Published June 23, 2005

Our nation’s bicentennial in 1976 was a memorable day. As a newly single mom, I had so wanted to take my few sons still living at home to the big festival, but demanded they help get the house in order first. By the time they dredged up bits of cooperation, we had pretty much missed the entire celebration.

Next day I sat at my ancient manual typewriter and wrote:"Family.What does the word mean to you? To me FAMILY means a bunch of people who care. Who feel bad when you feel bad.Who will be as excited as you are when something great happens to you. People you want to share with–to share the stories of what happened today,to share your feelings, your possessions. People who have seen you at your worst and still care about you. People you could tell your dark inner secrets to and know they would still love you. People who will be your friends forever and ever — even though fortunes of the world have separated you by many miles or many years. People who will defend you if someone — anyone — should try to defame you, to sell you short. That’s what family means to me — People who love you just because you are, and just because you are part of the family."

There it was;my heart and soul poured out on paper.Would they react? Would they even read it? Would they believe it?

I understood their trauma. It’s never easy for the kids when parents split up. And they were all in the troublesome teen years when even children from ordered households struggle to find their way.With school, jobs and social activities diverting all of us, we were disconnected, merely coexisting in the same house.

Staring at the paper, a notion entered my brain. Little did I guess that whimsical fate was waiting to lend me a hand.

I kept typing. "Let it be known to all persons hereabouts that I am prepared and well disposed to engage in a systematic withdrawal of my contributions to this family unless there is an immediate, ongoing, and concerted effort by the other members to provide matching contributions."

I listed my own contributions, including provision of a comfortable home with indoor plumbing, warmth in the wintertime, hot and cold running water; my availability for back rubs and back scratching,for consultation,for just talking.

I mentioned keeping pantry, refrigerators and freezers stocked and preparing delicious dishes when I thought there was a chance some of the kids might be around for dinner.

Of course, I told them of praying for them daily, taking them occasionally to interesting places and trying to ward off the residency of ants, rats, roaches, and sundry crawling and flying creatures in our household.

I delineated beds,sheets, pillows, blankets, laundry equipment and soaps; medical, dental, optical, and psychological coverage; television sets and cable. The lengthy list included my appreciation of their many talents, and my efforts to understand their struggles toward maturity, their desires for freedom and independence, their confusions, frustrations, victories, needs and strengths.

I added my willingness to clean up my own messes, do my fair share of the housework,give free haircuts,occasionally let them drive my car,as well as study and practice continuously in an effort to provide the kind of guidance, leadership, and instruction that would help them develop into successful,contributing, respected and happy citizens of God’s wonderful planet earth.

I finished with: "I am available in a crisis — to provide emergency transportation, to keep a cool head, to help mend a broken heart" and "I will always love you."

Arriving home, each lad gravitated to my statements posted on the refrigerator door. I challenged myself to verbalize nothing that was spelled out on my documents.

Providing cable television strained my tight budget and I was appalled by some of the programming cable made available to young viewers. So I had the cable disconnected.

When the boys squawked,I said nothing; my silent statements were still on display. The pantry supply dwindled, laundry soaps disappeared.It felt weird to sneak around doing my own laundry in the dead of night lest they discover my hiding places. As the days passed in heavy silence, I was more than a little discouraged.I had to push myself to continue this campaign.

Then one day I hid their pillows in the trunk of my car and made arrangements to store mattresses in a friend’s garage if I still got no response. But it never came to that. Instead, one of those ordinary happenstances that occur in every household saved the day.

I came home from work to a kitchen alive with wrath.The faces were pained, the outcries irreverent, the sensibilities obviously outraged.

"You’ve gone too far this time, Mom," spat Charlie, furiously stomping out his cigarette."Yeah,Mom.It’s not fair!" Andy grumbled. Frank just glared. It seems that,quite by accident,we had run out of toilet paper!

My youngsters did not instantly convert to responsible home-dwellers, but there was some change.They knew, after all, their mother was a madwoman who would stoop to incredible lows to gain cooperation.

-Comments or challenges are always welcome at news@sonomasun.com.(Put just joan in the subject line.)