mirror ball 86: someone I wish I had thanked

John S:

My father died recently. Not long before he "crossed the finish line" (my sister's phrase, which I love), I got to visit him and in the nursing home where he was in the hospice wing. We didn't spend long together because he didn't have much energy and needed to sleep after a few hours, but before leaving I got to give him a hug and tell him I loved him. He told me the same, and we had a lovely moment of just holding each other's hand and looking at each other. That was a wonderful gift.

My relationship with my dad never gained a lot of depth. As I think about it today I believe that I was born at a pretty unhappy time in his life. His marriage to my mom ended when I was 9, and in the years that I lived with him I didn't really receive much direct affection or attention from him. As I grew up and became an adult, our times together were infrequent, and by his actions I felt (and still feel) that he was not very invested in developing a closer bond. In the weeks following his death I have been more conscious of all that I never received from him than what he was able to give.

If only through genetics, I inherited my dad's creativity, his appreciation of beauty, an ability to harmonize, good mimicry skills, a love of animals, and other subtle character traits that I feel in myself and recognize in him. He also kept me clothed, fed, and healthy during my childhood, which is certainly not something all people can say about their fathers.

So Dad, thanks for what you were able to do for me. I love you.

Megan U:

I moved from Vancouver, WA to Portland in 2000 with my 4-year-old daughter. I lived in a little apartment on 24th and Couch street. My rent was only $500 a month and I was on partial assistance. My daughter had special needs that hadn't been defined yet. This was before the more recent understanding of spectrums of autism and the many ways it could be displayed. All I knew was that she required a unique communication style and she was highly sensitive to sensory stimuli, while at the same time being extremely high functioning in other areas: ie; spontaneously teaching herself to read as an infant and the correct use of the words "rhombus" and "trapezoid" at age two.

I lived in poverty in that little apartment. No TV. A record player and the local papers to keep me company. I had my electricity turned off a few times. It was so damp that if I left a sweater draped over a chair in my bedroom overnight it would feel slightly damp in the morning.

There was a Starbucks Coffee up the street at 28th and Burnside, and I would walk up there with my little Miss every day and get a cup of coffee. The manager was a loud, wild and funny butch lesbian named Trish. She and I saw each other as kindred from the time we met and she always took an interest in my Little, beautifully odd daughter. Trish offered me a job. I told her I didn't know how I would make it work, as my Little was entering Kindergarten and I would need to take her to and from school. She promised me it would be ok.

My shifts began at 6 am or 7. Trish allowed me to bring my Little Miss with me and let her color or do crafts at a table in the cafe. She was allowed to wear her own green apron and wipe tables with a bleach rag. She was integrated as a normal presence at the store. Trish allowed me to time my breaks perfectly to give me time to take her to school and pick her up. She eventually promoted me and provided me the opportunity to get off public assistance completely.

During the time we worked together I witnessed her kindness to all people from every walk of life and her boundless energy and humor. She was like an adorable female bleached blond Eminem doppelgänger with the energy of Tigger. She was always outside sweeping leaves or taking out the trash with a cigarette clenched between her teeth, and likely to begin using a Groucho Marx accent at any time. She shone with humility and compassion. She was in recovery from meth and always lived every day thankful. Her kindness gave me the steps out of poverty that I desperately needed.

In time, Trish was promoted and moved on. No one who managed the store after that could match her in my eyes. Time went on. I worked there for 8 more years, got educated, and bought a house. I later heard that Trish had been fired from Starbucks, broken up with her longtime girlfriend, moved back to Las Vegas and had somehow gotten pulled back into using meth again.

I never had the chance to truly thank her. She gave me little kindnesses that made a huge difference in where I am today.

To Trish Martin wherever you are: Thank you. You gave me opportunities you didn't have to. I realize now you took risks and stood up for me because you saw the best in me, knew I was in a vulnerable situation and needed a hand up. You made a real difference in my life.

Shannon:
I want to thank you Steve for introducing me to Megan Ursin, a great trainer and teacher. In the past month I have spent with her I have learned more about strength training, posture, body awareness, and – I love this! – ancestral movement than I knew in my whole life. I’ll see you at Training Day! 

Steve:
Back in 2003 when I heard that Fred Rogers had died I was really sad that I had never taken the time to write him a note of thanks for the role he'd played in my childhood. I loved his gentle, reliable presence and the way that he acknowledged how real magic and make-believe can be. I am sure I was also comforted by the way that he accepted and celebrated all of us with warmth and kindness, and without judgment. Even though I regretted not having tried to share my thoughts with him, I knew that many, many kids and adults had told him how much we appreciated him. I believe that he knew how grateful we were for Mr. Rogers and the sweet world he shared with us.

Kristine:

My father was a quiet man who adored his wife. In many ways they were the definition of "opposites  attract" and  together they held a strong bond. In my high school years, those hormonal crazy times when you feel so much, so confused and yet emphatically right, I would clash with my mother often. I do not remember what the situation was or why there was this particular turmoil but I do remember sitting in my father's car with him in our driveway. He turned to me and said, "well, your mother can be a little crazy sometimes". It was not said against her but as a love and understanding for her and a recognition of me. It meant so much to have this validation and although I am sure I thanked him for this nugget I doubt he realized how much it meant to me at that time in my life. I am very lucky for the parents I had and I miss them both dearly.