Month: May 2023

From Acorn to Sapling

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Children, Deep Thoughts, FamilyLeave a comment

10 minute read)

I sat in my seat at the Schar Center on the campus of Elon University in North Carolina and wept as 2023 graduate Candace Rhodes sang these lyrics from the beautiful song by Andra Day:

“You’re broken down and tired

Of living life on a merry go round

And you can’t fight the fighter

But I see it in you so we gonna walk it out

And move mountains

We gonna walk it out

And move mountains 

And I’ll rise up

I’ll rise like the day

I’ll rise up

I’ll rise unafraid

I’ll rise up

And I’ll do it a thousand times again

And I’ll rise up

High like the waves

I’ll rise up

In spite of the ache

I’ll rise up

And I’ll do it a thousand times again”

The words alone move me, then add the soul stirring melody and I cannot stop the goosebumps and emotion washing over me. I had never heard the song before now. The young woman on stage had every person in the packed arena captivated, all eyes and ears on her. The graduates, the faculty, the families, friends…my son’s community for the last four years of his life all gathered together to celebrate the commencement of the class of 2023. Luke is my youngest child of four, and our final one to graduate from college. This hit me the night before we drove down to North Carolina, two days prior to weeping in the Schar Center overlooking the sea of maroon graduation caps.

The past few weeks I have been in a frenzy of property prepping, selling, moving, closing and goat prepping, retrieving, and welcoming. I have been busy. All the while I used every spare minute to build and edit the graduation movie (a family tradition). My last one. Some advice I have for parents of multiple children, “What traditions you begin with your first child, be prepared to continue with each of his younger siblings.” 

For this Mamabear of four, our traditions involved easy enough tasks as grabbing the Red You Are Special Plate for the one being celebrated to months of collecting and arranging special book keepsakes. One tradition that involved time was the book I made for each before the their start to high school, which was filled with well wishes and inspiring quotes from family members and far away friends. I started this one because we were living across the country from all of our family and friends and could not gather to mark the send off to high school. Living in communities without deep roots, our children treasured these “well wish books” as they moved into the high school scene. 

Upon completion of high school, each child was gifted a photo album covering kindergarten through senior year. This took time in the eleventh hour because I was not one of those moms who kept updating the album year after year. Instead, around March (three months before graduation) I would start sifting through all the boxes of photos and the digital files stored on a hard drive. Each time I chided myself for my lack of organization and not beginning sooner. Even though there was “completion stress” involved, there was also so much reflection and observation of growth taking place. I loved going down memory lane. Our kids grow up too fast. I could really observe their changes page after page: missing a front tooth, braces, glasses, mustaches, beards, growing taller than me (which all four are). Trimmings from cropped pictures and stickers littered my office floor as I looked upon my finished work. The tradition of the school album was another box checked. 

Then a few short years later there was the iMovie to make. The movie always started the same with my hands slowly thumbing through their high school graduation album, set to a familiar song (this last one for Luke was Johnny Cash’s I’ve Been Everywhere Man).  From there I used my low tech prowess to add titles, transitions, and Ken Burns cropping of photos from their lifetime. I went into the archives of our home videos from when the kids were little playing dress ups, dancing in the living room, on the soccer field, or singing on stage in school Christmas programs. I could not figure out how to rip from DVDs so I held up my smart phone and captured the video clips I wanted to use. When the light hit the screen a certain way, my reflection with the smartphone in my hand can be seen. My kids love that part. But I did it! Technologically-challenged and all, I produced four 60 minute movies in the past decade. The movies also included video clips of family and friends congratulating the graduate. The movies are truly a labor of love. Even with the frustrating moments of my slow computer showing me the color wheel for a very long time, or the whole screen going dark, I feel so much gratification that the family traditions that I started have now been completed. 

I am no super mom. My writing exposes many of the areas in parenthood where I fell short or learned some hard lessons. We all have ways of expressing our love as parents. For me, I value reflection of the past. This may be why I love to write. My time and energy poured into these projects is me saying, “We love you. We love who you are and the journey you have taken to get here.” I am giving my children the album or movie that looks back through their experiences, growth over time, and resilience through challenges. It is possible that years may pass before they fully appreciate these archives. At our family graduation celebrations they look through the albums and watch the movies, with tears and laughter.

As I sit there in my seat between my husband and my son-in-law, wiping the tears streaming down my cheeks, I am flooded with emotion. “And I rise up…” sings the young woman on stage, “I’ll do it a thousand times again.” Words could not be more truer than that. Our lives are full of obstacles that knock us down, small or large. I can see the top of my son’s square cap far across the arena. Images of the arduous journey he has been on to get to this moment flash through my mind. Again and again he has had to rise up. We all have had to. But while I am listening to the song at his graduation I am thinking about Luke, his challenges he has faced and the challenges that lay before him. I am so proud of him. I believe he will soar in his next chapter of life.

