Realizing my Dream

The last dream of my soul is in the process of coming true. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to emulate my mother. The balance of encouragement and tough love, the freedom to figure things out for myself, as well as the knowledge that I'd have support if I fell, allowed me to figure things out for myself. She would guide, but not control.

In serendipitous fashion, I purchased Garth Brooks's new CD this week, as I've been figuring out how to present what the last dream of my soul is. There is one song on this album that speaks so beautifully to what my mom provided me, and what I ultimately want to provide my children: freedom to grow, to learn, to mess up, to try again--in short, to navigate the world with confidence built upon accomplishments of their own doing.

The song, "Send 'em on Down the Road" is my parenting credo. In the chorus, Brooks sings, "you can help them find their wings/But you can't fly for 'em/'Cause if they're not free to fall/Then they're not free at all"(Beeson/Shamblin).

I find that my parenting philosophy is closely connected to my teaching one; it is quite likely that my time in the classroom has only bolstered my resolve that my children need to be given the freedom to not get it right the first time so they can experience the satisfaction of perseverance, and the independence of completing the task before them even though they struggled.

Also serendipitous is that through reading all of your "Last Dream" essays, I'm finding myself commenting that the first step of achieving your dream is to set the intention--in the words of William Arthur Ward, "if you can imagine it, you can achieve it; if you can dream it, you can become it." Thus, I want to share with you an essay I wrote in high school--the beginning of the last dream of my soul, that I find coming true step-by-step, and that will hopefully continue to unfold in the manner I have planned.

Works Cited:

Beeson, Marc, Shamblin, Allen. "Send 'em on Down the Road." Man Against 
          Machine. Perf. Garth Brooks. RCA, 2014. CD. 

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The Woman I want to Be

One of my favorite places:
Ham-Smith at UNH

The sun warms thoughts of jubilation as I rise for the finale of my four years as a UNH Wildcat.  Semblances of relief, pride and accomplishment scurry in synchronization through my mind.  As I ascend another rung in the ladder of my years, I recall the prominent female figure in my life who has shared her wisdom and learned from her mistakes; she has inculcated me to follow.  Through me she will forever endure.

As my life’s path guides me to my occupation, the countenance of my mother is embedded in my mind’s eye; pride and encouragement are evinced on her face.  This encouragement allows me to imagine the myriad of students I will one day inspire.  The determination she has instilled in me will reap its rewards with my promotion to department head of the English Department and the renowned debut novel I will one day compose.

My husband and I on our wedding day.

Upon savoring the sweet taste of success, I am propelled into marital bliss.  I portray my mother in my new role as wife.  I have received her wit and good humor; both of which endear my love to my whimsical stories.  My husband’s strong arms embrace me as we talk by the fire of all that occupies our thoughts.  To him I show passion in my beliefs and my inner clarity, as did my mother to my father.  Like my mother I am confident in who I am, and will not sacrifice my individuality. 

With my kids at the Halloween Parade

I will convey this same cardinal confidence in my children.  No being will ever tell my children what they can and cannot do.  Their inner clarity allows them to one day navigate their own destinies, as my mother urged me to do.

My mom and me at my friend's wedding.

As the organist begins to play "The Wedding March", new feelings of relief, pride and accomplishment scurry in synchronization through my mind.  My daughter is being escorted down the aisle on her father’s arm, while tears of descend from my eyes.  I taught her everything a woman should be.  I am assured she is my greatest accomplishment.  I have passed onto her all the wisdom of my mother, the woman I want to be.

Springsteen

One of Eric Church’s most known songs is the track, “Springsteen”. Off of his Chief album, “Springsteen” hit number one on the country charts in 2011. When I saw him in concert two weeks ago, he closed with this song, pausing to discuss the power of a melody to invoke memories of moments in time. I have many of these memories.

Whenever I hear TLC’s “Waterfalls,” I’m on the bow of my father’s boat, skin warm from the summer sun, dancing with my best friends—the girls who are still my best friends and the Godmothers to my children. It’s instantly sunny and clear, and I think I have “swag” as I belt out Left-Eye’s rap solo toward the end of the song.

I’m transported to the O’Donnell Auditorium, at old Woburn High, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving whenever The Spice Girls’ “Wannabe” comes on the radio. The first annual lip sync began that November in 1997, complete with acts by The Rolling Stones, Pearl Jam, Puff Daddy—before he was P Diddy, or Diddy—as well as my friends and I telling everyone what we want, what we really, really, want. 

The opening riff—da da dA da da da, da da dA da da da— of “Send Me On My Way” by Rusted Root places me firmly on the patio of Jessie Doe at UNH in May. We’ve traded our fleece jackets for light hoodies, windows are once again open to allow for some relief from the stuffy dorm atmosphere, and the year is drawing to a close. No matter where I go on campus, the yodeling of “Send Me On My Way” provides a soundtrack for my walk.

And naturally, when Tracy Byrd begins singing, “it was no accident, me finding you…” I’m on the dance floor of the Hillview Country Club, spinning into the arms of my husband as we celebrate our first dance as husband and wife.

The list of pivotal moments and of relationships celebrated and cherished through the memory of melody is extensive, but most recently, Eric Church has made his way into my life’s soundtrack with “Springsteen.” It isn’t because his song speaks of music memory that makes it important, though. Plenty of other songs have had similar messages, one of my favorites being Kenny Chesney’s “I Go Back.”

No. It isn’t the sentiment of the song that makes it stand out.

When I hear the low “whoa, whoa, whoooawhoa, whoa, whoa, whoooawhoa” chant half way through “Springsteen”, I’ll see my three-year-old blond-haired, blue-eyed boy, bobbing his head to the words, his little mouth shaping out the sounds while a smile twitches in the corner of his lips, shoulders alternating—up and down—dancing to the music.

To me, the “whoa whoa” song, as he calls it, will always be his song. Whenever I hear it, he will always be three. In that moment, music is melody and memory magic.