Old Times

At age 14, I was at the end of my childhood, oblivious to my imminent transition to manhood. That might sound silly and a bit dramatic, I know. But the events that transpired during that part of my life have had profound effects that, in many ways, have shaped me into the man I am today.

Two very significant events occurred at that time. My maternal grandfather lost his battle with cancer, roughly one year after my parents got divorced. The divorce was simply a culmination of awkwardness, tension, and instability in the family. To a large degree, I was actually relieved when Mom and Dad decided to part ways.

I am eternally grateful that my parents remain civil--even friendly, most of the time--with each other to this day. All things considered, things worked out rather well. My grandpa died in the wake of the divorce, leaving me as the default support pillar for my mom. It was a heavy responsibility for a 14-year-old.

My wife would say that I'm just a mama's boy. Well, sure. She's probably right. But in my defense, the sacrifices that my mom made to raise her two children on her own commands my deepest gratitude.

The ethical dilemmas that stemmed (and still stem) from the fallout of the divorce are endless. My mother's marriage to my father, well, it is what it is. Mom always quickly reminded me that although Dad was not the perfect husband, his commitment as a father to me and my sister were never in doubt. I've always admired my mom for being able to admit that despite the swirling emotions that she must have been enduring.

Many good things emerged as a result of the divorce. It formed an incredibly tight bond between me, my mom, and my sister, who was about 18 years old and on her own in college. The three of us would get together almost every weekend during the fall to watch Green Bay Packers games. When the weather got cold, we would start a fire in the living room, flip on the game, and eat chili while watching Brett Favre throw four touchdown passes (and three interceptions...).

The three of us took a few vacations together, often back to Mom's original stomping grounds in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to visit some extended family. Southern Wisconsin was like a refuge for me, and probably for Mom & Kelly as well. Most of the summer trips to Cheeseland involved tailgating and watching the Brewers at old County Stadium.

Kelly, for reasons unknown, developed an affinity for the Atlanta Braves, particularly one of their catchers. After one of our summer trips to Milwaukee, the three of us dropped down to Chicago to catch a Braves-Cubs match-up. Kelly talked for weeks before the trip about how she planned to get her stud ball player's autograph. She had waited in excitement for months for this very moment.

Alas, Kelly and I made our way down to the front row of the stadium, as close as we could get to her guy, and she froze like a statue--a deer in headlights--virtually comatose as she stood. I remember rolling my eyes and reaching out toward the player with a marker and some scratch paper for him to sign. He did, and Kelly and I turned around, scurried up the aisle to meet my mom, and then continued to enjoy the rest of the vacation.

Although the tone of this vacation was overwhelmingly familial, it was legendary nonetheless. The three of us experienced subsequent adventures in the city that are funny probably only to us. Kelly and I were young adults, probably well past that age when it stopped being "cool" to go on vacation with parents, but I think both of us look back on the trip very fondly.

The trip likely was even more meaningful to our mom. Always going to the extreme to provide for us as best as she possibly could, she made unexpected sacrifices for us even in the midst of that trip. Financially speaking, I'm sure we returned home having spent far more money than she had anticipated.

Was it in her best interest to break her own budget for the sake of making the trip more enjoyable to her kids? Did we spend time visiting the sights that she wanted us to explore? Did she enjoy battling the heavy traffic in an urban environment that was generally outside of her comfort zone? Did she decide to give my sister and I the freedom to dictate the events on that trip because we were old enough to make such decisions? Did she gain any satisfaction from that?

As sad as it might sound to somebody who isn't my mom or sister, I still think about that vacation occasionally. Aside from the pure fun at the ball game, the inspiration at the museums, and the adventures of getting from Point A to Point B, it strengthened the ties among me, my mom, and my sister. The older I get, the more I recognize and appreciate that.

That was sometime around 1995--half of a lifetime ago, for me. Fourteen years later, my mother sprung a surprise on me and my sister that automatically qualified her as Mother of the Year.

During our visit at Mom's house last weekend, Mom sat us down in her living room and asked us to read a letter that she wrote. In three pages, Mom reminisced about that legendary vacation from 1995. Her kids have grown up and have started families of their own. These days, the time that Mom, Kelly, and I spend together usually involves church and the grandkids. But Mom made it clear in her letter that she wants to ressurect that old-school, three-amigo kind of relationship that we enjoyed several years ago.

It isn't practical for Mom, Kelly, and I to get together--just the three of us--and catch a Packers game on TV, now that Kelly's kids are involved in extracurricular activities and that I have a seven-month-old daughter who loves to crawl around and explore. But after having read the letter Mom wrote to us, it was clear that she had something up her sleeve.

I asked her point-blank and somewhat facetiously, "Are you dying?" After a chuckle, she handed me an envelope. Inside were three tickets to the Packers-Vikings game at Lambeau Field on 11/1--tickets that are so expensive that Mom probably has tucked away half of all her paychecks she has collected since 1995 just to afford them.

So as I let this all sink in over the weekend and stared at my computer searching for a topic to blog about, it only seemed fitting that I examine the ethics of a mother and her two grown kids and a story about coming full-circle. Kelly's husband agreed to delay a vacation of his own just so my sister could participate in this trip. It just happens that 11/1 is one weekend in which I do not have any classes scheduled. It's almost as though this wild idea of my mom's couldn't be any more meant-to-be.

Further, today is my late grandpa's birthday.

Being the sentimental guy that I am--something that often drives my wife nuts--I can't help but recognize an element of miraculous-ness in this upcoming adventure with Mom and Kelly. Would theological ethicists agree that some higher-power is pulling some sort of strings, here? Was it wrong for my mother to purchase these incredibly expensive tickets--for the purpose of satisfying an urge to relive our glory days for just one weekend--without consulting her kids?

I don't know, and I don't care. There are very few places I would rather be just for those moments at Lambeau on November 1st.