My mother is 80 and validating other people has never been her strong suit. "It could be worse" is often the best she can offer. And it usually could be worse, but does that help when it’s actually pretty bad?
A few months ago she told me about the time after my dad left the marriage and the house and us, the two boys. In 1981, she waited four or five months to tell her parents that my father was gone. She rarely asked them for help and didn't want or expect her then-61-year-old very healthy mother to come and visit or help us out. My mom, suddenly a single mom and teacher with a five-year-old and one-year-old baby. When she finally told them, her mom sent some money to have a housecleaner come and help clean up.
She's had trouble hearing over the last few years. She has great health insurance. She goes to an audiologist once a year. But she tells him it's not bad. It seems to be more of a processing issue than severe hearing loss. She can't locate sound as easily. Like the 11-year-old dog who has begun trailing strangers at the park if I walk farther away from her, the senses are not sensing.
She refuses the very powerful and discrete hearing aid, even though it’s mostly covered by insurance. The reason? "It wouldn't make a difference." I tell her it would make a difference to the conversations she has with me and her granddaughter, but that doesn't convince her. She wants to move on to the next subject.
When I talk about my life with her, about the exhaustion caused by a stubborn eight-year-old, she doesn't laugh and say, "Now it’s your turn." She insists the school can offer more help. She asks about the teacher. In mom's eyes, the school is always the solution. Except the school doesn't believe in real consequences for these third graders. The school believes in communicating feelings in a positive way, which I believe in, too. But the school also downplays misbehavior.
They are learning how to handle big emotions as they move through elementary school. A world that won't have enough food or water. A world that will become barely habitable by the time they’re 70. The decline of our democracy happening before middle school. Big emotions for these eight-year-olds to handle.
I talked to friends about the No Kings rally, and how I'd gone to the smaller one, the one with less traffic on our side of the East Bay. It was a spontaneous decision. My daughter wanted us to have signs. I got the cardboard from the ice cream shop. I got the sharpie from the thrift shop. We sat on the bench and made our signs. We the People. No Kings. I wrote "Don't Give Up" knowing it was a bit too direct and corny. So many of us want to give up.
A bunch of friends on the East Coast considered going. Parking was a problem for a friend near Portland, Maine. Same for a friend trying to get to Ocean Beach in SF. A friend near Boston thought about going, but chose to play ultimate frisbee instead. Another friend attended a preschool fundraiser. He'd gone to the first No Kings rally and wasn’t looking forward to the T or the crowd in Boston Common.
Most of us are worried and becoming more cynical. We want to feel some sense of optimism.
Back to Mom. I'm telling her about my life. The difficult things. Never a great idea. Finally, she stops me. "Tell me something pleasant." I tell her, "I've gotta go. Love you."