CHAPTER 1
Change of Seasons
It was Monday morning on June 8, the beginning of a new week. The quiet, cold winter had faded away and was now a distant memory, and a change of seasons was on the horizon for us, bringing new memories of hope and happiness. The chilly mornings that introduced little reminders of a winter not so long ago were no more. Slowly, day by day, the sun brought its warmth to the world, eventually to be accompanied by the soothing sights and sounds of spring and summer. Flowers blossomed with vibrant bursts of colors and beautiful aromas. All throughout the day, our ears were gently kissed with a whisper of song from birds floating through the crisp, clear blue sky above. As they flitted from tree to tree, their chorus saturated the air.
If we awoke early enough, just as the sun illuminated the dark morning sky to signal the beginning of a new day, we experienced a peacefulness that was slowly penetrated by a glimmer of sunlight and a slight song. The first bird broke through the silence with its song, announcing a new day. Before we realized it, the air was saturated with a chorus from hundreds of birds celebrating the new day, a new beginning.
This concert was bewildering. If you are fortunate enough to experience this phenomenon, it touches your soul and awakens your heart. Each and every day, as if on cue, the birds awoke to celebrate the new day that awaited them. If you listened closely, you could pick out a variety of birds as their songs came together to form a beautiful melody: cardinals, robin red breasts, blue jays, bluebirds, crows, sparrows, mourning doves, warblers, brown thrashers, mockingbirds, and many more.
June 8 was Pam's morning concert, a day to honor and celebrate her new beginning. For everyone else, it was just another day of the year and probably didn't mean much. They probably got up and went to work, went to school, and did whatever most people do on a Monday in June.
On this particular morning, I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, already immersed in my day of work with my laptop in front of me. I was gazing intensely into the screen, reading through e-mail after e-mail and working on a multitude of things, when suddenly I heard a ding! My ears perked up, but I paid no attention to it. I heard it once again ... ding! I was in the zone, but now my intense focus on work was interrupted.
I looked at my phone to see the picture of my daughters on the home screen slowly fade away as a text message from my wife, Pam, popped up on the screen.
Hey baby, today is my 2nd birthday!
Oh yeah, #11 right? I responded.
yes
Happy Birthday ILY!
For Pam and me, Monday, June 8 is a considerably more meaningful day than all of the other Mondays throughout the entire year. June 8 is a day we celebrate Pam! Why? Because over ten years ago she overcame an almost insurmountable challenge when she was diagnosed with stage-four cancer. This was our day to celebrate new beginnings, to celebrate Pam's new beginning!
Glancing back at my phone, I paused to read her text message once again. I understood the context in which her message came to me. It was not sent as a reminder to get her a cake, not a reminder to buy her gifts, and not a reminder to bring her flowers. This message said so much more than all of the gifts, flowers, and goodies we typically give someone when celebrating a birthday. This text message was a reminder of Pam's pride — her very own pride and belief in herself that she holds deep in her heart. But two birthdays? Who has two birthdays, and what does it mean?
CHAPTER 2
How Old Are You?
It was late afternoon, and the end of the school day finally arrived for our daughters, Grace, Jordan, and Zoey. That afternoon, I awaited my eight-year-old daughter's return from school. I could hear the squeal of brakes announcing the arrival of Grace's school bus as it appeared from around the bend in the road. The bus eased to a complete stop when the red lights adorning the front, back, and sides of the bus started flashing like a bright Christmas display. A small, red, octagonal stop sign slowly flipped open from the driver's side of the bus, alerting all cars to stop. A little yellow arm, the school bus crossing arm, slowly extended forward from the front bumper, preventing anyone from stepping in front of the bus.
At every stop the bus made, the world and activities in the immediate vicinity were put on hold. Commuters coming home from work, parents taking their children home from school, or those who were out for an afternoon stroll stopped everything they were doing. Their destination had to wait a few moments longer, because Grace was home! For every kid on the bus, it was as though they were a celebrity, or the President of the United States, on tour.
The doors slid open, and I peered inside the school bus to see a pair of sneakers come into view at the top step. Emerging from the bus, I could see Grace's little feet venturing down the steps until she reached the bottom step. Jumping as high as she could off the step, she floated through the air until her feet came into contact with the ground, her knees bending slightly to absorb the impact. She lifted her head toward the sky to reveal a smiling face beaming with an excitement that could not be contained.
The afternoon sun greeted her, as if to say, "Welcome home, Grace. We have fun and exciting things in store for you today!" With a quick turn of her head, she looked back at her bus driver and shouted, "Bye!" The dazzling display of flashing red lights came to an end, and the big yellow school bus rumbled on.
