Advice

Tonight at the dinner table Dave, without warning, asked me to give my daughter advice.  He didn't specify what kind of advice.  He just very suddenly, between bites of parmesan chicken, salad and biscuits, blurted "Advice from a mother to a daughter--GO!"

I had no idea this was coming, so I was not ready with life-changing words of wisdom for Olivia.  I racked my brain for half a minute (the pressure was on, as there were three people staring at me, awaiting my potentially life-altering utterance).  I came up with advice my great aunt Adah once gave to me in a letter before I left for college: "Don't feel the need to be friends with everyone."

Well, that's not exactly what she said.  She actually wrote, "Don't make friends too quickly."  But again, I was under pressure and unprepared, so I got it kinda right.  And it has stuck with me all this time, so it seems like it must have been good advice.

Olivia just smiled and nodded.  She didn't quite know what was going on and why she had been singled out to receive advice.  Turns out, she hadn't been singled out at all, because just then....

Dave looked at Olivia and commanded "Advice from a sister to a brother--GO!"

And it went on like this for the next about ten minutes or so.  Advice from a brother to a sister.  Advice from a father to a son.  Advice from a son to a father.  Advice from a daughter to a mother.  Advice from daughter to her father.  You get the idea.  We covered every permutation at rapid-fire speed.

It was a fun activity, and revealed a bit about each of us--both as the givers and the receivers of the advice.

For example, Olivia's advice to me, in a nutshell, was to be a good listener to people telling stories and not pipe in with the ending before they are done.  It's wasn't exactly typical, sweeping advice that will improve the overall scope of my life, but it was her very personal advice to me.  I drive her crazy when I don't wait for her to finish a story and I interrupt and blurt how it ends.  So while it was not the kind of advice I expected her to give to me, it's definitely useful.  Intent noted.  I will try, Olivia.  I will try.

Steven's advice to me took me off-guard for a few moments.  It took him over a minute to come up with, in his words, "the right way to say this".  That had me a little worried.  It appeared as though he wanted to tell me something that would hurt my feelings, so he was trying to find a way to soften the blow.  I smiled and patiently waited.  When it finally came out, it was something along the lines of "a valid opinion recognizes all sides of an issue."  He emphasized the word valid.

I did not know what to make of that one.  My first reaction was to just keep smiling.  'Cause I kinda wanted to cry.  And that would have ruined the game, which really was great fun.

So I racked my brain, and I mean I REALLY racked my brain (all the while still smiling), and I couldn't come up with what he could have been talking about.  Steven and I have great discussions on everything from the Israeli/Palestinian conflict to what kind of tux he should get for the Junior Prom.  And I mean these are GOOD discussions.  We acknowledge differing opinions, we look up facts, we play devil's advocate.  So truly, I was stumped as to why he would think that I don't recognize opposing sides to issues.  Or why my opinions weren't valid.

But I said nothing.  I just smiled and nodded.

Dave stepped in to disagree with Steven's advice.  He stated that the whole point of opinions is that in fact they do NOT have to recognize the other side, thus the expression 'Opinions are like assholes--everybody has one'.  He really said that.  At the dinner table.  We're classy like that.

And this statement degenerated, just for a brief moment, into uncontrollable laughter and some anatomical talk involving, shall we say, sizes of opinions.  Again, I cannot emphasize enough how classy and appropriate our conversation can be.

This not only made me smile (a real smile this time), but it made Olivia come close to spitting out her milk (this is not an unusual occurrence for Olivia; she's pretty easy to crack up at the dinner table, and it's kind of becoming a bit of a sport to time things so that she's got a mouthful of milk at just the right moment).

Steven chimed in at this point to say that his advice was more in reference to politics in nature, not advice aimed at me.  Whew!

The advice kept coming at lightening speed for a few more minutes.  Some was sarcastic.  Some was funny.  Some was sincere, as was Dave's advice to me (the mom reluctantly approaching an empty nest): "Enjoy each phase of your life."

I knew exactly what he was trying to tell me.  No one knows me better than he does.  It was very thoughtful advice that I will keep close to my heart as life begins changing at a more rapid pace.

And as happens in our household, the seriousness can only last so long.  We are a family prone to sarcasm and humor.

So then it got just plain silly (Steven to Olivia: be ready on time in the morning; Olivia to Steven: don't rush people; Steven to Olivia: ask nicely when you want something; Olivia to Steven: don't offer something if you're not going to give it).  You get the idea.  All this was going on amidst lots of very loud laughter from all parties involved.

Finally, I thought of a piece of advice that I really wanted to give.  It was serious advice.  It was good advice.  From experience.  From the heart.

Advice from a Mom to her kids: "It's never too late to say you're sorry."

Mind you, at this point, my kids don't actually have anything to say they are sorry for (that they know of...).

What was really going through my mind was the dozens of times in the last sixteen years (which, coincidentally, is the exact amount of time I have had children) I have called my parents to apologize for the many, many, many things I did in my (relative) youth that I now can see must have driven them beyond crazy.  Mostly little things, a couple of doozies thrown in here and there (again, Mom and Dad, if I had that whole Hawaii thing to do over...).  My parents aren't holding any grudges, and most of the things I call to apologize for they say that they don't really remember : )  But it's always a fun conversation, and I sometimes am sure that if karma (or justice) had a sound it would be the sound of my parents' laughter as they listen to me tell them how sorry I am for having driven them crazy doing the things that my kids now do that drive me crazy.

If we play the advice game again, as I'm sure we will, I have already thought of one more piece of what I think is wise counsel.   "After you leave home, call your parents!"

I'm talking to you, Steven and Olivia!

I will be enjoying this phase of my life when you aren't home, of course, per your dad's advice, but still, call us!

Not to say you're sorry for anything (that's more gonna come after you've got kids of your own).   Call to tell us a story (I will not interrupt and ruin the ending, Olivia).  Call to talk politics.

Or call to ask for some advice.