LESSON #8: Being supportive requires interactive participation

The family attends Jason's first professional game.

At 65, my father cannot get enough of talent competitions shows. ‘The Voice’, ‘X-Factor’, ‘Australia’s Got Talent’, ‘American Idol’… name it, and chances are he’s already asked my brother Shawn to season-pass the series for him. On any given night of the week, the hallways of my parents’ home are filled with the desperate sounds of young wanna-be pop stars. As soon as the show starts, my father is immediate transfixed… he enters an unbreakable trance, his eyes lit with wonder. I have no doubt that, if the house erupted in flames, he’d wait until the commercial break to evacuate the building.

It’s impossible to imagine a bigger fan than my father. Where others may laugh along at the appropriate moments, cry on cue after an emotional rendition of ‘My Heart Will go On’, or sit on the edge of their seats during the climatic moments of an elimination… my father will literally give a standing ovation for a well-enthused vocal performance. Right there in the living room.

“Dad… you don’t have to stand and clap. She can’t see you.”

“Nah… nah…” he’d say, batting away the emotions “what she just did… she deserves this. That was amazing.”

“But this isn’t live. It was taped 14 hours ago in LA.” I’d rebut, as I would inevitably stand and clap with him.

You see, for my father, being supportive has always been an interactive exercise.

LESSON #7: Try not to Run and Panic

When I was a kid living in Montreal, what you wore at Halloween was serious business. In fact, just a slight orange or yellow tinge on a single leaf would spark the start of my annual costume obsession. I’d spend weeks imagining my perfect get-up, days talking about it at school, and hours trying to talk my parents into buying exactly what I wanted. 

The Scream Mask Shawn bought in the 90's

My mother often opted to hand-sew our outfits, which I hated. All I wanted was the same store-bought ensembles my friends had, but in my mother’s eyes, mass production just wasn’t good enough for her children. She also had the same opinion when it came to candy – look! Home-made peanut butter cups! Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies! – which is where we drew a firm line. Our friends deserved real candy… the store bought kind made with 4 different types of sucrose and 6 different kinds of additives.

The only hand made item I proudly endorsed was my trick-or-treat bag. Unlike other kids, I learned very early on that a novelty pumpkin basket or plastic Halloween bag wasn’t going to suffice. If I had any hope in taking this trick-or-treat business seriously, I would need a double-woven cloth bag. Like a pillowcase. 

“Don’t! What are you doing? Lift, Tara, lift!” my dad would scream, as I’d drag my candy-laden pillowcase along the sidewalk. 

LESSON #3: Crying is Sometimes the Preferred Alternative

L-R: Shawn, Minnie Mouse, Tara & Jason at Disney World

As adults, most of us have become experts in taking life’s small, unexpected turns in stride.Very few daily instances inspire a reaction bigger than a smile, a slight raise of an eyebrow or a small nod of the head. Not too happy and not overly sully… that’s the key. Being a responsible member of society demands that we be temperamentally just right for the Goldilocks around us.   

Children, on the other hand, aren’t expected to filter their emotions in the same way. This lack of adult mediocrity seems to give them carte blanche to unabashedly wear their emotions… not just on their sleeve, but on their entire body. When a 4 year old is happy, it envelops them. When they’re upset, you don’t have to coax it out of them. And when a child is either extraordinarily sad or extremely happy, it often creates a very physical reaction... emotions spilling out of their tiny bodies without warning, flooding their beings one feeling at a time.

As a child, I suffered from excitement-induced sore legs, which is not nearly as endearing as it sounds. The only remedy for my excruciating pain was to have my legs rubbed, sometimes for hours, until the pain (and tears) subsided. Unfortunately for my parents, I found nearly everything exciting – a change of seasons, first day of school, birthdays, Halloween, Easter. But nothing was as exciting as Christmas. If it were the New Millennium, I’m sure my parents would have simply given me a Valium in those weeks leading to Christmas morning. But it was the 80’s, decades before medicating children with drugs became the norm… so I wasn’t even given a Panadol. Instead, they’d lovingly spend hours each night taking turns rubbing my legs, hoping I’d somehow forget Christmas was around the corner.
 

Out of five children, I was the only one who suffered with excitement-induced sore legs.

LESSON #1: Mothers are Miracle Workers

There’s an old Jewish Proverb that perfectly describes my mother: “God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers”.



L-R: Ryan, Bartholomew, Shawn, Tara, and Jason

My mother was not only the deity we revered, but also the one we’d pray to for miracles. Her days were filled with prayers like ‘not having to eat all the peas on our plate’, ‘getting an extra-big scoop of ice cream for dessert’ and ‘being aloud to stay up late to watch TV’. Though she wasn’t able to answer all of our prayers, my mother had a knack for knowing which ones were the most important.

As children, when we weren’t asking mum for miracles, we were usually found playing with our favorite stuffed toy Bartholomew – the biggest teddy bear any of us had ever seen.

We all loved him – all 5 of us kids – like he was one of the family. We sat with him while watching TV, taking turns sitting in the delicious spot snuggled in between his massive fuzzy legs, letting his gigantic arms envelope our tiny bodies. We napped using his paws as pillows – a kid each side. We dressed him up in costumes, and cast him in our plays. We even sat with him at dinner.