The Tracks

     He had exactly one hour to gather a piece of clothing, preferably worn, of each one of his sleeping family members and drive to the train station two towns away, to be ready for the Regional Express. The last items Andrew put on were his father’s overcoat and the mittens his mother had knit before Christmas.

     He pulled into the deserted ALDI parking lot and took the key out of the ignition. For memory’s sake Andrew chose the lot his parents always used during their weekly shopping trip. His mother had never learned to drive. Andrew looked at himself in the rearview mirror, spiking his hair as he raked his fingers through it. He was pleased. Just a month ago he had gotten new highlights and they finally came out the way he liked them. The first time they were too yellow and thick. He had to let his hair grow out, and then ask for a different girl at the same salon. She nailed it so that Andrew waited an extra week, delaying the date. Suicide was flexible like that. He’d spent the bonus days in constant amazement, watching himself operate on borrowed time.

     He stubbed out his cigarette and opened the glove compartment where he had hidden the good-bye letter in which he attempted to tell his family how sorry he was and asked them for forgiveness. It is nobody’s fault, he wrote, and there was nothing they could have done. He placed the letter and the keys on the passenger seat and looked in the mirror again. His hair was really good and brought out the color of his beautiful eyes. Damn shame. It felt like such a waste, but he had no choice; tomorrow would only be worse.

     It had started to snow and the flurries blew into Andrew’s face as soon as he opened the door. A wind gust blew it shut immediately and he sat for a moment, enjoying the warmth inside the car. He adamantly opened the door, got out and closed it. The world turned dark in an instant. Andrew opened the door again and looked inside. The gray seats, half full ashtray, an empty paper coffee cup, green lighter, the open letter, his cell phone and keys. He grabbed the lighter for his last smoke on the tracks and pocketed the phone. Habit. He left the keys on the seat, locked the car door and slammed it shut. Final. Dark and cold and no way back. He turned and headed towards the station, but didn’t bother using its doors. Instead he jumped over the gate and stood on the platform, a few yards from the building. It was just him and the night, and he was early. He walked across the first track, feeling the gravel under his boots, the steel beams, then the pavement before stepping onto the next track, the one he’d chosen in his mind. The one he’d always used for his rare trips to Ulm or Munich, when he needed to get away. He might as well have left the planet, as misplaced as he felt whenever he was away from the little farming town where he’d spent all his life.

     Andrew pulled the collar of his father’s coat up to his face. A strong wind had begun to blow. He rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. A tremor had started inside him, right behind his stomach. He stopped. Right here, he felt, would be good, and sat down. He stretched his legs across the tracks, his butt resting on a wooden slat. Andrew wiggled until he felt almost comfortable and lowered his head on the steel beam, ready.

     He opened his eyes and looked at the snow-flurried sky, something he had always loved to do when he was a child and the first snow held all the promise of winter and Christmas. Now Christmas felt dull and predictable, not special anymore. Andrew had waited for the excitement to build up, but Christmas came and went and felt like any another day. The magic and joy of the season had vanished with his childhood.

     “Please God, forgive me, do not look on my sins but at my faith in you. Let me be with you in heaven,” he cried out, knowing full well that the RE Ulm-Friedrichshafen was on its way. To him. Andrew closed his eyes and felt the snow melting on his face.

     “Who’s there?” a sharp female voice commanded.

     Andrews eyes popped open.  He sat up and looked around in astonishment. “Hello? Is somebody there?”

     “Yeah, over here. Who are you?”

     “Uh…my name is Andrew. Who are you?” Now he could make out a lump a few feet away.         

     “What are you doing?” the woman snapped.

     “Nothing! Uh…I’m waiting for the train. What are you doing?” His heart was beating like crazy in his chest. What if she tells him to leave? Or calls the cops? He couldn’t believe it.

     “Darn it, I can’t even do this in peace. Why did you have to lie right here? This is my spot,” the woman said annoyed.

     “I…I didn’t know you were here, okay? I didn’t exactly expect anyone.” Andrew paused, unsure of suicide etiquette. “D’you want me to move up some?”

     “No, you stay right here where I can see you. Next thing I know you’ll be calling the cops on me.”

     “Uh…why would I do that? Duh,” Andrew added as an explanation.

