Just Breathe. Honey Perkel
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a man and he’s married to my grandma’s cousin.’”
“That’s right.” I laughed.
I was concerned about what Brian would do at dinner time. How would he react when Frances brought out the tofu and sprouts?
The meal looked appetizing enough. Frances had made tofu and spinach patties, peppered squash, and lentil and carrot puree. Not exactly mac and cheese. I held my breath.
As we sat down at the dining table and Brian looked as though he might cry, Frances disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later she returned with an individual-sized pepperoni pizza with extra cheese.
“Oh, Frances,” I exclaimed. “A pizza with real meat and cheese!” I was touched and very relieved by her thoughtfulness. This was why I loved her so much.
“Yeah. I know what kids like,” she chirped, and then leaned towards Brian, considering. “You do like pizza, don’t you, Brian?”
“Sure!” he agreed. “All kids like pizza.”
Later that evening, Frances came to me. “Honey, we only have one guest room for you and Bob. Would Brian mind sleeping on the couch in the living room? I’ll make it up with a sheet and blanket.”
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “Brian will be fine on the couch.” How would my five year old react to sleeping in a strange house in a room by himself?
When Brian came out of the bathroom smelling of soap and toothpaste, I handed him his superman pajamas. I wondered how I was going to approach this latest challenge.
“Bri,” I began. “I have a problem. Cousin Frances only has one bed for Daddy and me. She wants to make up the couch in the living room for you. Would you help me out by being a big boy and sleeping in there? I’d appreciate it.”
Brian stood there and looked at me, his eyes growing big. He placed a hand on my shoulder. “Sure, Mom,” he said in a very grown up manner. “I’ll be fine on the couch.”
He could be such a great kid.
Chapter 21
The neighborhood of Eastmoreland boasted Reed College, a sweeping golf course, large well-kempt houses, and lush landscaping. Families lived on every block, in nearly every house. Many young homeowners had grown up in these grand houses and had moved back into the area with their own families.
Here, parents were invested in their families and their community. They had 2.5 kids, a dog, and a cat. They filled their garages with Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs, and family sporting equipment such as skis and golf clubs. They took trips to Hawaii and Europe, sometimes leaving their kids with nannies, sometimes taking them along.
In the heart of the district was Duniway Elementary School. Six blocks from our home in Eastmoreland Heights, an attractive, less expensive neighborhood east of 39th Avenue.
Each morning I race-walked my designated course. This I did for me. Down Rex Street past Duniway School, right on Reed College Place, left on Woodstock, across 27th, and back up to our house. Two miles in twenty-eight minutes. Physically, I was in the best shape of my life. Emotionally, ... I wasn’t doing so hot.
* * *
Brian was excited about his first day of school. Armed with new clothes and a Smurf lunch box, he and I walked to school on that crisp, golden morning. Leaves had already begun to fall from the giant trees that lined the streets. In my coat pocket was the camera I’d grabbed from the front hall closet as we left the house.
Brian chatted all the way to school, jumping in and out of the leaves with his clean, red Converse shoes. When we got there, I stopped him at the side door and snapped his picture. He gazed up at me with a big grin, his little features peering out from his blue-hooded-jacket. He was a big boy now, I told him, and gave him a kiss goodbye. He returned my kiss and with a quick wave, hurried into the school building.
I had such high hopes.
* * *
Brian loved school. Having been in preschool three and then five mornings a week, now he could visit with his friends during the afternoons, too! According to Brian, there was nothing more fun than that. I routinely reminded him that it was all right to talk to his playmates, but that he needed to listen to his teacher and pay attention, too. He promised me that he would.
Mr. Chase was a wonderful kindergarten teacher. It didn’t take long to discover why parents loved him and students adored him. He was so tuned in to the children.
Brian had a way of speaking loudly as many children do. He just didn’t know how to moderate his voice and didn’t realize how it carried through the classroom. But Gene Chase had a solution to that problem.
“Any time you think you might be speaking too loudly,” he told Brian, “just look at me. If I’m looking at you, you’ll know I’m meaning for you to lower your voice. If I’m not, you’ll know you’re okay.”
It was a great idea. Brian was no longer self conscience of his voice and eventually learned to train it into a softer one without being embarrassed.
* * *
I got active in school right away when I volunteered to go on the annual class trip to the Pumpkin Patch. I arrived early at school and helped load the kids into the buses. For those parents who offered to help, we were in charge of our child as well as two others. The kids were excited. Brian had been talking about this outing for weeks.
Everyone cheered as the drivers pulled out onto the highway. School buses were the same then as they’d been some twenty years before when I’d last taken a ride on one. With the bus jumping as the driver changed gears, I grabbed onto the back of the seat before me and wrapped one arm around Brian’s waist to steady him. Looking out the windows, I saw the view of the city give way to open fields and miles of laden crops.
We were nearly at our destination when Brian looked at me, an anxious look on his face. “Is there any such thing as getting bus sick, Mom?”
“No,” I quickly replied. “There’s car sick, air sick, and even sea sick, but there’s no such thing as being bus sick.” I had been such a gullible kid growing up. I hoped Brian would fall for this.
He looked at me, thoughtfully mulling over what I had said. He didn’t question me further, nor did he get sick. I was grateful.
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