The Peter Pan Story

 

I was about 5 or 6 years old when my paternal grandfather passed away… he wasn't that old, maybe 58 or 59. I really didn't understand at that time that I would NEVER see Pop again. At his wake (my Dad was Jewish through his mother, not his dad), I had no idea what was going on – and I snuck into the room at my aunt's house where the coffin was, climbed up on a chair, and tried to wake my grandfather. I was shaking him in the open coffin when it was discovered where I was. My aunt scolded me and stopped suddenly; I saw tears in her eyes. My parents took turns holding me and explained that Pop wasn't going to wake up.

 

I wasn't allowed to go to the funeral, I think a neighbor watched my sister and me. My sister (5 years older) gently tried to explain about death and its finality, I think I began to catch on. But when my parents came home, I saw Daddy crying – I didn't think that fathers ever cried. That's when the explanations my sister tried to tell me really hit me… and I was terrified.

 

Daddy wiped his tears, held me, and asked why I was so scared. I told him in my own juvenile way that I realized that growing up meant that our parents would die. I knew that my Mom's father had died long before I was born (I'm named for him) and that reinforced my terror. I cried long and hard on my Dad's shoulder while he tried to comfort me. I kept on yelling that I didn't want to ever grow up.

 

Daddy hugged me, his arms were always so strong and safe, and he asked me if my name was Peter Pan. I stopped crying and looked at him, I had no idea who Peter Pan was. He told me that Peter Pan was the boy who never wanted to grow up. I told Daddy that I agreed. He chuckled.

 

We sat in his chair, he put me on his lap, and he told me, it's true, as we get older, we often lose those who are older than us. Daddy said that's the way it's supposed to be, and then he told me that even though losing people sometimes hurt, he would never change a thing because growing up also meant that you would meet new people and have families of your own. Daddy said that if he and Mommy hadn't grown up they never would have met, and they never would have had "the most beautiful daughters" in the world. And he told me that even though he and Mommy would one day leave this earth, he knew that we would both find others to love and maybe even have our own beautiful children.

 

Daddy died a little more than 17-years after he lost his own dad. My sister had already married and had a son, a grandson who was the pride and joy of both of my parents. I had also gotten married to a man I loved so much. Mommy and Daddy were thrilled with both of their daughters and the "sons" we had brought them. During the days after he passed, I heard Daddy's voice, ACTUALLY HEARD IT, telling me that he was glad I had decided not to be Peter Pan and he was excited about the life I would live.

 

Although my husband and I lost all 4 of our parents just a few years after our marriage, I still feel blessed. Today, more than 46 years after marrying the love of my life, we have two beautiful grown children, a daughter and son, and two wonderful in-law children. We've had adventures and many joys. My sister and her husband had a second son, two daughters-in-law, and 4 grandchildren… and their first GREAT grandchild was born shortly before my sister died.

 

We grew up, and just as Daddy told me, I wouldn't change a thing. I am so glad I wasn't Peter Pan.

 

Reason for Thanks

As a child I wanted to be an actress or a police officer… at some point I think I wanted to be a wild cowgirl riding horses for a living. What I remember wanting the most was to be a child forever in the loving and protective arms of my parents and always tagging along with my big sister.

I was just six-years-old when my paternal grandfather died and I saw my father cry. I crawled onto his lap and cried on his shoulder telling him I never wanted to grow up if it meant losing people you loved. (Daddy called it The Peter Pan Complex) He hugged me so tight and told me that he had no regrets about growing up because it meant that he met my mom, married her, and they had my sister and me. He said that growing up was a good thing even though sometimes you might have reason to cry because I would have so many more wonderful things come my way. He told me to enjoy everything that life brought to me and to treasure every memory that came before.

Truthfully I had a fantastic childhood. We never had a lot of money, but I always felt that I had everything I could want. I remember having a terrific dollhouse and furniture — the dollhouse was a big cardboard box, the furniture was plastic throwaways from the manufacturing company where my dad worked, the window curtains were remnants of cloth left over from the school clothes my mom handmade for us, and while the dolls that “lived” there didn’t really fit, it didn’t matter, I loved it. My sister was my best friend and she let me tag along with her friends and I always had fun because everyone treated me so nicely, I was everyone's "little sister". Our parents always made time for us whether it was watching TV (in costume!) with my dad or baking cookies with my mom, and so many more things.

