Perspectives

1976 - Matt in Japan with his Dad     

I sometimes say that every ten years I push the delete button in my brain to make room for new information. It's just a game I play to cover myself for whatever I can't seem to remember-names, dates, places. About thirty years ago, I started to write a collection of stories about my early years as a mother. I regret that I didn't write more of them when the memories were fresher and I could conjure up the experiences as if they just happened. Going through my files, I happened upon this little piece that taught me an important lesson.

The year is 1976. We've lived in our house for just two years and the garage has stretched as far as it can to accommodate two cars, five bicycles, two tricycles, a lawn mower and gardening tools. Shelves in front of the windows creak with automotive supplies. Baseballs, basketballs, soccer balls, golf balls and tennis balls randomly bounce under the cars, creeping into the corners. A tinny red gas can and dried leaves hover in the corner glued together with spider webs.

Today is the last day I will have to step carefully into this space, I think, innocently believing the brick storage shed we have just built will solve the family accumulation problem. This small structure, complete with windows, sits like a cottage at the end of a narrow sidewalk that leads to the backyard. It's really too nice for bikes and supplies. Inside a rack is fastened to the back, shelves line the sides above the windows, hooks stand ready to take on rakes, flippers and rackets.

Stephen, the contractor Louie Bartolini, nine year old Matt and I stand at the entrance, door ajar, staring into the addition.  I feel my chest constrict as we realize no thought has been given to the porch window storage during the summer months. I silently count the dollars spent on this inadequate space and try to remember the parts of this contractor that I like and the times he's been helpful. We discuss the options and Steve seems relaxed while I am as rigid as a stick. Windows stacked along the back will block bicycles and along the side wall will cause breakage.

    Matt says, "you could. . ."

    I say, "Matt, be quiet. The adults are busy." I am abrupt with my arms folded.

Louie suggests we carry the windows to the basement. I stare at him and consider strangulation. 

This momentary silence gives Matt enough space to say, "A shelf across the top could hold the windows." 

The three of us look down at this bright little boy and smile.

    "Great idea!" I say

    "How about that!" Dad says

    "What else does he have to think about." laughs Louie.