Hmm…Yes, she does have an unbelievable amount of energy. It drives me and my brother crazy sometimes.
There were a couple of misprints in that article. My mom says that, “work is a four-letter word, but when you do it, you get back another four-letter word… love”, not “love and work are four-letter words”. And I don’t know where they got twelve adopted kids from. It’s my brother (bio.), me (adopted — thank god, karma, energy, whoever because I don’t think I would’ve made a good Angela Salerno), and four fosters that we haven’t seen in a very long time… So, it has been just me and my brother for quite a while. For a few years anyway, there were six of us. But, I’m sure if there had been thirteen of us, she would have dealt with it just the same (she became a single parent overnight. walked not died).
Then, she needed that focus and energy. She put us all in the van one night and drove us through the projects. We’d never seen them before. Broken toys and lawn chairs out in the concrete yards in the middle of winter. “We can live here or we can work. What do you want to do?” We said, “work.” And we did. Non-stop. Asses off. What had been a hobby for my mom, became a business when someone called to hire her to do a show. We did almost 200 shows a month every month for two years. It was a big exhausting blur. I was eight by then, and even though I continued to help her out until high school, something about the shows left behind a nasty aftertaste. I think smiling for strangers when our elevator crashed made every show feel like a lie. Something about it just stuck in my head.
Of course all that is different now, and it’s long since gone back to being a hobby and my mom has hired help.
Lately, she’s been doing a lot of shows at teen lock-down facilities and alternative learning schools. I help her out sometimes when her other helpers are unavailable. Those are the best shows because I really get to see what she does. We get in the room and set up and these kids come in with these attitudes… And I don’t blame them. Most of them have been told that they are pieces of shit. They’ve been wrecked and they’re angry. They come in and look at us like, “who the fuck are you? why the fuck are you here? take your fuckin’ animals home ’cause I don’t give a fuck about them or you.” It’s nothing like a blue and gold banquet or a birthday party. She breaks out the more personal stories for these kids. The kind of stories I hardly ever tell because I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me or my family. Maybe it’s the humor she uses or maybe these kids can relate to what she’s saying… I don’t know. But midway through her presentation, the room isn’t so angry, people are laughing, asking all kinds of questions, holding animals they didn’t even want to see and someone who may have looked emotionless at the beginning, now looks like they have so much to say. Those are the times when I think, Wow. This woman is changing a little piece of the world. And she’s my mom. Cool. I know that sounds extremely cheesy, but it’s true.
Interestingly, that article came from the Lakeview Manor newsletter… Lakeview Manor is the new name of those projects we drove through.
Lindsey
Doesn’t sound cheesy at all to me. I believe there’s no power in the ‘verse like the moment that two people experience a connection.
I believe in stories. They’re good for so many things – teaching, integrating new information, connecting, distancing ourselves, praising, punishing. In some ways story is at the heart of all human interaction. Here’s what I did when I was 12 and my parents got divorced. Here’s what happened to my friend. Here’s how you and I are different. Here’s how we are the same. I remember… Personal stories can be such a powerful bridge. Sometimes they’re a momentary recognition, like a smile I give a stranger on the street. Sometimes they’re just a way of making myself hideously vulnerable without getting anything back. Sometimes they’re a lifeline for someone in a way that I may never anticipate or realize. But stories are always a gift. I like to give them and receive them, and I’m not likely to ever trust someone who isn’t willing to tell their own stories and listen to the stories of others. Good for your mom. She sounds like one of the Great Connectors.
I’m not just talking about the Big Stories; even the small stuff can make unexpected connections between folks. But the big stories can make a big impact. I think I understand what it might have been like for you helping out your mom, hearing her talk about your lives to strangers. Particularly those parts that might make people feel sorry for you, or give them just a little too much of a window into your world. I’ve been there.
One of the things that my high school class did in preparation for our upcoming reunion was to put together a “Reunion Book.” We filled out questionnaires, and the answers were collected into a booklet along with recent (or old) pictures. There were some evocative questions. And of course, all my memory comes back to me in the form of story, however abbreviated. So, Lindsey, thanks for your stories, and here are a few of mine.
St. Paul’s School 25th Anniversary Questionnaire
Kelley Eskridge
Occupation/Employment: writer
Partner’s Name: Nicola Griffith
Partner’s Occupation: novelist
Colleges/Universities and Degrees
BA Theatre Performance, University of South Florida
Public and Community Service Involvement
Various volunteer activities in the Deaf and Deaf-Blind communities, as part of my study of American Sign Language and interpreting.
Describe a favorite memory or moment at St. Paul’s
I have so many. Sneaking back onto campus with Jordie Hawley so late one night that even Checker Cabs was closed, and we had to hitch a ride (first time I ever did that!). The girls’ first boat winning Worcester even after one of our oarlocks popped and the race had to be started over. Time spent alone in the woods, or the boat docks, or Little Turkey–part of me knew that I might never again get so much uninterrupted beauty and peace and space for myself. Time spent with friends. Almost any night at the Coffeehouse. All the conversations. Dances. Autonomy. Buying the first poster and the first piece of jewelry I ever picked for myself, at Isis & Rasputin (I still have both). Jon Sweet waking me up with a bottle of champagne because we’d kicked everyone’s ass at the debating championships. Checker Cabs delivering late-night ice cream. John Tweedy leaving a $200 check in my mailbox after he saw me crying because I couldn’t afford to reserve my place in the freshman class at Northwestern, a kindness done with such unintrusive grace that it set a lifelong standard for me. Lying in the snow outside Upper, watching my first meteor shower. How it feels to have people throw you in the pond because they like you. Roaring down Fisk Hill in the dark on a borrowed bicycle at a thousand miles per hour after the last crew party. Peppermint ice cream with chocolate syrup. The first time I stepped onto campus, for my tour and interview, and realized that there was a bigger life outside of Tampa, Florida: I fell in love with the school and the life in that moment, and I’ve never looked back.
What did SPS best prepare you for?
To learn in new situations–to see things clearly and suss them out for myself, instead of waiting to be told what to think.
What did you NOT learn at St. Paul’s that you wish you had?
How to have the confidence of a 42-year-old.
What is your proudest accomplishment?
I’ve learned to live large, love unreservedly, build a marriage, be brave, appreciate difference, embrace joy, clean up my own mess, dream big dreams and then be responsible for whether I get them or not. Everything else is details.
If you could be granted one wish now, what would it be?
A miracle cure for multiple sclerosis.
What do you really hope to accomplish in the next 25 years?
Write and publish beautiful, powerful books. Interpret a U2 concert in ASL. Have 25 more years of food, drink and conversation with Nicola. Learn screenwriting. Take another trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. Cherish the people I love. Cherish myself. Meet new fascinating people and have some of them become life-friends. Dance more. Go farther than I ever imagined. Be joyful.
Any other thoughts or comments you’d like to share with your Formmates?
Life is short and the world is wide, and there are plenty of ways to be happy. I hope we have all found some.
This is one of those posts that make me all teary-eyed and swollen-hearted. So I’ll just say thanks to Lindsey and her mom. And thanks to Kelley. Thank You for sharing your stories.