Then Again - Diane Keaton [79]
Love you,
Mom
Almost Five
In the whirl of life you became three then four and almost five. All my observations remained the same but you became more and more your own person. Not my projection of who I wanted you to be, or what I thought was cute, or annoying. You’ve told me how much better life will be when you’re five. When you’re five you’ll be able to ride on the roller coaster; when you’re five you’ll be tall enough to touch the ceiling; when you’re five you’ll outgrow your bed; that way you can sleep with me every night.
Meanwhile Mom is putting popcorn in the microwave for 35 minutes. Today she entered the living room with a grapefruit, asking where the kitchen is. Yesterday she had her underwear on the outside of her pants. She’s long since stopped making her famous tuna casseroles. But she’s fine, she says, as she wanders around the house. And for the most part she’s still hanging in with a modicum of independence. The same independence you’re fighting for as you approach age five. It’s a backwards game when you get old, Dexter, especially for people like your grandmother, victims of an illness that reverses the order of life. As your uncle Randy says, “Her memory is walking out the back door.” Anyway, hello to five, Dexter.
Dear Dexter, 2000
Along with the new millennium, there’s an important subject I want to bring up. Occasionally we’ve talked about the addition of a brother or sister. You’ve expressed a modest interest in a baby sister—congratulations —but not a boy. I was two when Randy came along. He was a breeze. Then Robin came. I couldn’t stand her. Of course that changed with time, and now I love her dearly. And Dorrie is still my adorable baby sister. Dexter, I don’t know what life would be without them. Now that I’ve lost my father, they’re even more invaluable; a word for you to remember. By invaluable I mean essential, or, if not essential, then part of a quality of life that can’t be replaced.
Hear me out on this; one of the big benefits of having siblings is a shared history. You will come to appreciate his or her different point of view. For example, take the complaints you already have about me, your tiresome mother. A sibling will help you deal with the ups and downs of my deliberately oppressive parenting. You will have a sounding board. He or she will help you learn how to handle all the miscalculations and injustices I will throw your way. Right? Right! Honestly, Dex, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be an only child. I acknowledge it’s absurd for me to take on an infant at age 55; all the bottles and formulas, and diapers, and sleepless nights. But, no matter how uncomfortable and frustrating, or how overloaded our already highly active lives would be, I’m thinking of making an executive decision. Imagining you at 30 and me at 80, you know what I see? I see you won’t want to be alone. You’ll wish you had a sister or brother. There’s no getting around it. I think this is the right time to say hello to one more life. One more, Dex; one more.
13
THE GRAY ZONE
January 1, 2001
I was knocking on the gray door of Mom’s freshly painted gray house with the gray trim and the gray gate blocking the ocean view when