Fearitself

Her mother had been raised in a house of false modesty, which really drove her crazy.  Every Christmas and every birthday, the routine was predictable, as her mother verbally insisted no one make a fuss, all with body language that clearly suggested life was going to be pretty miserable if Queen Elizabeth got better treatment than she did.  It was kind of amusing to her daughter when she was a teen, but dealing with it as a middle-aged adult was simply exhausting.

So it must have been a sense of desperation that led her to finally share some of her anxiety with her own family, on the drive home from church.

“She wants her birthday dinner at the train station” she said, referring to the white linen restaurant that occupied a former train depot built in the 1900s, about an hour’s drive from home.  “I wonder if they have those small birthday cakes some restaurants do.  She’d howl with delight over that.”

Since no one in the car knew the answer to this question, silence dominated the rest of the drive home.

Fifteen minutes into the afternoon, her youngest son emerged from his room, still dressed in his Sunday best.  “Yeah Mom” he said, “they have birthday cakes.  You just have to call them a couple of days ahead of time to order one.”

His mother had an expression that was a remarkable mix of delight and incredulity.  “How—how on earth did you find out?”

Heading back to his room, her son called out over his shoulder, “I called the restaurant and asked.”

It’s important to remember that this was in the pre-Internet days, and even in the pre-touch-tone telephone days.  Phoning a place an hour away required two calls; one to long distance information to ask for the phone number of the restaurant, and one to the restaurant itself.  This wasn’t so much an investment of time as it was money.  Those two calls, back when Jimi Hendrix was still alive, likely cost the better part of $2, when a McDonald’s hamburger was fifteen cents.

Grandma went on to have a wonderful birthday, I’m told—this was an adults only event—but the lesson stayed with me.  Mom’s anxiety about the entire event was basically deflated once she knew Grandma was going to get a four-inch birthday cake, and—love you Mom—it would have been just as easy for her to call as it was for her ten-year-old son.  The difference was Mom saw the problem; her son saw how to solve it.

It’s like the substitute teacher who reported for duty one day.  She opened the door to find the room freezing, which sent the students into all kinds of panic.  She did her best to calm their fears, all while standing in front of the thermostat, trying to sort out how to warm the place up.

Just as she thought she might be on to something, one of the students ran out of the room.  Knowing she had to stay with the other students, she picked up the classroom phone to contact a hall monitor.  The line was still ringing when the student returned to the classroom, a small snowball in his hands.

Plop it went on the top of the thermostat, which led to a very toasty room ten minutes later.

It’s too easy sometimes to stare at the problem, or wish for someone else to come along and take the problem off your plate.  Don’t cripple yourself with fear.  You’ve got this.

Gifts

Watch out for the ones who say
“For me?!”
With the sincerity of a bad actor.
They judge with their eyes
Take in the bow’s length
Decide if the creases in the wrapping paper
Are clean.
You won’t get a thank you note from them
Just an envelope
Of obligation.

The ones who take
Put it aside
With love
To stand and hug you
Without words?
They understand
The gift is your friendship
And all they do with their eyes
Is accept.

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