     “Harumph. Well then, what’s your reason? I’m Gertrud by the way.”   

     “Nice to meet you, Gertrud. Uhm…I’m just totally fed up with everything. It’s the same old crap every day, nothing going on.” Andrew lay down again and folded his hands behind his head. “I’m bored out of my mind. My life is too predictable, there’s nothing to look forward to. I’m totally stuck, so I’m checking out early. And don’t try to talk me out of it, I’m doing it no matter what you say.”

     “Yeah, me too. I already tore up my plane ticket.”

     “Plane ticket to where?” Andrew looked in Gertrud’s direction.

     “Back to New Jersey. But I am staying here this time.”    

     “New Jersey? In America?”
     “Yes, America.”

     “Wow. You’ve actually been there,” Andrew said.

     “Twenty-six years. Did everything you can think of. Family, dog, cat, the house, cars, Girl Scouts, high school, college, the whole lot. And every morning I woke up and missed home. I’m so tired of flying away from my family after every visit. And they’re all getting up in years. I dread the day when I get the call that someone has died. This way they can just bury me here, makes it easier for everybody.”

     Andrew watched Gertrud lay down again. “Shit. You had a ticket out of here. Why don’t you just move back? Couldn’t you stay with your folks?”

     “It’s too expensive to buy health insurance for myself now. And to find a job at my age, forget it. It’s either back to the states or else. I should have never left, or at least come back after just a year over there.”    

     Andrew thought for a moment. “You must speak English really well, right? You would get a job. My uncle is always looking for people who speak English, he’s a manager at Bayer. I’ll ask him. Shit, I mean I would have asked him,” Andrew corrected himself.

     Gertrud propped herself up and looked in his direction. “How old are you?”

     “Twenty-one. Last month.”

     “That’s the legal age in Jersey. Kids can’t wait to turn twenty-one, it’s the big one. They can officially go to a bar and drink. But anyway, how can you feel stuck at twenty-one? Are you married?”

     “No, but I can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything. My life is set in stone. It’s small-town living and my father’s farm until I retire and hand it over to my future unlucky son. Church on Sundays, pub on Wednesdays, a week in the Allgäu in the summer for the rest of my life. It’s too damn predictable.” Andrew groaned. “I hate it here! I can’t wait, where’s this damn train?”

     “We have about ten minutes, but that’s exactly how I felt at your age. Every evening I walked to farmer Simmler and fetched the milk and sometimes I sat outside with him and his wife and we watched traffic. All they talked about was who didn’t sweep their stoop on Saturdays or who got a new car, and it hit me. If I didn’t get out of there I’d sit on the same bench twenty, thirty years from now, still watching folks turn in for the night.”   

     “How did you get out?” Andrew asked into the night and pulled out his cigarettes. “Here, do you smoke?”

     Gertrud declined. “Nah, that stuff will kill you.”

     “Ha ha,” Andrew said sarcastically.

     “I decided I wanted to go to America and found an au-pair agency that arranged for young people to live with American families, kind of like a babysitter-housekeeper deal, you know. It was great, but I should have come back and stayed home after my year was over.”

     “You just stayed in America?” Andrew asked.

     “No, I had to come back to Germany when my visa was up, but I turned around and went right back to my friends. Then my visa ran out again and I came home and met a GI in Ulm and the rest is history. We lived all over the States because of the Army.”

     “Man, that is so cool. I wish I could just go anywhere I want to,” Andrew said. “But I can’t. There’s just no way. I have to take over the farm.”

     “Are you an only child?”

     “No, there’s four of us, but I’m the oldest son. I have a twin sister, so she’s out. My middle brother is slow and can’t do it.”

     “What about the other one?” Gertrud asked.

     “Well, he is the youngest and who knows what he wants to do.”

     “Sounds pretty old-fashioned, if you want my opinion. Why should you be the only one who can take over the farm? We’re not in the middle ages anymore.”

     “That’s exactly what I mean. It’s my father’s rules, and no arguments. He’s so thick! I just can’t stand it anymore.”

     Gertrud sat up. “Oh-uh, I see lights. Ready?”

      “Yeah, ready. Finally,” Andrew said and stubbed out his cigarette.

      “Okey-doke. Here it comes. Well, see you in heaven, I hope. One less Kramer in Kirchberg,” Gertrud said and bedded down.

