MIRACLE MAN

I consider my adult son to be nothing short of a miracle.  His name is Jordan, and he is a River of peace and a conduit of hope in the lives of everyone he touches.  It could have been so different.  Jordan’s father is a habitual criminal.  It’s more than a lifestyle for him.  It is a vocation, one to whom he has remained faithful, which is more than you can say for any of his relationships.  Raymond (the dad) is a textbook case sociopath.  Although I knew he was a thief, a liar and an absent father,  it took my attendance in a college psychology class to learn about his pathology.  Sociopaths have no respect for the law and no permanent attachment to other humans, all of whom are interchangable and expendable.  One woman finally gets tired of your trifling ways and moves on?  No problem, there is always another hungry and vulnerable soul around the corner.  You have lost any connection with your children?  Again, this is easily solved since said needy lady usually comes with one or more dependents.  Little does she know, she will soon be gaining another.

Boys usually want to emulate their fathers, but Jordan is not a drug dealer, drug user, felon, inmate, liar or producer of multiple fatherless children.  He does not destroy everything in his path.  He is solid, dependable, sensitive, caring and sweet.  According to a diagnosis when he was a teen, he also has Asperberger’s Syndrome, which is at the high functioning end of autism.  This makes him even more of a hero to me.  Even though he qualifies to collect SSI, he doesn’t.  Interestingly, his father does.  My son has held a job for many years, drives a car, has many friends and puts money away in his savings account from every paycheck.  His sisters and I live in California.  He lives in Colorado. Prior to that, he lived in Arizona. He is not the least bit dependent on anybody and draws people to him whereever he goes.

I’ve known for quite awhile that Jordan longs to experience a loving relationship with a woman.  He’s tall and attractive and he has dated quite a bit and met his share of crazies or women who take advantage of his sweet disposition.  I believe that Jordan is not quite as naive and trusting as he once was, and that’s a very good thing.   When we talked on the phone yesterday, he told me about a young widow in Nebraska who has two young children.   He and Joanna agreed to meet each other in Idaho after talking on the phone for quite awhile.  Apparently it went very well.   Jordan doesn’t usually mention the women he meets to me, but he did tell me about this one.  She is a country girl who lives in the middle of nowhere, not a savvy, street smart, cynical city girl.  That, alone, makes her sound like a good match for my son.  Neither are into the bar scene.  They both enjoy nature and the outdoors, staying active but also enjoying a good movie and popcorn at home.  Jordan is sweet and kind with children and is willing to accept a ready-made family as well as add one or two more to the mix.  I have always  wanted Jordan to find someone who appreciates and accepts him for who he is.  He is a great guy now, but I’m sure he will blossom and flourish with the love of a good lady by his side.

I know it’s too early in the relationship to place bets on whether this is the real thing, I’m praying that lasting love will find him, either with Joanna or somebody else, because he deserves it, and whoever gets Jordan will be a very blessed woman. Jordan is definitely an answer to prayer….a bonafide miracle man as far as I am concerned.

 

 

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MULTI GENERATIONAL HOME SWEET HOME

Living in a multigenerational household can be tricky, and you can’t know exactly what it will be like till you take the plunge, although I can’t pretend that the clues weren’t always there.  It has its pluses, and it has its foibles, but this is not the format to point out the pros and cons, particulary since the die is cast, at least for the present moment.  In my case this entailed buying a house with my oldest daughter, Rachael, her husband and two amazing children, ages five and seven-months-old.  Living in San Francisco is expensive, so it seemed to be a plausible solution at the time, at least economically.  My 27-year-old daughter, Skye, also lives here and is the baby’s nanny.  It doesn’t appear that Skye is going anywhere anytime soon (think, never) even though she has often spoken of going back to school and/or starting a business venture.   Come to think of it, I haven’t heard mention of those pursuits for a long time, and why should that be surprising?  She lives in a nice home with a nice pool and other amenities, to which she has come become accustomed. Skye (yes, I used to be a pseudo hippie) is creative, discerning, striking and funny if you go for the sarcastic brand of humor implanted deep in our family DNA.  Skye is definitely not your garden variety lady.  She is in fact a take it- or leave it original who you either love or love to hate.  She is also moody, difficult and a bonafide pothead.

My oldest daughter,Rachael, is a brilliant, overextended introvert with a demanding career and the determination to be the best mommy on the planet despite being pulled in a million different directions.  Between her father, his deceased wife, his present wife and me, she has 92 siblings (or maybe I’m thinking of that new comedy that’s coming out about a sperm donor).  Actually she only has 12 sisters and one brother.  Being the oldest in my clan of four and also one of the oldest amongst the rest of her tribe, she exhibits the characteristics of  first born syndrome big time.  Responsible, check, generous, check, rescuer, two thumbs way up.  If Rachael was an inanimate object, she would be a rock, and you know what people do with rocks: they climb on them or hide behind them.  Though often weary, there must be a payoff in Rachael allowing this to happen.  Maybe it’s because she is considered to be indeflatable and indestructable by the hordes of rock climbers who are friends and family.  Though this is none of my business, I can’t pretend that it’s none of my concern.  She is stretched as thin as phyllo dough, and I want to save her.  This is what living with your offspring will do for you.  It will allow you to make observations that you wouldn’t make if they lived in San Francisco, and you lived in Muncie, Indiana.

My son-in-law, Kevin, is an affable fellow who lost his mother at a young age and refers to me as “mom.”  I am probably the closest thing to a maternal figure that he has ever known.  He is a supremely talented artist.  In fact,  98 percent of him is about his art, which ony leaves two percent for ambition and drive.  You do the math.  Did I mention that Rachael is stressed out?  It’s hard not to like Kevin when I base it on our interaction, and I love that he is an attentive father.  It’s a little more challenging at times when I observe him in the role of husband/provider, and for the sake of sanity and in the interest of being a non-meddling roomie, we will now close this topic.

Then there are the kids.  Katelyn, the five-year-old, attends a progressive private school where diversity is celebrated unless you hold Christian beliefs, and then censorship is strongly encouraged.  Recently the class did a unit on a holiday called “The Day of the Dead.”  Katelyn announced that she and her mommy and daddy would be likely to celebrate that holiday the next time it rolled around,  and that they would definitely celebrate it on my behalf when I died.  “I’ll be looking forward to that,” I responded.  I did say we were a sarcastic family, remember?  I don’t think my granddaughter picked up on that in her eagerness to have a familiar person bite the dust, thus making the holiday more meaningful.  Perhaps there will even be a piñata.

The truth is I am committed to each one of them, but sometimes I would like it to be from a distance, and I’m sure all the adults in the house feel the same way…about me and about each other.  Until some nice, financially secure, God loving widower comes along to rescue me from my present predicament you will find me here in San Francisco where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars , firmly entrenched in my role as resident matriarch while attempting to delay playing a  starring role in the Day of The Dead celebration.