It was the middle of the night when the phone rang. I woke up, startled, and stood up. An immense sense of dread washed over me; I was frozen. I couldn’t answer the phone. It was almost as if something was holding me back. Intuitively, I knew that Tom was gone. I didn’t need confirmation from the person on the other end of the line that it was over.
But what did I lose? What did I have? It was all a mystery to me then, as it is today—memories scattered to such a degree that I can’t even place them in chronological order. Wishes for a future never to be. Expectations never met. Questions never answered. All I could do was accept.
The terrible memories are the most persistent. However, with some thought, wonderful memories emerge and are more fulfilling. Where do I even start?
Today would be my brother Tom’s birthday. He would have been 84 today. But that was never to be; my brother died when he was 33 years old, and I was 20. We were just starting to form a connection with each other. It was nascent but had promise. I longed to know my brother, but circumstances were always against us.
I remember the news, but I don’t know where I was. Certainly, I heard it from my parents. My brother Tom, at 6’1” and husky build, seemed like a tower of health. However, he had gotten a cold that never went away, and when he went to the doctor, something rare in my family, simple blood work revealed a horrifying conclusion. My brother Tom had leukemia. The family GP recommended that he transfer his care to the University of Chicago. The local hospital was not capable of treating him.
I was in my last year of college studying biology but had little medical knowledge. I planned to become a university professor and was interested in microbiology, not human physiology. The type of leukemia that my brother had generally responded to treatment. A cure recently developed, almost as if it was designed to help him. But then the reality of cancer hit.
When people talk about cancer, a particular veil of information is placed on it. No outsider understands the agony the individual and their family go through—perhaps that is for the best. There’s always an outpouring of sympathy and concern, but people move on. No one wants to hear lousy news, so the patient and the family tend to neutralize what they tell others. Sometimes, they do this to shield themselves. Tom was my first exposure to knowing someone on a close level who had cancer. This was my first time being upfront and in the center.
I was home from school for the summer, working as a Chicago Board of Education janitor. My father had used his clout in the board to get me the job. It was a summer program that hired college students to work in schools. This provided less expensive labor for the school’s many summer maintenance tasks and also provided students with jobs. I started these summer escapades years earlier and many years before I was eligible. You had to be 20 or 21 to get one of these jobs, and I started at 16. I was a tall kid but very much looked like a 16-year-old. I remember a union representative quizzing me about my age when he visited my job site. In my anxious state, I gave him a birth-date that aged me at 30 years. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.
When my brother died, I remember one of the assistant school engineers coming to the funeral. I’m not even sure how he knew that my brother had died. I didn’t recall having much of a connection with this man. However, I still think of him fondly for his kindness in coming to comfort me that day. Acts of kindness do make a difference.
I wish I had more memories of my brother. I wish that we had done more things together. However, my brother was 13 years my senior. When I was 10, he was 23. His life was separated from mine.
I remember my brother Tom being big, strong, and dark in complexion. He had black hair from my mother’s side. I always liked my brother Tom. He was a kind soul, and I can’t remember any time that he made me feel bad.
The family consensus was that Tom was a bit on the morose side. This was based on his habit of sitting in his bedroom with the lights off while listening to the radio. However, I don’t know if that interpretation was wholly correct. I, too, like to sit in the dark. I don’t consider myself depressed; instead, I do it to tune out outside stimuli so I can think and concentrate. Was Tom the same?
One of my earliest memories of Tom is when he went off to college. I was around five then, and my parents and I drove him to Rensselaer, Indiana, so he could attend Saint Joseph’s College. I don’t have many memories of the college, but I remember being very impressed that he was going away to school.
He had met a woman named Donna who worked with my sister Carol. She was some years older than Tom, and he fell madly in love with her. She was possessive and couldn’t deal with the fact that he was so far away. This meant that Tom was constantly returning to Chicago and not addressing his studies. I don’t know how long it took, I assume a year, but he failed out of school and returned home. Donna then dumped him. He gave away college for nothing.
He got an office job working for Union Carbide as he determined his next steps. He applied to multiple colleges, but many rejected him because of his academic failing at St. Joe’s. Eventually, one accepted him, Parsons College in Iowa. Tom attended Parsons and graduated with an excellent GPA, gaining a business degree. I remember attending his graduation with my parents. They were proud of his accomplishment. However, what I remember most was that it was a stormy day. At one point, I stood under a tree to shield myself. Suddenly, I felt tingling in my body and heard a massive crack and a boom above me. Lightning had hit the tree I was standing under, but I was unharmed. It was a miracle.
In this time frame, he met my sister Nancy’s friend, Lee. A romance developed, and then a marriage. I also remember that he was conscripted into the army at some point, or did he volunteer to shorten his time in service?
I remember his wedding to Lee and his move to the Garfield Ridge neighborhood of Chicago. It was when he was married that he was diagnosed with leukemia. I recall visiting him at the University of Chicago hospitals. I remember how he went from being a hefty guy to skin and bones. I recall helping him into the car for a doctor’s visit. He was so skinny that his belted pants fell to his knees. I remember his voice going from strong to weak and raspy. I recall him being hospitalized and begging me for water, which he was not allowed due to an ileus. I didn’t have the medical knowledge that I have now, and I was afraid even to give him a sip because I thought it would kill him. I still regret that decision.
I also have a few other scattered memories of my brother. I remember him taking me to a James Bond movie when I was probably 12. I was thrilled to have him pay attention to me. My brother wrote me a few letters when I was in college, but I don’t remember receiving them. After my mother died, my father found some of the letters. I suppose Tom didn’t have my address, so he gave them to my mom to mail to me, but life got in the way, and she forgot to do that. What a treasure it was to read them. There was no earth-shattering news, but they highlighted my brother’s wit and writing ability. It made me feel closer to him.
As I got older and our age difference narrowed, we slowly started to form an equal relationship. Sadly, his illness prevented any major progress in that area. With that said, I still have many warm thoughts for my brother Tom. I wish we had had more time together. I celebrate him and his life today. His birthday is February 8, 1941. Rest in peace, dear brother.
I got up a little later than usual today, around 6:30 AM. I didn’t sleep well last night, partly because a rotator cuff issues kept me awake. I completed a course of physical therapy with mild to moderate results. The next step is surgery, something that I can’t do at this time as I need to be available to help my wife; such surgery will leave me nearly non-functional for months. For now, I have to grin and bear it.
Despite my hazy state, I’m excited this morning. Why? Julie and I will head off to another sibling breakfast with the remainder of my family.
My family of origin consisted of 5 siblings. My sister Carol is fifteen years my senior, my brother Tom was twelve years my senior, my brother Dave was ten years my senior, and my sister Nancy is seven years my senior.
Tom passed away at age 33 from leukemia. I liked Tom, who was a great writer of humorous anecdotes. Just as I was reaching an age where we could have bonded, he became sick, and despite having the best care, he passed away. My brother Dave lived into his 70s but was plagued by the sequela from childhood polio and later PSP, a horrible neurological condition. I was not very close to Dave, which was unfortunate. As adults, I can’t say we had harsh words or some major point of conflict. I guess sometimes that is just the way it is.
So, how does all of this relate to sibling breakfasts? I am a person of relationships. As I have said in previous posts, I don’t need a lot of connections, but I heavily invest in those that I value; some of those important relationships are my siblings and surrogate siblings. I’ll be seeing them in two hours.
My biological siblings share my OCD tendencies. Both Nancy and Carol are very invested in the interest of the day. Currently, Nancy is locked into making fancy Bundt cakes, and Carol is focused on simplifying clutter. I talk to them almost every day and visit them when possible. I can wholly relate to their obsessiveness. I’m currently comparing the dynamic range of smaller camera sensors vs. larger ones. Completely unimportant for most, utterly fascinating for me- until I move on to my next obscure interest.
My surrogate siblings are my brother-in-law Mike and my sister-in-law Kathy. I have known both since my early teens and hold them close to my heart. Mike regularly sends me links to various articles that he believes will interest me, and Kathy often says kind words when I post something. Add my wife, Julie, to this crew, and the party is complete.
We have been getting together on roughly a monthly schedule for many years. We meet at a restaurant and “catch up.” In reality, we know what is happening in each other lives via phone calls, visits, and Facebook. However, we still cherish these face-to-face group times.
We are all getting older, and none of us wants to regret not trying to be together. I can’t tell you how fortunate I feel to have these people in my life. They are all inspirational to me. I value all of them, and I am certain that this feeling is reciprocated.
I write a lot about relationships in my posts because I understand that they are fundamental in pursuing life’s satisfaction. In this regard, the definer is quality, not quantity. The only investments I have had to make to have these wonderful people in my life are my time and consideration. They pick me up when I’m down, celebrate my achievements, and most importantly, value me just for who I am. I am so fortunate. Let the breakfast begin!
Our last breakfast encounter.A prior breakfast with the full complement of participants.
Why do we think that relationships are supposed to work magically, or conversely, why do we believe that relationships should be nothing but hard work?