     “What did you say? I’m a Kramer from Kirchberg, too! Holy shit.”

     “Get out of here! I live practically in New York City with millions of others and now I meet kin on a railroad track in Altenstadt. Who’s your father?”

     “Bertie. Bertie Kramer.” Andrew looked at her. “We can wait for the next one, all right?”

     “You sure? I’m freezing my butt off.” Gertrud flailed her limbs to get the blood moving.     The lights came closer and they stared at them spellbound and when the train was almost upon them they pulled their legs back and scuttled away from the tracks. They watched the huge engine with its cars roar past and disappear into the night.

     Andrew threw a rock after it.

     “Darn it, we didn’t do it,” Gertrud said. “There should be another one soon, I believe. Bertie…Hm, that doesn’t ring a bell. Who else is there in your family?”

     “His two brothers, Reinhard and Herbert, the youngest,” Andrew said, still staring after the train.

     “Wait a minute. I went to school with Reinhard, he had a crush on me once! And my sister was in Herbert’s grade. Now I remember Bertie… the chubby one, right?”

     “Yeah, he was kind of heavy, but he lost a lot of weight. We think he is sick but he won’t say.”

     “So, what about your sister?”

     “What about her?”

     “Why can’t she run the farm? Did you ever ask her?”

     “No, she’s…she works in the city. Accounting or something,” Andrew said.

     “Just ask her.”

     “Now?”

     “Yes! Here, d’you want my phone?” Gertrud offered.

     “Uh, thanks…I have my own. You think?”

     “Sure, go ahead. Ask her.”

     “This is crazy. We’re in the middle of the railroad tracks, in case you haven’t noticed.”

     “So? She can’t see you. Come on, you don’t have to tell her where you are.”

     “I don’t believe this. All right, all right I’ll call her.”

     Andrew sat up and groped for his cell phone. He could make out Gertrud’s shape. She was leaning on her elbow in what looked like an expectant posture. With stiff fingers he selected his sister’s number and felt his stomach churn.

     “Dani? It’s me, Andy. Listen…I’m still out, yeah. I was thinking…would you like to have the farm? I really don’t want it.” Andrew listened for a few moments, then said: “Okay, cool. No, it’s really cool. Bye.” He closed the phone and stared at it. 1:23A.M. He placed it next to him on the track.

     “Come on, tell me. I’m dying to hear what she said,” Gertrud said. “Uh-oh, there’s the next one, d’you wanna wait?”

     Andrew squinted in the direction of the approaching lights. “I think it’s on the other track. Yup, that’s not ours.”

     The train roared past on the track behind them and Andrew lay down again. “She said yes,” Andrew whispered more to himself. He couldn’t believe that it could be so easy.

     “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” Gertrud got up off the tracks, walked over to where Andrew lay, and sat next to him. “She said yes?”

     “Yeah, she said she would love to. She and her boyfriend were thinking of opening a health food store. They would turn it into an organic farm, with sheep and stuff. She sounded excited.”

     “Well, there you go. Now you just have to convince thick Bertie that women can run a farm as good as anybody. Don’t you feel better now?”

     Andrew chuckled. “Considering the circumstances, I guess.” He closed his eyes again and mumbled: “God, I can’t believe you had the guts and left home. I wish I could just go out into the world like that. Would you do it again?”

     “Sure, but I wouldn’t stay away this time. Only for a few years and then move back home.” Gertrud looked him up and down. “Darn it, I’m freezing. At least you’re wearing boots.”

     “They’re my brother’s. And I’m wearing my other brother’s sweatshirt and socks.”

     “Why?” Gertrud asked.

     “Just so. To feel close to them, I guess. Look, that’s my sister’s ponytail holder,” Andrew said and pulled on the scrunchy on his left wrist. He let it snap and looked closer. “Wow, there’s still some of her hair snagged in it.”

     “Did you leave them a good-bye letter?”
     “Yes, it’s on the car seat. You?”

     “I just made a list of who gets what. And I have a Last Will because I have a kid. Poor Schatz, I feel bad for her,” Gertrud said and sighed.

     “Yeah, but at least you did it. You know what– you did it! You left. You gave it a shot. And now you know what it’s like out there. Me? I’m a coward who’s only ever been to Munich. Big whoopdeedo.”