Elon University has a tradition of handing incoming freshman an acorn, then at graduation giving each student an oak sapling. I love this so much. Acorns need the right environment to grow into a sapling. They need the right amount of soil, light, and moisture. Once they become a sapling (a process that can take around four years), and are planted, they can grow into a mighty oak tree. Plant life sometimes needs to overcome harsh conditions of drought or deluge. The class of 2023 is the last class at Elon that had been impacted by COVID. These students went home for their spring break during their freshman year and did not return until the fall. Their classes were virtual and then met under masks for most of their sophomore year. Junior year went back and forth with this as the virus was monitored in the school population. The students of my son’s graduating class, as well as students all over the world, had to learn to be “ready and resilient.” This phrase was used at Elon in many communications. How fitting it was for the organizers of commencement to feature the song, “Rise up.” The supportive inclusive atmosphere in the arena was palpable. Elon University was just the right place for our son to make his way from an acorn to a sapling.

If you have not heard this song, whatever you do next, look it up and listen to it. We all have moments where we are “tired and broken down.” I felt like that one week ago and wrote about it on my blog. Perhaps, the freshness of my tears of frustration from the prior week were what made this song resonate so deeply with me. Or maybe it was the photographic journey of my son’s life I recently took while creating his graduation movie. The future is yet to be determined, but one thing is guaranteed. There will be hard days, so rise up. Then rejoice and be grateful. 

It Only Takes 2 Minutes For A Sunny Afternoon to Change

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

(5 minute read) 

Calm breezes with clucking chickens poking around the fresh cut grassy pastures can swiftly move into dark skies and winds so strong they lift the birds off their feet. It is true what they say about incoming wet weather, it is almost exactly two minutes from the first whipping winds that a heavy storm will move in. A man up in Connecticut at my sons baseball game told me these wise words. I think of it every time the weather makes such an abrupt shift. I learned it the hard way. I did not see the rain coming. He warned the crowd behind the dugout and took off for his car. I looked up at the darkened sky and felt the rush of wind blow. No rain. So I stayed in my seat on the bleachers. Two minutes later I was drenched in a sudden downpour. Completely soaked and schooled by the wise dry man, we ran to my car until the storm passed. A warm sunny afternoon can flip itself into a dark deluge without our even expecting it. I feel like life can take this same dramatic course throwing us off balance and delivering us harsh weather conditions we had not anticipated. In some instances it can be the perfect storm, all things happening at once.

I did not write my blog last week. My intentions were to write about the property in the country we were preparing to say farewell to, but the closing of the sale became stressful and soured the sentiment so I will save that writing for another day. Then I thought I’d write about Mother’s Day, but my exhaustion and highly emotional state got in the way of my gratitude. I considered more goat antics would be easy enough to blog about. But the way writing works for me is that I cannot mask what is truly on my heart. When I am upset, I am upset. Last week I was that person on the bleachers caught in a heavy downpour without an umbrella. At the peak of the storm this is what I wrote:

I am dehydrated. Drink more water? How about stop crying so much. What happened? I got frustrated, very frustrated. When I am angry and frustrated I cry. The tears do not fall in the beginning. At first, I am in problem solving mode. I look at the present situation and consider my options. I use logic and experience to guide me. As I stumble, I shake it off and try something else. I look online and consult others. Still not at the breaking down stage, I feel myself growing perplexed. My brows furrow. My back is hunched and shoulders tense up. I let out big huffs and puffs of air. I swear. I maybe even laugh a crazy “Are you kidding me?” cackle. Then I rinse and repeat. I start over.

This is where I go wrong. I should walk away at this point. I should sit with the chickens in the shade and watch their silliness. I should hold the baby goats in my lap. I should go to the barn and brush Kip. There are pod casts, and TikToks that could distract me from my troubling situation. Do what the experts advise: exercise, deep breathing, talk to someone, or write. Whatever you do, take a break from the problem that is frustrating you. It is building up into a raging tsunami. Step away.

Sometimes I do those smart things when aggravation begins to take hold of me. Other times my fierce determination to figure it out plants me directly in the path of the gale force winds of frustration. 

Just as my finger struck the keyboard on that last period something happened. My phone dinged. A new message. I read it and let out a scream of relief. The problem that had driven me to such despair had been resolved. Just like that. Now my tears were of disbelief and relief. The sun was peaking out from behind the dissipating clouds. 