We live in a world of unreasonable expectations, inflated self-worth, and changing roles. We also live in a world of failing relationships. Marketing executives tell us what should make us happy: things, trips, experiences. However, studies indicate that one of the most significant contributions to longevity, psychological health, and physical health is solid connections with others. Healthy connections can be with anyone: friends, relatives, children. However, the primary connection that many of us have is the connection we have with a life partner. We spend the most time with this person on both an immediate and a longitudinal basis. Classically, that person would be a spouse or a person in the role of a spouse.
Yet, we continue to see a degradation of this union. Traditional marriages have almost a 50% failure rate, with second marriages faring even worse. The average length of a first marriage is only eight years. The average length of a cohabitating couple staying together is 18 months to six years, depending on the study. Couples who live together before they are married have a higher marriage failure rate than those who follow a more traditional path.
Finding a relationship has shifted away from traditional avenues to online apps. The majority of women vie for the top 10% of men, meaning that many of these women become casual bonus relationships while 90% of the men face constant rejection. That rejection is often based on superficial requirements like being 6 feet tall or above or making a 6-figure salary.
The ease of hooking up almost anonymously doesn’t lead to a sense of liberation or empowerment, as studies show that both men and women often feel emptier after an encounter.
Although not for everyone, something must be said about a quality traditional committed relationship. The operative word here is quality. So many relationships start with high hopes, only to end in disaster. Conventional approaches to healing a failing relationship, such as couples therapy, may be effective only 50% of the time.
Is there a way to ensure that a committed relationship continues to thrive? That was the question that John Gottman, PhD, and his wife Julie Gottman, PhD, have been exploring for the last 50 years. Authors of over 40 books and several hundred scientific papers, it would be impossible to summarize all of their work in this short post. However, I thought I would highlight some of their observed findings.
The Gottmans discovered that some individuals were masters of relationships and were experts at nurturing connections with their significant other. Unfortunately, others were poor at maintaining relationships. The good news was that it is possible to learn how to become a master. Just like anything else, relationships require work and attention to thrive. However, the Gottmans note that having a good relationship doesn’t need to be a constant, exhausting effort.
One critical need is for partners to respond to little bids for connection from their counterparts. Bids for connection are simple statements that one partner says to the other. Statements like, “Oh, that tree has the most beautiful fall colors!” or “Can you come into the kitchen to check this out?” It was found that successful partners responded to these little bids around 86% of the time. Their response didn’t have to be much. “Yes, that tree is beautiful,” or “OK, I’ll be right there.” Poor prognosis couples only responded positively 33% of the time—the other 67% of the time, they ignored or turned away from their partner.
They also noted that successful couples often had rituals of connection, routine questions that showed interest in the other person, such as “How was your day?” or “What can I do for you this week to make you feel loved?” Our family always does “rose and thorns” at dinner time. Each person takes a turn and says the good and bad things they experienced during the last 24 hours. This ritual is simple but allows for further conversation and connection. We also know when some external force is negatively impacting one of us. We do many other simple things to acknowledge each other. For instance, if we hear someone coming into the house, we usually shout, “Welcome home!.” Naturally, there are also many specific points of connection that I specifically have with my wife—easy ways to connect via simple rituals.
The Gottmans note that partners should also openly discuss what is bothering them. The complainant should use “I ” rather than “you” statements. It is better to say, “I’m feeling exhausted making dinner every night,” rather than, “You are lazy and inconsiderate for not helping with dinner.” The latter just makes the recipient defensive. To continue to move the conversation forward, they suggest that the recipient ask questions like, “Tell me more about your concerns,” rather than instantly defending their position. The complainant’s job is not to blame but to express how something negatively impacts them.
They note that successful marriages often have patterns of behaviors that strengthen their bonds. One way to do this is to ask open-ended questions, which allow the other person to respond at length instead of with a one-word answer. It is better to say, “Tell me more about what is stressing you,” rather than “So you are stressed?” The more you know how your partner feels about something, the better you understand them.
Turning toward your partner when talking acknowledges that what they say is important to you. How many people turn away or look at their phone or TV when their partner tries to engage them? Such actions signal that their partner’s concerns are insignificant.
The Gottmans also noted the importance of expressing fondness for each other through words and touch. It doesn’t take much to say, “I love you,” or “You look very nice today.” Physical touch is vital in creating a bond between two people. That touch can be anything from intimate cuddling to holding hands. I’m a touchy guy, and I’m sure it is one of my “love languages.”
Successful couples are skilled at managing conflict. However, 70% of disputes that couples experience are non-resolvable. Therefore, it is necessary to face these situations with humor, grace, compromise, and acceptance.
I’m a person who does poorly with a lot of visual clutter. I like things to be neat and organized. Julie is more of a free spirit, and clutter doesn’t bother her. This was an unresolvable conflict in our marriage. Many years ago, I took over cleaning the house. This allowed me to establish simple courtesy rules for all members while freeing Julie from housecleaning tasks. If someone uses a dish outside of a meal, they must wash it and put it away. However, I make sure that the kitchen is clean and tidy. At the same time, I don’t mess with Julie’s areas, like the top of her dresser. Our differences remain, but we have found a way to move past them.
Likewise, I’m a chronic comparer and love examining how different products are similar and different. I’m a photographer and have over a dozen cameras of all types. Do I need that many cameras? No. However, they give me pleasure. I collect other things, too; many of those interests are temporary, and I usually give things away after ” studying” them. However, that is not the case with my cameras. Early in our marriage, Julie commented that I was pathological in my “collections.” I would counter with angry and defensive feelings as my collections never impacted us as a couple, and they were important to me. However, at some point, she understood that this “comparison” issue was something I had been doing since childhood, and it gave me a lot of pleasure. Would she prefer it if I had fewer collections? I’m confident the answer would be yes, but she now accepts who I am, and we can laugh about our mutual quirks.
Although 70% of conflicts are not resolvable, most are trivial, like the ones listed above. Of course, there can be times when a conflict is so significant that it can’t be accepted or laughed off, and there is no hope of resolution. However, those unacceptable conflicts are rarer than most couples believe.
The Gottmans also found that successful couples honor and support each other’s dreams. These dreams may be different for each individual. My thought is that there has to be balance here. Let’s say one partner gets involved in get-rich-quick scams, or the other wants to sell everything and move to Paris to live a Bohemian lifestyle. In those situations, it may not be possible for the other person to support the other’s dreams completely. However, there may be compromises. Perhaps a measured amount of resources can be spent on mildly risky financial opportunities, or a more spartan lifestyle further away from the rat race can be adopted. A couple’s bond is strengthened when each person’s dreams are respected.
Establishing rituals can also be an excellent way to build bonds. Let me share a somewhat embarrassing personal example with you. When dating Julie, I was gifted a giant magnum of costly champagne. Julie and I are not big drinkers, but quality champagne tastes more like fizzy grape juice than hard liquor (my unsophisticated opinion). I knew champagne didn’t age well, so I uncorked it on one Halloween over 30 years ago. On that day, I bought an enormous amount of candy, and we both ran to the door every time we heard the doorbell ring. The kids’ costumes became more impressive with each glass, and we wanted to see them all. At the same time, I had ordered a substantial Chinese take-out feast, which we were enjoying. It was a crazy and fun day despite the horrible headaches we both suffered the following morning. Although we have omitted the champagne part, we always have Chinese food on Halloween, and we still enjoy the Trick-Or-Treaters, who are so proud of their “disguises.” Chinese food on Halloween has become a ritual in our house.
Trust and commitment are critical components of successful couples. Can I trust that you have my back? Will you be there for me for life? If our situation changes, will you stick by me? If I become sick, will you support me or abandon me?
As a therapist, I sometimes treated a person or couple in an open marriage. These arrangements usually stipulate only physical and not emotional involvement with the third party. However, I often saw that emotional involvement did occur and that it would destroy the couple’s relationship. An even more destructive situation was when one person decided to go outside the marriage to find an affair partner. Trust and commitment are destroyed in such situations.
An affair partner can always look good, be nice, be supportive, and be exciting because they have none of the real-life issues married couples face. Statistics show that a vast percentage of relationships that start as an affair end badly when they go from an affair to a committed relationship. People who “cheat” often don’t stop in their next relationship.
The Gottmans also found predictors of relationship failures. They could easily predict what marriages would fail after watching a single argument. They call this destructive communication style the “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.”
The first horseman is criticism. This is different than offering a critique or voicing a complaint. It is an attack on the person. A complaint would be, “I feel unappreciated when you leave your dishes around the house, and I have to collect and wash them.” A criticism would be, “You are so inconsiderate. You never think about how your behavior impacts me; you only think about yourself. You are useless and just cause me extra work! You are a horrible person!” Hopefully, you can see the difference between these two expressions.
