Thursday, June 11, 2015

The Most Beautiful Moon

It was the summer of 1959 or '60, and we were on our way to Kentucky, driving in our unair-conditioned car at night to beat the sweltering daytime heat. Daddy (my stepfather) was driving, and Mother was in the passenger seat with my baby brother, Joe, in her lap. (There were no child safety-seat requirements in those days; cars didn't even have seat belts.) My sister, stepsister and I were too close for comfort in the backseat.

Slumped low next to the right-side window, I could see over the front seats just enough to view the night sky through the windshield. What I saw was a dark orange moon that hung just above the horizon and looked as big as a wagon wheel. In the quiet of the car I leaned forward and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear: "That is the most beautiful moon I've ever seen in my life!"

Mother, turned her head sharply toward Daddy and responded with a sneer in her voice: "Oh, Gawd!"

Daddy looked back at her, gave a little chuckle, and turned his eyes back to the road, the smile still on his face.

That was the entire conversation.

I leaned back in my corner and thought to myself, well, I guess I was being kind of overzealous and dramatic, but I didn't know I sounded that stupid. I made up my mind right then to curtail that kind of enthusiasm in the future. I was almost grown and certainly didn't want to be thought of as silly.

For more than thirty years--nearly forty, now that I'm doing the math--I thought of that incident every time I looked at a beautiful moon or, for that matter, at anything else that tempted me to speak effusively. I always tried to tone it down.

My stepdad died in 1996. One day a year or two after he passed, I sat on the sofa in my mother's East Texas home and listened while she talked about her two marriages. Paul, my biological father, had been a womanizer. She appreciated that Tommy, my stepfather, had not been one.

"Tommy never cheated on me," she said that day. "He came close to it once when I was pregnant with Joe. He'd gone to the boat club, and it was late, and he hadn't come home. I went down there and found him sitting in a car with some woman. He'd had way too much to drink, and all he kept saying to me was, 'That's the most beautiful moon I've ever seen in my life!'"

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My stepsister and I talked on the phone yesterday about those days when we all lived together, and we talked for a while about our assortment of parents. It was the first time I'd ever remembered to tell her this moon story. She laughed hard at the end of it. When I spoke of my astonishment upon realizing that the two words mother uttered that had impacted my life for decades had had absolutely nothing to do with me, she laughed again. "And now," she said, "do you know what I'll think of for the rest of my life when I see a beautiful moon?"

That's what we storytellers do. We break our lives into bite-sized pieces, then we feed them to others and let them chew on them awhile.

10 comments:

  1. I wanted to cry for you and then I wanted to laugh (but I still want to cry over the years you were stifled as I know too well that feeling). I'm glad you shared that story. And when I see a beautiful moon....

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    1. Thanks, Aunt Betsy. You chose exactly the right word to describe how I felt: stifled. Funny thing is, I still feel that way sometimes, but I'm wise enough now to understand that I'm stifling myself.

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  2. Beautifully written story, Linda, even though it made me feel so sad for the little girl sitting in the back seat.

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    1. Thanks, Joy. This incident ultimately taught me two valuable lessons: 1) everything isn't always about me, and 2) how easy it is for children to make incorrect assumptions about words spoken by a parent. Wish I'd learned both lessons much earlier than I did. :)

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  3. There is always two sides to every story!!

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    1. You're right. I wish I'd let Mother know that my feelings were hurt. She might not have told me the real story then, but she probably would have said something to make me feel better.

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  4. I loved this story. It reminds me that so often something we say has a deep, unintended impact on others, particularly children. I'm sorry you spent years holding in your feelings about the moon. Next full moon why don't you go outside, naked, and howl. Bring the dogs and raise a ruckus. If I were there I'd double-dare you and we could do it together.

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    1. Annette, lol, there was a time I might have done that. These days I'm afraid the moon would howl back.

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    2. Holly, all of Annette's ideas are good ones.

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