Two Games, One Day
Nothing is impossible to a willing heart.
—John Heywood
When my husband Wes and I moved into a brick duplex in Takoma Park, Maryland, we began what felt like a whirlwind of family activities. Only about twenty minutes from work, Takoma Park was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting, complete with a gazebo in the middle of town and a Fourth of July parade every year. It was the first city in the United States to extend voting rights in municipal elections to sixteen-year-olds, in keeping with its commitment to the idea of family activities and full community participation. Things-to-do with the kids became a priority. We already had a plan for drop-offs and pickups to the bilingual Montessori school in nearby Silver Spring, Maryland, which all our children attended. Since we selected Spanish as their language, cultural activities like Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) or Cinco de Mayo were stamped on our calendars. Swimming classes were next on the list. Wes and I took the littlest ones to classes at the YMCA together. Since he was a much better swimmer than I was, he handled little Wes, and I helped six-month-old Shani. For Nikki there were also music and dance lessons. She took to dancing like a duck takes to water. She even performed at one Fourth of July celebration in the town’s gazebo. With some extra tutorial help from my girlfriend Pam Higgins-Harris, an amazing dancer in her own right, Nikki dazzled, stepped, twirled, and strutted her stuff around the gazebo and later at a school talent show to everyone’s delight, especially Wes and me. It was an idyllic time. Although our schedules were packed, Wes and I tag-teamed the kids to ensure that one of us would be there as any of the children enjoyed the enrichment we worked hard to provide. We wanted to give our presence to our kids. Together as a unit, with heartfelt love, we shared (or shared in) our parental responsibilities.
It wasn’t just around fun activities that we were able to be a parental relay team. When Nikki was seven we noticed a growth in her leg that the doctor thought best to remove. The day before her surgery, I checked her into the hospital and got her settled. Wes was a newborn, so as soon as Nikki fell asleep I picked him up from my in-laws and took him home. When Wes finished his last newscast, he went to the hospital and spent the night with Nikki. To this day, Nikki still talks about the calm she felt waking up in the middle of the night and seeing her dad asleep in the recliner.
That was our wonderful life for almost five years. We were partners. But in an instant that life was gone. It wasn’t just my best friend who died. It was my parenting partner, someone to look to for guidance, to co-sign or suggest a better way, to play good cop to my bad cop, to show a united front when necessary. The baton toss had become a solo sprint, and that seemed lonely and very tiring.
While Wes’s mom, dad, and three sisters were close by, as were my dear friends from college, my partner of the heart was gone. There was a hollowness in the pit of my stomach and a gaping hole in my heart that I thought might never heal. But I was determined to continue supporting my kids in their extracurriculars, financially and physically, as much as I could. Single mom or not, I had to find a way that I could do this.
I’ve always listened to my head by making lists, being pragmatic, planning, and prioritizing. That certainly came in handy, but this time I had to do some deep reflection on my ability to keep up with my kids while tending to myself. Going on with things as if Wes were still here wasn’t possible; I needed to knock some things off the list. I had to really consider my priorities so that I could keep as much as I could and make choices based on what I wanted for the family and not just what might be easiest.
I narrowed the list to the most important activities: taking the kids to and from their schools, going to the required teacher-parent meetings, and attending family gatherings with the Moores. Once we moved to New York in 1984, the limitations on activities eased, as I had in-house support from the rest of my family. I started working for Essence: The Television Program and other freelance and part-time assignments; if I had to work during an activity, my pride was there as backup for school drop-offs or pickups, baseball games, dance classes, theater rehearsals, gymnastics, and basketball tournaments. I once again started to feel like I was providing the activities, presence, and support the kids needed, even if I had to give some things up or if at times, a surrogate had to pitch in.
It’s said that New Yorkers don’t need cars because of the extensive transit system. That’s probably true—if you don’t go outside the five-borough bubble. But the kids’ activities took me upstate, out-of-state, and to all points in between. As such, the car became not only necessary but a treasured resource. When there were conflicts with the kids’ schedules, I called on my pride to help me be in two places at once. The presence of family and close friends at any child’s events seemed to be enough for us all—I think the kids knew it was my way of making sure they felt loved and supported, and also that they could feel my presence even if I could not be physically with them.
In 1994 Shani and I moved back to Maryland because the Casey Foundation relocated its headquarters from Greenwich, Connecticut, to Baltimore. Shani was just starting high school and Wes was well into the academic, tactical, and athletic life of Valley Forge. I was back on a one-man mission to juggle schedules. Fortunately, it worked out okay 95 percent of the time primarily because I had a great boss, Bill Rust, who related to my parental challenges because he was a single dad himself. As long as I finished my work, he gave me all the flexibility I needed to remain present for my kids. But one day, the inevitable happened. Shani and Wes had basketball games on the same day with just two hours between the end of one and the start of the next. It wouldn’t have been a problem if their schools were across town from each other. But their games were in two different states!
I told Wes and Shani my dilemma and each graciously told me not to worry about it. But I could sense disappointment. Rather than decide to go to neither one, I decided to figure out a way to do both.