The second horseman is contempt. This is far worse than criticism and is a powerful predictor of a future failed marriage. Contempt occurs when one person takes a superior position to the other. It often includes mocking, name-calling, cruel sarcasm, and scoffing. The goal is to demean the other person and make them feel worthless. Contempt implies that the perpetrator is superior to their partner. An example of contempt is, “How dare you complain that you’re tired. You only have to watch the kids and care for the house. How hard is that? I have to go to work and support the family. I have to do the real work. You are pathetic!” It doesn’t take much to realize how destructive a comment like that would quickly sour a marriage.
The third horseman is defensiveness, which is often a response to criticism. “Did you pick up the pie for the Smiths’ potluck?” A defensive response would be, “You know how busy I am. I can’t do everything. Why didn’t you do it?” There is no dialog; instead, there is anger and an effort to reverse blame.
The fourth horseman is stonewalling. This is when one partner simply shuts down and stops responding to their partner. They may turn away, get involved in something else (like playing a video game), or simply ignore their partner. This is often a response to contempt. Stonewalling is the result of being psychologically flooded. The person is so overwhelmed by the psychological attack that they are in flight or fight mode. Their ability to respond is hampered, as are their reasoning abilities. This is a natural response to a threat where escape and survival are at the forefront.
If a couple recognizes that they are doing the above, they can change their behavior. Otherwise, the relationship is doomed. All couples argue there is nothing wrong with having conflict. The key is knowing how to “fight right.” One method is to listen and not interrupt others when they share their concerns. The Gottmans even suggest having the recipient write them down, as this reduces defensiveness and angry reactions (obviously, this would be for more serious problems, not forgetting to pick up a pie).
They also note that business approaches to conflict resolution do not work in these emotional situations. Doing a cost/benefit exercise is not going to help. Listening, asking open questions, taking responsibility, and acknowledging the other person’s concerns are more essential tools. A sincere apology has a lot of power.
An abundance of research data suggests that good relationships increase a person’s psychological health, physical health, and longevity. As the population moves toward an app-based selection method for potential partners, superficial identifiers often replace more valuable characteristics like kindness, empathy, cooperation, and compassion. Apps have turned potential partner selection into just another marketplace where you go to purchase a product—turning a person into an object to deliver something to the recipient. Such a position is destructive to building a genuine relationship. Relationships have to be mutually beneficial to work; those benefits are often mutually supportive, as shown by the Gottmans’ research.
Here is the good news. If you, as a couple, understand and implement what the Gottmans suggest, you can transform a doomed relationship into a successful one. I mentioned the concept of being a master of relationships. If you practice their suggestions, those skills will extend well beyond your couple’s relationship and benefit your other life connections. How cool is that?
Being kind and considerate towards your partner is not co-dependent; it is an active and thoughtful process that also respects your values and needs. However, it may feel contrary to our societal norms, filled with anger and dissatisfaction.
It is so acceptable to use the word hate. “I hate him!” It is harder to say the word love when using it as it was intended to be used. Don’t you find that strange? Image the power of two people working towards common goals who support and love one another. Compare that to a couple that constantly finds fault with each other. Why does the latter seem much easier in our society than in the former?
Relationships are not rocket science, but they require some thinking and effort. Why would anyone believe differently?
Peace
Mike
Here is an old joke I would sometimes tell couples:
A woman goes to see a therapist. “How can I help you,” asked the therapist. “I hate my husband, and I want you to tell me how to punish him. I really want him to suffer. I want to hurt him!” The therapist said he was reluctant to help, but in the end, he agreed. “OK, this is what you have to do. You need to treat him real well. Tell him that you love him. On occasion, pick up his favorite treats for no reason. Kiss him goodbye when he goes out. Compliment him when he looks nice. Be kind and supportive of him. Then, when he falls back in love with you, leave him!” The lady chuckled in a sinister way, nodded her head, and left the office. Three months later, the therapist saw her name on his schedule. The lady came into the office, and she was beaming. In fact, she looked 10 years younger. “I guess you did what I told you to do and then dumped him,” said the therapist. “Yes, I did exactly what you told me to do, but dump him? Are you kidding? My husband is treating me like a queen. Our marriage marriage has never been better!”
In celebrating the ritual of “Father’s Day,” Julie made an effort to make me a special meal.It is essential to have fun in a relationship. Friends invited us to a party where we had to “act” certain parts. I was told to be a rough greaser, and Julie was given the part of a 1950s prim prissy high school girl. Why not have fun with such an experience?
It came apart. Some pieces were big chunks, others fragmented splinters. I was in my kitchen drinking coffee with my friend Tom as we listened to the sound of a circular saw slicing through wood and the groaning crunch of a crowbar yanking planks that had been nailed into joists decades ago. An era was about to pass.
I met Julie at the hospital. I thought she was the unit secretary, not the program director of the eating disorder program. I had been asked to do a consultation on that unit, and she caught my eye. Weeks later, I was told to attend a hospital-wide marketing meeting. The request seemed odd as I had never been asked to attend one in the many years I served as the medical director of the hospital’s substance abuse program. However, I complied.
Julie walked in. She, too, had never been asked to this meeting. She was late, and only two open seats were available. One was next to the director of nursing, whom she couldn’t stand. The other one was next to me. She picked the lesser of two evils, and we struck up a conversation. It was then that it dawned on me that she was directing the eating disorder program and not the unit secretary.
After the meeting, I returned to my unit and ran into my assistant medical director, Dr. Mary. I asked her if she knew Julie, and she said she did. She thought that she was dating a rich guy. She also felt that she wouldn’t want to date a divorced man, especially one with a child.That would be me. I’m not a person who quickly gives up on hearsay. I summoned up junior high Mike and came up with a plan and sent Mary over to the eating disorder unit to do some reconnaissance work. A short time later, Mary returned with the news that the rich boyfriend was on the way out. In her hand was Julie’s phone number.
Our first date was to a Vietnamese restaurant, followed by a drive down Lake Shore Drive in my Mustang GT convertible. I was cooler then than I am now. Our second date was to a movie. Our third date was at my house. I invited her over for dinner. She said she would bring dessert.
Dear Reader, I have been a reasonably competent cook for most of my life. However, I did not cook much at that time. I was working endless hours, and most of my meals were consumed in hospital cafeterias or purchased at fast-food joints.
I wanted to serve a nice dinner, but at the same time, it had to be simple. That was a psychological move; something too elaborate could have been intimidating, so I decided on a “guy” meal, steak. I bought most of the ingredients days before, but I realized that I needed a starch shortly before Julie arrived. I ran to the corner and bought two huge potatoes from the convenience store. I’m sure I paid triple what I would have at a regular market, but I was running out of time and needed those spuds. The menu was set: steak, baked potatoes, tossed salad, green beans, and warm dinner rolls.
I bought my house several years earlier, mainly to have a stable place for my daughter, who was then on an every-other-week schedule. It was a standard two story suburban Georgian style popular in the 1980s. Over the years, I was slowly improving it, and I was currently in the process of a project where I was adding French doors to the dining room and two decks joined by a little bridge at the back of the house. I had contracted with one of the counselors at my unit who was doing side work with an experienced general contractor.
I debated on how to set the table. Too casual would look like I didn’t care, but I didn’t want to appear to be too Martha Stewart, either. I settled on using my favorite Fiestaware on top of placemats instead of a tablecloth. I fancied up the setup with some candles and flowers to set a tone. The sound of hammers accompanied my efforts as the crew continued to work on my deck project. Jerry, addictions counselor turned temporary construction worker, soon noticed my efforts. “Doc, are you having a lady friend over for dinner tonight?” “Yep,” I replied. Just as I had to think of Jerry in a different role, the look on his face suggested that he had to adjust to the idea that I had a life outside my medical role at the hospital. After a brief pause, he smiled and said, “Great, have a nice time.” I nodded and continued my preparations.
My next task was to pick some dinner music. This was in the era of CDs, and I had one of those fancy CD changes that could hold 5 discs in a cassette allowing for hours of continuous play. I picked some of my favorite straight ahead jazz.
Back in Wheaton, Julie was dealing with her food decisions. One of her nurses gave her a recipe for a raspberry cheesecake. Julie was in the throes of making it when she realized she needed a springform pan. She made a quick dash to her local hardware store and bought one at double the price of what she would have paid at Target. However, time was of the essence.
Back at home, I was doing a final scan and realized that the towel in the powder room needed a change. I’m usually obvious, but I caught it in time. The stage was set. This was about the best that I could do.
The dinner went without a hitch. The steak was done to perfection, the rolls were warm, and the green beans weren’t overcooked. Julie’s cheesecake was enormous and could easily serve 10, but I wasn’t complaining as I love cheesecake. We ate, and talked, and ate some more. I think both of us knew that this was no ordinary dinner and this was no ordinary date.
Many dates later, I proposed to Julie under the soft glow of the Christmas tree we had just decorated in my living room.
We married, and our lives continued. I eventually left my medical director job to direct other programs, and Julie left her program director job to earn a PhD. After we were married, she decided to move into my house. Kids followed, adventures followed, and life followed.
