Sunny Side Up Sept. 13, 2006 �2006, Kathleen Gibson Remember your roots My lovely, widowed friend lives alone. She has many friends and two grown children. Her daughter visits, but I've never met her son. His relationship with his mother is rather, "Don't call me, I'll call you-"ish. He seldom calls. He lives somewhere hot, fast and big; hasn't been home for decades. After leaving small-town Saskatchewan, the man set out to rise above his rural upbringing, then forget it. He did that. Worked like a fiend, established a business, created a new persona. Changed his nose, his name. Became a very important corporate somebody. Now his clients transport him about in limos and private jets. A while back I dropped something off at his mother's house. She said, as I prepared to leave, "It's Ivan's (not his actual-nor assumed-name) birthday today. Could you email him a greeting for me?" She dictated a short message. I forget its precise wording, but it included, "I love you," and "I'm praying for you." I researched Important Ivan on the internet. Found his business website easily and sent off his mother's simple greeting. I also included a few photos I'd taken of her and her uniquely beautiful artwork. Told him how well loved she is, how her life has impacted mine. His return email was short; without even as much as a "tell Mom thanks for the greetings." He did comment, "She's quite a lady," but then launched into his own accomplishments. His note included a distinct air of scorn for the people and place he'd left behind, those very things that instilled in him the drive to become the undeniable success he is today. He never acknowledged the pictures, but sent back a few photos of his own. His important self in his prestigious office. His executive self in an executive jet. His final words? "Look at me now!" I have this view: We can't change our upbringing. Like it or not, it's the launch pad God chose for us. But he gives us the choice to allow him to use it, good or bad, high or low, to propel us forward in life. For that reason, we'd best not forget it - or the people and places it included. I wrote that important man back. Reminded him that this old prairie wasn't such a bad place to grow up. It's our roots that give us our wings, I said. And it matters little how high we fly in life - it's where we land that's important. He never responded. His mother gave me his home number recently. She can't talk well and doesn't think he'd recognize her voice, but how she'd love to hear his. I called him. He promised to contact her - sometime after his pedicure and manicure. Months later, she's still waiting. Lord, never allow us to fly so high that we lose sight of our roots. And help us to look less to the height of our flight than the destination of our final landing. Amen. Respond Home |
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