"Cheers!" to friends!

You remember the television show, “Cheers!” right? Sam, Diane, Carla, Cliffy, Nom...

(Hum along as I sing this old familiar tune. See if it jogs any memories…)

“…Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came… you want to go where people know troubles are all the same, you want to go where everybody knows your name…”

Sometimes I love this song’s concept. Sometimes I crave it. You know… the times that you walk into a place – it can be anywhere, not just a pub or bar – but a grocery store, bank, church, school, PTA meeting (although I didn’t actually attend many of those - oops…) – and people’s faces light up, you hear your name shouted, and someone waves, flags you down to sit with them… You feel welcomed, you feel loved, you know they want to talk with you, spend time with you.

But then there are the “other times” - the times you dread running into someone you know. Have you ever sung that same song, but used alternative words - maybe a little something like this? (Clears throat)

“…Sometimes you want to go where not one single person knows your name, and no one even knows you came… you want to go where people don’t know you have a trouble in the world, you want to go where nobody knows your name…”

A few weeks ago, I asked a question on my Facebook status.  “Why is it that whenever you look your absolute WORST, you run into absolutely EVERYone you know???!!!”  Answers ranged from “Oh no, what’s wrong?” to “…that’s just the way it is, some things will never change” to “Murphy’s Law dictates this to be the case.”  Good answers! For me, they’ve all rung true… especially that darn Murphy – he seems to get me every time!

Reasons for looking your worst in public, ultimately making you want to hide, can vary. Perhaps you worked all day. Maybe your boss gave you a good talking-to. Maybe you gave your boss a good talking-to. Maybe you ended up in the bathroom, angry, counting to ten, teary even. Maybe you put on your sunglasses before you left your desk so that your friends wouldn’t see your swollen, red, weepy eyes. (Note: As some of you may recall, when my daughter (“the baby”) left for college I wore my sunglasses at the grocery store for weeks.)

Here’s another possibility for looking your worst. Perhaps it was a 90-degree June Saturday and your husband decided it was an excellent time to dig a trench, or dig a hole, or dig a garden, or (fill in your own blank on the hot, sweaty yard work scenario – if you’re a homeowner, the possibilities are endless!). Or maybe it was the complete opposite… zero degrees and you just finished plowing snow and decided to ‘run to the store’ for a gallon of milk. Quick! Before the snow starts up again! The smell of snowblower gas hovers around you like a cloud – much like Charlie Brown’s friend, Pigpen. Icicles hang from the end of your nose like an abominable snow woman. And when they finally melt – well, it will look like you should blow your nose! Your winter hat has most graciously left an indented sweaty ring of curls that will not comb, will not fluff, will not tame, no matter what you try. (The Memmel’s affectionately refer to this condition as “hat hair.”) Somehow you are both freezing and sweating at the same time. How can that be, by the way?

Perhaps you’re feeling exhausted. Maybe no matter what you do, 3:30 a.m. seems to be your bewitching hour. You find yourself lying wide awake every night, calculating unpaid bills in your mind, wondering how many Wednesdays (paydays) there are in June. And no matter how you twist or finagle the math, you still come up $1,000 short – over and over till your alarm goes off.  Or maybe (still at the 3:30 hour) you think about what you “coulda”… No, “shoulda” said to so-n-so about such-n-such and privately vow to never let her or him get away with THAT type of comment EVER again! No wonder you’re dog tired by 7 a.m. So many problems, so little time.  

But then I got to thinking… Let’s just say that I’d had a disagreement at work and I was wearing my Foster Grants to hide “the windows to my soul.” (a fancy way of saying ‘eyes.’) If I ran into my friend, Linda, would she judge me, or would she be concerned? What if I actually confessed to her that I’d had a miserable day and that I didn’t know how I’d stand going back tomorrow… Would that be so bad, or would she actually understand because everybody’s got a little somethin’ to get through in their own lives every now and again?  

Or let’s say that I ran into Chris, and horror of horrors, I had an icicle dangling from my nose. Would she cross me off her friend list, never want to see me again? Or might she kindly reach into her purse, grab a tissue, and offer it to me saying, “Katie, you have an icicle dangling from your nose… were you plowing snow?”

So here’s what I’m thinking… Maybe we’re all a little bit hard on ourselves sometimes. Maybe everyone has these issues. If it’s zero degrees, then maybe it’s normal, even common, for people to have icicles attach to their faces.

Maybe the “Cheers!” song really does ring true.  “You want to go where people know troubles are all the same…” Maybe the times that we’re struggling are actually good times to get out there and experience our friends’ help.

Maybe…?  Sometimes… 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born With a Limb Difference.” For more information on Katie and her book, go to her website at www.katiekolbergmemmel.com 

 

 

Getting to really know my dad - what took me so long???

 



My father… my dad… who is he, what’s he like?    

