Oregon Humanities

Taking a Break

Melissa Madenski, Portland

I grew up in a home where no one fought—ever. This didn’t mean you got along, but that’s another story. My grandparents emigrated from Norway and taught their sons and daughters a reserve that, for lack of a better stereotype, was brutally Scandinavian. My late husband was descended from Poles and Italians. He believed that responses to a challenging, complex life included a range of intense emotions. He had an ability to move on, not hold grudges or become defensive.

So for the first decade of their lives as siblings, when my son and daughter seemed to be mired in one constant fight, I would think of these two styles and figured that, so long as there were no physical blows, arguing might be a way to avoid some of the issues that make up the “other stories” told from that place of extreme reserve. What did my children argue about? I can’t remember and neither do they.

I do remember one time on a stormy coastal road, crossing over one of the Pacific headlands. The argument in the back seat rose with the elevation. I pulled over off the highway. It was pouring rain, so I grabbed an umbrella and my book. I said, “Knock on the window when you’re done.” I took the small flashlight from the glove box. I stood outside the driver’s window, popped open the umbrella, and read. About three quarters of the way down the page, I heard a rapping. I looked through the window. “We’re done,” mouthed my daughter through the glass.

I used to think parenting would be easier than it was, that I would make fewer mistakes than I did. All of that thinking occurred before I held the actual children in my arms. But this was one moment in which, by accident, I stumbled upon something that worked. When I wasn’t listening to them, my children lost their best audience. Sometimes solutions come, not from planning, but because you just want a break, and take it.