My beautiful deck became aged, old, and decayed. It had been used less since we built a sunroom on the back of the house;its importance had faded. Now, my friend Tom’s construction crew was dismantling it. Tom and I talked and drank coffee as he barked out commands to his crew, ensuring that the job was done correctly.
The process only took about 4 hours to complete. The boards were neatly stacked in Tom’s dumpster trailer. Eventually, the scarred earth under the former deck will be updated with a stone patio. I pondered how important the deck felt when I contracted to have it built and how unimportant it had become over the years.
When I’m camping in Violet, the camper van, my entire world is contained in a 75 square feet. Yet, I have everything that I need. At home, I have duplicates and triplicates of everything. Does that make me happy? No, it may make me feel secure, but not happy. Stuff is just stuff. The deck is gone, but the connection with Julie has lasted. It has lasted through other remodels, three more children, good times and rough times, and health and sickness.
Dear reader, relationships require work, compromise, empathy, and more work. It is important to be able to look in a mirror, laugh at yourself and not take yourself too seriously. A relationship is not about who is right or in control; it is about working together. How to support each other. How to find common goals while retaining individuality. How to continue to help each other despite unforeseen roadblocks.
In many ways, these expectations are the same for any significant relationship, including those with children and friends. Yet, some of the criteria are a bit different. Expectations need to be adjusted with parents and small children vs. parents and adult children vs. a marriage relationship, vs a friendship. However, the above guidelines still apply.
We are told that romantic relationships should be magical. The infusion of the pleasure chemical, dopamine, fuels many new relationships. That honeymoon period is there for a reason. It is biologically built in for the sole purpose of passing on genetic material to a new generation. This is an essential process, but it is short lived. Like anything else that is worth having, relationships require work. Sadly, how many approach such connections with a “What have you done for me lately” position? How many look to others to fulfill them instead of looking inward to what they need to do to feel more complete? How many are sold the bill of goods that they can substitute stuff for connections with others?
My deck is now gone and almost forgotten. It was just “stuff.” I don’t miss it; I have more important things to do with the people I care about in my life.
Peace
Mike
The deck was cut up and transported to the dump via Tom’s dumpster trailer.
I didn’t want to have children, and why would I? There was absolutely no benefit to having kids. I was repeatedly told this, and so I believed it. I had been fed the message that children were long-term burdens and expensive troublemakers who caused their parents to argue. I’m presenting the sanitized version here, but you get the picture.
Those feelings did a 180 at age 30 with the birth of my first child. My heart filled with a love that I never felt before—a love without bounds, a pure love that wasn’t contingent. My marriage ended in divorce, and I became a weekend dad. However, my love and commitment to my daughter continued.
Others said that I was a kind person, but I never allowed myself to love someone unconditionally before then. I always protected my feelings, always held back, and always evaluated and re-evaluated the situation. With the birth of my daughter, I realized what I was missing. By loving someone unconditionally, I became aware of the true power of love and also became open to receiving that love. I have never regretted those changes. They have allowed me to become a whole person.
Eventually, I remarried, and when we decided to have children, there was no question that I was all in. However, Mother Nature had other plans. A year of seriously trying and months of fertility work followed before we conceived our daughter. Two years later, we had our second daughter (my third child), and our family seemed complete.
Mother Nature turned the tables on us again and surprised us with a third (my fourth) child, a boy. I didn’t realize what new concerns a boy would bring me.
You may remember from previous posts that I had a number of challenges growing up, which included a childhood where I wasn’t valued much by my dad. I also had significant central processing issues that went beyond dyslexia.
In school, teachers reached out to me and encouraged my academic abilities. This gave me the confidence to move forward and to come up with solutions to my brain’s shortcomings. I have a natural ease in learning, and complex topics are not difficult for me to master. I have been gifted with an above-average problem-solving ability. Combine these factors with a bit of teacher encouragement plus my refusal to allow others to define me, and you have a formula that allowed me to do well both academically and professionally.
However, I am still flawed, and those flaws are especially evident in one aspect of my life: my poor athletic abilities. I understand why this is the case; let me share that information with you.
I have little natural athletic ability. I grew over a foot in less than a year, which increased my clumsiness and poor coordination. Additionally, I’m blind in my left eye, so I have no depth perception. In the correct environment, I could have overcome these issues somewhat. Unlike the teachers who gave me academic confidence, I can’t remember any time when my father tossed a ball to me or positively encouraged me to improve. I was just criticized for my lack of sporty ability.
Regarding book learning and problem-solving, I had natural abilities that I could use to counter any criticism. However, when it came to sports, my only path to improvement was through encouragement followed by practice. Lacking encouragement, I didn’t practice.
I was acutely aware of my clumsiness. My point of comparison was the best athletes in my class, and it was clear that I fell far short of their abilities. I couldn’t throw a ball as far, and my lack of depth perception made it impossible for me to successfully catch anything smaller than a basketball. I had a fear that I threw a ball “like a girl” (forgive this misogyny; this was in the 1960s). I don’t know if that was the case, but I avoided sporty interactions as I already felt different from the crowd.
Let’s face it: a grade school kid obsessed with how the universe works is not normal. I was comfortable rewiring broken radios into new electronic devices in the 3rd grade. I built a successful chicken-hatching incubator out of lightbulbs and laundry baskets in 6th grade. None of my peers were doing that, certainly not on their own. I wanted to fit in with my classmates. I could do my projects in private, but one can only be so odd. I avoided sports, an area where everyone could see I was atypical.
Despite my fears, I don’t recall ever being the focus of ridicule from my classmates. I had friends, and people seemed to like me. I think my feelings were internally based as another one of my strengths, as well as one of my curses, is to overanalyze things. However, I was what I was (poor English, I know).
Now, at 48, I was about to have a son. Knowing that we were having a boy filled me with intense excitement and fear. Could I even raise a boy? Did I have the ability to do so? I couldn’t train myself and become an athlete overnight; I felt I needed to correct all the wrongs I experienced as a child by becoming a coach as much as a father. However, I couldn’t do that. I could never be a perfect “Leave it to Beaver” dad. Would I be a failure as a father to my son?
I came to realize that I didn’t have to be the perfect dad. Just like with raising my daughters, effort was more important than mastery. The most important things were to love my son unconditionally, accept him for who he was, and encourage him to be the best he could be.
I couldn’t teach him the best way to pitch a baseball, but I could invest in him in countless other ways. I could educate him in logic, expose him to the wonder of science and deduction, show him how to fix things around the house, emphasize creativity, teach him technology, give him basic life skills like cooking, build his self-esteem and confidence, and focus him on becoming kind and compassionate. These were the things that I could offer him. That was the best that I could do. That’s what I tried to do.
My son is not me; he is his own unique person. He has many of my characteristics, but he also has his own abilities. He has the confidence to pursue athletics and has enjoyed the camaraderie of team sports. He excels in science and will start graduate school studying evolutionary genetics this fall. He is creative and already plays the piano, trombone, and guitar. Now, he is learning the drums. Most importantly, he is a kind and compassionate person. I am incredibly proud of him.
Do you know what? My son loves and values me. He enjoys spending time with me. We share deep conversations. He helps me with projects. We cook meals together. We complement each other. All of this, even though I wasn’t a sporty dad.
I love the outdoors, especially hiking and camping. I have gone on a number of short camping trips exclusively with my son. I wanted to go on a longer one after he graduated college, but would he be interested in being seen with his old (and I mean old) dad? The answer was yes. We talked about the trip for months and spent time planning it together. We shopped for groceries and packed Violet the camper van. We were both excited about our upcoming adventure.
Our trip was an exercise in teamwork. We worked together to plan the day’s adventures and to keep Violet the camper van in ship shape. We cooked, explored, hiked, and talked together… and talked…and talked. Some evenings we watched movies. He picked movies that meant something to him, and I did the same. My little boy is no longer a little boy. He has his thoughts and dreams for the future. Some are similar to mine; others are different. That is the way it should be. However, it was clear how much we loved and respected each other. And it was clear how much we valued our time together. I don’t know what the future holds, but I am so glad I have the present.
If a new father were to ask me what they should do to be a good parent, I would tell them the following:
Don’t…
-Give your child everything without having them work for some things.
-Fix all of their problems.
-Teach them that they are better than everyone else.
-Excuse their lousy behavior.
-Try to force them into the life that you wanted for yourself.
-Try to control every aspect of who they are.
-Fight all of their battles for them.
Do…
-Love them unconditionally.
-Give them reasonable consequences when they screw up.
-Allow them to “skin their knees” while protecting them from significant falls.
-Let them know that they are valued just for who they are.
-Teach them what you know.
-Encourage them to be the best that they can be.
-Encourage them to be creative.
-Focus on compassion and kindness towards others.
-Be honest about your limitations.
-Admit when you are wrong.
-Respect their reasonable opinions.
-Accept that they need to be their own person.
-Encourage conversation, but avoid making monologues.