Both of my parents passed away shortly after I was married, so did my husband’s folks, and I cried. But I remembered my dad’s words to me and I looked forward to what the future would bring. We struggled to have children, a couple of miscarriages and then our daughter, and another miscarriage and then our son was born. As is our custom to name after the deceased, our daughter is named for my mom, and our son for my dad and my mother-in-law (a niece is named for my father-in-law). Watching our children grow to be adults has been a joy and seeing them happy with their own spouses is so fulfilling. Daddy was so right, I have so many memories to treasure and so many wonderful things that came into my life.

My mom used to make a huge Thanksgiving feast for the family, including aunts and uncles and cousins, each year and I swear I can still remember the savory smells from her tiny apartment kitchen (I marvel at how much food she was always able to cook for so many!). Life is different, the family schedules are tighter and distances are greater (and two of my four children work on Thanksgiving), so we don’t always have the same gatherings, but the sentiment is still there. This year my husband and I (we’ll be married 44-years next month) went to a grand Thanksgiving feast at our community association — our first since we moved here last December — and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Thanksgiving is a time of appreciation and gratitude, and I have so very much to be thankful for. I am thankful for the love of my life, the man who is a hero in every way (and yes, the man who influences my concept of every romantic hero I write about), I am so grateful for our children and their mates, and my pussycats and grand-fur-babies. I am so happy to still have my sister (who is still one of my best friends), her husband (who is more like a brother to me), and their sons and families. I am also blessed with great sister-in-laws and brother-in-laws, and nephews and nieces and their families. I'm grateful for my readers and their support.

And most of all what I am thankful are my dad’s wise words to me, to look forward to life and all the joys it can bring my way.

My wishes for all of you — have a truly wonderful and meaningful Thanksgiving.

Wishing you a Happy Thanksgiving!

Deadline

Oh my, that word sounds so ominous! Dead… line, it almost sounds like “you will hang at dawn”. It is so final, just like there is nothing beyond. A deadline is a noun and according to Dictionary.com, there are three meanings to this formidable noun: “⁽¹⁾ the time by which something must be finished or submitted; the latest time for finishing something: a five o'clock deadline; ⁽²⁾ a line or limit that must not be passed; ⁽³⁾ (formerly) a boundary around a military prison beyond which a prisoner could not venture without risk of being shot by the guards.”

No wonder the term strikes fear in students, masses of office workers watching the clock, and writers. Missing that deadline could mean a failing grade, an angry boss, or a lost contract. Sometimes life interferes with the assigned deadlines, (a party, an emergency, an illness) but most times that won’t make a lick of difference to the person waiting for that finished product. “The dog ate my homework” just won’t work anymore. It’s truly anxiety producing.

As a creative sort, otherwise known as a freelance writer, I’ve learned the importance of deadlines. In all my years of professional writing I have truly only missed one deadline, I honestly can’t remember the reason why, but it certainly didn’t go well. Now creative people are not usually known for routine or well-controlled organization, but when it comes to a deadline, oh boy! In addition to my paid writing gigs I sometimes offer my services in a volunteer situation, and I treat these voluntary pacts the same way I do my business dealings, as professionally as I can muster.

This past week was a challenge on a voluntary gig. I had to wait for input from another individual who does not live by the golden rule of YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE DEADLINE. I am not sure what her business is but I do know that she controls her hours and her work output. So I finally got her input and set about to editing it and then placing it in the item that was due for publication just four days later. And I sent it (via email) to the next step, the person in charge of distribution — only that person, unbeknown to me, had a family event and was away for the weekend and so my finished work sat unattended. As the date of distribution came without any progress I do admit feeling some (minor) palpitations.

Now this was a challenge. I had no way of getting this item out to the people who were promised its receipt. What to do???? Well to make a probably boring long story short, I did manage to get the item posted on a substitute site and the item was emailed from another source a day late. I had posted an apology to those waiting for it and promised delivery as soon as possible. In the end it was no harm no foul, folks appreciated being kept in the loop as such. Within three days of the original deadline everything was back to normal and I got to breathe a sigh of relief.

Of course now I am sitting here wondering, just where did my once fun-loving, free-wheeling self go? And when did I become so rigid? I don’t want to have an anal personality! I am NOT reserved and meticulously neat. A long, long time ago a teenage boyfriend once dedicated the song Wild Thing to me and everyone agreed it fit. I’m fun-loving and wild and unpredictable… or so I thought.

