Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

I was reading an article the other day by Rob Lowe about sending his son off to college. After I bawled my eyes out, I decided to write this letter to you. I wasn’t crying because I was imagining dropping my own kids off at college one day, although now I know that I will be entirely unfit for that experience, I was crying because it had so many similarities to when you and dad first dropped me off at Tennessee. In that moment reading his piece, I think for the first time, I fully reflected on what that experience must’ve been like for you and dad.

To be honest, some days it still feels like yesterday. I’ll never forget. We packed up the car and with tears in my eyes, I waved goodbye to Alex and our house as we pulled out of the driveway, setting forth on an 800 mile journey to what would be my new home sweet home, Rocky Top Tennessee. 

Although sad to leave home and my friends, I was excited for the new adventure that lied ahead; a roommate, new friends, an opportunity with the basketball team and all of the unknown that is going away to college.

Upon arriving to Tennessee, we spent a couple of days meeting and greeting and getting things prepared before move in day approached. Move in day, how could we forget that gem? It was hot as if the devil himself was walking the earth and I was blessed to be assigned to the dorm building with no AC. You and dad worked your butts off, sweating away and toting all of my things up the stairs to the second floor. Meanwhile, you were on a mission to get me settled in like only a mother could. Hot, hungry and exhausted, we got the job done.

With you guys heading out in the morning and me staying in my new dorm that night, it came time to part ways. Excited that one of the older basketball girls was already there, ready to show me around town, I stood strong. We said our goodbyes, gave each other our hugs and held back most of the tears.  (Secretly, I planned to call you guys in the morning before you left to come say bye one more time, but I broke my phone that night.) 

Then came the final moment that is forever etched in my memory. Just as I was walking out of the dorm, you and dad were driving by and there you were in the front seat, sobbing. You unrolled your window and through your cries mumbled, “Bye Jussy, we love you.”

I can’t remember if I held it together then, but I know in my homesick moments, that memory always opened the flood gates the quickest. At the time though, I still didn’t fully understand the depth of your tears. Sure, I had left home, but home wasn’t going anywhere, I’d be home for Christmas, home for summer and so on. 

But you, as my mom, knew differently. You knew your little girl had left home for good, she was out to see the world. Sure she’d be back to visit, but that wasn’t home anymore. She was becoming an adult, on her own, and would be mostly taking care of herself now.

Well mom, I’m writing this to tell you that’s not true. Home is not so much a place, as it is a comfort and it’s a comfort that I can only ever get from you, my mom. Home is that phone call or FaceTime anytime I'm sick, upset, worried or confused, that even from one million miles away, never fails to make me feel better. Home is that escape that's only a flight away where I know I can be fed, catered to and cared for like no other human can possibly provide. And to this day, there’s no place quite like home. 

So mom, I just want to say thanks for dropping me off at college that day. Thank you for unselfishly supporting my dreams and encouraging me to get out and experience the world. Thank you for always being my biggest fan and my biggest supporter. And most importantly, thanks for always keeping home, home.

You have no idea what I feel like I owe to you, but just know even though I won’t be moving back “home” anytime soon, your baby girl will always be your baby girl and I need you now as much as I ever have.

I love you!

Jussy

More Baseball, Less Hate

Despite being an exceptionally technologically savvy 50-year-old, my dad refuses to get a cell phone. Therefore, it is rare that we speak on the phone without it first being via my mom. Needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised when I answered the phone the other day to  'Mom' only to hear my dad on the line.

"Jus, it's dad!" I could already hear the elation in his voice. "Hey...how about those cubs?!" He was calling to share in his joy of the incredible World Series and who better to call than his sports loving daughter.

My dad's excitement was rooted in being a Chicagoland native, but more of a casual baseball fan and an occasional Wrigley field attendee, he admitted it was the series that reeled him in. Let's be honest, wasn't that the case for most of us? I'll be the first to admit, despite being an avid sports fan, I don't follow baseball. In fact, I'm almost certain that I've never followed an entire World Series before this year, but how could you not? It was a series made for the big screen. The storylines were incredible and so was the baseball. 

I think it's safe to say that we've never had a more followed World Series, nor has baseball ever attracted this many casual fans. We were all reeled in. I had friends, who I'd recently taught what free throws were, talking about baseball games. I was on the set of a movie and in between takes, folks were watching on phones, riding on every pitch. I stood in the middle of a fancy steakhouse in West Hollywood while everyone screamed and cheered as if they were in a rowdy Chicago sports bar.

It was beautiful, and to me, call it a (seventh inning) stretch, this World Series was a symbol of so much more than baseball. It was the first time in a long time that our entire nation was on the same page. Even despite different teams, we were all on common ground, finding pure joy together in none other than America's pastime.

During a tumultuous time in this country, and perhaps one of the most divisive elections ever, baseball gave us a week of reprieve from the exhausting presidential narrative. We were happy. We were sharing like interests. We were united. It was a reminder that maybe we're all a lot more alike than we tend to think. 

The conversation with my dad unexpectedly, but inevitably, turned from baseball to other topics much bigger than baseball, like the state of our country and this upcoming election. Anyone who knows Steve-O, knows my dad is the truth. He is an unbelievably kind, reasonable, loving, selfless individual. We didn't necessarily discuss politics in particular, nor are we over the moon with either of the candidates. Instead we discussed how much we both HATE to see all of the hate being spewed towards one another. We talked about loving and the power that lies in taking the time to learn about and understand one another despite cultural, racial, religious or political differences. 

I love my dad because he's molded so much of the way I think, but that is not to believe what he believes, like the candidates he likes, or to vote the way he votes. Rather, he has taught me to practice kindness, compassion and open mindedness when it comes to individuals, even if they are different than myself. Because like baseball taught us, at the end of the day, we all seek joy and happiness in the same ways. Deeper than that, our hearts work alike, we bleed the same blood, we mourn the pain and loss of loved ones the same way, and as it turns out, we're more alike than different. 

Along with many, I will be happy to see this election over, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't unnerved thinking of what the aftermath may behold. However, I encourage all of us to take our World Series mentality into today and the days that follow and find some common ground, take some time to get to experience and understand something new, even if you think you don't "like" it and most importantly, share some happiness and love. Because despite who our future Head of State is come tonight, I bet we can become a better nation with just those few things alone.