December 19, 2007
Families
A neighbor down the street has got a splendid new mountain bike for his son for Christmas. It became our privilege to be asked to store it for him until late night Christmas Eve tree time. I like seeing it there in our upstairs room, bright, shiny, ready to roll, a seasonal nostalgic stirring it leaves in me. My first bike was red. It had only one gear, me.
A moment ago, another neighbor called to see if we might have some cookie cutters he could borrow. He and his youngest are making Christmas cookies and trying to turn white sugar green by mixing it with food coloring. Their hands will bear an indelible yuletide message tomorrow.
Both these neighbors are single parents. When they call for some need like these, they usually want to talk to CP. They’ve learned whose the grand mom in our house. She’s now added cookie cutters and red and green granulated sugar to her final Christmas shopping list.
Our culture is so rigid about families. Every one must have two parents, they say, a woman and a man. Whether there’s love or not never seems to be mentioned, left alongside the way with dysfunction and the rising divorce rates. That a single parent family or a gay parents family might manifest a warm, loving, just, and giving companionship seems to so many to be utterly unimaginable. As Tiny Tim might have said, ‘Tis a pity.
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