—Dana
“I have found that telling the truth to my daughter has her coming back to me time after time to ‘get the truth.’ No matter how tough the issue, I stick to the facts. I also try to tell her what I did at her age in that situation & what I would have done differently & the outcomes that are possible.”
—Kimberly
Lately it’s really hit me how fleeting everything is. The time we have on this earth, the time we have with our babies, and our families, and our dear friends—it’s all incredibly short, and so precious.
Bryten Goss was one of my best friends since kindergarten. As an adult he became a highly regarded artist. Then, at age thirty, he took a trip to Mexico for an art project, and when he came home, a virus attacked his heart. He died a few weeks later. It was a horrible shock to all of us who loved him. His amazing mother, Rose Goss, would always say, “There’s the time you’re born, the time you die, and the dash in between. The important thing is what you do with that dash.” This is such a beautiful sentiment that I’ve never forgotten it.
Bryten and me at one of his art showings
Bryten’s life was way too short, but what he did with that dash he spent with us was incredible. He traveled the world and painted places that drew you into his world so completely. You would look at his artwork and it was as if he had lived a thousand lives before because he was that deep and soulful.
I’ve been blessed to know so many wonderful people who have done inspiring things with their dash on this earth. And they have made my world so much more colorful, rich, and meaningful.
My godfather, Joseph, was the patriarch of our family, and he and I were incredibly close. He was a truly amazing director, and he always encouraged me in all of my creative pursuits. When I wrote my first screenplay, a gangster story called Blood and Brotherhood, he was the first person I sent it to. He was there when I was born, and he walked me down the aisle when Jason and I got married. Joseph was there for every important milestone in my life.
Not too long before Poet was born, we found out that Joseph had cancer. No one wanted to hold on to life more than Joseph did, and he pursued every treatment imaginable. He didn’t miss a single big event in my life, even when he was terribly sick—he and my amazing godmother, Patricia, traveled all the way from Hawaii for my baby shower, and they stayed for Poet’s birth. One of my most treasured memories is when Joseph held Poet in the hospital.
Before Joseph’s health really started to fail, he had gone to Bhutan to make a documentary on solar power. It was his dying wish to finish the movie, so we made a bedroom for him in our house in Los Angeles, and we set up ramps so we could wheel him into the house. In our dining room, we installed a television, and there Joseph and his editor finished the movie.
While he stayed with us, Joseph and I had long conversations every evening, and I’m still so grateful for that intense, beautiful time with him. This was back when Poet was just a baby, and she’d cry at night. I remember I’d come down in the morning and ask Joseph if Poet had kept him awake. He’d smile and say, “It just makes me realize I’m still alive.” One of the last days he was with us in LA, even though he was weak with pain, he insisted on stopping to get Poet the biggest Halloween pumpkins you’ve ever seen. And that was just the nature of who he was. He was going to live life to the fullest as long as he could.
Soon it became clear that he only had a few months to live, and he and Patricia wanted to go back to Hawaii for his final weeks. I talked to him constantly over the next few months, and then the first week of January I spoke to him and he said, “Get out here soon.” I asked him to promise that he’d wait for me, and he did. But again he said, “Just get here soon.”
I left the next day with Poet and Tori. By the time we got to Hawaii, we were exhausted, and we were juggling Poet, the luggage, and finding the rental car—in the rain. We were supposed to find the place where we were staying that night and then go to my godparents’ house the next day, but I felt desperate. I couldn’t find it, and something told me to just to go to my godparents’ place and get my bearings. So I pulled off at their house, and Joseph was there, awake with a smile. He gave me a kiss and told me he loved me. Poet woke up in the car, so Tori brought her into the house, and Joseph got to see her. Then we left for the night.
By the next morning Joseph had started slipping away, and just days later he was gone.
I was always close to my godmother, and in the time since Joseph passed away, our relationship has grown only deeper. Our love has continued to grow, and the moments we spend when we are together, up until the late-night hours talking, are some of the most precious in my life, and ones I hold closest to my heart. She is truly remarkable.
I wouldn’t be who I am if it weren’t for Bryten, Joseph, and all the other dear friends I’ve known and lost. They are all still alive in me and those who loved them—which is exactly what we tell our girls. Bryten’s legacy is in the art he made and the lives he touched. Joseph was one of the most creative, brilliant, and passionate people you could ever meet. He left behind a lifetime of incredible work and family who love him endlessly. He loved life and every breath of beauty that he took in. He is still such a huge part of our lives and our children’s; they wave to him in the sunset, and look up and see him in the stars—and remember that amazing, inspiring dash he spent with us.
My godfather, Joseph, and me at my baby shower for Poet
S.P.S.
The dash between . . .
