You could say that words mean a lot to me. Couple this with my overly
sensitive tendencies, and I am pretty deliberate about the verbage that comes
out of my mouth. This consequently means that I am also purposeful about the
use of silence, as well. Two sides of the same life-coin.
Mom was an expert in the use of silence. Muteness, to her, was a tool to
control and passively punish. Her anger towards Dad, at one time, culminated
into weeks without saying a word to him. This aforementioned fact has surely
made my word-motives much more thoughtful. As a speech-language pathologist, I
use words to develop self-advocacy skills. I have learned to argue kindly and
fairly with Jeremy, and silence (not to be confused with needing space) is not
an option. Words are used with the intent of contributing to the pool of conversation (book
Crucial Conversations) and move towards something
better. I work at using my words to convey to those around me the meaning,
awesomeness and intent they contribute to this world. That is important to me.
On this evening, I am thinking about the
words that were important to Mom.
khó khăn - hard, challenging
Mom always spoke about how hard life was. It was not that she was a pessimist.
Rather, she always spoke of Hardness as something to overcome. "Figure it
out. There's always an answer." I figure it out. And, as I have swallowed
some life experience, I get out of the hard-gunk by just doing something.
Anything. (Almost) gone are the days of asking permission to do something
worthwhile. I just take a small step forward, and I keep going.
hiếu - fondness
During the last year with Mom, we would go on little adventures. We walked arm-in-arm, talked about nothing and dialogued about everything. We laughed
often. One day, a man approached us. "Có hiếu," he said. Mom explained that the man could see the fondness and care that I
had for My mother. This word, hiếu, brought me much solace following Mom's death.
Being a good daughter is something I own. It is my face value, and I work
at it everyday.
ăn - eat
This is the most important part of our days in the Lien household. Eating is
serious. We talk about what we want to eat. As we eat, we talk about the
flavors, the crispiness, the burn, the freshness. We relish in our bites as we
anticipate the next meal. Dad moved in with us this week, and when the girls
and I come home each evening, the culinary gifts are cooking and almost ready
to be consumed. Our new home smelled like our two bedroom mobile home, my childhood home. The only thing missing was hearing mom's house shoes slapping against the linoleum as she scurried back and forth between the stove and sink.
nhạc - music
VHS videos of Vietnamese and Chinese musicians singing cover songs filled our cabinets.
I am not sure Cyndi Lauper, The Pet Shop Boys or Lionel Richie got their cut of
the profit, but we sure as heck got our fill. We would watch them over and
over. At times, we would get up and dance. Other times, we would let our eyelids hold back tears as the ballads played.
Mom passed away two days before Christmas. So, I guess I am thankful for the two weeks off I had from work. Family kept the house busy. And, then, it went silent. The last car drove away, and it was just me and Dad. We both walked inside and went to our rooms. The only solution for "and then there were two" was wallowing in your own misery within the walls of your pitifilled bedroom santuary. A week or so passed, and I woke up that morning to go back to work. As I was getting ready in the bathroom, music started playing from the bedroom next to mine. Strange, since I was the only one at home. Dad worked nights, and he did not come home until after I left. It wasn't quiet, the music. It was audible. It was a Chinese version of
Time After Time, and it played for about 30 seconds. Obviously, the CD player in the room had a glitch of some sort and started playing. I purposefully finished putting on my makeup. Then, I opened the door to the spare bedroom to see if an alarm was accidently set on the player. Nope. Then, I opened up the CD system to find the black market version of Ms. Lauper's music. Again, nothing. I am sure there is a logical reason for what happened. I am choosing, however, to believe that Mom was just saying hi through some nhạc. It wasn't until some time later I listened to the lyrics of that song:
If you're lost, you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting
Time after time
On this evening, I am also thinking about
the words that are important to me as a mama and human.
kindness
Before the girls existed, I told Jeremy that I could handle many aspects of
our future offspring. I already had partial dialogues formulated for
non-compliance, the sex talk ("Okay, so if you happen to be unclothed and
accidently trip and fall on each other.."), the drug talk, religion (or
lack thereof), puberty (this would surely involve handing my future daughter or
son a copy of Judy Blume's
Are you there God? It's me Margaret) and the
importance of flossing (worthwhile to splurge on the waxed version). The one
thing that would crush my world is if my children are maliciously unkind. I
could not take that.
I hold kindness in the highest regard. Kindness is attractive, and it fills me up. This does not mean that I do the best
at this. I am continually working on it, but I try to stuff my daily thinking
and actions with plain ole nice.
gumption
A slice of gumption pie can never go wrong. It's the innate fire within you
that defies inner-dailogue (don't you wish you could tell yourself to shutup
sometimes!), structure, expectations and status quo. Gumption moves you
forward. And, whether the goal is reached or not, you are utterly satisfied
with the kick in the rear you gave yourself. I give full credit to Gumption for
the following: telling Jeremy I liked-liked him, college pranks that went
horribly awry, conquering 26.2 miles, professional goodness, taking a double
shot of 151 and writing a book (okay, so I haven't done this yet, but now I
have put this forever-idea into this awesome world).
work
Dad worked two-full time jobs most of my life. He would start his first
shift from 3pm-11pm. Then, he would come home to eat a quick meal and head to
B.E. & H. to work until about 8am. This is all he knew, and this is my
measuring stick for work ethic. I do not recommend this. There
were surely pitfalls to this lifestyle; nonetheless, I cannot discount his
desire to provide and provide and provide.
The ability to work is a gift. And, I need the girls to know this. I need
them to know that many worked before them so that they could have careers and
professions that will likely suite their occupational fancies and heart-needs.
I need them to value each person's effort in their workplace. I need them to
know that hard work feels uncomfortable, and that's okay.
Finally, I need them to understand that hard work goes hand-in-hand with
unyielding play time.
gratitude
Damn it, people, you should just be thankful. It's easy to be thankful for
the good stuff (e.g., salary raise, roof over your silly heads, pair of perfect
cognac-colored boots). It's also important to be grateful for the small stuff
(e.g., friend who shares her fries, morning light, crushed ice).
Gratitude should also be given to the life-crap. I know, I know. Some feel
this is where happy people start to blow fluerescent streamers, glitter and
rainbows rays out of their arses into the dismal faces of real people with
really-real problems. This is where I think (some) folks get it completely wrong. Some
of the happiest folks I know have crawled through the darkest crevices of life.
And, you know what, they got over themselves. So, shut your mouth and stop
complaining. Unless, it's to thank someone. It is a mutually beneficial act
that is a security desposit for more goodness for all involved. And, please, only do it
if you really mean it. Fake gratitude is worse than squeaking during your
clarinet chair test.
Earlier this week, while reading a story to Bennet, she interrupted me and said, "Mama, I love you because you are beautiful
and a gooded Mama." She is surely learning about gratitude. And, her mama
is ever-so-grateful.
What are your words? What verbage defines
you?
**The title of this post was borrowed from dear, creative Betsy's self-designed stationary.**