"Hi, Daddy!" Grace yelled out to me as she ran toward me to give me a hug.
"Hey, sweetie!" I happily replied, wrapping my arms around her. I wanted to ask her about her day, but I could tell she had other plans as she went on her way down the driveway toward our home.
The sun was shining brightly upon her face, and I could hear her whistling a tune while she ventured down the driveway. Although I couldn't quite make out the tune, a smile lit up my face from the happiness emanating from her song. Suddenly, she made a break for it!
"Race ya', Dad!" Yelling in my direction, she took off running down the driveway in a full sprint. I watched her disappear out of my sight as she ran toward the house.
On my stroll home, I found myself drifting back to when I was a kid, recollecting how wonderful summers were growing up in Delaware County, Pennsylvania. Every year, when I knew that summer was quickly approaching, the elation that welled up inside me always led to a frenzy of excitement that could not be contained. With each day, the sun's warmth tapped me on the shoulder offering me little reminders that summer was near. With every tap and every sunrise, the days got warmer, brighter, and longer. Hearts of all ages were filled with happiness from the eager anticipation of fun days to come.
I reminisced about a time long ago when I was about nine years old, reliving the feelings of exhilaration as summertime slowly snuck up. This excitement made me want to shout at the top of my lungs. It was something that I simply felt needed to be shared with the world, with all of my friends, my brothers, and my parents.
I clung to a strong urge to let everyone know about the impending happiness that was about to overtake the neighborhood, but I refrained from shouting at the top of my lungs for fear of embarrassment. Every day should be like summertime. That was what life was all about — pure happiness and being free to do whatever our hearts desired without any worries: hanging out with friends, playing at the pool, spending weekends at the beach, sipping on Slurpees, playing tennis, playing baseball at the local park, and playing the world's greatest wiffle ball games in our backyard. You name it, we did it!
In the evenings, our ritual was to watch the Philadelphia Phillies, although the real treat came from the exhilaration of the voice of Phillies' baseball announcer that burst from the television speakers. Those of you who grew up following the Phillies know whose voice I am referring to. The legendary voice of Phillies baseball, Harry Kalas! Boy, oh boy! Listening to Harry Kalas announcing the games was something special. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and could hear his voice announcing the games. "Swing ... and a long drive. This ball is ... outta here! Home run Michael Jack Schmidt!" That was what summers were all about in Delaware County Pennsylvania. Thank you, Harry!
I snapped out of my daydream as I arrived at the front door. Grace stood there awaiting my arrival to proudly boast, "Beat ya, Dad! I think I set a new record today. Did you see that? I ran faster than ever down the driveway, all the way to the front door!"
"You sure did. You get faster every day!" I replied.
"I can't wait to get a snack," Grace happily declared while opening the front door. "I want some potato chips and water ice. Oh yeah, I am ready to play games on the iPad!" Walking into the kitchen, her chatter carried on. "Mom, I'm home! Mom! I'm hungry! Maaaaaammm!"
Before saying anything further she stopped in her tracks to gaze upon an amazing rainbow of colors right in front of her eyes. The most vibrant aromas conjuring feelings of delight and love greeted her nose, as Grace laid her eyes upon a beautiful bouquet of flowers as big as the house. The bouquet triggered her eight-year-old imagination, eliciting visions of a jungle of flowers and bright blue skies above.
"Wow!" She exclaimed. Her curiosity was piqued. "Mom! Hey, Mom! What are the flowers for?" she asked.
I could see the curiosity in her eyes, and her immediate concern momentarily shifted away from a snack and playing games to the astounding display of flowers right before her beautiful brown eyes. Sparking an unimpeded curiosity that children embrace, Grace wanted to know where they came from and why they were there. She had to know so she could get on with the rest of her day, to the important things like a snack. Plus, there was an iPad waiting for her somewhere with her name on it!
Mom walked into the kitchen, "Hey, Gracie! How was your day today, sweetie?" She gives Grace a big hug.
"Good. What are the flowers for?" Grace blurted out.
"Daddy brought me flowers for my birthday!"
Grace paused for a moment to collect her many thoughts and then retorted, "What are you talking about? Your birthday is in December, and it's June! Duuhhh!"
Pam and I chuckled at Grace's comment. "Well, baby, it is my second birthday today!" Pam replied with a smile on her face and a tear glistening in the corner of her eye.
Looking at Grace, I discerned that her mind was doing contortions trying to make sense of this one, giving Pam a look as though she was playing a joke on her.
Then Grace asked, "Really, Mom? Is it your second birthday? Seriously?" Grace's curiosity got the best of her, and she was unable to resist the urge to ask more questions — even though she was itching to escape to her room and play on the iPad.