Like an athlete in preparation mode, I planned and prepped for the big day. Having learned from past promises gone awry, I didn’t tell Shani or Wes my plans ahead of time so that they didn’t get disappointed if things didn’t work out. The night before the games, I worked extra late, and I went in to work the next morning early. By noon I left Maryland and headed up to Valley Forge, Pennsylvania, for the start of Wes’s game. I hit a little traffic in Delaware but got to campus right before the game started. As the team came out of the locker room to start warm-up drills, Wes ran past me and I caught his eye. The look on his face was priceless: surprise and happiness rolled up together in his signature Kool-Aid smile. The team was playing extremely well, with Wes leading in scoring and rebounds at halftime. I would have loved to stay to see a win, but Shani’s game was starting in another hour and a half. As soon as the halftime buzzer sounded, I made an about-face to Maryland. The universe was on my side that day because I didn’t get caught in one single traffic slowdown—a pure miracle given I was on an interstate approaching rush hour.
I got to her high school gym right after the third quarter started, and I can still remember the look on Shani’s face when she saw me walking in. She didn’t expect me to be there, but in her heart, she told me later, she was feeling disappointed after not seeing me for the first two quarters. When she saw me there to close out the game, though, all was well. I could feel the effects of the seven hours of total driving time on my knees, and I was starving since I hadn’t stopped anywhere to eat. But with all of that, watching Wes’s face earlier in the day and now Shani’s, I wouldn’t have done one thing differently.
None of us can remember which teams won that day. But Wes and Shani say they both felt like winners. What they do remember is the effort I made to support them both and that they were grateful I even tried. I had let my Presence of Connectedness guide me to following the priorities I had set for myself, and I felt like I had won big.
After I arrived home that evening, I kicked off my shoes, and—realizing there was way too much a
drenaline pumping through my body to go straight to bed—I made a sandwich, poured a glass of wine, and reflected on the day. Presence of Connectedness had provided the fuel for me to make both games. Most important, the “I love you” I sent from the stands to my children on the hardwood had the most enduring impact. Those are the connections that will survive beyond my lifetime.
LESSON FROM A LIONESS: Sometimes the effort is just as valuable as your actual presence. But if it’s at all possible, be there.
Kids will forgive if you try and fail. The feat I had accomplished that one day went farther than the distance I had driven. However, it wasn’t the actual presence at the two games I was going for, it was the message I was trying to convey by making the effort.
Let’s face it, parents have to miss some of the milestones in a kid’s life. There’s not enough time in the day, gas in the car, or energy in our bodies. And having our children know this reality is not a bad thing. It could be a valuable and bonding moment as we teach this lesson and share its burden as you discuss the events of the week with your children; my kids understood that when I took a time-out, it was because I was human and needed to take a break before I could be their mom the way we all wanted me to be. But ultimately, we know what is most important to a child. I daresay it’s not only that our smiling faces are in the third row of every ballet recital; it’s whether the child believes we wanted to and tried to be there.
When people make an effort or acknowledge an event, it goes just as far as when they are physically present. At least this has been true for me. When my husband was suddenly taken from us, there were many people who couldn’t physically be at his memorial. But a few weeks later when Wes’s uncle Bobby came to take little Wes fishing, or his cousin Camille sent me flowers on the day of our wedding anniversary, those acts of kindness stuck with me and made me realize how special we were to so many people. Little things mean a lot, and that especially goes for children. Their hearts are so big that they require so little.
Obviously, there will be times when no matter how you plan or scheme or plead or beg, you won’t be able to switch a shift or shift a meeting to attend an event. In those cases, we can let technology be our friend. Consider FaceTiming a fellow mom while she attends the Cub Scouts award ceremony and then having your son see you on the screen afterward, surprising him by telling him you saw the whole thing. I’ve known mothers who couldn’t be at the science fair, but were able to FaceTime teachers during the workday and say hello to their child. Many schools live-stream their events. You could plan a private viewing in your living room after work, and order in and make a big deal about watching the repeat together. It’s all about acknowledging your pride in your child, and that can happen anywhere and anytime, if you make the effort. Just because an event is over doesn’t mean it has to be over.
Make it known that one of your family’s core values is to be with each other whenever possible. Make scheduling a family affair—communicate. Your children will understand that it stinks when they can’t have you at functions (and that you think it stinks too), but a roof over your head and medical insurance are pretty darn good too. Let them know if you’re sad that you’re going to miss something, but also let them know you are doing that for them, which goes a longer way than the holiday sing-along. Try to look at the school and sports calendar and prioritize together which games will be critical, and find out which school events are non-negotiable. The effort of taking into consideration how your responsibilities affect your children will let them know that when it comes to priorities, they are at the top of the list!
Blogger Desiree Campbell reminds us that children’s lives are made up of little moments; moments that may seem small, like nightly reading of their favorite books, are almost insignificant to adults but are huge in the lives of kids. The school assemblies, the softball or basketball games, the parent-teacher conferences—all things we may feel we can miss sometimes, because there’s always another game, conference, or concert around the bend. But for our kids, each event is unique and important, and not attempting to be there is something they’ll remember. This is especially true for kids of single parents, because they may already feel cheated by not having enough parental time. But when they see their single mom, regardless of the obstacle, doing whatever you can to be present, either in person, virtually, or through a surrogate in those special moments, they see your true heart and desire to be connected.