Sigh, is this what it means to be a grownup?

..

Hello Young Lovers ~ #MondayBlogs

When I was still a newlywed, we had a huge problem with a really pesky neighbor and it was very frustrating. Totally at my wits-end I telephoned my father and asked him what to do. We had a discussion, I don’t remember the exact words (it’s been a lot of years) — after hearing me out, my frustration and my crying, Daddy told me that he would always be happy to help me out BUT had I told my husband my feelings? I answered something like “Not really”.

Daddy didn’t renege on his offer to help me IF I STILL WANTED IT AFTER HIS ADVICE. The main thing my father stressed was that I was a married woman, an adult, who was married to a grown man; we were two adults who made a commitment to each other. While your parents would always be your parents and always care about you and do whatever they could to make your life easier, a married woman OR man should always be a team with her/his spouse. In other words, even if I had been the one to call my dad, I should have been speaking for the two of us.

I’m pretty sure that we have all heard the phrase “Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife, and they shall be one flesh” (Genesis 2:24) or “no one was ever intended to come between a husband and a wife” (Matthew 19:6). [Nowadays this should refer to ALL married couples, not just the husband/wife variety] What do these two phrases mean, what did my dad mean about my discussing things with my husband and we should basically speak as one?

When we marry, both sides of the couple, are making the promise to leave the shelter and dependence of our parents and be able to rely and support each other. We need to turn to our spouses first before running to Mommy and Daddy. Our circle as a married couple means that we are the primary relationship and we each need to see each other as our priority, Being a couple should be the MOST IMPORTANT bond. Dependence and dependability on each other not only fosters trust and respect, it also makes a formidable unit which can withstand opposition.

This primary relationship needs to be recognized by more than just the partners but also by the people around them. Parents need to recognize and respect their child’s spouse and need to understand that they should never, ever attempt to get in between that bond. As parents we want to always be there for our children no matter how old they are, we have a need to want to fix things for them, and of course we only want what is best for them even when what we think is best is not what they want.

The time for raising our children and teaching them responsibility should have been going on through all of their adolescent and teen years. By the time our children reach adulthood and enter into a committed relationship, hopefully we have provided them with enough foundation to actually be able to think and do for themselves. And parents can give themselves a pat on the back when their job has been well done and offspring can actually deal with real life. While we will always want to step in, we MUST respect and trust our adult children and that includes respecting and trusting the person he/she chose as a lifelong partner; you can’t truly respect one unless you respect the other.

Parents who nurture an unhealthy relationship are only damaging many lives: If you don’t raise and allow your offspring to act like grown-ups, one day may come when they have to think for themselves and make decisions and the parents may no longer be around; parents who think they need to control their grown child will cause self-doubt, lack of trust for one another and a dependency that may at some point become too heavy a burden for the aging adult; and parents who are constantly intervening in their son or daughter’s relationship run the risk of seriously damaging the bond and creating not only sadness for their child but also resentment against the parents. In an ideal world grown children and parents can have wonderful relationships and can be there for each other when needed but the respect has to go both ways INCLUDING the in-law child.

My dad passed away shortly after our first wedding anniversary and my mom just a year later – ever since those valuable words my dad said to me during that phone call I've turned to my husband (and he has turned to me) and we have always been there for each other. It’s been more than 40 years and my husband and I are still best friends, confidents, support, and the genuine other half — and I owe it all to the fact that my dad recognized that a married couple, even his daughter and her husband, should be the strongest bond and what hath been “joined together, let no man put asunder”.

...

1969, The Summer That Was ~ #MondayBlogs

Late in the summer of 1969 my parents put me on a plane to Miami where I was going to spend some time at my Grandma’s place — she lived in a residential hotel in South Miami Beach. I was terrified of the plane ride (first time ever) but excited about my “grown-up independence”. One of the other grandmothers living in that hotel also had arranged for her teenage granddaughter to visit from NY around the same time so I even had a prearranged buddy to hang out with. And hang out we did.

So long as we let our grandmothers know where we were going and were back by their specified times, it was an adventure spent on the beach, shopping on Lincoln Road, going to the movies and so many things WITHOUT adult supervision, Woo-Hoo! (Although I did find out in later years that my grandmother had her spies, lol.)