Oh, and did I say that you should love them unconditionally? I guess I did, but it is worth repeating it. Your kids know when you have their best interests in mind, even when they say the opposite. They will accept you for who you are, warts and all, if they understand that you are doing your best. When you are less than perfect, you allow them the same privilege. That is a good thing.
Mike
On this hike we discovered two waterfalls. We thought it would be funny to get matching shirts and then send a photo back home to the family.Once during every father/son camping trip we make cheap steaks on an open campfire. Somehow the method makes them delicious!Our last morning. Getting ready to pack up and head home.There are no free lunches. We both took turns cleaning Violet the camper van after the trip.
I must admit that I was excited. I was excited to see my cousins and my nephews and nieces. I was heading out for our annual reunion campout. Due to the health concerns of a family member, I have not camped very much this year, so I was delighted to accompany Violet the camper van on a road trip. We would be driving to a campground in Michigan—two states over, but a world apart from my ordered life in the Chicago suburbs.
I would travel alone as my kids had other obligations, and my wife wasn’t feeling well. I have gone on many solo camping adventures, so this was no big deal. I’m a planner, and I love to plan my camping trips. That planning is primarily a way for me to extend the adventure.
Since Violet, the camper van is fully equipped; my forethought mostly centers around the food I should bring. However, my planning desires often differ from what I will eat camping. I’ll cook meals if I have a camping accomplice, but if it is just me, I usually eat the most basic meals possible.
For breakfast, I brought a pound of bacon and a dozen eggs. However, my actual camping breakfasts were peanut butter on an apple one day and yogurt with granola on the other. The memory of the aroma of bacon and eggs drove me to buy those items, but the reality of frying stuff up and cleaning a greasy mess pushed me toward the no-cooking options. I did a little cooking for lunch and dinner to try out the new kitchen my friend Tom and I built this summer. But I even made those meals as simple as possible.
At the start of these events, my relatives hang out with their familiars. However, in short order, the ice is broken, then groups constantly form and reform. I only see my nephews and nieces on special events like holidays, and I see my cousins less than that. Spending time with them is a rare pleasure.
When I have such episodic contacts, I assess changes in both myself and the group, and I have noticed a clear positive trend as we have all aged.
I have never been a competitive person; I am more interested in improving myself. If I compete with anyone, it is me. However, I do remember times in my past when I was envious of others’ possessions or periods when I aspired to gain some material thing for the sole reason of image.
Early in my career, I was invited by a more senior doctor to spend the weekend at his summer home, which was located directly on Lake Michigan. He had a postmodern “cabin” that possessed its own private beach. Beautiful views, cool mid-century furniture, exposed brick walls, and a giant walk-in shower so large that it didn’t require a door or a curtain. Wow, I was impressed. This guy had class. A type of wealthy class unknown to me growing up blue-collar. Additionally, I recall having dinner at his River Forest home. I have been in mammoth houses, but this one was spectacular and looked like it was out of a 1940s movie. I had never had dinner at someone’s home, where a servant served me.
I have always driven typical cars. I’m not a gearhead. However, when I turned 50, I decided that I was going to buy a “doctor’s car.” My wife was somewhat shocked with this decision, but I felt I had to go with my desire. Soon, I owned a hunter-green Mercedes. Man, I thought everyone was looking at me the day I drove it out of the dealership’s lot. I was super cool…for that day. It didn’t take me long to realize that my Mercedes was just a box on wheels and that the only person impressed with my purchase was me. If you want to continually spend a lot of money on repairs, buy a Mercedes. Soon, I got tired of my status car and returned to my old roots. I traded in the Mercedes for a much more sensible Honda.
These material things have become less important to me as I have aged. I am no longer envious of the possessions of others; the only material things I seem to want are those that directly improve my life. That may be an upgrade to Violet the campervan or a new gadget I can study and learn about. I have as much enjoyment learning about a gadget as I do using it.
Initially, I felt that this change resulted from my years as a psychotherapist. I treated so many wealthy and successful people who were dissatisfied and unhappy. Most were on the road of acquisition. They bought bigger houses and fancier cars. They upped their quota of exotic trips, often going multiple times yearly. They increased their diners at exclusive restaurants. They indulged in all sorts of “self” experiences. These folks knew the art of subtly dropping their brags calmly and casually. Somehow, this one-upmanship was supposed to make them feel better, but it didn’t. The more they raced to buy and experience, the worse they felt. It was an excellent lesson for me; these folks appeared to have everything on the surface but little to nothing where it counted. Many had poor marriages and kids who couldn’t find time for them. They had stressful jobs and constantly had to keep up with the Joneses, even when they didn’t need to or want to.
However, I now question if my work experience caused this change in me, and the family reunion campout highlighted that awareness. Everyone at the campout seemed genuine and honest. Our focus was on connecting and sharing, not bragging. Although I witnessed this with everyone, it was especially evident with my cousins. From my observation, they seem to be doing well financially and enjoyed the benefits of having some extra cash in their pockets. However, they did things to enhance their retirement years, not to impress others. They had reached the same life conclusions that I had, but not by observing patients. Instead, it appeared that this was a natural process of healthy aging.
We had several honest conversations that focused on the good and the less-than-good in our lives. We discussed our adult kids, looking at their successes and challenges. We explored relationships in our lives, both good and those that could use some improvement. We were real people dealing with real life. Notably, there was no posturing, bragging, or subtle put-downs. Instead, we were present to celebrate each other and acknowledge the importance of staying connected.
I judge my interactions with others based on my “aftertaste.” How did I feel when I left the interaction? Did I feel happy or energized? Will I be excited to see that person again? Or did I feel exhausted and defeated? Did that person ask anything about me; was it all about them? Was the conversation a one-way brag fest or an equally horrible “feel sorry for me” experience? I want to spend time with people where we elevate each other. I like win/win scenarios.
As I age, I think it is great not to care if someone doesn’t like me. It is empowering to be grateful for all of the incredible blessings that I have received in my life. It is a gift not to want more and more. It is amazing to have people in my life who, by their very presence, make my life better.
I have been fortunate to have been connected to many quality people over the years: cousins, siblings, my family, truly wonderful friends. I will take those relationships anytime over a new Mercedes or a fancy lake house. It is relationships that make life worth living.
Violet the camper van was excited to go on a road trip.
Today is Tuesday, more precisely, the Tuesday after Mother’s Day. Mother’s Day can be considered a Hallmark holiday: to that, I say, so what? Sometimes, we need a reason to remind us to honor the important people in our lives. I believe such events do more than that; they bind us together, cause us to reflect, and allow us to step outside ourselves leaving our self-absorbed world. These times permit us to make someone else the center of our attention. In a world where we are taught the “me first” philosophy of life, a place where kindness is considered codependency, and an era where things instead of deeds measure worth, it is important to reflect on what matters. It is OK to be generous, kind, and considerate towards others. It is not pathological to think of the needs of others; it is healthy. There is a difference between loss of self and empathy. The first leads to unhappiness, while the second yields a feeling of connection and belonging.
Here in Kunaland, we foster compassion in our children in a variety of ways, one of which is celebrating the special days of others. The process is not a burden; it is a time of joining and working towards a common goal. Yes, we want the person of the day to feel special, but we all benefit from our collective actions. When done with a loving heart, serving others is fulfilling, and working together towards a common goal is pure joy.
We began these traditions when our kids were very young, and they are now fairly standardized.
Mother’s Day starts with breakfast in bed, and my wife’s requests are always the same: coffee, some sort of a fruit bowl, and a cinnamon treat. The latter item is most often a home-baked cinnamon roll, but at other times, it has been homemade cinnamon coffee cake or, this year, a Cinnaholic cinnamon roll from our local Cinnaholic store.
When the kids were very young, it was typical for me to buy precut fruit, but now, we have adult children capable of slicing and dicing. I never seem to be able to find a nice bed tray to carry up the breakfast. I know we have many, but they seem to hide in the cabinets when I go looking for them. Usually, I’ll use something else and modify it so it serves the purpose. This year, I found a large cookie platter.
Our prep buzzes with activity; some ice rolls, others cut fruit, and still others make coffee. My goal is to arrange the items so they are pleasing to the eye; some years, I’m more successful than others. When all is assembled we march up the stairs singing “Happy Mother’s Day To You,” borrowing the melody from the classic birthday tune. Julie always manages to look surprised even though we have been doing the same shtick for almost 30 years.
Some of us will cut fruit. It is less expensive and tastes better than precut too!I can never find the right tray. Here, I’m using a cookie platter. However, I try to arrange things so that they look appetizing and pleasant. Julie always manages to look surprised despite the fact that we have been doing this shtick for decades.
The next item on our agenda is brunch at my niece Karen’s home. Karen has a wonderful older home in an adjacent suburb and has been hosting a Mother’s Day brunch for as long as I can remember. This is despite that Karen, herself, is a mother of three. She insists on doing all of the cooking and baking. Somehow, she manages to fill her home to the brim with people. She had at least 50 guests this year. Karen is a fantastic cook, and eating at her home is better than going to a high-end restaurant for brunch. Karen and her husband Themi’s hosting is effortless. I honestly don’t know how they do it. Their hospitality sets the tone for the guests, who are happy and talkative. It is a wonderful afternoon.