What have been your favorite moments in life? Take the time to write down your most special memories so far and how you will inspire yourself and your children to make the most of the dash in between. Today I was watching my husband holding our daughters, and I literally held that moment close to my heart throughout the afternoon. I thought about how that was part of my dash. It is so easy to rush through life, but I really try to take time to treasure the moments. When you feel yourself getting overwhelmed, take a beat and think about what is really important. When we look back thirty or forty years from now, will it be the one deadline we reflect on, or the morning we dropped our kids off late for school? No, it will be the laughter and tears, the first steps, the birthdays, the growing, the weddings, the love, and the people we shared our lives with.
What about those moments when our kids ask us about those whose dash has passed on?
My girls ask me hard questions all the time. I used to ask my mother a thousand questions and now my kids are doing the exact same thing with me. The other day at breakfast Poet asked me, “Mom, what happens when we die?” I took a breath and then I said that everyone believes in different things. Some people think that we become stars in the sky and other people believe that we go to another place, somewhere that is beautiful and where the skies have cotton candy clouds. She and her sister smiled softly and then ran off to play. Sometimes our kids ask us questions that are really tough for us to answer, but I truly believe that compassion can help them evolve into incredible people. All of these questions and wonders about their world are so pivotal to the essence of their being and the dash that they create along the way.
29
Please and Thank You
Question of the day: What kinds of rules do you have in your house?
“My kids are toddler & preschool age. So our main rules are: be kind to each other, remember that the dog’s water isn’t a Little People pool, and no flipping off the back of the sofa.”
—Amy
“No TV or computer on Sundays; dinner every night with everyone in the family; and no phone calls during meals; if my kids are slow to get out of bed for school in the morning, they must go to bed earlier that night; everyone must do their best to show respect for one another, otherwise they get in trouble.”
—Irene
“The rules are pretty broad at our house: Love each other. Don’t speak harsh words. Put your dirty clothes in the hamper. :) Share. Be helpful.”
—JoyfulTxGal
“The kids hav
e to try whatever food is put in front of them—at least one bite. No one gets called ‘stupid.’ Everyone gets a hug, kiss and ‘I love you’ from everyone before bed.”
—Kelly F.
“Rules? Not enough! I’m going to end with that so that I don’t incriminate myself lol!”
—Lisa U.
As you have probably figured out by now, my mom’s house was a totally free-spirited Nirvana kind of place. No one had what you would call a traditional job, and no one kept what you would call traditional hours. We often ate dinner cross-legged on the floor, we had a houseful of animals, and we almost always had a houseful of people—and nobody was waiting for an invitation. But manners were important to my mom—at least the really important ones, like saying “please” and “thank you.” And even when we were sitting on the floor to eat, we always took a few quiet moments to appreciate our blessings.
My dad’s manners . . . well, they were a little looser. I remember one time he came to visit me on the set of Punky, and we went to the cafeteria for lunch. My mom and I sat down with a woman who worked on the set, and when Dad walked up, he started eating the french fries right off of that woman’s plate. And just to clarify—my dad didn’t know her at all. They’d never met! Yet there he was, devouring her fries. Perfectly mannered, no, but my dad’s heart was always in the right place. And to me, that’s the important thing. My dad always tried to make you feel good when you were with him, even if he sometimes ate fries off the plates of strangers.
There are two kinds of people in this world: the ones who usually make you feel a little worse about yourself after you’ve been with them, and the ones who always manage to make you feel a little better. Even small acts of generosity can make a huge difference. Back when I was a teenager trying to make a new reputation for myself in Hollywood, I went to an audition with Francis Ford Coppola for a film version of On the Road. Auditions are always difficult, but when you’re a self-conscious teenager, they can be a nightmare. Everything about you is being dissected, from your work to your face, and you can end up feeling totally unworthy.
But Francis wasn’t like that at all. He asked me all about a recent role (I was starring in an incredibly intense play about Hitler’s niece at the time). He then asked me to read him a poem I had written. He wanted to hear all about my obsession with gangster movies, and all of my interests, loves, and passions. He must have spent an hour with me. This was around the time that I was working on my very first screenplay (Blood and Brotherhood), and he couldn’t possibly have known what a huge impact a conversation with the brilliant Francis Ford Coppola would have on me. For that hour there didn’t seem to be anything in the world more important to him than our conversation. I’ve always held that experience close to my heart, and I’ve tried really hard to pass on that same sort of kindness—and to give people my complete attention when they are talking about something close to their heart.
We all have a choice in this life to build each other up or break each other down. Jason and I try to teach our girls to be builders. We teach them about kindness and paying it forward. We talk about how we can make the world a better place. And we get them involved in really concrete ways—whether it’s my work with the Alzheimer’s Foundation, or teaching them about their grandfather’s work with the civil rights movement.