     Gertrud leaned on her elbow and studied Andrew’s handsome face. “Let me tell you something, kid. I carry my father’s red comb in my purse. I have my mother’s ironing board in America, and my sister’s coffee mug with her name on it. And our old couch and my grandmother’s table and chairs. When my daughter left for college I turned the spare computer room into a Kirchberg-room. How pathetic is that? Do you want to know the truth? Every day I regretted that I had left. And had I not left I would regret every day that I stayed in Kirchberg. That’s why I’m here on these damned tracks. I don’t even know which is home anymore. My first twenty, completely happy years by the way, I spent in Germany. Now I have lived longer in America than in my own country. So my question to you is this: where do I belong?”

     “But that’s the beauty of it – you can choose! You know both places and can live anywhere you want, don’t you see?”

     “Yes, I know what it’s like both places, but I could have found that out during a vacation. I didn’t have to uproot myself. Someone once said: If you live five thousand miles away from home, it’s like you’re five thousand miles away from yourself. It’s so true. But if you want to see the world, go! Everybody should leave for a while. Just don’t forget to come back.”

     “Why are we talking about the future? We’re supposed to hand in our number tonight, remember?” Andrew said. “It’s funny, though. You’re homesick and I’m sick of home. We should just switch.”

     “Sorry, I tore up the plane ticket.”

     “And I locked the keys in my car. You can just print out another ticket, by the way.”

     “And you can call a locksmith.”

     They were quiet for a while.

     “Let’s just do it and get it over with,” Andrew said and lay down again. “Kind of fun to have someone to do it with. I’m glad you’re here.”

     Another train approached and the two of them held their hands and braced themselves. They heard it pull into the station where it stopped and let out passengers.

     “Thanks for being there,” Andrew said. “I was a little scared.”

     “Thanks for listening. At least you understand what I mean.”

     The train let off steam and turned off its lights and engine. All was quiet. Andrew sat up in bewilderment.

     “It stopped running! Is this for real? Argh,” Andrew groaned. “What have I told you about small-town life? That was the last train tonight.” He started to laugh, becoming more and more hysterical about the situation.

     Gertrud sat up in a daze. “What are the odds of this anyway? Meeting you, missing the train, sharing the same last name? I can’t take it anymore, I need to warm up.” She unfolded her stiff limbs and laboriously got to her feet. “Let’s see if we can find a place that serves coffee this late. I think McDonald’s is still open. Come on, my treat.”

     Andrew had recovered from his laughing fit. He got up, too, and brushed the snow off of his clothes. Walking on the tracks toward the train, he stopped and smirked as he placed his hand on the cold engine. “Okay, you win” he said and patted it. “Either way, actually,” he added as an afterthought and followed Gertrud to the terminal.

     She waited for him by the door: “You better give me your uncle’s phone number, you hear?”

     “Yeah, and you can tell me all about life in America. Have you ever been to the Grand Canyon? Or Texas? What about the top of the Empire State Building…? Hey, maybe you could teach me English so I could work with my uncle at Bayer and if I’ll get good enough I could go on business trips to America…”

The story is completely fictional, but Andrew Kramer really existed. There was no Gertrud on the tracks waiting for him on that cold night of December 27, 2009, and the trains did not stop running. This is in memory of a boy from my hometown in Germany whose obituary I found online in my New Jersey home during the Christmas holidays.

R. I. P. André

The Perfect Girl

     Vasilios sat in the taxi in front of his parent’s house, trying to find the strength to tell them that he wanted to marry an American girl. He knew that his mother had her heart set on a girl from the old country and would give her only son a hard time about marrying a ‘foreigner’. He paid the cabby, sighed, and trudged up to the house.

     “Vasilios, my precious, sit, sit, I made your favorite food,” Alcina urged him as he kissed his mother on both cheeks. “When you called to say you want to talk to us, we were so excited because we have something to tell you, too. We have good news, Vasilios. But please, first, sit down, child, eat, eat.”

     Vasilios sat at the small but lovingly set table as his mother flittered around him, heaping piles of Souvlaki onto his plate and carefully placing a steaming cup of black coffee in front of him. “I already put sugar, just the way you like it,” Alcina said.

