Calendar Pages--The Great Grandmas

Every year, I make a calendar for my Nana. She really likes them and uses it throughout the year to mark occasions and appointments. She's 87 and Betty is 85. When my grandmothers reached a certain age, I started doing these yearly rituals for them--planting bulbs, spring visit to the Broadway market, making calendars. The rituals are my way of saying, "stay with me for this year, for this season".

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I'm devoted to my grandmothers. I figured for Sam, a mere sprout, their age would make them irrelevant to him: They are so passed their prime and each has such little spunk left (and both in their day but very differently were spunky broads). I should have known they would not settle for irrelevance. Sam says to me regularly, "I love Nana." (and alternatively, "I hate Nana" which means "I don't want to do whatever it is you want me to do."); and, he cries whenever it is time to leave Gamma Be-y house. Nana smothers him in kisses, gives him money from her change purse and gushes whenever he shows her a new toy or a latest dance move. And Betty, she calls him her boyfriend, bickers with him and always has soup and cookies at the ready. And I know that when they are gone, Sam may or may not have specific memories of them but their lives will have marked his.

Everything is Better in Oregon

This slogan Everything is Better in Oregon originated with my friends Shannon and Peter and while I’m sure this refers to the nonexistent sales tax, gas station attendants, and the coast line, I mean it quite literally. Once upon a time my perspective on Oregon was so different; during my high school years, I used to frequent the Ashland bus station and obsessively scroll through the list of destinations and departure times that would get me as far away from Oregon as I could get for $24.00. As a family friend Jimmy Giancarlo aptly put it “This town is a nap.” Funny, how one kid can wake a place up.

I've tried to learn a few lessons on parenting from my own childhood. I realized after our trip to Oregon that when it comes to Sam I’ve tended to look at those lessons in the negative. The old, “I want to give my child better than what I had.” Not that I viewed my childhood as bad, I simply hoped to push the parenting evolution forward not backward.

In the pursuit of giving Sam a more secure family life than the one I had—two parents in attendance, mother at home more and at work less, limited family drama—I forgot to include the Ashland stuff into Sam’s childhood. Visiting Ashalnd on High St. with the Nollenburgers brought all that stuff I haven’t included into clear view. The Nollenburgers live cattycorner to my old elementary school. Not even five minutes after our arrival, Sam spotted the playground equipment and within ten minutes he was climbing and sliding and swinging. I half expected to hear a bell signaling the end of recess.

Growing up, I walked to school…hell, I walked everywhere. As my mother drove through town in a big gold Scout with a tendency to talk to herself (gesturing along the way), walking wasn’t a bad option. Ahhh, she was a single mother, she needed someone with whom to talk things over.

I so thoroughly scoured that town; I owned it. Maybe that’s why I was so ready to move on from it.

Karen Nollenburger says that our job as parents is to make that job obsolete. We give our children security so they can venture forth without us.

I recently watched a documentary on the suburbs; they talked about how children no longer develop a sense of personal sovereignty. They are constantly chaperoned and not encouraged to go off exploring, so they never develop ownership of their neighborhood.

I think of it like this—what happens when in a novel, an author traps a character in limited settings—living room, car and gym—then shuttles him/her between those places? What sort of character would emerge? How self reliant would this character become? How able would they be to navigate the bigger world? How willing?

The website version: http://freerangekids.wordpress.com/

I was thinking about this as Sam was on Briscoe's playground, climbing this ridiculously high ladder that led to a ridiculously long and curvaceous slide all the while I’m trying to breath through my anxiety. Maybe only parents can plant their feet on the ground and still experience vertigo.

Sometimes it's almost impossible to distinguish between what’s truly dangerous and what just scares me. In both instances the feeling is the same. Obviously at 2 years Sam isn’t ready for un-chaperoned exploration but I still need to develop an ability to distinguish.

I know that I didn’t have some magical childhood in Ashland, Oregon that I can bestow upon my child. Or if it was magical, it was the same kind of childhood a lot of people experienced. Dave had a free range childhood here in South Buffalo. What is so different now from back then? If you look at the statistics the world isn’t anymore dangerous. Maybe my mother knew how to do something that I’m just learning to do: talk myself through the anxiety and let Sam be free. Now where do I get another Scout…