Before the idea of sex captured you, what did you wait for? It was the stuff of children, you included, crossing out the calendar’s Sundays and Mondays leading to birthdays, holidays, and visits to the amusement park.
The anticipation of gifts filled the time, coupled with the unimaginable prospect of 365 more days until the celebration came back for an encore performance.
Expectations made one irritable, restless, and eager, like a race runner on the starting blocks and ready to go.
Despite awareness of the long delay, the concrete, oversized bricks of time stuck to their slow slog toward whatever fulfillment lay ahead.
As I grew up, other matters became worth knowing, meaningful and necessary in a very different way.
The knowledge of how I arrived in this world was among them.
I asked my dad; of course.
Yes, the sex question.
He responded:
I planted the seed.
That’s a quote, by the way. Four words. Fake news of a sort carrying an indecipherable truth.
Thrown by the answer, I pictured corn and beans and all sorts of vegetables grown by farmers. Did a family farmer produce me too? I thought my dad worked at the Post Office!
Did his children arrive in the mail, sent with a spear of asparagus?
It took me a while to recover from this confusion, delaying my sexual development by a decade.
Love came, but I also learned about how it can disappear.
Affairs of the heart sometimes grow stale with routine. Just as the psychologist tries to make each session new, the passion of the early days of romance demands renewal. It is best sustained when the couple works to keep the enchantment fresh, a bliss that makes us smile.
My folks didn’t have that problem. They knew what it meant to be separated.
They experienced an interrupted honeymoon phase of their relationship when my father was drafted into the army after less than three years of marriage. Two and a half years passed before his return from the war in Europe.
Dad made a recording for my mother while away, and his recorded voice aches with tenderness and desire. His letters, too, carried those emotions.
He rushed from the dock when he returned with a boatload of troops from France to New York City. His first call was to her, the one.
Such stories of war, waiting, and reunion repeat the tale of Odysseus, the inventor of the Trojan Horse. After ten years of fighting to breach the walls of Troy, it took him another ten to reach his kingdom of Ithica and his wife, Penelope.
She remained faithful, putting off the pursuit of many suitors for her affection and riches.
Milton Stein told me about his own Odyssey in 1986, 40 years after he heard Jeanette Stein’s telephonic voice, his speech breaking with a wave of feeling as overwhelming and alive as it had been on March 6, 1946 — as alive as they prayed he would be.
He had waited for her in every sense, every part of him, as did she wait for him.
Most of us have homecomings of one fashion or another, seeing again those friends or relatives we missed. Sometimes it is our hometown or country itself we have longed for.
Do we know how much we miss anything — until we miss it; how much we love anyone until we are separated and in doubt?
The time we hold our breath has its way with us unless we transform it and squeeze tight the foreshadowed vision that makes us wait. Whether for Christmas, the amusement park, our family of origin, or an endlessly delayed reunion with the love of our life, we hope for this, we live for this: the never-guaranteed next time.
Just as a gifted therapist works to defeat the routine to which weekly meetings are susceptible, we all have the opportunity to make life’s fleeting moments special.
Learn patience, and bridge the terrible time and distance while dreaming of the gifts those efforts reward. They will fuel your ardency and gratitude.
My dad never gave me a clear answer to my childhood question of how I came to be.
I didn’t realize he would do better much later.
The tears in his eyes in 1986 told me all there is to know about love.
Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your parents’ love story. I think this is one of my favorite posts of yours. Like the song,too.
Thank you, Evelyn. I am delighted to read your enthusiastic response to the tale. As you can imagine, my father’s tears brought my own.
I love reading this story to accompany the oral version I was just listening to as I edited our podcast. So powerful both ways!
What a wonderful directive, “Learn patience, and bridge the terrible time and distance while dreaming of the gifts those efforts reward. They will fuel your ardency and gratitude.”
Beautiful post, Dr. Stein that makes me smile!
Thank you, Wynne. Keep smiling! I’m looking forward to the podcast myself!
I love learning about your parents, Milton and Jeanette, Dr. Stein. And this? “The time we hold our breath has its way with us unless we transform it and squeeze tight the foreshadowed vision that makes us wait.” Beautiful, lyrical…the “foreshadowed vision” gives us hope. Thank you so much. 💕
Thank you, Vicki. The whole of them was complex, but the moment I described was the stuff of dreams and movies like “The Best Years of Our Lives,” which portrays something very near what I described, as played by Frederic March and Myrna Loy. If you haven’t seen the film, it is regarded as a masterpiece about three men returning to their home town at the end of WWII. I hope you’ve seen or will see it.
Thank you for the recommendation. It was one of my mother in law’s favorites and I’ve never seen it. She, too, waited at home for her soldier love to return from war. With your nudge, now I know I need to check it out…the hubby will love it, too. 😉
Dr. Stein, your parents’ love story is endearing even in the retelling. Thanks for sharing <3
Thank you, Rosaliene. There are many ways to tell a story, I think. What you put in, what you leave out, the context, new details, etc. We all have a story, how we tell it to ourselves makes a difference.
[…] Dr. Gerald Stein writes about a touching moment between his parents that he also talks about in the podcast that will drop on Friday, June 2nd. Read it before you hear it: Waiting for Your Love’s Return […]
“Just as a gifted therapist works to defeat the routine to which weekly meetings are susceptible, we all have the opportunity to make life’s fleeting moments special.”
I love how you have interwoven your parent’s love story into a life lesson for each of us.
It is those fleeting moments that are so special, and really being in the moment and not in our phones is the first step to making that happen!
Love the post!
Thank you, Tamara. As I’ve mentioned before, if you haven’t seen it, watch “The Best Years of Our lLves.” The movie touches the same chord of reunion.
I’ll have to look for it! Thanks!