     “Three and a half spoons?” Vasilios asked.

     “Oh, I put four. I was thinking round.” Alcina said sorrowful.

     His father sat in a corner and watched the interaction with quiet amusement.

     “Okay, Mama, what are the news? You are bursting with excitement,” Vasilios said and started eating.

     Alcina suddenly looked flustered and wiped her hands on her apron. She moved over to her husband and stood next to him, for extra support. “I talked to my friend in Santorini and her daughter, Syna, agreed to come to America and marry you, can you believe it? She is perfect.”

     “But Mama, … please, we talked about this. You know that I am in love with Amy. I came here today to tell you that I have asked her to marry me,” Vasilios said and put his fork down.

     “Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary and holy St. Joseph!” His mother threw her hands in the air before crossing herself. “What are you saying? No, no, no! We come to America and leave everything, the family, our home, jobs, lives, so you can have a better one, an education, go to college, marry a nice Greek girl and start a family. Anatole, say something, talk sense into your son,” Alcina begged.

     “Well,” Anatole began, measuring his words.” If he is in love with the American girl, it is his life, and we brought him here to this foreign country…”

     “Arrgh, stop this foolishness. What does he know about love? He will love Syna when he meets her, marries her, the babies come, then the love will come also. Here, everything is backwards. Vasili, think about your future, and your poor parents. We gave you everything we had.”

     “Mama, I am twenty-five years old, I did not come to ask for permission. I came to tell you and Papa that the wedding is in three months. Please, be happy for me.”

     Alcina called her son every night and begged him to listen to her and forget about the American girl. Every morning she went to mass and prayed to the saints, asking them to stop her son from making a mistake. She reminded him that he had always listened to his mama until he went off to college, but Vasilios stood his ground.

     A week before the wedding Alcina took a taxi to her son’s apartment. In her purse was a check, the full amount of her and her husband’s retirement savings, paid out and transferred over from Greece. With a smug expression on her face, Alcina rang the doorbell.

     “Mama, what a surprise, come in. I just came back from the realtor with Amy. We found a house; it’s very close to you and Papa. You won’t give me any grief before Saturday, will you?” Vasilios jokingly nudged her with his elbow and followed her into his living room. His mother straightened a pillow on the couch before she sat in a chair with her purse on her knees.

     “Vasilios, darling, you remember when you were a young boy, what was it you wanted most, hm? Do you remember?” Alcina asked with a smile.

     “Oh, you mean the car? That was a crazy wish, Mama, a Cadillac for a poor Greek boy. It was only a dream.”

     “Candy apple red, I know, like the one our neighbor had when we just arrived in America. You wanted it more than anything else in the world. What do you say,” she smiled and reached into her purse, “if you and I go to the car place in the city and pick one out for you?”

     Vasilios blanched when he saw the check and sank back into his chair. “Mama, where does the money come from?”

     “Don’t you worry, my boy. Secret savings, eh. But you know what it means, right? No wedding with the foreign girl. Be a good son and think of your poor mother’s heart…”

     Vasilios was a good son. He traded the love of his young life for a candy apple red Cadillac, just like his neighbor had, and he also was a good son and married Syna, the perfect girl that his mama had chosen for him.

     But when Syna was pregnant she became very homesick and longed so much for her family in Greece that Vasilios had no choice but to sell the car of his dreams so he could ship their belongings and move back home with her.

     And their two sons grew up to be happy and beautiful boys who knew their grandparents in America only through pictures because they lived in a place full of hope and dreams, but far, far away.

The Christmas Letters

The Christmas Letters

     Dear family and friends:

     Another year has snuck up on us. It feels as if I just mailed out last year’s cards a month ago… I’m sure you feel the same way.

     Well, where to begin? We are all healthy, for which we are grateful, and I hope the same for you.

     Lizzy started sixth grade, easily transitioning from elementary to middle school. At first she was a little nervous, but with her amazing social skills and outgoing spirit she made so many friends already that she doesn’t even know what to do with them. Lizzie has progressed to the third highest level in Irish Dancing after only five years and she is taking three classes a week, which takes us all over New Jersey. We just picked out a new solo dress for competition. The price for these custom-made, hand-sewn dresses from Ireland has reached phenomenal heights, and therefore we decided to buy the new bedroom set next year. But if you want your kids to be successful, you have to pay the price, am I right? In Girl Scouts she has completed the Bronze Award and has nearly filled her vest to capacity with all the badges she earned. Of course she has made the Honor Roll again in almost every quarter and I think I will soon have the bitter-sweet pleasure of going bra shopping with my baby. Imagine!

