Cast Your Bread upon the Water
We have all heard these words many times and they have been interpreted many times. I interpret the word “Bread” to have numerous meanings. Kindness, compassion, non-judgmental, loving and many others that speak of goodness of body and soul. However, I do believe that something meaningful was omitted from the sentence. In my mind it should have ended with “But sometimes through a stranger.”
I’ve long been aware of parents saying to children, “How can you do this, after all I’ve done for you.” Is there a law that requires that you give and receive from the person you gave to? I don’t think so. If it’s money or college funds or care, what you give is not always returned in kind. But I do believe that acts of kindness will always be returned.
I have an example that supports my theory. My children were 16 and 18, I thought that they loved me, but felt that they still carried the Not-Liking-Mom concept. I recall saying to one child, “You don’t have to love me or like me, but you do have to treat me with respect.” (Remember the era in which we lived. Hippies, drugs, rebellion) The answer I received was “I don’t have to respect you just because you’re my mother.”
Then I recalled all the sacrifices that I had made for them, and felt I deserved better. All alone I supported them with a roof over their heads, food, clothing, new cars, money and more. That was accomplished by my frequently working two jobs. Why couldn’t they have a sense of gratitude for my efforts? That was then….this is now and in the now I understand that what I did for them was my choice. Everything we’ve ever done, except birth and death, is always our choice.
So, thinking I was a good mother, why was it that casting my bread upon the waters did not bring harmony, love or respect into my life. In error I placed that responsibility upon my children. I felt that they should show me love, respect and some gratitude for my efforts.. But that happened through my stranger and that is the story of Denise (Nicee).
Nicee was the 17-year-old daughter of a friend, who lived just across the walkway of our apartment complex. As our friendship grew I became more involved with his young daughter. She was not only a pretty and bright child, I sensed that she was needy and it touched my heart. So I felt despair when her father, Frank, told me that Nicee had run away from home. That her mother had issued a APB for her return and requested, upon finding her, that she was to be put into Juvenile Hall until her 18th birthday on March 1st. I retorted “Over my dead body,” and meant it.
She was lost for about two weeks before I received a phone call from her. The first thing I asked was, “Are you alright?” When she assured me that she was, I again asked, “Where are you?” “I can’t tell you,” she answered, “you’ll tell my mother.” Not only did I promise her that would not happen, I made it very clear that I would get her permission before I told anyone. Then she let me know where she was.
I drove through the wet streets to find her and found a rain-soaked little girl who was badly in need of a bath, some food and a lot of love. When she was comfortable she told me her story. Her stepfather was entering her bedroom at night and molesting her. Her mother did not believe her and threatened to have her put into a home for the mentally ill. She based her decision by reasoning that because Nicee had a brain cancer operation when she was 6 years old, Nicee was really mentally disturbed. It was that threat that caused Nicee to run. But now that I had her home, what was I to do with her?
First, I pulled down the window blinds, then I called my daughter, Robin. Robin and her husband lived in a small village in Oregon. Nicee would be safe there until her 18th birthday when she would no longer be under her mother’s control. I questioned Robin to see if Nicee could come to her. “Of course,” she replied. “When are you sending her.” I should have known what her answer would be. My compassionate daughter would take any desperate thing, be it animal or human, and lovingly care of it. That all sounded fine, but how could we get by the airport police. The Los Angeles Airport is full of them and the APB was in effect. Then, too, where was I to get money for airfare?
With her approval, and my assurance that I would not tell him where she was, I knocked on her father’s door. Once inside I asked him for $75.00, the current fare to Eugene, Oregon, and explained that I needed it for his daughter. When Frank questioned, “Where is she? Is she alright?” I informed him that she was fine and that I couldn’t tell him where she was, but that she was safe. He gave me the money and I returned to my apartment. Then, because Nicee was exactly my size, I dressed her in a sophisticated pants suit, wrapped her long brown hair into a bun, applied enough makeup for an adult young woman. We left for the airport, holding our breaths until she boarded the plane.
Of this I am certain, I received a new daughter the day she called me. She lives in Hawaii with her professor/musician husband and two beautiful children. She’s a fine mother, a great wife, a beautiful soul and a wonderful daughter who gives me abundant love and respect. She wrote the following for me:
I’ve long been aware of parents saying to children, “How can you do this, after all I’ve done for you.” Is there a law that requires that you give and receive from the person you gave to? I don’t think so. If it’s money or college funds or care, what you give is not always returned in kind. But I do believe that acts of kindness will always be returned.