The hotel was literally across the street from the beach and we spent almost every day soaking up the sun. I remember that there was an absolutely hunky lifeguard who guarded that particular section of the beach; my friend Carol was absolutely gaa-gaa over him and believe me it was obvious. So much so that even when a Hurricane pelted the Florida Keys and Miami Beach had heavy winds and rain spurts, we still spent as much time across the street as possible. Because of the huge waves and reports of sharks close to shore we had to promise our grandmothers we would not go in the water above our knees.

We were good to our word, but we didn’t count on waves that covered us up to our necks and we certainly weren’t prepared for Carol to be on the edge of a sand-bar and shelf (where the ground literally just drops away). So when Carol got sucked suddenly into the waters and swallowed mouthfuls of salty ocean, she needed help. I was there and the lifeguard wasn’t responding, so I jumped in and pulled her back to shore. After she coughed up what she had swallowed and caught her breath she was, thank goodness, well enough to be furious and approached the lifeguard who had never moved. She literally croaked instead of yelling. He admitted he saw what happened but just assumed she was trying to get his attention! Then he told her she had been nothing but a nuisance for days. I was furious when I heard that.

“Of course she was trying to get your attention, you jerk. She almost drowned. I could have drowned trying to save her. All because you are so full of yourself!”

I think he finally realized how serious the incident was. BTW, neither Carol nor I had ever pretended to be in need of his lifesaving skills before. There was NO reason whatsoever to assume we were pretending and to ignore his responsibilities. Finally Carol and I went back to the hotel, she was in tears; our grandmothers were seated on the porch and Carol blurted out what had happened. When Carol’s grandmother got angry, really angry, I was thankful that neither of us had disobeyed any rules to bear the brunt of her ire. It wasn’t long before her grandmother went down to the beach and we never saw that lifeguard on-duty anywhere on the beach after that.

I never forgot the close call we had and years later as a first responder (with the Auxiliary Police and later as an EMT on a volunteer ambulance) I never doubted someone’s cries for help. Oh there were some that weren’t sincere but my attitude was that I would prefer to cluck my tongue over the abuse later rather than ignore someone who might really be in need.

It is on that note that I want to express my appreciation for all of our nation’s first responders who give of themselves every day to protect and save lives. We have some of the finest Law Enforcement, Fire Department and Emergency Medical Services members out there.

It is with special remembrance and gratitude that I send hugs and a piece of my heart to the Dallas Police Department and share with them the pain they suffer. News reports related how they sheltered and helped strangers on the street while in the direct line of fire, their courage and heroism will not be forgotten.

Rest in Peace

Senior Cpl Lorne Ahrens
Sgt Michael Smith
Officer Brent Thompson
Officer Michael Krol
Officer Patrick Zamarripa

"I refuse to see hate live, while love dies."
~ Officer Bryan Woodard, Dallas PD

Children Learn From Their Parents ~ #MondayBlogs

Many… many years ago I got a Summer Stock gig in upstate New York. It was the summer of 1974 and I was excited. It was my first time living away from my parents’ home and on my own.

I met a lot of new people that summer, they came from all over the country and to a kid who grew up in “da Bronx”, NYC, it was interesting to meet so many and hear about all of their experiences. There was no shortage of fun times and parties and we each formed our own circle of pals.

I hung out with the light and sound crew (I was there as a lighting technician), I was the only female in this small group. One of the guys, I’ll call him Howard to protect his identity, came from a small town in Vermont. It was Howard’s first time away from home as well, his first time meeting people who didn’t live in his small town.

The first day we met I was wearing a Star of David pendent and I noticed that he was staring at me whenever he thought I didn’t see. Finally I asked him what was up. He apologized and a few minutes later he sat next to me at the dimmer board and asked me if I really was Jewish. I said yes and asked him why he wanted to know. He pointed to my necklace.

I was not expecting his next words. They were innocent and knocked the breath out of me.

“I never met a Jewish person before. I was always told Jews had horns.” And he quickly apologized. Howard told me that his parents, aunts and uncles all lived in that small town and went to the one church that everyone went to. Everyone was the same where he grew up and they all said that Jews had horns.

I laughed nervously and said, “Well we don’t.”

He asked a lot of innocent questions about my religion, my Spanish surname, growing up in a big city and more. In Judaism it’s a mitzvah (commandment) to teach and so I was happy to answer his questions, questions which came from pure curiosity — he was seeing the world outside of his small home town for the first time.

