Chapter 2 of “Lotus Love- a Tibetan-American Cross-Cultural Memoir”- Greenwich: Affluence & Opportunity

This post is actually hard for me to share.  There is a discomfort with shining the light on my own life and memories, it’s more raw and exposing.  But it wouldn’t be a cross-cultural memoir unless I share my side of the story, too!  I use a stream of consciousness writing style and when I originally wrote this I distinctly remember a very warm feeling in my heart center while I wrote about memories shared with my mother in nature.  It’s strange looking back on this time in my life, it’s so very different from the life I lead now.  It almost feels like it could be a past-life recollection.  In any case, this chapter serves to show just how juxtaposed Tashi’s upbringing and my own are.

Chapter 2- Greenwich: Affluence and Opportunity

“Jennifer, time to wake up, time to get ready for school!”  her mother called up the stairs to her bedroom where she slumbered comfortably.  She was always so reluctant to get out of bed; she was not an early riser.  Jennifer was the youngest of three sisters, all freckled redheads with stereotypical Irish tempers.  They looked nothing like their mother Maureen who was “dark Irish”- brunette with dark hazel eyes and skin that tanned.  The girls looked like their fair-skinned Irish father. Her older sisters were already up and out of the house; they were old enough to drive themselves to school in their own cars that their father had bought for them with his generous income from his law practice.  Jennifer was the youngest and drove to school with her mom who was a teacher at the private day school she attended.  Her mother struggled to keep Jennifer moving quickly in the morning so as to not make her late to her busy day’s work as an elementary school teacher.  Jennifer’s grandfather often referred to her mother Maureen as “Superwoman” because of her ability to keep a three-child household running while simultaneously working full time as a teacher.  She had no choice– their father left the family and she had to keep it all going on her own.  Maureen was always an active woman.  She excelled at any sport she picked up, a country-club tennis champ, and ran the New York Marathon.

They drove quickly down the winding back country roads of the suburban Connecticut town, her mother quizzing her all the way on the various subjects she would be tested on that day.  Often they would pass by dead animals on the road, victims of the rushing luxury cars that came unannounced around the sharp curves and steep hills of the road.  Her mother always tried her best to distract Jennifer with a challenging question as soon as she spotted road kill but often she was unsuccessful.  Jennifer was too observant and enjoyed looking at the natural wonders of the countryside from the car window.  When she spotted a dead animal such as a deer, squirrel, or raccoon on the bank of the roadside she would burst into tears and sob.  “How could humans be so cruel?  Was their time and destination so important that these innocent animals’ lives were of no significance?” she would ask herself.  Her mother, Maureen, was struck by the innate compassion and love of nature born of her third daughter.

Maureen and Jennifer often took nature walks together in their spare time.  They lived on the edge of an Audubon nature sanctuary which spread across hundreds of acres of wooded countryside, divided by the Byron River that ran directly behind their home.  Just upriver from their house was a dam which created a large waterfall.  There were several fallen pine trees which conveniently crossed over the rushing river and provided an adventurous means to cross to the other side.  Jennifer and her dog Cheerios, a yellow Labrador retriever with an endearing brown nose, would fearlessly cross the timbers, shouting and barking for Maureen to follow.  Her mother was not as daring and would continue along the riverside from the opposite bank, calling across the sound of the rushing waters that divided them.  When they arrived at the waterfall, Cheerios would choose to cross the water break at the top of the dam.  This would always cause Jennifer to fear for the safety of her dog, for if his footing slipped he would tumble down twenty feet onto the large boulders below.  Without fail, he always crossed to the other side effortlessly.  In the height of summer when the river was low and the current slowed to a lazy trickle, Jennifer dared to cross the waterfall herself, being careful not to slip on the mossy rocks underfoot.

In the winter when the water froze, they would walk to the frozen fall with their ice skates hanging over their shoulder by the laces.  Maureen would shovel off the snow and Jennifer would sweep it clean so that she could peer through the deep black ice into the darkness of the river below.  Together they would make figure eights and shoot-the-ducks and breathe in the crisp winter air.  On the walk home Jennifer would often stop in her tracks to take in the beauty of the falling snowflakes and the soft silence of the forest under snow.  She would say to her mom, “Isn’t it beautiful?  Let’s not forget this moment.  Let’s try to remember it forever.”  She would often ask her mother to soak in the beauty of the present moment whenever natural wonders inspired her.  At the crest of Richmond Hill Road where they lived was a beautiful view of the sunset.  In the autumn they would have the most perfect timing to witness the setting sun on their drive back home from school.  Jennifer would challenge herself to be completely present in that moment and to engrave its qualities in her memory forever.

