After that, it’ll probably be like everything else; we’ll forget and it’ll get rained on.” While that is so true for things like hammocks and so many other possessions, don’t let it be true for your marriage. Protect it like the treasure it is. Don’t take it for granted. Don’t ever stop taking care of it.

5.    This is getting long, and I know you are no fan of lengthy posts, so the rest I will put in short bullets:

·      On snowy mornings, clean off her car windows.

·      When she looks nice, notice. Then tell her. 

·      Keep making her laugh.

·      Make sure she knows that you will always take her side and be in her corner.

·      When she’s having a bad day, find a way to make it better.

·      Be as cheerful as possible as often as possible.

·      When you mess up, admit it and apologize.

·      In the long run, the little moments in a marriage matter as much or more than the big ones. So value the everydayness of your life together.

·      Be careful in arguments not to say things you can’t take back, things that will hurt—even if they are true (and especially if they are not true).

·      Working hard is important and having money makes life easier, but making a life is more important than making a living. 

·      Never, ever, ever give up on the relationship even if the going gets tough (and it will). Hang in there and fight for your happy ending.

·      Hold her hand, touch her shoulder—stay connected in big and small ways.

·      Treasure her: make sure she knows you value her, admire her, and appreciate her.

·      Tell her you love her—often.

I’m sure there are other things I could or should add. But as I said before, I think you already know how to be a good husband—just keep being the kind, loving, funny, thoughtful, protective person you’ve always been. And if you ever need advice (or anything at all), you know where to find me . . . 

Saving the Union

Nearly thirty-five years ago, someone (I wish I could remember who) gave Steve and me a set of twenty-four glasses for our wedding. There were eight tall glasses, eight medium-size tumblers, and eight small juice glasses. Over the years, one by one, we've broken all but two: one tall, one small, and it's been a running joke between Steve and me that when those last two glasses break, the marriage will be over. Instead of wrapping them in bubble wrap to preserve our union, we keep them in the cupboard with all the other glasses. I never touch them, but interestingly, Steve uses the small glass every single day, actually twice a day: in the morning for orange juice and in the afternoon for the milk he drinks with his sourdough hard pretzels (don't ask--it's a food quirk I've never understood). So either he thinks it's cheating never to use the glasses, or he's ready for a change! When the kids were home at Christmas, somehow the story of the glasses came up (probably because Steve was tossing the small glass in the air and catching it behind his back--haha). So last night, Darton and Emma arrived for Mother's Day weekend with their dogs, a gorgeous bouquet of flowers, and a bag from a thrift store in Rochester containing, you guessed it: four matching glasses: two tall and two small--thereby saving the union for years to come!