Despite the small size of their house, my niece and her husband’s place seems to expand and accommodate no matter how may guest arrive.Here some of the guests are enjoying my niece’s fantastic cooking.Everyone is happy to catch up.
Back home, we usually have a few hours between the brunch and our next effort, making dinner for the celebrant. Julie is fond of a particular fish stew, but we don’t make it often as one of our kids dislikes fish, and another doesn’t like beans. However, they will allow exceptions on such special days.
This year I was lucky to find a French Silk pie, Julie’s favorite, at the baker’s. At 5 PM, we assembled to start dinner prep, with me directing. I am immensely proud of my kids, who all work together to get the job done. There is no bickering, or fighting, or prima donnas. There is just doing. We have been cooking together for a very long time, and over the years, our cooking time has become as enjoyable as our meal time. My kids are fun to be with.
We all work together to put the meal on the table.
With the meal completed and the table set, we call down the celebrant, and dinner is served. It is our tradition to go around the table and say something nice about our guest of honor, as it is another way to make them feel special. The celebrant’s job is to thank the cooks, and the event turns into one big love fest. When the kids were young, I would take them to the store so they could pick out gifts for Julie. That has long passed, and they now do that on their own. We are not into lavish gifts in Kunaland, something meaningful is more important. That may be a purchased item, something handmade, or even a service given.
Table is set, time to call down the celebrant!Julie loves this fish stew, but the kids object so we only make it on special occasions. Connecting together is better than any gift.
Some years end with games or a family movie, but this year ended with dessert and presents. It was a perfect day to honor a special person.
How wonderful to do something where everyone feels good. As a psychotherapist, I have witnessed the pendulum swings in society. I have witnessed the increasing move towards the “what about me?” society. A place where everyone feels that they are not getting enough and that their needs are more important than anyone else’s.
I’m all for people meeting their needs, but I’m afraid we have been sold a bill of goods. There is the trendy psychological edict of “self.” The concept is that everything must benefit the “self.” Like many trendy concepts, a reasonable idea has morphed into something that doesn’t approximate its original intention. It is possible to meet our individual needs while also caring for the needs of others. In fact, the latter is preferable, as all research points to the fact that individuals are happier when they are connected. Yes, I made an effort to give Julie a special day, but she will likely return that favor when Father’s Day approaches. When kindness becomes the norm, it is easy to do things for others, and it is easy for them to return that blessing.
In my psychiatric practice, I would treat parents who had their children ghost them. Admittedly, some individuals would not be candidates for Parent of the Year. However, many were decent, good people. It wasn’t uncommon to have a child cut all ties without ever giving the parent a reason why or giving them a chance to change. They would stop responding to their calls and text messages and no longer include them in their lives. At other times, they would send a “no contact” letter without any explanation or recourse. Such actions were devastating and frequently unnecessary.
Yes, there are toxic parents out there who constantly pit one kid against another, or are always eager to criticize and compare. However, many of these folks should be allowed the opportunity to change. If they are unable or unwilling, then it is reasonable for the adult child to do what is necessary to preserve their mental health. However, it is surprising how many kids eliminate their parents based on perceived emotional injuries instead of establishing a conversation with them or setting less absolute limits that allow for growth on both sides of the fence. How can you change a behavior if you don’t know what you need to change? I have known flawed parents, but they did everything in their power to give their kids a good life, only to be rejected for all time. I have also worked with many parents whose child’s spouse forces an “us vs. them” edict where spousal harmony requires the child to abandon their family in favor of the in-laws. You can never have too many people who care about you.
Oddly, some of the most toxic parents that I have encountered seem to be given a pass and their kids’ continue their solicitous behavior.
Significant modifications must sometimes be made in a parent/adult-child relationship. If the holidays are always traumatic, it is reasonable to find alternative activities outside the family sphere. If a parent can’t resist comparing or criticizing, the first step is to identify obnoxious behavior clearly, and to establish a hard “no,” informing the parent that such comments are unwelcome. A hurt or insulted parental response can be countered with a thick skin and an unemotional yet clear retort. For parents with other issues, the solution may be as simple as having shorter get-togethers in neutral spaces, like a restaurant. A clear but polite “no” can be employed for parents who are always demanding things. Lengthy explanations are not required. I firmly believe in setting limits with people in a kind but clear way.
It is more difficult when problems exist in the adult child or their spouse. However, the same rules apply, although it may be necessary to acknowledge other motives, such as a spouse’s desire to estrange the child’s parents. At times, it is most reasonable to accept the limitations of the relationship,and to fill the emotional gaps in other ways.
To reiterate. Building traditions can strengthen bonds. However, there are times when it is impossible to reconcile a relationship, and the only solution is to move on. Yet, at other times, some effort can yield a positive result. Remember, you can never have enough people who love you and who you love. When possible, always go with the win-win scenario.
Easter Saturday morning finds me in the kitchen making heaping quantities of cheesy chivy potatoes for our extended family Easter party. They have been an Easter tradition in our family for over 40 years. I was tasked with making them over 30 years ago and have done so ever since. The recipe is simple… make mashed potatoes and add cheese and chives. I usually spice them up with some hot sauce and garlic but don’t tell anyone, as those are my secret additions. The biggest issue with making this Midwestern food is the mess and pots. I have to pull out my 12-quart stock pot, my Kitchen Aid mixer, and many utensils, all of which get covered with a sticky potato goo.
This year, my daughter Grace and I also made some CPS (Chicago Public Schools) sugar cookies (see my last post), and Julie made her famous Heath Bar cookies for the party.
Over the years, Easter has been hosted by different family members: first my parents, then my sister Carol, then my sister Nancy, and now my sister-in-law Kathy. Easter is a communal affair where everyone brings a dish to the party. From sweet potatoes to Jello molds (we are in the Midwest, after all), to lamb cakes, it is quite the feast. A party filled with my siblings, nieces and nephews, and their kids is always a good time.
Our extended relatives drifted away many years prior. We were one of those ethnic families who celebrated every holiday, communion, and confirmation en masse. However, that changed in the early 1970s. More recently, my cousin, Ken, asked me what happened to cause this separation. Honestly, nothing happened. All I recall is that as our families grew in size via marriages and children, it became impractical to host everyone, and the all-inclusive parties of the past ended. However, this was not the case with all, as many of my cousins continued to celebrate events together.
My mother passed away in the 1970s, and my father in the early 1990s. At my dad’s funeral, my sister mentioned to my cousin Ken that it would be nice to have a family reunion picnic. That summer, my sister secured a permit for a park in her town, and the KRF (Kuna Family Reunion) was born. I remember my cousin Ken bringing all sorts of things to that first event, including melting popsicles for all! From the KFR came the Kuna Kampout, the Droby Fest Christmas Party (Droby is a traditional Slovak sausage), and other get-togethers. Ken became the organizer of most of these events.
Over time, Ken’s sister Kris and her husband Bob took over more and more of the responsibilities of these parties. How fortunate I am to have responsible and organized cousins. How grateful I am that they have kept these get-togethers alive.
This year my sister-in-law Kathy hosted our family Easter party on Easter Saturday. As a twist, she extended the invitation to our cousins, and many accepted. Yet, another connection to our extended family.
The party was a great success, with everyone bringing a dish to pass, more desserts than even a foodie like myself could sample, and a tremendous amount of goodwill and joyful spirits. We don’t talk about politics or other divisive topics. We share stories about our lives, kids, and grandkids. Many of us are now retired and have transitioned from complicated work lives to ones of simple pleasures.
This year’s party was punctuated by a new twist: a DJ with a Karaoke machine. Few have singing voices, but that didn’t stop us from going up to the mic and belting out a song or two. Our efforts were met with rousing applause from the audience. Clearly, sympathy applause, but we will take what we can get!
Easter symbolizes many things, but for me, it represents a rebirth. Thirty years ago, our family reconnected with our extended family. Our mighty clan was reborn, and we have been moving forward ever since.
My cousins are good, kind people, and catching up with their lives is always a pleasure. The same can be said of my siblings and their prodigy. Naturally, I’m pretty fond of my family too.
Kuna Klan, I sincerely want to tell everyone that I love you! Cousins, thank you for welcoming me back into your lives. Knowing you has made my life richer. I am so proud to be part of our group and pleased that you accepted me back into the fold.
Happy Easter, readers. Be reborn today.
Peace, Mike
A good time to catch up.Here I am trying to look Eastery. Doing our best to sing “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey. The more singers that you have the better your sound.Even the little kids got into it.If you come from an Eastern European family you always talk about “the spread.” Here, two of my cousins are starting to assemble our Easter feast. Trust me, it was much larger than what you see. We all gathered in a circle to pray. My sister-in-law surprised me by asking me to say grace. Yikes! I did my best.My sister-in-law did a fantastic job putting together our party.Many brought dessert. It has been a tradition to take a photo of our kids on stairs every Easter. Well, our kids aren’t kids anymore!And now a photo of the “old folks.”