A Surrogate’s Love: The Gina Davis Story
We live in a world in which we need to share responsibility. It’s easy to say “It’s not my child, not my community, not my problem.” Then there are those who see the need and respond. I consider those people my heroes.
—Fred Rogers
One of the reasons I cherished working at the Annie E. Casey Foundation is that I fell in love with the story of its founder, Jim Casey. More than a century ago, Annie, his widowed single mother, was doing her best to provide for her four children in an impoverished section of Seattle, Washington. Jim decided that as the “man of the family” he had to financially assist his mother, so he started doing package deliveries for local companies on his bike. At nineteen years old he decided to go into business for himself; borrowing $100 from a friend, he officially established the American Messenger Company. From those two wheels grew the United Parcel Service, UPS, today the world’s largest package delivery company. In 1948, Jim decided that making money wasn’t enough—it had to have a purpose and meet a need. He founded the Annie E. Casey Foundation, named for his beloved mother, to help children who, like him and his siblings, had desperate needs and few options for help. He was especially drawn to children in the foster care system, who through no fault of their own couldn’t live with or be cared for by their mother or father.
The Casey Foundation became my home base for fifteen years, and I worked alongside some enormously talented and dedicated people. One of them was my colleague Gina Davis. She was not a single mom, but she found herself in a position where she realized she could offer help, guidance, and relief to family members who needed a lifeline. Her story is an example of what can happen when you’re willing to accept help from those in your pride.
Gina is the daughter of an immigrant mother from Mexico and a Texan dad, who died when Gina was very young. Her mother remarried twice more, the family moving throughout the country, to wherever the new husband needed to live. Gina is the eldest of three children, five years older than her brother Bidal and seventeen years older than her sister Linda. Gina was heading off to college when Linda was born so they never really knew each other as siblings. Gina excelled in college and went straight from graduation to a training program for young journalists of color in New York City, sponsored by Newsday. During her occasional visits home, time was always too short for Gina and Linda to bridge the gulf between them so they never established a strong relationship.
Gina says Linda was challenging throughout her childhood and teenage years—from truancy to engaging in high-risk behaviors, dropping out of high school, and finally getting pregnant when she was eighteen. Linda named her daughter Eliza and they both moved in with her mother. Two years later a son, Shawn, was born.
By then, Gina was married and an established education reporter in Baltimore. Not having children of her own (her husband had three daughters that Gina helped raise), she tried to respect the mother-child relationships of her sister but with each visit to her mother’s house, Gina became more alarmed by Linda’s constant yelling, especially at three-year-old Eliza.
I said, “How would you appreciate going to work every day and all your boss did was yell at you from the moment you walked in until the moment you left and just nothing you did was ever good enough, and everything you did would set that person off.” I said, “We both know by lunchtime you can be ready to run for the hills. Put yourself in that space, and what that feels like, and how degrading it is, and how demoralizing it is, and just how bad it makes you feel.”
Gina appreciated th
at part of her sister’s frustration came from the fact that she really didn’t have any career goals. She finally received her GED but she was without a job, without a direction. Then Linda came up with the idea that she wanted to become a nurse, and Gina saw this as her opportunity to help her sister achieve her dream. With her husband’s support, Gina offered to take Eliza back to Baltimore to stay with them while her sister went to nursing school. Shawn, who was just turning two, would stay with his mother and grandmother. Gina went to Eliza’s fourth birthday party and brought her back to Baltimore with her that night.
After about two and a half years, Gina brought Eliza back to Virginia, to a sister now holding a nursing degree. Gina continued to maintain a regular presence in the lives of her niece and nephew. When Eliza was about twelve years old, Gina found out that she had fallen two grades behind in both reading and math. She was in a public school that had diagnosed her with ADD and put her in a special education class. The school devised an Independent Educational Plan (IEP) for her and promised Linda that it would provide Eliza the very best resources available to address her ADD. This is when Gina’s background as an education reporter and communication strategist paid off big time. She and her sister demanded a meeting, and the principal and special education team said they would grant them twenty minutes.
Instead the meeting lasted ninety unsatisfying minutes, with the last straw being the school’s decision to promote her to middle school despite her lack of progress. Gina left the meeting and spent her summer visiting Eliza, who finally admitted she was being bullied, saying, “I don’t want to go back to that school.” Gina sprang into action, researching private schools in the area that could better serve Eliza’s needs. She found a faith-based academy, located not far from their house. Gina called and explained the situation, and in Gina’s words, “God’s plan was at work that day.” The school had a contract with a cognitive education specialist who also did tutoring on the side. Her approach to tutoring was rooted in neuroscience, aiming to rewire the brain in the areas she knew needed to be engaged. The decision was made that day to not only enroll Eliza in the school but also hire the tutor to bring her up to grade level. They also decided she would repeat the fifth grade since she was so far behind. Gina offered to pay for everything and says what has happened in the past few years has made it worth every penny.
The Power of Presence Page 21