how a simple scarf becomes an emotional journey

My stepmom and I have not always had the best relationship.  She has been in my family picture pretty much since always and was an active participant in the acrimony between my parents during childhood.

The thing is, and this is a big thing, at some point everybody grew up quite a bit.  One day I looked at my stepmother and I could see she was not a stepmonster, not anymore, and perhaps never had been.  I looked at her and I could see a lady who despite an often cool facade has a very kind heart.

Last Fall I began to learn knitting and was assigned the project of making a striped scarf.  I decided, almost reluctantly, to give it to my stepmom.  I could make it in my brother's football colors and she could wear it to his freezing cold games.  At first I wasn't sure that I wanted her to have the first thing I ever knit, or if I should reserve that for my mom, a knitter herself.  The more I thought about it, however,  the more I liked the gesture of it - that it was a way to show something that I had not said.

So I worked on the scarf.  And worked on it.  And messed it up and unraveled it and started anew.  And didn't like it so started anew again. And in between stuff happened and I really just did not have time to sit and knit.  Still every single time I worked on it I thought of her, and I thought of her with love.  I knew I was doing something good.  Almost a year later I finally completed my project and it was something I could be proud of.

I drafted a letter to accompany it. Ultimately I took out all the "I forgive you for the past" stuff and left simple words of kindness: I treasured her and was so glad she was part of my family.  I realized that in the decades that this woman has been my stepmother I had never said anything like that to her.

It's so easy to take for granted that others understand how you feel.  I'm glad that I, for once, made it crystal clear.  Did my stepmom deserve harsh words spoken in distant years past?  Probably.  But the stepmom I have today was long overdue to receive these kind words and I am so glad I gave them to her.

I hate you, too!

See, I have a little brother who plays Div-1 college football.  This means that every Saturday for the past few months I have been able to click on the tv, tune in to a sports channel, and see my brother's handsome face.  This still blows my mind, and is simultaneously thrilling and surreal.  It is especially awesome since I haven't been able to see that handsome face in person since last Christmas.

Here is what isn't awesome: seeing Brother Handsome having a bad day.  A bad day in front of 60,000 physically present people and an untold number of tv viewers.  Seeing a coach screaming at Brother Handsome, seeing Brother Handsome sitting on the sidelines with face in hands and hearing the announcer describe repeatedly how Brother Handsome screwed up.  Or how about the headlines that follow in major newspapers nationwide?  Good news: Brother Handsome, your name is in almost every major newspaper you've ever heard of.  Bad news: they don't have nice things to say.

It is positively heart-breaking when this happens.  It is depressing for the whole family to see Brother Handsome's big dreams turn into this.  I have to remind myself that if losing a football game is the worst thing that happens to Brother Handsome then he'll have had a pretty charmed life.

Still it is sad.  And making voo-doo dolls for all those sports writers really digs into what little personal time I have left.  Which is why I finally had to step back and be at peace with the fact that when Brother Handsome has a bad week he's going to take crap for it.  I can maintain my pleasant and cheery demeanor those weeks by not reading any sports articles.  After all, unlike Brother Handsome, I don't have a field to take all my rage and aggression to.

What I cannot accept is the crap that is still dished out when he is, in fact, having a fantastic week.  When almost every major newspaper gives him the props he deserves but a few key publications still give him the most luke-warmish of praise, sprinkled with more back handed insults.

To those publications, to those sports writers, I have one thing to say: I will always have time for your voo doo dolls.