Showing posts with label listening. Show all posts
Showing posts with label listening. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

About those Vampires


Sam woke me at 4:30AM to let me know he is not a vampire. It is important to know these things at 4:30AM. World, please know Sam is not a vampire.

That was my facebook post earlier this week. When Sam read the post, he looked at me and said, “No live with the vampires, Mommy.”

Be assured I do not have any plans to send Sam off to live with vampires. I am glad he mentioned it, though. It reminds me he listens. It also reminds me on occasion it takes him a while to respond. Sometimes as much as 9 or 10 years.


Being October, most would guess Sam's comment is connected to Halloween somehow. Not so. It is actually part of a largely one-sided conversation spanning several years. Translation? There is a little more to the story. Isn’t there always?

Sam has never been much of a sleeper. From as far back as I can remember a visit or two from Sam punctuated my nights. The visits came in spurts involving a couple of hours hanging out, waiting for Sam to fall back to sleep. After a long string of sleepless nights, you are bound to say something ridiculous. Or at least I am.

When Sam was 7 or 8, we went through a particularly long spell of sleep deprivation. Finally, in frustration, I recall saying something like, “Sam, you need to sleep or find a nocturnal family to take you in. Maybe some vampires. They are up all night. Are you part vampire or what?” I am pretty sure I told Tony I was going to post an ad for a kindly vampire family on Craig's list.

In the ensuing years, it became sort of a routine. I’d ask Sam if he was hanging out with vampires again whenever he looked particularly tired in the morning. Given his sleep history, this question was asked with some frequency. Sam never responded. Not once. Ten years of vampire questions and nothing.

Until just recently, that is. Has all this vampire stuff been festering in Sam’s mind? Wow. I hope not. At the least I think I owe Sam a public apology, so here goes:


Sam,

Sorry about the whole vampire thing. I didn’t think you were listening. I know you are not a vampire. I promise I won't send you to live with the vampires (I really don’t know any.) Nocturnal or not, I want you here, with me, where you belong for a very long time.  

Love and big hugs, Mom







Friday, September 16, 2011

I believe


The holiday season was fast approaching. I mentally organized what I hoped to accomplish that night: First, the Christmas cards to those who had worked with Sam in the past year, then package their gifts.

The cards were already selected: simple and white with a small Santa engraving – whimsically elegant with plenty of white space for Sam’s large scroll. The stock was both heavy and soft to the touch. I had chosen the cards envisioning the juxtaposition of elegance and Sam’s childish script.

I laid out the cards and like a drill sergeant directed Sam to sign them, “Love, Sam.” I was surprised by his unexpected protest.

“Want write. Want write,” he insisted. Translation: he disagreed.  I groaned and thought, he is going write “underwear” all over my beautiful cards. Sam had been obsessed with writing “underwear” for the last few weeks. I was certain today would be no different. More firmly I said, “Just write Love, Sam”.

Again he refused. Looking to compromise, I found a piece of blank paper and said “OK, Sam. Write whatever you want here and later we will sign the cards with just your name.”

Sam accepted this and picked up his pen. I watched in surprise as he slowly and carefully wrote:
Sam looked up and said firmly, “Want write believe.” Taken aback, I asked, “Believe what, Sammy?” He responded emphatically, “Believe.” BELIEVE!”

A little humbled, I thought: Believe in God; believe in Santa Claus; believe in Sam. Believe in miracles. Whatever it is you believe in, just believe. It was a perfect a message. Within the subtext was an important reminder: never assume because little is said there isn’t something worth listening to.  

Somehow this story is incomplete without a fast-forward to 4:45 AM the next morning when Sam greeted me with an evil and boisterous, “WAKE UP, TRASH!”

I truly hope that greeting had more to do with his pal Oscar the Grouch and less to do with his general opinion of me from the prior night.

I believe I’ll never know.

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