Howard called his parents that night to ask if they had ever seen a Jew with horns and they admitted that they never did. When he asked why they told him that there were horns they said that’s what they had been told by their parents as they grew up in that same small town. They expressed nervousness when he said he had a Jewish friend but at his insistence they decided to let him decide for himself who he could be friends with.

I did meet them later in the summer and they were actually very nice people. I don’t know what happened to Howard and his family when the summer was over, I went home to plan my wedding and we never really stayed in touch. But I would like to think that just maybe they stopped telling people the stereotype they were raised with. Just maybe they were a little bit more accepting of people who were different than them and maybe there was a little less prejudice in that small Vermont town.

Don’t teach your children prejudice because they like to believe that Mommy and Daddy are always right. Children learn from their parents.

Back to school ~ #MondayBlogs

Our local schools open next week. It's been several years since either of my offspring were students in the local school system... somehow though I still tend to feel a bit morose over the idea of summer being over.

As a child I remember my mom having tears in her eyes the first day of school EVERY YEAR. My sister and I were always filled with the excitement of new adventures, showing off new outfits which Mommy sewed for us, painstakingly printing our names on brand new marble composition books, and looking forward to the fun of the nights sitting with our parents cutting open brown paper grocery bags to cover our school textbooks. Yet Mommy still looked sad as she sent us off that early September morning.

While our offspring were in school, my sister and I would commiserate by phone every September even as our children headed off with the same wide-eyed anticipation my sister and I always had. We relived fun summertime family adventures and looked forward to weekends and holidays. Of course as the kids grew more and more of their out-of-school days were filled with their peers and numerous social activities.

For some reason I am still conditioned to face the beginning of the school year with dread, I don't know why. But then again I still haven't recovered from my daughter's first day of kindergarten when she marched off with a big smile and not even a look backwards.

Wishing everyone a productive school year!

#MondayBlogs ~ Peter Pan and the Circle of Life

With Mother’s Day just behind us (although moms will always be MOM), I find myself reflecting on my childhood and thinking about my mom and dad, both long gone, my Grandma, my aunts and uncles (most also gone) and even a few cousins, all younger than me. So many losses and I miss them all, but so many wonderful memories for me to hold on to.

When I was just five years old my paternal grandfather passed away. I remember being horrified at my dad’s tears and pain and I told my father that I never wanted to grow up. He asked me why and I told him, in my child’s frame of mind, that growing up meant that you lose people you love. I remember how he chuckled and hugged me; he told me that it could happen that way and that some order of loss was natural such as a child burying a parent.

He admitted that he was sad, but that growing up for him had meant finding his love, my mom, and having my sister and me. Daddy told me how happy he was with his life even though he had tears along the way. Although I was still frightened, my dad’s words helped me cope with the loss of my grandfather. Eighteen years later I sat at my father’s funeral and heard his words in my mind; once again he helped me cope. That year started a whirlwind of loss, eighteen days later my father-in-law passed away — in less than five years we buried both fathers and both mothers. Despite my father’s wise words, I wanted to go back to playing Peter Pan who never wanted to grow up.

Today, while I admit to thoughts about people I’ve loved and lost, I enjoyed a wonderful Mother’s Day. Because my loving husband is “under the weather” with a bad head cold we decided to have a family brunch right here. Our two children and their respective spouses (or as I prefer to say, my FOUR kids), my husband and I sat at the dining room table and enjoyed a simple but indulgent feast. While filling our plates and stuffing our mouths, there was laughter and joy. There were flowers and cards and smiles and warmth. My heart was so full with all of the riches of my life. The pangs of loss never go away, it never really gets better, but my dad was right. I grew up and have had so many wonderful things come in to my life.

My husband and I are married forty years this coming December; our daughter and her husband just celebrated their eighth anniversary; and our son and his bride just tied the knot last December after a lengthy courtship. I wish our parents were here to see their grandchildren and the wonderful people that they are, but I am sure they are looking in from heaven. My daughter is named for my mother and my son for my dad and mother-in-law and so often they remind me how appropriate the namesakes are. In the meanwhile I am celebrating my life and the memories we are making together, memories that will live on for generation, memories that will one day be the .stories told by my children and G-d willing my grandchildren… and maybe even beyond.

Life is good.

Many of my stories center around family dynamics, good and bad. Sometimes that's a challenge for me since many of my memories are on the positive side, but I do love writing about a "good" villain, lol.

Summertime reading is just around the corner, please check out my books, I am sure you can even find a few you can relate to... 

 http://chellecordero.com/