Beech Tree News Network

While we were in the Grand Canyon with our daughter, Nikki, and son-in-law, Thomas, they celebrated their fourth anniversary.  We all went out for dinner that night, and while we were waiting for our food, Thomas said to Nikki, “If we ever get divorced, I get your parents.”  We laughed as Nikki shook her head and said “no.”

Garey and I were flattered, of course, but we knew the reason for the statement Thomas made. It had to do with our effort to support our children and their spouses in the decisions they make and the direction they choose to go.  We don’t criticize them or argue with them.  We let them be their own people, and if we’re ever out together, we will eat anywhere they choose and go to any event they want to take us to.  There is a reason Garey and I are like that, and it’s not because we are afraid of rocking the boat.  We are like that because we were both raised by demanding, complaining, never-satisfied people.  We each made a conscious choice to never treat our children or their spouses or our grand-children that way.  We decided to do better. 

 My stepmom grew up with a harsh, demanding father on an unforgiving farm.  She thrived in that environment.  I fell far short of her expectations.  

My dad was a complainer.  He didn’t think anybody could do anything as well as he could, and for years, I thought he was right; but little kids deserve the right to try, and he seemed to overlook that fact.

Garey’s dad was also the “nobody can do things as good as I can” guy, but he took it one step further and added anger and physical abuse.

Garey’s mom, Aggie, has always been this wonderful, kind-hearted, loving, giving person who is never satisfied with anything.  And it isn’t just what others do for her she isn’t satisfied with, she isn’t satisfied with what she does herself, either.  When we go to visit, she says things like, “I cooked the roast too long” or “The cake is dry” or “I didn’t get enough mustard in the deviled eggs,” yadda, yadda, yadda.

She expresses disappointment over the less-than-abundant crop of strawberries for the year or the size of the tomatoes or the height the grass was mowed.  When Garey’s sister, Charlotte, takes her to get her hair cut, Charlotte always says, “Now, Mother, are you sure you’re satisfied with this cut?  She can change it if you aren’t.”  Aggie will assure Charlotte and the stylist that she is happy with the cut then two days later she calls Charlotte and tells her the stylist didn’t cut her hair like she told her to.

Charlotte also takes Aggie to pick out things like washers and dryers, mattresses, stoves and living room furniture.  The stuff is delivered to Aggie’s house the following week, where Aggie complains for weeks, months, and even years, that the thing is not the thing she picked out at the store.  The purchase that has been the ongoing “not the one I paid for” for the past three years is her sofa and love seat.  

“Every time I look at the top of that love seat and how the seam on top isn’t exactly right, and how the stuffing is a little uneven here and there,” I get upset about it,” she says when we visit.  The time before last, I suggested she put a couch throw over it, so she wouldn’t have to look at it.  The last time we were down, I noticed she had done that.  Everything was going well until Charlotte removed the throw to cover her feet.  I saw that look come over Aggie’s face.  When she opened her mouth, I ran for the hills.

Once, Aggie said to me, “I was raised really hard.  I did without, so now I want things the way I want them.”  

Perfect is the way Aggie wants them.  But there is a problem with chasing perfect.  It is a white unicorn.  It doesn’t exist—in this world, anyway.  But it’s not just that it is illusive.  Perfect gets in the way of better.  It makes better feel not quite good enough.  Perfect says, “Why bother.”  Better says, “Let’s give it a go.”  I believe better deserves a chance, so every morning I get up and say to myself and to God, “I’m going to do better today.”