by Marshall Parks

Created on: February 01, 2010   Last Updated: February 02, 2010

“Out of the mouths of babes”. We’ve all heard this before and we all know what it means. This became all too evident for me when my little daughter nestled in her grandmother’s (my mother-in-law) lap and grabbed her chin, turning her grandmother’s head from side to side.

“What are you doing, kiddo?” Grandmother asked her.

“I’m looking for your other face, Grandma. Daddy said you had two.” Meanwhile I had found something on the floor that interested me intently. The lesson was learned. Children are wonderful in their innocence, and brutally truthful at times.

My own mother and I had a tumultuous relationship. As an adolescent, I would truly think I hated her, and that she hated me. When Mother took ill, I was devastated. My best efforts at making amends for all the heartbreak I caused her, fell way short, in my mind. There was a time I can recall, when she was very ill, that she began crying. I tried to comfort her, but she pushed away my arms. This was one of the last times I saw her. Mother’s final months were spent in the hospital. If I were an actor, I would use this scene in my life to call up the tears. It shattered my heart. She would talk to us all on the telephone, but refuse to let any of her children visit her. Even to her end, she died protecting us from that ugly side of life. My mother was 44 years old when she died. I was 23 with a toddler, who couldn’t understand where her “Nana” went.

I was determined to not let my mother’s death be for nothing. I vowed never to hurt another loved one, if it was in my power. You can always be forgiven, but you can’t do a thing about the scar. It has taken me years of practice and years of some very tough failures, but I still try.

Twenty years down the line, which passed in a mere finger-snap, and I found myself once again in a new relationship with a much younger woman. We didn’t really mesh, especially on a cerebral level, but I naively thought that this was my one shot at redemption. When she became pregnant, I suggested we name the baby in honor of my mother, Janet. My oldest was already on her own by this time.

My ex-wife was pregnant when she left me. She was determined that this child would never know me as her father. A pretty challenging task since my name was on the birth certificate. I did finally meet her and get to know her. She had a wonderful spirit and loved to write stories. I could see myself

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