To be Southern, Part 1

According to my birth certificate, yes, I was born a Yankee. After all, a New England state is about as Yankee as you can get. But if you test my blood, you’ll find Southern Rebel through and through. And, for the record, I am quite proud of that.

I’m not just happy to be able to stamp “Southern” on my forehead because the accent is so much nicer than all the nasally Yankee ones or because I know that tea is sweet and cornbread is not. I am happy to say that my ancestors fought in the Second War of Independence (properly so called, but if you’re a Yankee and don’t know what that is I am referring to the “Civil War”) and that they understood what freedom truly is (not what the government dictates it to be). But we’ll get on that soap box in Part 2 of this three part series.

I am also happy to be able to impart Southern on my Yankee daughter. In so doing, the first thing I am quick to do is correct Ed’s Pittsburgh accent. Although it is not strong, he does have one. And when he says funny things like “dahn” and “warsh”, I quickly tell Emry the word is “doooowwwwn” and “waaaaash”. (Note the long accent on those vowels.) While I don’t mind her saying things like “you can’t get there from here” (which is true in Pittsburgh) and “nebby” (because that is just such an appropriate word), we are having in our vocabulary the wonderful all-inclusive “y’all” and proper understanding of “it’s in yonder”. (Yes, Yankees, that is a place!)

The second thing we will know is certain Southern food. Over the last couple of weeks, she has been introduced to coleslaw (which she really liked, even though I wasn’t sure two-going-on-three teeth would be enough to chew cabbage) and grits. Eventually, things like fried chicken and pecan pie will be added to our repertoire. The one thing she’ll have to go to Grandma’s for is fried okra. Sadly, there are some things the Yankee in me conquers – fried okra is gross!

The most important thing of all, though, is a proper understanding of the War Between the States. I was reminded of this recently as I watched a television mini series called Mercy Street (more on that in Part 2). To the winner go the spoils…and so the writing of history. Let’s get it straight that we Southerners are not sore losers and simply won’t let the outcome of the War go. We lost. It’s over. I get it. But history tells us that the War was fought over slavery, which is like saying our Founding Fathers pledged their “lives, fortunes and sacred honor” because the British taxed them for a hot drink made from leaves. I’m not down-playing the evils of slavery any more than I’m underestimating the importance of the Boston Tea Party, but I will equate Abraham Lincoln to Mad King George. Tyrants both. So there.

History is a lesson. But if we don’t learn the lessons given, we are doomed to repeat them. If the abolition of slavery was the all-encompassing point of the War Between the States, then why is human trafficking/slavery today in the United States worse now than 150 years ago? I want Emry to know that there is more to freedom than representation in Congress, or voting, or the right to bear arms. Her Southern forefathers fought against the tyranny of Great Britain 250 years ago, and they fought against the tyranny of centralized government 100 years after that. Sadly, they lost that fight…but it was a fight worth having. And I want her to know it.

Death…and Life

It was one of those e-mails I had to read twice. Like normal, I had skimmed it. Stopped. Realized it didn’t say when I thought it said. Read it…and then read it again. And still didn’t believe it.

People die every day. I ought to know. I worked at a hospice for 3 ½ years. Death (like taxes, as Mark Twain infamously said) is one of the sure things in life. But someone I know doesn’t die every day. And when this someone was only 57 years of age, in perfect health and had been running around church making sure fans were on, or the AC units, or the heat, or the windows were open like he always did every Sunday a mere two days ago…well, it was hard to believe the Lord had taken Mark Moyer home.

Mark Moyer, a deacon at our church, was one of the first people I met upon my arrival in Pittsburgh. Since he held the codes to the alarm system, he input one for Ed so we could get into the building the day of our wedding. I also remember him showing up on Friday when we were setting up the basement for the reception. He was picking up a few tables we weren’t using for his middle son’s high school graduation that same weekend. In the weeks to come, I would learn that Mr. Moyer was one of those people that is everyone doing everything – fighting with the finicky heating system of our old church building, recruiting men to get the new stove into the kitchen, mowing the lawn, trimming the bushes, shoveling the sidewalks. If there was a job to be done or maintenance that needed tending, Mr. Moyer was the man who knew all about it…and often fixed it himself.

Which his why I had to read the e-mail of his sudden death three times to understand it…and still not believe he was gone. On Tuesday evening, his wife (the wonderful, vivacious Becky who I would describe as a “Southern Belle” if she wasn’t a Yankee) arrived home and found him dead in a chair in their living room. There was nothing wrong with him, no illness, no heart attack. Simply, his work on earth was done and his Savior took him home to the words, “Well done, My good and faithful servant…enter into the joy of your Master.”