     Brian and Marcus are in their junior year of high school and next year at this time we’ll be deciding on colleges. The two have a pretty good idea where they want to go and what they want to do, but things are still open to change. I mean, I’m not even sure what I want to do yet, haha. Life is full of surprises.

     Brian has been accepted to the National Honor Society of Art and wants to study something in that field, but we’re hoping to persuade him into going for a more traditional career. I think he would make a good dentist, with his fine hands, but we shall see. He has started a club at his school, teaching art to students one afternoon a week. He is quite the leader. His grades are off the chart and there is no telling how far he will go. In the fall and spring he is involved in drama club and will be starring as an angel in the upcoming musical, ‘Rent’.

     Marcus of course is still swimming and it is his second year as a team captain. He’s in incredible shape! He almost made the Honor Roll and is going to build a house with Habitat for Humanity during Spring Break. In addition, both boys are working on their Eagle Scout rank.

As you can see, we are very busy and Peter and I are reduced to little more than taxi drivers and human ATM machines. Just kidding. We enjoy watching the kids succeed and couldn’t be more proud.

We hope that all is well with you and your loved ones.

To a successful Holiday Season,

Love, the Hamiltons

     Two months later, on opening night for the rock opera ‘Rent’, Brian applied his own make-up and taped the microphone around his head.  He peeked out into the audience and saw his parents, Lizzy, and Marcus with his girl friend sitting in the front row. The curtain rose. Brian played the part of the flamboyant homosexual Angel Dumott Schunard surprisingly well.

When he came home that night, still glowing with the high after a great performance, his parents were waiting up for him in the parlor. The fireplace was cold but the floor lamp gave off a dim light in the darkness that engulfed the rest of the house.

     “Hey Brian, why don’t you sit down,” his father said and pointed to a chair. “We want to ask you something.”

     Brian knew what was coming. He sat down and looked his mother square in the face. The seconds in the grandfather clock ticked by noisily.

     “Brian,” his no-nonsense father said, clearing his throat, “your mother and I were wondering…are you…gay?”

     Tears shot into Brian’s eyes as he leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the chair’s upholstered armrest. “Yes,” he nodded finally, “I am.”

     His mother pressed her hands to her mouth and stifled a sob, then pulled her legs up and lay on the couch. She buried her face in a pillow and covered her ears, trying to grapple with the truth that just entered their perfect world. His dad leaned against the mantle of the fireplace and stared out into the moonless night. Only the ticking of the clock metronomed the silence.

     Brian looked at his parents and said: “Now I want to ask you something. Do you still love me?”

     He went upstairs to wash his face. The streaked mask of a crying clown stared back at him from the mirror. Brian splashed hot water onto it, lathered it with soap, and rinsed for two minutes. When he looked at his face again it was scrubbed clean and pink and shiny. Before Brian retired to his room he heard his brother’s Mustang roar up the driveway.

     Marcus turned on the hallway light and dropped the keys onto the foyer table. His parents were still up, sitting in the dark.

     “Hey, what’s up?” Marcus asked when he walked in. He turned on the light in the parlor. “Where’s Brian?”

     His mother seemed upset but tried to smile and patted the seat next to her. “Sit down.” She brushed over his hair. “Did he ever tell you that he is gay?”

     Marcus took a deep breath, stretched out his legs, and folded his hands behind his head. “I watched it unfold. He had two girlfriends in middle school, which didn’t last long, of course. He went out with Brianna in junior high until she dumped him for a …you know…lesbian. Then he hung out with a guy who bragged about being bi. But no, he never told me. Is he upstairs?”

     Marcus knocked on Brian’s door and waited patiently until he answered. Brian had his back turned to him and stared at the wall. Marcus put his hand on his twin brother’s shoulder and said:        

     “Of course they still love you. They’re just worried, with AIDS and all.”

     “And what others will think.”

     “Well yeah, that too. They’ll get over it. They just had no idea, it takes time,” Marcus said.