Grace asked me if I wanted to try it on the long drive from her Ohio college. It is about a 5-hour trip, so I said, “Sure.” She said that she had heard good things, but was as naive about it as I was.
Grace was referring to an old podcast called “Serial.” To be more specific, she was referencing the first season of that show, which was streamed in 2015. “Serial” hit the podcast world like a storm. It remains the most downloaded podcast ever produced. Naturally, we were years late to jump on the bandwagon. It is common for me to find a great show or program years after the rest of the world has extolled its virtues.
Season One of “Serial” chronicles the case against Adnan Syed. He was convicted of murdering his former girlfriend, Hae Min Lee. When the crime happened he was only 17 and an honor student at a tough Baltimore high school.
The podcast is skillfully narrated by Sarah Koenig, who spent thousands of hours researching the case. She has the gift of pulling you in one direction, then dragging you from that comfort zone. One moment you are convinced that Adnan is innocent, then you are not so sure, then you think he is guilty. This cycle repeats throughout the series. Clearly, Sarah is a master of the plot twist; her skill is more impressive as she is doing this sleight of hand with a real case that has a known outcome. I won’t spoil the story for you any further.
We listened to the first 5 episodes on our trip, the 5th one ending as we pulled into the driveway. Gracie said, “Dad, we can finish the series when we go on walks.” This sounded like a great idea. When Grace is home we often go on long walks together.
Like many things in the Kuna household, we scheduled walk times. Then, we would download a given episode on our iPhones, insert our earbuds, and head off on our hike. Inevitably, we would hit glitches and have to re-synchronize our listening along the way. We knew when we were off when one person was laughing or gasping, and the other walker had no idea why.
These have been a different kind of walks for me. The majority of the time, I’m a solo walker, but when I walk with someone, we converse. I wasn’t sure about sharing a walk while isolating in an earbud cacoon. In some ways, this seemed even too introverted for me. In reality, it is similar to watching a TV show with someone. You are connected with them but differently. We interact during our walks, and we talk about the show afterward. I would never want to give up regular walks, but I do enjoy the added pleasure of these enhanced hikes. It feels like you are going to the movies. You have to plan the event, and you must leave the house. When you return home you reprocess the experience.
Grace and I like to take different routes when we walk. One day we may go downtown, the next day, we may venture into the forest preserves, and on another trip, we may meander to my friend Tom’s home.
When we finished the series, Gracie asked me if I wanted to continue our walk and listens. “Sure,” I said. She picked another 2015 podcast, “Limetown.” We just started this fictional series, which is more akin to a radio show from the past rather than an investigative documentary. I love old radio shows that stretch my imagination, so I’m all in.
We are now accompanied by Will. He has decided to join our “Walk and Listen” experience. We listened to the first episode of “Limetownm” which chronicles the disappearance of over 300 scientists from a utopian communal village. During this inaugural walk, we traveled into the forest preserves, then through a couple of neighborhoods. Our altered path due to Will’s need to be back home for a ZOOM meeting of his research lab group.
I have been enjoying this new activity, and I mention it here to highlight the fact that there are new things that you can do during the pandemic. Sometimes you can creatively come up with a brilliant new idea, or (as in this case) you can do a little remodel on a tried and true one. COVID is creating barriers, but the only thing that is imprisoning us is ourselves.
Early in 2020, many felt that the pandemic would last for a few months. We now know that this was folly. I would urge each of you to expand your horizons in safe ways. “Walk and Listens” may not be your thing, but use our idea as a springboard for your own.
Peace
Mike
Going on “Walk and Listens” with Gracie has been a lot of fun.We like to take different routes on our walks, here we are meandering through a neighborhood.At other times we like to take the River Walk to downtown.Sometimes we walk in the opposite direction to the Forest Preserve.Will has elected to join us on our latest podcast adventure.
Christmas is approaching, but many of my family’s traditional get-togethers have been canceled. One of them is our cousin’s Christmas party called Droby Fest. For those who are uninformed, a Droby is a Slovak sausage made from various ground meats, rice, and potatoes. It is usually baked wrapped with bacon, and it was one of the classic dishes that my grandmother served on Christmas Eve.
As far as I know, Droby sausage can’t be bought; you make it. I have some less-than-fond childhood memories of turning a hand-cranked meat grinder for hours. Besides my past grinding torture, I love Droby and look forward to eating it every Christmas.
My cousin, Ken, took over the manufacturing of Droby for the Cousin Christmas party, which is a pot luck affair of salads, main dishes, and desserts. Droby Fest is one of several other cousin-wide get-togethers that were canceled in 2020. Others included the Kousin Kampout and the KFR (Kuna Family Reunion).
My cousin Kathy suggested that in place of Droby Fest we do a recipe exchange and ZOOM call. Somehow that morphed into my niece, Jeannine compiling all of the recipes into an on-line cookbook, which then became a family history/cookbook/photo album. As far as I know, Jeannine and my cousins Kathy and Kris have formed a committee to accomplish this monumental task.
I contributed a couple of recipes, but Jeannine also needed old photos. Unfortunately, most of my old pictures were on old computers… and we all know what happens to old computers. However, I remembered another option. Around 20 years ago I wanted to digitize old family photos, burn them on a CD, and give copies of that CD to my siblings. At that time, I also labeled names on the photos as I knew that pictures without identification would be useless to future generations.
All that I needed to do was to select the photos and email them to my niece. However, there were two problems.The first was finding the CD ROM that I burned 20 years ago. The second was finding a way to play a CD ROM since none of my current computers have a CD drive.
After some searching, I found the photo CD, and luckily Julie has a plug-and-play CD drive that she uses to watch old TV shows. I connected the drive to my MacBook, inserted the CD ROM, and held my breath. It loaded! However, there were no thumbnail images, so I had to manually click on every single file to view it. Since the process was a bit of a pain, I thought I would get some extra mileage for my efforts and post some of the photos here. Grab a cup of tea and come down my memory lane. These are common photos of a typical family, wholly unremarkable… and because of this, I find them charming. (but I may be biased)
Here are my grandparents on their wedding day. Both of them spoke only Slovak to me, and so my memories of them are limited. When my sister Carol introduced her Irish husband to them they were able to speak perfect English to him. I think their refusal to speak English to us kids was a pride thing… they were very proud of their culture.Here is a photo of my mother’s mother. I never met her as she was long deceased before I was born. Sadly, there are no photos of my maternal grandfather in existence. The Kuna’s first car! Quite a big deal. It looks like they are at the cemetery on Memorial Day. We would all go to the cemetery on that holiday and have a picnic. My mom would usually bring a big basket of friend chicken as well as a huge Tupperware of homemade potato salad. Naturally, she also brought desserts-usually cookies and cake squares. When I was a kid I thought it was perfectly normal to picnic at the cemetery. I actually looked forward to it!Grandma and Grandpa Kuna. This photo looks so ethnic, don’t you think?My dad. Apparently, he was so good looking that women would fake faint in church because they wanted him to carry them out (he was an usher). I know that this story sounds fantastic, but I have had it confirmed from multiple sources.My mom as a young girl. My mother was a product of the 1920s. She saw her role only as a wife and mother. With that said she was brilliant and extremely talented. She was very creative, a good artist, and an excellent writer. Her brothers (who were dismissive of girls) were shocked when she received the award for the most gifted student when she graduated. My mom in a snow ball fight. She is far right.I’m not sure what this photo is from, but my parents were styling. You have to love the 1920s fashion hat and dress. Many of my mom’s early photos show a gap in her front teeth. She apparently got the gap fixed because I have no memory of it.My parent’s wedding day. My mother said she hated the photographer but felt forced to use him due to parental pressure.Hamming it up on their wedding day. Another shot of my mom. It looks like she is wearing church clothes. Church was very important to both of my parents, they said the rosary on their knees most nights.My dad, second from the left. Here he is a fireman for CPS. He eventually became the chief operating engineer for one of the largest high schools in Chicago. I have always had a fascination with mechanical stuff. Unfortunately, my dad didn’t have a lot of interest in teaching me. This is probably one of the reasons that I went into science. No one in my family had a science background, so no one could criticize me. Another shot of my father, as a fireman.A later photo of my dad as a fireman. He is older in this picture (in his late 30s?). My father had a limited initial education but worked his way up the ladder to become successful in his career. He spent years in night school and eventually took classes at Amour College (which later became the Illinois Institute of Technology). My siblings. My parents felt that they had a complete family in the 1940s, then 7 years later I came along in 1953. Surprise! Four is company, five is a crowd?My mother, and two of my siblings. You have to love the 1940s style. I bet this was some sort of church activity. Me in our old run-down bathroom. The toilet would spit at you when you flushed it. I’m glad that the photographer respected my modesty by skillfully shooting