Mark Moyer leaves behind his lovely wife (whom everyone knew he loved) and three sons, ages 16 to early 20s…and more friends and family than you can count. There were 260 or so people at his funeral and many, many more at the two visitations. We waited in line for a half hour to give Becky a hug and the line was just as long when we left as it had been when we arrived. His death leaves a huge void in many lives, even our own. For as Becky said to me, he won’t be around to watch Emry grow up. A wonderfully godly man she will never know.

And yet a mere six hours after I read that e-mail I get a text that my new nephew has arrived. While one man dies, another little man is born. Death and life. Grief interlaced with joy and joy interlaced with pain. They go hand in hand. The Lord is the giver of them both. In that we can hope and rest.

To my Mom

Dear Mom,

Today is Mother’s Day, the day we celebrate and honor mothers. And yet I’m not sure words suffice the honor due to you as a mother.

Where to start? Do I make mention that you provided for me a world wherein I never knew want? I don’t mean I didn’t want a new Strawberry Shortcake kid. I mean I never wanted for food, or clothing, or shelter. And if money was tight and you wondered where my needs would come from…well, I never knew that.

Do I start an extensive list of all the things you did to make life easier and enjoyable? It couldn’t have been easy to walk 2-year-old me to the grocery store nearly every day. Or to drive Katey and I to the pool every summer day in 1985 because Daddy Burt’s little house had no AC. Or to put everyone in the car to take me to dance, or gymnastics, or whatever new activity I wanted to try. (Or Katey, or Daniel, or Sally…) You made grocery shopping fun and not a chore. You put sprinkles on our pudding in our fancy pudding cups (can I have those when you die?), you let us get as dirty as we possibly could outside, and you didn’t protest when I insisted on wearing my Mr. Potato Head glasses to the grocery store or Jenny went up and down the aisles singing the bubble song (with dramatic hand motions).

And moving! There aren’t many women in the world who would pack up their house (well, their rented house) every two or three years and move to yet another rented house in some strange place no one had ever heard of before. I was eleven before I saw that you owned artwork in those flat boxes that simply moved from house to house. I only saw you protest one move. If you disliked the others, you never let us see that. Instead, you made our new rooms as nice as possible, encouraged us to make friends and tried to find activities we would enjoy in our new (although temporary) world. And when we cried because it was time to leave our home, and friends, and activities yet again…you were there to hear our sorrows and dry our tears. Now I wonder who comforted you…

For I have learned many things over the past year of being a mom myself. Living in a place where I have no friends or family, I look back and realize you must have been in that same situation over and over again. How did you do it? Did you ever want to stomp your feet and order Dad to move you somewhere you could call home? I don’t know, but I do know you always made sure we had friends, we had things to do, we had a reason to call another new place home. And I hope I’m doing that for Emry now.

A few weeks ago, I had to take Emry to her 1-year-old doctor appointment. So, we had to take Ed to work very early in the morning so we could have the car. After short naps back at home, we started our day with breakfast, I packed us a little lunch, threw the stroller in the car and off we went to the doctor. We then drove to North Park which has a wonderful 5-mile loop to run…and it was a beautiful to day to do it. I enjoyed a good, hard run while Emry relaxed in her stroller, watching the world around her and enjoying a snack of raisins, goldfish and cheerios. When we got back to the car, I got out our little lunch of cheese, crackers and apple slices which we enjoyed on a park bench near the playground, watching the bigger kids play. On our way back home so I could change for work and we could go pick up Ed, I thought that this is something you would do with us. You would take a normal day and do something different, even if it was simple. And it would be fun. Just like my day with Emry.

Maybe I’ll make half the mother you were yet…

Love, Melissa

Learning and Growing

I sat at the dining room table, reading my Bible and eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast. I had set Emry on the floor nearby with her bag of wooden blocks. She played very quietly. When I looked over at her, I found her very patiently and quietly stacking them one on top of the other. They would fall over, and she would begin again. She sat there for ten or fifteen minutes, content with her blocks. I was quite amazed at her perseverance, patience and diligence. I can only hope these qualities grow as she grows.

She is fun to watch as she learns new things. As she discovers ants, and bees, and dandelions. As she learns to say “baa” when she sees a sheep or “la, la, la” when she sees a pig. (Okay, so, that one will have to be corrected. It’s one of her favorite books which says “Three singing pigs say, ‘La, la, la’!” Still, it’s quite cute.) Or as she realizes for herself how the different buttons on her toys work. She can be so proud of her new accomplishments and it is fun to watch her face light up with new discoveries. It reminds me that there is a world of wonderful things I take for granted everyday – a wonderful reminder.

Another Nephew!!!

Welcome!!!!

 

Curtis Nathan Avedisian

May 4, 2016

7 pounds, 7 ounces – 19 inches long