I have an example that supports my theory. My children were 16 and 18, I thought that they loved me, but felt that they still carried the Not-Liking-Mom concept. I recall saying to one child, “You don’t have to love me or like me, but you do have to treat me with respect.” (Remember the era in which we lived. Hippies, drugs, rebellion) The answer I received was “I don’t have to respect you just because you’re my mother.”
Then I recalled all the sacrifices that I had made for them, and felt I deserved better. All alone I supported them with a roof over their heads, food, clothing, new cars, money and more. That was accomplished by my frequently working two jobs. Why couldn’t they have a sense of gratitude for my efforts? That was then….this is now and in the now I understand that what I did for them was my choice. Everything we’ve ever done, except birth and death, is always our choice.
So, thinking I was a good mother, why was it that casting my bread upon the waters did not bring harmony, love or respect into my life. In error I placed that responsibility upon my children. I felt that they should show me love, respect and some gratitude for my efforts.. But that happened through my stranger and that is the story of Denise (Nicee).
Nicee was the 17-year-old daughter of a friend, who lived just across the walkway of our apartment complex. As our friendship grew I became more involved with his young daughter. She was not only a pretty and bright child, I sensed that she was needy and it touched my heart. So I felt despair when her father, Frank, told me that Nicee had run away from home. That her mother had issued a APB for her return and requested, upon finding her, that she was to be put into Juvenile Hall until her 18th birthday on March 1st. I retorted “Over my dead body,” and meant it.
She was lost for about two weeks before I received a phone call from her. The first thing I asked was, “Are you alright?” When she assured me that she was, I again asked, “Where are you?” “I can’t tell you,” she answered, “you’ll tell my mother.” Not only did I promise her that would not happen, I made it very clear that I would get her permission before I told anyone. Then she let me know where she was.
I drove through the wet streets to find her and found a rain-soaked little girl who was badly in need of a bath, some food and a lot of love. When she was comfortable she told me her story. Her stepfather was entering her bedroom at night and molesting her. Her mother did not believe her and threatened to have her put into a home for the mentally ill. She based her decision by reasoning that because Nicee had a brain cancer operation when she was 6 years old, Nicee was really mentally disturbed. It was that threat that caused Nicee to run. But now that I had her home, what was I to do with her?
First, I pulled down the window blinds, then I called my daughter, Robin. Robin and her husband lived in a small village in Oregon. Nicee would be safe there until her 18th birthday when she would no longer be under her mother’s control. I questioned Robin to see if Nicee could come to her. “Of course,” she replied. “When are you sending her.” I should have known what her answer would be. My compassionate daughter would take any desperate thing, be it animal or human, and lovingly care of it. That all sounded fine, but how could we get by the airport police. The Los Angeles Airport is full of them and the APB was in effect. Then, too, where was I to get money for airfare?
With her approval, and my assurance that I would not tell him where she was, I knocked on her father’s door. Once inside I asked him for $75.00, the current fare to Eugene, Oregon, and explained that I needed it for his daughter. When Frank questioned, “Where is she? Is she alright?” I informed him that she was fine and that I couldn’t tell him where she was, but that she was safe. He gave me the money and I returned to my apartment. Then, because Nicee was exactly my size, I dressed her in a sophisticated pants suit, wrapped her long brown hair into a bun, applied enough makeup for an adult young woman. We left for the airport, holding our breaths until she boarded the plane.
Of this I am certain, I received a new daughter the day she called me. She lives in Hawaii with her professor/musician husband and two beautiful children. She’s a fine mother, a great wife, a beautiful soul and a wonderful daughter who gives me abundant love and respect. She wrote the following for me:
The Light
There was a light. one winter night, near thirty years ago.
It led one from the desperate dark and showed the way to go.
It flickered bright throughout the night and warmed the bitter cold.
‘Twas strong and sure, and wavered not, determined…keen..and bold.
The child was lost, so cruelly tossed into the wicked wild.
So, still it shown and brought her home and named her then “My Child”.
For Vailia, My Mom
There was a light. one winter night, near thirty years ago.
It led one from the desperate dark and showed the way to go.
It flickered bright throughout the night and warmed the bitter cold.
‘Twas strong and sure, and wavered not, determined…keen..and bold.
The child was lost, so cruelly tossed into the wicked wild.
So, still it shown and brought her home and named her then “My Child”.
For Vailia, My Mom
Cast your bread upon the waters and it will return a thousand fold….but sometimes through a stranger.
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