The American Dream
Age 59
I
sit alone as dark envelopes the day and one by one my beloved solar lights
flicker on, dimly lighting the night.
With wine glass in hand, in my Adirondack chair, I fade into the
night. A young stranger walks by, barely
seen but yells out, “You have a beautiful house.” I reply into the night, “Thanks.” Then I hear
him exclaim to his companion but for me to hear, “This is the American
Dream”’. My immediate and probably
confusing response into the night, to that stranger, was, “Looks can be
deceiving.”
“The
American Dream”? What was my dream? To have and raise a large and loving
family. A family that laughs together,
that holds each other in seasons of loss and sadness, that are honest and
natural with one another, that finds joy in worshiping together - a family that looks forward to
being together- a Thanksgiving table abundantly full of food and friends and
love. I dreamt of home as a safe haven
from the woes of the world- where the hearth was always warm and
welcoming. A place that brought memories
and anticipations of hot chocolate, crackling fires, curled up side by side
under a blanket, offering our warmth to one another. That is my American Dream—my naïve dream as I
married and started a family. A naïve
dream that I have held onto through all the ups and downs of all these years.
What
has that dream done to those I love? It
has left them, so I’m told, feeling enmeshed, strangled. Tangled in the
tradition and memories of youth. A place
from which distance of time and space cannot be too far and the restrictions of
contact and interest never enough.
It has left me confused and bewildered as to
my role at this point in my life. Be
there when life hurts too deeply and I
need your comfort or when clothes need to be washed or money needed, but don’t
ask how my day was or what I might be doing tomorrow, don’t talk of fun
memories or even create new ones -as that is also suspect. The parent has become the puppet only allowed
to move or speak at the whims of the puppeteers, otherwise desired to lay quiet
and still its box until called upon at some later time.
Is
it such a struggle- becoming an adult? Is
it really needed-to put the parent on a
spinning wheel and throw darts hoping one will penetrate deep enough that
somehow that will release one enough to “find themselves” and become an adult? It seems so, at least in this “American Dream”
for I have had to be put on that spinning wheel more than once- and yes, the
darts do penetrate- yes they hurt- and I am silent.
My
kind stranger... the “American Dream”- is that what this is? The lights you see on the outside- I so wish
they would chase away the darkness I feel inside. I need a new dream… where can I find that? A dream that looks on the outside the same as
it is inside...a dream I can share without harming others and can honestly reply
to that strange, “Yes, thank you, this is MY American dream.”