First, I should mention that as of this date, (June, 2013) my dad is 90 years old – or 90 years young - whichever way you choose to view life. Born in 1922, he is the third child (first son) in a family of ten children. To hear him speak, you know he’s worked hard and ‘seen a few things’ throughout his life: Farm hand, carpenter’s apprentice/journeyman, United States soldier in WWII (Europe), firefighter (eventual Lieutenant) for the City of Wauwatosa, Wisconsin; husband, father, gentleman, golfer extraordinaire…  

He married my mother in 1949, and became her husband for 53 years and 11 months. Although she passed away in 2003, just shy of their 54^th wedding anniversary, he says he still thinks of her every day.

Board-by-board and nail-by-nail he built the house he still lives in today. Together, in that house, my parents raised four kids (of which I’m the youngest) – two boys and two girls.  

The truth is that, years ago, I really didn’t know my dad very well – I conversed more often with my mom. In my opinion, he came off with sort of a ‘hard as nails’ persona. Even when he wasn’t angry, he addressed me by using my full name, “Kathleen Mary…” It’s funny now as I look back because I realize this is the same man who purchased corsages every Easter for my mom, sister, and me. He was ‘present and accounted for’ at almost everything I ever did or participated in, even if he had to get a substitute for work. I think that his actions prove that he cared. (shakes head – Kathleen Mary…)

Through the years I’ve seen some softening where Dad’s concerned. I believe I understand him much better now that I have grown children of my own. I think that when a child is no longer the parents’ responsibility, the parents’ life situation eases, and they become much more relaxed. I’ve seen some of these changes first-hand with my own husband. And since my dad now calls me, “Kate,” I believe I make my point.

Back in 1980 my dad seemed to like my new boyfriend, Todd Memmel, pretty much from the start (as much as dads ever like boyfriends of any kind, that is). He commented, “Todd’s not a clock-watcher. He works hard and gives the boss his money’s worth. He’s not afraid to tackle a project…”  Well, Dad definitely called that one accurately. Dr. Freud could probably have a field day on the similarities between my dad and the man I married. Both hard-working to a fault, both honest, thoughtful, both men of integrity… I now believe I ‘lucked out’ on both counts – strong dad, strong husband... or should I say ‘I am blessed’ on both counts...?   

Over the past 30-some years, my father has always been around to lend a hand. He gave Todd and me welcome advice about buying our first house, and building our second. He proved willing to swing his hammer for whatever job was in the works – from roofs to decks to cabinet-building… The men in my life LOVE and cannot resist ‘new construction’ projects!

He bonded with both of my children, supplying them with good memories and loving feelings about their grandpa. Tony even wrote a song about my dad titled, “Soldier in London, 1943” Tale of an Underdog

But I believe that my respect for my father increased the most as I watched him care for my mother during her last years of life. She grew very confused with Alzheimer’s disease and could no longer reside in their home, doctor’s orders. So Dad drove to her new home and visited with her almost every day (at least six days per week) - even if for just a little while.

“Go ahead, Dad, get out for a while, go golfing! Take a day off! It will feel good,” we’d all encourage him. Everyone who’s dealt with an illness such as this knows how rough it can be on the caregiver. Sometimes he’d go, but often he’d check back in with Mom afterwards. There seemed to be little joy in his favorite activity, without her there to go home to.

As decisions needed to be made about Mom’s care and health issues, he took it step by step, day by day. Just as in other aspects of his life, as in everything he ever did, he worked hard, thought things through, gave the situation his all, and was faithful to the very end…

As time went on, it appeared that his relationship with God deepened. He often reflected, “Kate, I don’t know how people get through life if they don’t have any faith…”

I shook my head, and had to agree with him there. “I don’t know Dad, I don’t know…”  

Through the two and a half years that our family sat in a circle, conversing in my mother’s nursing home with whomever was present that particular day, something beautiful happened. I really got to know my dad. I witnessed first-hand the type of man he is. And I liked what I saw.

Is he flawed? Has he made mistakes? Yes…

But if you are reading this, wondering if good men still exist, I can honestly tell you that they do. Some of them have lived hard lives of work, and have calloused hands to prove it. Some have served their country in lands, foreign and domestic. Some have built their loved ones homes, from the ground up. Some have nurtured their families, taken their parenting jobs seriously, and come out the other side, with smiles on their faces. They walk their daughters down church aisles and end up helping their sons-in-law build houses for the next generation. Some men have loved deeply and laughed heartily, and grieved more than anyone will ever know, for the loves they still miss every single day.

And some men (my own dad) has done, and continues to do, all of these things.

Dad, I feel so blessed to have you in my life.

Have a blessed and happy Father’s Day!

“Kate”  <3  

 

Katie Kolberg Memmel is the author of the book, “Five Fingers, Ten Toes – A Mother’s Story of Raising a Child Born With a Limb Difference. It is available through Amazon as both a Kindle download and as a paperback.