A Thousand Mistresses

A thousand mistresses and perhaps an equal number of misters in distress.

My husband falls in love every day and I applaud from the sidelines.

He's falling in love with one child or another, men and women counselors or child life specialists in hospitals and at camps for kids with health challenges.

"Pun" as he's known in these venues is the magician who does not show up to perform, but to be present. Thousands of kids know and love Pun. He knows how to play. He knows how to BE with every age. He empowers all by shining the light on them.

I miss him when he's gone for long stretches, but I am willing to be a "camp-widow" for the cause.
I cannot dictate, legislate, or berate when we separate. Guilt prevents protest that he's gone for long chunks of the summer when camps are in session. Deserving populations of young ones who just need to feel as if they belong; to feel that they are valued, benefit greatly with a dedicated goof-ball named Pun to cheer them on. It's a perfect match between a need and my beloved's particular set of skills. How could I say no?

At night, we catch up by phone. I listen to the daily triumphs: cases of home-sickness turned around, medical malaise or miracles, and ordinary JOY breaking out where fear and trepidation were the default before the breakthrough. It takes so little to let a child know s/he is heard, seen, and respected. I was a fortunate recipient of specific acknowledgements from caring adults in my childhood during tough times. The value of accurate mirroring cannot be overrated.

What privilege to radiate unconditional regard to kids in circumstances similar to mine, like during family life gone kafoogeldie. Those times spike fear and survival energies, those times make us feel weird and marginalized by our differences from other kids.

Listening to a young teen who you know is pregnant and who you know doesn't want anyone to know she's pregnant means that you let her talk. You maybe teach her to knit and she maybe gets it and settles down and you see her shoulders drop, her face soften, her demeanor shift from frightened little girl to a woman with a purpose. Priceless. You know it'll be a long road, but you also see she has some grit, resolve and resources to handle it.

Maybe Pun and I can tag-team. I do spring and fall family camps; he continues with summer camps. Yes, I'm a wuss. I end up in the Well Shell or Med Shed, depending on the camp, during summer sessions with dehydration and heat exhaustion when the temperature is over one hundred degrees for days on end at those altitudes.

One great joy this summer has been for me to see our granddaughter enter that lovely stage of development called latency. Between early childhood and the inevitable hormonal rollercoaster ride of the teen years, there is this sweet space of mastery. Last Friday, Miss D at seven completed a one week session of horse camp. She is a different person. So knowledgeable, grace-filled and empowered to ride with confidence despite sore muscles. She's also noodled out some tunes on the piano. We spent one afternoon color-coding keys so she can remember more easily which notes follow which in "Silent Night" and "Happy Birthday." She's reading up a storm. She's more willing to try new things - even when it may feel scary in the beginning. I'd like her Gran'Pun to witness this ordinary miracle of marvelous mastery too. She's the only Grandie we've got and we just plain love her - unconditionally.

His next trip home is around July Fourth. It'll be good to share fireworks with him.

May the Fourth be with you also!