As a mother, I have counseled my children time and again with the phrase, “This too shall pass.” Our experience teaches this throughout life. Hard times come and go. Problems arise, sometimes all at once from different directions. “There is a way through,” I also assure them. Perhaps it was no coincidence that the peak of this last passing squall came right before Mother’s Day. After all, it is my mom who would rub my back calmly, speaking soothing encouraging words, when I was young and frustrated. Her same gestures of love and support come through my motherly words to my own children. “You will get through this.” Not every day on the farm can be a sunny breezy chickens happily mingling with the goats kind of day. 

Step Back in Time, But Remember to Hike Your Hike

On By Carolyn FreudenthalIn Children, Comic Relief, Deep Thoughts, Family, TIPS1 Comment

(12 minute read)

It is no surprise that I love nostalgia. I enjoy a good retro theme party as much as the next person. I like any movie or book that takes place in yesteryears with all the fashion trends and pop culture of the time.  Memoir writing allows me to travel back to my own past. But everyone these days is always telling us to “be present.” While I do agree that it is good to pause, breathe in fresh air, pet the baby goat in my lap, and feel the joy of the peaceful present moment, I also think a trip down memory lane is restoring. Remembering details of my past helps me appreciate modern progress. I’ll never forget sitting on the curb outside my junior high after school waiting for my mom to pick me up. Is that her car? No. I’d wait and wonder just how long before her car came around the corner. I was tired from a long boring school day. Not showering after P.E. left me sweaty in my corduroy pants and sweater vest. My stomach growled since the last thing I’d eaten was my tunafish sandwich at lunch. Where is Mom? Her car will be the next one…nope. No cellphones existed in 1978. So there I sat waiting, without any idea of when my mom would swing by the school to pick me up. Maybe she is stuck in a long line at the grocery store. Maybe she lost track of time talking on the phone at home. In those days, there was no way to get instant information on whereabouts and estimated time of arrivals. A 13 year old today can text, “whats your eta” and get a return text “on my way.” My tired hungry young self had to sit patiently, hoping, that the next car around the corner would be ours. For the record, my wait on the curb was no longer than 45 minutes, but each minute dragged on longer than the last. In my mind I envisioned kicking off my shoes, peeling off my knee socks and raiding the pantry when I got home. Where is she?

I am 58 years old and sometimes forget to buy the cat litter at Walmart because I leave the list at home on the counter, but I remember sitting outside Stanley Junior High like it was yesterday. Memoir writing has helped me to open up moments of the past hitting all of my senses. The rough cement parking lot curb. The thick hot knee socks with ribbing, loose enough to sag down my shins, but constricting all the while. The whiz of the cars passing by the school. Honks of horns, doors opening and slamming, as other luckier classmates got picked up before me. My impatience mounting, mixed with renewed hope with each car coming around the bend. Who doesn’t remember waiting for a ride? While it is not the most comfortable of a situation to recall, I do love transporting back to my 13 year old self.

Last week I had the chance to really time hop. The book written by one my favorite authors growing up, Judy Blume, was made into a movie:  Are You There, God? It’s Me Margaret. Several friends and I went to the matinee. It was definitely a trip down memory lane. The 70’s clothing and house decor, with shades of orange, brown and yellow in patterns on sofas, curtains, and polyester shirts. Or the lucky girls with matching pink and powder blue ruffle and lace canopy, bedspread and curtain bedroom (mine was not like this). Then there were the cars, lovely shades of pea green and burnt orange, no seatbelts worn for safety, and even included the rear facing seats in the station wagon with the swing out gate. Watching that movie, I was taken back to being a child in the 1970’s: note-passing in class, having secret crushes, bossy girls, saying “pinch to grow an inch” on someones birthday, playing spin the bottle, and having a first awkward kiss with whoever was at the other end of that bottle.

Seeing the young girl on screen acting out the Margaret character I read so many years ago brought me back to that same stage of my youth. I was reminded of staring in the mirror at my own flat chest and shorthair, and wondering when my body would fill out. I did not feel pretty or cool like the popular girls. I don’t know if it made my experience worse or better to have two older sisters (and a younger sister). I remember feeling embarrassed about the bra shopping and was teased by my oldest sister, so I downplayed the need. I never chanted loudly “we must improve our bust” in my house. Our local department store, McCaullous, had a lingerie department in the back corner. In our small town, I remember hoping we would not run into anyone of my mom’s friends or someone from my school in the store on the way back to the corner I never shopped in. It seems like old ladies always worked that department, and made the experience even more embarrassing. I went home with a Maidenform scratchy AA cup bra. I felt like everyone would notice my change, with this new undergarment. Who knew that years later I could not wait to unsnap my DD cup bra at the end of the day. The movie (and book) also focussed on the girls getting their first period. This is something I do not remember in my own life, at least not the first one. Instead I remember not being able to swim at a sleepover party because of my period and my maxipad. It is interesting to me that I have no recollection of this milestone transition into womanhood. Sometimes doors to rooms filled with memories open up when traveling down hallways of other times. Perhaps my memory is tucked away because of teasing from an older sister. I laughed in the movie when one character was pestered by her brother and she yelled at the top of her lungs, “MOM!” That is something I remember doing. A lot.

