Kathy Jarvis asked me, why at my 80th birthday party were people jostling each other over being my favourite child.
Who is the favourite child in a family is a story that can be told many ways.
My story is that when Kelvin began to grow up, I was wanting to make the narrative of adoption one that was often discussed, one that seemed normative, one that didn’t cause any questions to the adoptive one about his place in the family.
So when I would tell that story of how Kelvin was adopted, I would often end it with, “And thus you know he is my favourite child.”
Sometimes when I was giving out food, I would give him two, the rest one, but on the plate in the middle were still lots of that product, there for the taking to anyone who would reach out. No one was deprived. I was just trying to mark out that he belongs, that I was taking care of him, and that if there had to be a favourite, then let it be over an issue over which no one had control – certainly not me.
He had some issues when he was growing up about eating anything that was broken – a hot dog bun. Brownies that came out of the pan hot, -- if a corner were broken there would be tears in his eyes.
That a brownie had an edge that had been gouged by my spatula, especially because they may have been too warm and hard to take out in one perfect piece, the others seemed to get.
He didn’t. So I would try to get him something to eat over which he did not have to cry.
Over the years, the adults have often taunted one another – "Arta is coming to see me because she loves me best", "because I was her favourite child", "because I treated her right" – these thrown at each other because all of them knew this could not possibly be true.
I am as faithful to one as to the other.
At my virtual birthday party when thoughts from deep in the hearts of people were being expressed, Richard suddenly jumped to the screen with a note dated May 8, 2018 and the note said “You are my favourite child. Please don’t tell your siblings.” He told me that he had been waiting to use this idea at my funeral, but now seemed like a more appropriate time.
That turned the event in a different direction – thankfully.
Digging deep is overwhelming, since all of us can bring up overwhelming gratitude for those involved when our lives are turned around, or saved, or touched in ways more profound than words can express.
Not to anyone’s surprise, notes were found in other homes, instantaneous, like they had been waiting on the table, either to be presented, or authored, the same content, the same signature and even dates that made the previous notes no longer valid.
Many (not all of my children) loved being able to reproduce my signature – a talent they said learned in high school.
I don’t think I would have said that in front of my own kids about myself, but they did in front of their kids.
Of course, I would not have had to, never having played a day's hookey in my life.
No.
Really.
Done other things, but not that.
But to return to the topic of who is the favourite child?
The answer will always be the one with whom I am having a conversation, or the one with whom I have eye contact, or even the one I am thinking of.
Arta
PS Rebecca told me that even though I have gone to all of the trouble to write this out, people are just not going to get why anyone else would think any of this is funny. And even that made her laugh gleefully.
Who is the favourite child in a family is a story that can be told many ways.
My story is that when Kelvin began to grow up, I was wanting to make the narrative of adoption one that was often discussed, one that seemed normative, one that didn’t cause any questions to the adoptive one about his place in the family.
So when I would tell that story of how Kelvin was adopted, I would often end it with, “And thus you know he is my favourite child.”
Sometimes when I was giving out food, I would give him two, the rest one, but on the plate in the middle were still lots of that product, there for the taking to anyone who would reach out. No one was deprived. I was just trying to mark out that he belongs, that I was taking care of him, and that if there had to be a favourite, then let it be over an issue over which no one had control – certainly not me.
He had some issues when he was growing up about eating anything that was broken – a hot dog bun. Brownies that came out of the pan hot, -- if a corner were broken there would be tears in his eyes.
That a brownie had an edge that had been gouged by my spatula, especially because they may have been too warm and hard to take out in one perfect piece, the others seemed to get.
He didn’t. So I would try to get him something to eat over which he did not have to cry.
Over the years, the adults have often taunted one another – "Arta is coming to see me because she loves me best", "because I was her favourite child", "because I treated her right" – these thrown at each other because all of them knew this could not possibly be true.
I am as faithful to one as to the other.
At my virtual birthday party when thoughts from deep in the hearts of people were being expressed, Richard suddenly jumped to the screen with a note dated May 8, 2018 and the note said “You are my favourite child. Please don’t tell your siblings.” He told me that he had been waiting to use this idea at my funeral, but now seemed like a more appropriate time.
That turned the event in a different direction – thankfully.
Digging deep is overwhelming, since all of us can bring up overwhelming gratitude for those involved when our lives are turned around, or saved, or touched in ways more profound than words can express.
Not to anyone’s surprise, notes were found in other homes, instantaneous, like they had been waiting on the table, either to be presented, or authored, the same content, the same signature and even dates that made the previous notes no longer valid.
Many (not all of my children) loved being able to reproduce my signature – a talent they said learned in high school.
I don’t think I would have said that in front of my own kids about myself, but they did in front of their kids.
Of course, I would not have had to, never having played a day's hookey in my life.
No.
Really.
Done other things, but not that.
But to return to the topic of who is the favourite child?
The answer will always be the one with whom I am having a conversation, or the one with whom I have eye contact, or even the one I am thinking of.
Arta
PS Rebecca told me that even though I have gone to all of the trouble to write this out, people are just not going to get why anyone else would think any of this is funny. And even that made her laugh gleefully.
This made me laugh out loud.
ReplyDeleteWhen I read something and then hear myself laugh out loud, I am always so pleased. I am glad this made you laugh, though I don't know where the laugh came. Usually it is in a place I could not have predicted.
ReplyDeleteMy laugh came at the spot where Richard says he was planning to bring out his note at your funeral. Not every family has been discussing plans for their mother's funeral from a young age, a conversation as easily initiated by her as someone else.
ReplyDeleteYes on one point. Hard to normalize death. It doesn't occur that often in smaller families.
ReplyDeleteI don't know why Richard is already preparing notes for my funeral. At Kelvin's funeral, it began by Rebecca saying that in all her preparations for the funeral, she had now lost her notes and had scribbled something furiously on the back of her income tax return, knowing that her notes were gone. Someone else may have said they stole them. I think Doral said he had kept his locked in the glove compartment of his car.
Even while death is present, it is possible for loving taunts, no matter how dark they become. Mary is either the master of dark hearts, or else she would at least get the award for seeing it in others.
i have those tax form notes pinned on the board in my office. :-)
ReplyDeleteNow you won't ever have to prepare another funeral talk. Just grab that one, make some minor changes (ie remember the name of the person whose funeral you are at. I was at a funeral for Maureen Hunter: the speaker didn't know her at all and kept calling her by a different name. Finally someone in the audience yelled out, 'Her name is MAUREEN'). Ah yes, remember the tweaking but keep to the same form. At my funeral, if you are the first person speaking, could you remember to say that I was honour that the Treaty Seven people shared their land with me.
ReplyDelete