Perhaps her father was also responsible for inspiring her love of the natural world and contemplative nature.  Although her parents were divorced when she was eight years old and separated when she was only three, her father made certain to spend quality time with Jennifer.  Their visits were not frequent; he was always busy with his professional life as a lawyer even before the marital challenges began.  He also struggled with personal demons that distracted him from those that he loved.  As a child, Jennifer never blamed him for this; her love for her father was purely unconditional.  It was different for her sisters, though.  They were old enough to understand the betrayal and deceit; their hearts were no longer innocent.  Jennifer shared a unique bond with her father and he would put into words her spiritual instincts that she was often too young to voice herself.  She often found him sitting silently in the forest on a boulder, staring out into the thick silence of the pines.  He loved to talk to her about the presence of God in all things and in all creatures, even in the space that surrounds us.  She relished their walks and drives together, soaking in the depth of their conversations and the intertwining of their twin Sagittarian souls.

Jennifer’s family was Irish Catholic.  Her Grandmother, Eileen, was a devout woman who recited her Novena daily and hung crosses throughout her house.  She had glow-in-the-dark rosaries in every room and made sure all of her children and grandchildren owned them as well.  Before the divorce her parents would take the family to Church every Sunday, dressed in the latest fashions.  But when the divorce became legal their religious practice fell off and became more casual– just two visits a year, one on Christmas and the other on Easter.  Jennifer didn’t really notice the change, she never felt an affinity for Church anyhow.

She did, however, enjoy sitting on her Grandma Eileen’s soft lap to recite the Hail Mary because her Grandma’s faith was so real, so tangible.  But the priests at their community Church fell flat in Mass.  She didn’t feel any authentic connection.  The songs and prayers all sounded so sterile and void of any meaning or heart.  She attended Sunday school in order to receive her Holy Communion.  The nun who ran the class had told them that they should feel the presence of the The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit as they received the Eucharist for the first time.  While the other kids picked their noses, looked behind them to smile for their parents’ camera or squirm about in boredom, Jennifer held herself in dignity and poise, consciously trying to channel the Spirit of the Trinity as she’d been instructed.  It was the first time she had been invited to actively participate in a religious ritual and she felt something sacred at that moment.  It was an experience that would not be repeated again for her in the Catholic Church, but an experience, nonetheless, that opened a door to the Sacred in her heart.

Later when she neared the age of Confirmation, her parents told her she would need to go back to Sunday School.  She said she did not want to be Confirmed.  This reply caught her parents off-guard.  They had not phrased the request in the form of a question; it was simply a matter of fact that she, like all other grandchildren in the family before her, would be confirmed in the Catholic Church.  No one had ever questioned it before.  She had an intelligent and thoughtful discussion about the matter with her parents and they agreed that it would be pointless for her to be confirmed if her heart was not in it.  Her parents recognized her sincere feelings on the issue and respected her wishes.

Jennifer flourished in the small private school community of the Country Day School she attended.  She excelled academically and athletically, won leading roles in the school musicals and was voted co-captain of the soccer and lacrosse teams.  Her favorite social activity was attending weekly Friday night Ballroom Dancing School.  She loved dressing up in her fancy gowns, white gloves, tights and patent leather Mary Janes.  All the children from her class attended starting in 4th grade.  There they learned social etiquette and the art of ballroom dancing– dances such as the Box Step, the Fox-Trot, the Cha-Cha, and her personal favorite, the Lindy.  When she was old enough to be invited to the Gold & Silver Ball at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, she used her Lindy skills to win the night’s dance competition.  Despite her small size she was popular with all her classmates and was voted class representative.  Her peers also elected her to speak at their commencement ceremony.  All of this success instilled a strong sense of confidence and self in her.  In the summers she slept away at a two-month long summer camp for girls on the shores of Lake Champlain in Vermont.  There, too, she excelled and was loved.  A unique camp experience that allowed campers to choose how to spend their days with no fixed schedule, Jennifer had the opportunity to practice equestrian and theatrical arts to her heart’s delight.  She also enjoyed waterskiing, swimming, diving and sailing on the changeable waters of Lake Champlain.

Her idyllic childhood took a turn for the worse when her body finally hit its belated puberty.  In high school she had a hard time transitioning from the small, intimate community of private school to the overwhelmingly large public school system.  To add to her discomfort, her mother remarried at this time to the Headmaster of the private school she had attended for six years.  Her mother sold their backwoods home and they moved into the Headmaster’s white colonial house on the school’s property.  She slept in what used to be her step-sister’s room, as his kids had moved out to live in solidarity with their own mother.  She became depressed and let her academics slide.  She also injured her knee during a soccer scrimmage early sophomore year and the recuperation from reconstructive surgery kept her from athletics for over a year.  Her whole world had turned upside down.