Pam attempted to answer the first question, and then Grace pelted her with another one. "Mom, where's my iPad? Can I play Minion Rush?"
Pam responded, "Yes, you can play on your iPad." She somehow kept track of Grace's scattered commentary and many observations while answering her initial question. "Yes, it is my second birthday, sweetie. I am sure it doesn't make a lot of sense, because everyone has one birthday. Your birthday is May tenth, your sisters' birthdays are March twenty-eighth and June sixth, Dad's birthday is February twenty-sixth, and my birthday is December twenty-eighth. But I do have a second birthday."
As Pam was taking the time to explain this very important date, I could see Grace's mind starting to drift. I think Grace felt as though summer was going to pass her by before her mom got to the good stuff.
Then she blurted out "Where's the cake? Where are the gifts?" At the same moment, she spied the iPad, grabbed it, and started playing her games.
"Honey, I don't celebrate my second birthday like I do my real birthday. No gifts, no cake. It is just a wonderful reminder of how lucky I am to have you and your sisters to celebrate my birthday with."
Grace provided us with her unbiased view.
"No gifts? No cake? Really? That stinks!"
She ran off to eat her snack and play her game.
"Love ya, Mom. Happy birthday!"
Just as Grace was running off, her six-year-old sister, Jordan, walked into the room. Picking up on our scattered dialogue transpiring in the kitchen, she asked, "Hey, what are you talking about?"
"Did you see the flowers, Jordan?" Grace replied. "They're for Mom! Dad got them for her second birthday."
Matter-of-factly, Jordan replied, "Yeah, I know. It's Mom's second birthday because she had cancer. But she's okay now."
There is nothing that compares to a child's vantage point of the world, one of pure unfiltered innocence. There certainly is no sugarcoating things, as they let their true thoughts and feelings flow and always state the obvious (truth), no matter how it sounds to those on the receiving end.
Even though Jordan intended absolutely no harm or malice, I cringed as she innocently and lovingly shared her comment. For some reason, I was perturbed when I heard the word cancer arise from her lungs. An internal dialogue instantly kicked into high gear. Jordan, that is the wrong way to say that. That is so inappropriate. Where are your manners? Don't say the C word. What is wrong with you? I did my best to ward off any expression of frustration on my face with a forged smile.
Having children, I have come to an understanding that their view of the world is one of truth, pure love, and acceptance. I cannot use my past to cloud their pure, unjaded view of the world.
After I reflected on my initial response, I realized I had been holding onto an irrational fear of speaking about the cancer that had appeared in Pam's life over a decade ago. It was almost as though I was afraid to make mention of it for fear that it might return. Just maybe, if I ignored it, I could pretend it never happened.
Out of my fear and ignorance, I held onto this irrational ideology. After many years, I now understand that this is something that should not be feared. Additionally, I can be safe in accepting it and grateful for the many years ahead that Pam and I will share together. In addition, it isn't all that bad to have three amazing daughters to celebrate love and life with!
After my internal interrogation of Jordan subsided and the blood flow returned to my head, I responded by saying, "Thanks, sweetie. You are right. The flowers are for Mom's second birthday. She did have cancer, and she is okay now. I love you!"
Next, I asked her a question that was for my personal awareness as a father and an adult to provide me with perspective on life from a child's vantage point. This was my way to remind myself that my daughters were still new at this thing called life. My question was, "Hey, Jordan, how old are you?"
Jordan responded, "I'm six years old, Daddy."
"Okay," I said. "Thank you, sweetie. I forgot."
She looked at me with confusion and disbelief, as though I had three heads.
"Daddy, you know I'm six. How could you forget? My birthday is in March," she said with a slight giggle.
"Oh, yeah! That's right," I said, smiling. "I just needed you to remind me. Thanks. I love you. You are awesome!"
This dialogue may not make sense to you — or it simply sounds silly — but when I pose the question of "How old are you?" to my daughters, it is my personal reminder of their youth, helping me find the patience and understanding that children deserve. I speak to them through the eyes of a forty-six-year-old adult. They see and hear me through the eyes and ears of a two-, six-, and eight-year-old. It reminds me that they are children, because as a parent — as an adult — it is very easy to forget how young they are, especially when they say and do things that I might not quite understand. Children, my daughters, embrace an unbiased and unjaded view of the world, which comes from an inherent energy of truth and honesty. My practice of asking the question "How old are you?" is very enlightening for me. It reminds me to listen openly to my daughters without clouding their comments with my knowledge and experience. The question "How old are you?" balances me and allows me to accept their vantage point of the world.