me above my waistline. By the way, it looks like we were using Ivory soap-it floats! Am I asking for the towel?Me as a baby. Is that a crown on my head? I imagine that my mom is singing to me. I like this photo.Me on top of our old Nash. The car originally belonged to my uncle Nick. I think he sold it to my dad for a “good price.” We acquired several cars that way. We only had one new car growing up-a 1965 Ford Custom (A stripped-down Galaxy). Me with a baseball glove. This had to be a staged shot. I’m poorly coordinated and have no depth perception- I will never be a team’s MVP. I have never liked sports, I’m not good and I don’t like not being good at things. Go figure- Well actually, anyone who knows me well will agree with the above. I like doing things well.I’m guessing that I’m around 3 years old here. I always have been interested in how things work, even then.My sister Carol, likely her high school graduation photo. Every lady had a string of pearls in those days. I love this photo. Apparently, no one can stop eating for a 30-second photo! Typical Kunas. The photo includes my family as well as my Godmother and her daughter Suzanne. Suzanne is now a retired biology professor. Also in the photo is my aunt Lill, I’m guessing that the little girl is my cousin, Mary Lynn. I’m not sure who my aunt Mary is holding. Her son, Rudy? Her nephew Stevie?Santa and me. I would visit Santa at the Talman Saving and Loan on 55th street. Santa’s assistant took this Polaroid. I remember being absolutely fascinated with the fact that the photo developed “instantly.”For Christmas that year I asked Santa for, “A device that can convert battery power into AC power.” I guess was asking for an inverter, but I didn’t even know that they existed. Instead, I got a battery-operated train. Skunked again. I’m holding the train’s battery box in this photo. When I asked my mom why Santa didn’t give me what I wanted she told me that sometimes Santa gets confused by my requests.My parents with my sister, Nancy. It looks like she is going to some sort of formal dance. She is so young and pretty in this photo. I’m the kid who is still wearing his school uniform-I didn’t have a lot of clothes. The man behind me is my bachelor Uncle Nick. When I was in grade school I desperately wanted the electronics kit “101 electronic projects.” I begged, but my father said, “No way.” Uncle Nick heard me talking about the kit and gave my father the $29.95 to buy it. Nick didn’t want the credit, but when I profusely thanked my father he made sure to let me know that the kit wasn’t from him, but from my uncle. It was an incredibly kind thing for my uncle to do.Bowser and me. My sister found Bowser as a puppy. She was running across the street and was almost killed. I absolutely loved Bowser. She would listen to my troubles and patiently comfort me when I was down. She was an awesome dog. She had to be put down when I was in college and I felt like I lost a true friend rather than a pet. It took me some time to get over the loss. Note the fishbowl. One sister (I won’t identify further) used it as an ashtray, killing my pet goldfish. She did say she was sorry.I’m not sure how old I was in this school photo. Third grade?Here I am sandwiched between my Godparents-Mary and Laddie (Ladislav)Why do I look so awkward in this photo? Cousin Kris seems more in tune with the photo shoot. When we had parties my mother made everything from scratch. On rare occasions she would buy a decorated bakery cake. She did so for my first communion. I remember that it had a big chalice on it with a host sticking out of it. I was very impressed-and thought it was the best cake ever. In reality, my mom was a top-notch baker and could bake rings around any store bought cake.Just one of those “booth photos.” I’m guessing I was in 7th or 8th grade at this time.8th grade graduation photo-there is not that much more to say.My sister Nancy was a very popular teen. She had the looks and the personality. She must have taken more than her share because sadly I didn’t have either.Sometime in the 1960s. My parents with my brothers Tom and Dave. Tom passed away at 32 from cancer, and Dave passed away in his70s from a neurological condition. They look so young in this photo-so ready to tackle the world. I didn’t have a strong connection with my brothers, they were older than me and into their own things. However, I am more than fortunate to have great connections with my two sisters.Family shot at my sister’s wedding. I’m third from the right with my head cut off. I was in high school at the time.My brother Tom’s college graduation. I’m on the far left. Before the ceremony, a freak storm came and lightning hit the tree that I was standing under. It actually split the tree into two! I remember feeling the static-tingling feelings right before the tree cracked-thankfully I was OK.This is the way that I remember my parents. I think my dad was 43 and my mom was 41 when I was born. My parents were often the oldest parents in my peer group. It always felt strange to have parents who seemed to be as old as some of my friend’s grandparents. So what did I do? Well, I was 48 when William was born!High School Senior Photo. Everyone who sees this says I look angry… I was just trying to look serious! With that said, I didn’t like high school for a variety of reasons. A photo of some of my college friends. I really loved college, both the hanging out part and the learning stuff part. In high school, I never wanted to act “too smart” as it could mean being targeted (I went to a really tough high school). In college, I decided that it was time to be true to myself. I took on my classes with zeal. Surprisingly, people still liked me even when I busted the curves! Yay!I have know John for over 60 years, and his now wife Barb for 45. I last talked to John yesterday.My mother died suddenly at 65. Shortly there after my father started to date my future step-mother, Lill.I think this was in Dad/Lill’s basement. In the photo you can see my two sisters, and two of Carol’s kids. This is probably a party to celebrate something-I’m just not sure what.I married my first wife, and we had my daughter Anne. The marriage eventually ended. Prior to being married I never wanted to have children. I think this was because my father constantly told me what a burden kids were. When Anne came along it was love at first sight. I changed my attitude about being a parent and saw it as a great gift. By the way, you may see Anne referred to as Anna-she went by a couple of different names over the years.If you were cool in the day you had to have a kick-ass stereo system. It is uncertain how cool I was, but I did manage to put together a killer set of components. Around this time I became a lover of straight-ahead jazz… I still love jazz.Here is my daughter, Anne (holding a My Little Pony) with my two Godchildren, Jeannine and Jenny. In between is little Wendy. She is now a senior VP for a major bank.Northwestern University/Evanston Psychiatric Residency program. Somehow I managed to become chief resident of the residents. I’m standing in the back row, once again with part of my head cut off. This was a really nice group of people, very smart too!Dad, Davie, Kathy, and Carol. At this point, I was divorced and living in this “garden” (ie basement) apartment in Skokie. I couldn’t afford to live in Evanston even though I was being paid extra to be chief resident. How much more? One hundred bucks a month-and a whole boatload of extra work. The apartment wasn’t too bad, but you had to learn to ignore the occasional rat screaming after it was caught in a snap trap.Single Mike. I remember that I had to iron that shirt. I don’t think I had an ironing board and so I would lay towels on the kitchen table.Single Mike a few years later. Wow, a Christmas theme outfit.I had been divorced for quite a few years. Early on I had dated a lot of very nice women, but I just couldn’t see myself getting married again. Finally, I gave up dating altogether (it was too much work, and I hated upsetting people). I decided that I should just become a single person. I didn’t date for almost two years and I thought that I was happy during that time. Then I met Julie.This is what happened next. You can also see Best Man, John, and Maid of Honor, Amy. In the front is Junior Bridesmaid-daughter Anne. This is the same “John” as the young guy 12 photos above.Julie and daughter, Anne. They both had to adjust to one another, but it all worked out in the end.Me and Kathryn. OMG, they grow up so fast.Dr. Gracie with Grandma Avis.Christmas 2000- Do you remember Y2K? The world was supposed to end when the clock struck midnight on January 1, 2000. Several prominent engineers and a few Fermi Lab scientists warned me about Y2K. I listened and bought cases of dehydrated food. Ten years later I tossed the cases out-and yes, I never heard the end of it.I did other stuff to prepare for Y2K. I have been an avid radio DXer since childhood. However, I decided I needed to have the ability to transmit (communicate) if the phone lines were down. In 1999 I took the amateur licensing exam for the technician class, then I took the test for the general classification. By the end of the year, I passed the amateur extra licensing exam (the highest level) which allowed me to transmit on all amateur bands and modes. I over prepared-again.One thing led to another. Here sisters Kathryn and Grace welcome brother William. My in-laws, Bob and Avis were visiting in Naperville when William arrived. How great it was to have them around for that special event. We really needed them too, as I was spending time in the hospital with Julie while our two little girls were at home.Anne in a glamor shot. These head shots were a big deal a few decades ago.William. Note the sign in the lower left. The family was about to celebrate Father’s Day. I bet they made me mandarine orange cake, which is my favorite. You can never go wrong by adding Cool Whip to anything!Teaching Will and Grace how to cook has been one of my great joys. I cook a lot of the meals at home, and more often than not Will, Grace, or Kathryn will help me. Actually, sometimes all three will be in the kitchen at the same time. I really love spending time with my kids.Grace, Will, and Kathryn taken just this year. My babies are now adults. This makes me both very happy and very sad. However, I’m going with happy.Grandson Seb.Granddaughter Diana.Family! I’m have gone a long way from never wanting kids. To me, my family is the most important and most significant part of my life. Never base your opinion on someone else’s opinion. My dad felt that kids were a burden, but I now know that they are really a joy. They are my most important accomplishment.