My biggest take-away from watching my childhood book on film was how universal and timeless the insecure feelings the coming of age people of all genders feel. We question our physical attributes. We compare ourselves to others. We tally our shortcomings and long for what we lack. I am too tall. My hair is so frizzy. I still have braces. I am flat as a board. I was so self conscious growing up. What I did not know then that I do know now is that everyone else was also feeling insecure. The other day a good friend reminded me of a quote from Theodore Roosevelt. “Comparison is the thief of joy.” Interestingly enough, this came up in our conversation about our college age kids navigating life post graduation, the mental stress they endure sizing themselves up to their peers. The other way I have heard this quote phrased is, “hike your hike.” I think we all need to be reminded of this. Somehow at 58 years old, I find it easier to hike my own hike. I am not worried if people think I am a nut getting chickens and goats, or that I just bought a pair of overalls and they are so comfortable that I might wear them off the farm. I wish I could go back to 13 year old Carolyn and say, “Hike your hike. You are rocking the Billie Jean King haircut. Your boobs will soon fill in, more than you will want. And everyone is feeling what you are feeling, so relax and enjoy your days with your flat chest and no period.”

After reflecting on those coming of age highly emotional years, I remembered something that helped me just when I needed it. In high school, there was a program started that focussed on communications with peers. They were workshops led by an organization called the Center for Living Skills. What I remember most about the weekend workshops were that classmates from all the different cliques were brought together in one place, and led through different self esteem building and team building exercises. Popular kids were less intimidating, and quieter kids came out of the woodworks. There was a close-knit feeling by all in the workshop by Sunday night. And maybe, just maybe, when we all returned to the halls of our high school things had changed in some small ways. It was like The Breakfast Club but organized by trained adults. Today I wish there were more organizations like the Center for Living Skills from my high school days in the 80s. These kids need it as much or even more than we did.

By the time I graduated from high school, I believe my confidence had improved since the self doubting days of sixth grade, depicted so well in Are You There God? It’s Me Margaret. In fact, at my high school baccalaureate I was selected to read aloud a poem. I have wracked my brain looking for the title of it, the author of it, and no luck. What I do remember is that the message of the poem was to not compare ourselves with others, but to be our best selves. Here are some lines I remember from the poem:

“Who brings home the torch, the winner or the loser…

The only ribbons across my chest are those that hold in my heart and keep it from beating into endless nothingness…

I don’t compete. I am greater than no man and lesser than no other…

Being me is hard enough, some one other, never…”

The poem was much longer than this, and quite possibly worded differently. These are the bits that remain in my mind 40 years later. I will keep searching for the poem. It makes me happy to know that I chose a topic to bring to the baccalaureate committee that was so important for mental health. I had not mastered the art of “hike your hike” at age 18, but I was aware of the importance of striving for it. Life continued to give me practice: in my teaching career, as a new mother, as a homeowner in a suburb, as a writer… We all find ourselves comparing to others. There is definitely value in checking out what others are cooking, wearing, decorating with, or writing. Observation of life around you is important. I would simply echo what Teddy was saying, to not let comparison rob you of your joy. Mark Twain went so far as to say “Comparison is the death of joy.” I like the “hike your hike” motto best.

Who knew this little jaunt down memory lane at a Friday matinee would resurface such deep feelings. I laughed multiple times during the movie. It made me remember what it was like to be a tween, and how I felt reading Judy Blume’s words as a tween myself. Sitting with my friends last week, we watched the movie through a new lens, as mothers. When I read the book I don’t remember thinking much about Margaret’s mother. My eyes welled up with tears when her mom hugged her after she officially “became a woman.” The heavy weight on my heart was the knowing of how fast time passes. I remember the stage of each of my four children hitting puberty and leaving childhood behind. I was not Margaret as I watched this movie, I was her mother. At some point one day I will be the grandmother in the story. Now, that is getting ahead of myself! Back to the present moment. The goats are frolicking outside my window in the pasture. What a nice day it is today!

(My binder from Junior High School 1977-78ish)