A Reason to Believe_ Lessons From an Improbable Life - Deval Patrick [39]
Doug had plenty to learn. Diane once heard him berating a girlfriend during an argument on the phone at our house. This was especially troubling because Doug had told us about his father’s abusive behavior toward Doug’s mother. He had no idea, of course, of Diane’s own history. She went over to Doug in the middle of the call, hung up the phone in midsentence, and told him that that kind of language and treatment toward anyone, especially a woman, was unacceptable. He listened, and she made him a better man. Doug went on to graduate from the University of Pennsylvania and worked in marketing in New York. When I started my first campaign for governor, he left his job and moved back in with us for nearly two years to work on the campaign. Of course he remains in our lives today.
Though Diane and I loved having a full house, it sometimes took a toll. Shortly after Sarah was born, both my mother and father were living with us in Brooklyn for a time. (For various reasons, they both needed a place to stay.) We already had Alex with us. A colleague from work was going through a nasty divorce and was living with us, too, and his girlfriend visited for a time as well. Then our two golden retrievers had nine puppies the week before Sarah was born.
For some strange reason, everyone seemed to wait for Diane and me to get home from a full day’s work to arrange meals and serve them. The dogs as well. This got old, especially for Diane. We lived in a wonderful, old, four-story row house, with the kitchen and dining room on the ground floor and Sarah in a bassinet in our bedroom on the third, and we managed this arrangement with a baby monitor we kept in the kitchen and regular trips upstairs. Sarah was colicky, so we were in the midst of that classic new parents’ debate about how long to let her cry at night before going to her. We were exhausted, and one evening it all bubbled over when we came in from work to find everyone, once again, waiting for us to organize dinner. When we heard the baby start to cry on the monitor, I could see the tension rise in Diane’s shoulders. We waited to see whether the let-her-cry school of thought (mine) or the rush-to-her-side view (hers) would prevail. Diane threw down her spoon and mixing bowl after a few minutes and rushed up the stairs. I thought it best to follow her.
When I reached our room on the third floor, I found the bassinet empty and Diane sprawled out on the bed, exasperated. Sarah was gone. My mother had come down from her room on the fourth floor to get the baby by the time Diane had reached our room, and she had had it.
“I can’t stand having all these people around anymore,” Diane ranted. “No one lifts a finger to help. We work all day and come home to them just sitting around and waiting for us to serve them, and I can’t even comfort my own daughter without your mother intervening!”
She went on for a few minutes while I stood there nodding pathetically and feeling responsible. Then I pointed to the baby monitor, which was broadcasting her frustration to the kitchen full of houseguests. Diane’s shocked expression is still one of my funniest memories.
“But we love all these people,” she finally said to the monitor. After a few minutes in which we got our game faces on, we descended again to the kitchen; no one said a word, and everyone pitched in heartily. Most of our houseguests moved on not long thereafter.
Over the years, we’ve opened our doors to these and many other people who were hungry for company, attention, and affection. Growing up, I know that I too longed for these things; to give and to receive. I saw what happened with my own parents. While they were loving in their own way, their inability to express it to Rhonda and me not only withheld something from us but hurt them. Giving love freely is enriching for both the giver