Of course, manners are important, too. I’ve tried to teach my girls not to steal french fries off of strangers’ plates, how to sit at the dinner table (although often they prefer to sit on it instead of at it), and to cover their mouths when they cough, and I’m happy to say that Poet and Jagger have become total champs at saying “please” and “thank you,” just like my mother taught me when I was little. What makes me proudest of them isn’t how automatically they say it, though—it’s how deeply they feel it.
S.P.S.
Speaking of table manners . . .
Is this scenario familiar to you? Everyone sits down to a lovingly prepared meal, and one or more children look at their plates in horror and refuse to eat. Mom and Dad are mortified, whoever prepared the meal is upset, and what’s the right thing to do? So many parents struggle with this, and I’m incredibly sympathetic. I have never been a parent who forces my kids to sit at the table and finish every last bite, but I know people who have. I think that when kids stress out about food, they are less likely to eat it. At the same time, you don’t want to give them ten other options so that it becomes a habit. Usually I will ask nicely for them to eat what they like of it. If I feel like they still haven’t gotten enough, I will give them a little snack before bed and then the next day they are back to eating their whole meal. Figuring out how they sometimes test us is important, and the better we understand that, the easier time we will have with picky eaters.
With very picky eaters, preparing things they love while introducing one or two new things is a great idea. Then they can experiment with a spoonful of something new as opposed to a whole plate of it.
Being polite . . .
Talk to your kids about being polite and how a little kindness goes a long way. Making eye contact and being sincere when speaking with others is really important to me. I think leading by example and healthy, subtle reminders are helpful. I like to remind them on a playdate, for example, that it is not just when they are saying good-bye at somebody’s house that they should say “thank you”—it’s important to be appreciative and respectful of others throughout the visit.
Just remember that no one’s perfect . . .
Since we’re talking about manners and thoughtfulness, I want to take this opportunity to confess a serious moral failing on my part. I’m not kidding—this is really shameful. I like to think that I’m a kind and generous person, and I really try to be a good friend, a good parent, a loving wife . . . but I am the worst with thank-you notes. I don’t know what my problem is. Sometimes I even go to the trouble of writing out a note, but then I never manage to get it addressed and stamped.
So let’s make this official: For everyone who has ever given my child a birthday present . . . thank you. And for anyone who has ever given me a birthday present . . . thank you. And for every single person who has ever given me an engagement present, or a wedding present, or an anniversary present . . . THANK YOU. I treasure each and every one. And here’s a promise—you never have to send me a thank-you note, either, not ever.
Jason and me with Demi and Ashton, two of the most kind and loving people in our lives
30
Be My Baby
Question of the day: How do you most baby your babies?
“Lots of love, hugs, kisses & cuddles.”
—Nicole P.
“I baby my babies by cuddling them. Even in public. My poor 11 year old son!”
—Ash
“Carry them, even though they are nearly as big as me. (They are only 5 and 1. I’m just tiny.)”
—Dana
“Weeeell, my ‘babies’ are 37 and almost-40 now, but still by trying to make things smooth for them.”
—Jan
“Wrap up together on the couch for movies—especially The Princess Bride.”
—Cari
My mom always tells me that I was her little girl for a short time, and then she shared me with the world. That has really stuck with me. She must be braver than I am, because I don’t want to share my girls with the world. I want them home with me forever.
It was hard enough to send them off to preschool. Poet was shy at first, but now she runs through the door and doesn’t even look back. Jagger is already headed in that direction, too, and she’s my baby! Sometimes I just stare at my girls sleeping—their height, hair, how they’re taking up the entire room, and how they are getting so big, so fast. I want to press a button and make time stop. But the genie is already out of the bottle. Poet is one hundred percent big girl now. Meanwhile, I’m in no rush to hurry Jagger out of her baby years. I’m like, want a bottle? Want your pacifier? No problem!
I think back to the crazy adventures I h
ad when I wasn’t much older than Poet, and I wonder how my mother managed not to have a total heart attack on a daily basis. One incident that really sticks out in my memory happened when I was doing Punky. I was probably eight at the time. I was a child spokesperson for the Just Say No to Drugs campaign, and Nancy Reagan was the chair, so she invited me to the White House Easter Egg Roll. When my mom, brother, and I got there the crowd of fans was gigantic, way bigger than we expected. In the enormous crowd, suddenly I lost sight of my mother. The next thing I knew, I was surrounded by these incredibly cool Secret Service guys who ushered me through the mob scene and into the White House. When my mom finally found me, I was in the Oval Office with my feet up on the table, eating Popeyes fried chicken. I wasn’t a baby anymore.
I don’t want to admit it to my girls, but some of the best experiences in my life happened when my parents weren’t around, like at summer camp, which I loved. My mom exaggerated a little when I was five and said that I was already six, just so that I could go to sleepaway camp for two weeks. And from then until I was seventeen, I went every year. I even went back as a counselor. Now it blows my mind to realize that Poet is the same age I was when I went to sleepaway camp for the first time. I can’t even imagine sending her yet!
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