     “And you?”

     “What about me?”

     “Did you know? Are you ashamed of me?” Brian asked.

     “I’m not ashamed of you, Bri. Hell, seems like everyone is coming out these days. Just be careful, okay. Aren’t you glad it’s out, though?”

     “No. I wanted to wait until college. It’ll be so weird around here.”

     Brian told Lizzy privately the next day and she gave her brother a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist. He bent down and kissed her on the head.

     “Time for your dancing, isn’t it, princess?”

     A shadow crossed Lizzy’s face. “I don’t feel good. I don’t want to go today,” she said.

     “It’s not up for discussion, you already missed last week, I’m not paying for not going,” Mom said and dragged Lizzy out of the kitchen.

     A few weeks later, Lizzy struggled through her dinner.

     “What’s the matter, pumpkin? Hurry up, you have to get ready for your Irish dance class,” Dad said.

     Lizzy hung her head and put her fork down. “Mom, I want to tell you something. I…I don’t want to dance anymore. I want to play basketball like Hailey.”

     Mom turned pale and clenched her fists. She threw the napkin down and left the table.

     Dad found Mom on the bed, crying, and sat next to her. He rubbed her back until she calmed down.

     “Why are our children so stubborn,” she asked. “We offer them the best choices in life and they’re throwing them away.”

     “No, Leah, they’re not throwing them away, they’re trying to make their own. We have to back off and not live our lives through them. She doesn’t want to dance anymore, she said she only does it for you. If you like it so much, why don’t you take classes?”

     “With my two left feet? I can’t dance to save my life, you know that. I only like… oh, I don’t even know. I’m forty years old and still don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

     “Why don’t you think about it and figure it out?”Dad said.

     When the kids came home from school the next day, the dining room table was covered with fabrics and thread spools and needles and books full of quilting patterns. Mom sat on the floor, happily cutting fabric into strips.

      “What are you making, Mommy?” Lizzy asked and reverently touched the smooth, colorful fabric.

      “Well, when I was a little girl, I just loved to knit and sew. When my mother took me to the craft store I could have spent hours looking at all the beautiful yarns and fabrics. She always let me pick out a new ball of yarn. I would go home and knit little sweaters and blankets for my dolls, just the way my grandma taught me,” Mom explained while cutting. “One day I made a whole bunch of squares in all different colors and sewed them together into a quilt. It was too big for my doll and too small for me so I just had it lying around in my room. But I remember how happy I was working on it and I always wanted to learn how to make a real quilt for myself. I just never got around to it. So now I decided to learn and make many beautiful quilts in all kinds of patterns.”

      “Ooh, I want to make one, too!” Lizzie said with shiny eyes.

     Dear family and friends:

     Once again, another wonderful year is coming to an end. We are all doing fine. The twins have been accepted to their colleges of choice and are very excited. Marcus’s swim team took 2^nd place in the state and he’s leaving his last season on a positive note. Brian keeps growing so much as an artist and we have decorated the whole house with his amazing paintings. He and his partner are planning an exhibit before going to college and the two are working very hard at organizing the event.

     Lizzy is so happy playing basketball and never misses a practice. She has been working alongside me on quilts for her brothers to take with them to college, made from everyone’s old jeans cut into squares, sewn together, and backed with fleece (Tie-dyed for Brian, a soaring eagle for Marcus). This way they will always have a memory of home.

     And this leads us to what I have been up to during the past year: I’ve started taking classes on learning how to quilt and it has given me tremendous joy and pleasure. My new hobby has taken me to the Amish country to learn from the pros and I have created my own pattern, called ‘Mother’s Delight’. I will enter it in the county fair this summer and expect it to win ‘Best of Show’. I am so excited!

     Peter started running earlier this year and has built up to marathon level. As a matter of fact, he already participated in two, one in Pennsylvania and one in New York. His goal is to run a marathon in each one of the fifty states. I will save the t-shirts from the events and sew them into a quilt to hang on the wall in his office. What a great way to see your accomplishments!

     Well, we are happier and healthier than ever and look forward to every new day. I wish for each of you to find your groove in the coming year. It’s not too late to add to your New Year’s list of resolutions.

Happy Holidays, love and peace,

The Hamiltons