First let's look at dynamics of individuals in family. The adults can't make themselves center of universe. Parents who are so caught up in their own careers, relationships, or just in their own heads all of time, often have lonely depressed children who doubt their parents' love and devotion. Studies have already shown a very high percentage of teens experimenting with drugs and alcohol are from homes where parents are too self absorbed to notice or to pay attention to what's happening with their own kids.

On other hand, it's very easy as parents to sacrifice ourselves for greater good of family. I suspect that this very dynamic plays into resentments and underlying tensions found in most households. The adults often give up their dream jobs, drop out of college, or stops having a social life outside of family because at some point along way it seemed like answer to some problem. For whatever reason, there's no time, energy, or money left for adults when all is said and done. They seldom get to pick up those pieces of themselves that they sacrificed along way. The parents shouldn't become martyrs to their kids or family. It's up to parents to find a healthy balance between two extremes.

~ 5 ~ May-Day!

The school bus had long since disappeared over last hill toward main road one afternoon when I set my books on kitchen table and hurried into living room to talk to my mother.

Mom was sitting in her favorite easy chair by picture window, and her crutches were laid neatly on floor next to chair where she could reach them.

Outside window, air was so clear everything shimmered and sparkled. The fence posts. The plum trees. The lilacs. But even though sun was shining and grass was as green as bottle of food coloring in kitchen cupboard, a chilly wind blew out of west. I would never tell her so, but I was glad my mother had insisted I put on my red button-down sweater before I left for school this morning.

“Mom?” I said. “Is it all right if I ride my bike?”

As I waited for her to answer my question, she looked up from newspaper and peered at me through her black-rimmed reading glasses.

“You won’t have much time before supper,” she said. “Why don’t you go out and find Dad instead?”

Since there were no other children in family for me to play with, and no neighbor children close by, going outside to see Dad was even more fun than riding my bike.

There was only one problem.

“Isn’t he in field someplace?” I asked.

For past month, Dad had been plowing, disking and planting. He often didn’t arrive home until it was time to put cows in barn and feed them. If Dad was out in field, then he would be too busy to talk to me.

My mother shook her head. “He’s finished with fieldwork. He came in for coffee this afternoon for first time in I don’t know how long.”

“Yipee!” I said.

Mom smiled and went back to reading newspaper.

A little while later after I had changed out of my school clothes and had put on my denim chore coat, I opened porch door and saw our old, battered, green pickup truck backed up by granary.

The driveway made a circle past buildings, and in middle sat garage, a round, wooden grain bin, and red gasoline barrel shaded by a large silver maple. Another silver maple grew in front lawn, and a row of silver maples lined lawn in back of house. One time Mom had told me silver maples were planted by my great-grandfather after he homesteaded farm in late 1800s.

The granary, which had little windows in peak near roof that looked like a square tipped on end, stood across driveway from gas barrel. The position of pickup truck told me that Dad was inside granary, loading oats into burlap bags, and that he planned to go into town tomorrow to grind feed. About once a week he loaded truck and made a trip to feed mill.

I stood on porch and watched as Dad lifted a burlap bag of oats into back of truck. My father made it look as though bag of oats weighed no more than a ten-pound bag of sugar, but I knew better. A bag of oats weighed about a hundred pounds. Dad had put one on a scale once so I could see how much it weighed.

As my father disappeared into granary again, I smiled to myself, happy in knowledge that I knew right where he was, so I wouldn’t have to wander around buildings, yelling for him.

I sat down on porch steps. All afternoon, concrete steps had been soaking up sunshine, and beneath seat of my jeans, top step felt almost hot. Dandelions filled lawn, as if someone had scattered handfuls of gold coins, and big, white clouds that looked like giant cotton balls floated across sky, pushed by wind.

Only a few days of school remained, and I could hardly wait for summer vacation to begin. We usually got out of school third week of May if we didn’t have too many snow days to make up. And on last day of school, we always had a picnic. Everybody took their plates outside, and we sat on grass instead of eating in cafeteria.

I wasn’t looking forward to picnic quite as much as I did other years, though. Last year on last day of school, I had no more than settled down with my plate when a garter snake had slithered out between my feet. The mere thought that I had almost sat on a snake still made my stomach do flip-flops.

As I sat there thinking about school picnic, one of barn cats rose to her feet, arched her back and stretched, and then climbed steps to sit beside me. She had been sprawled in grass, sunning herself, and beneath my hand, her brown tabby fur felt warm and soft.

In a couple of minutes, cat went back to sunning herself, and I headed for rope-and-board swing hanging from clothesline poles. While cloud shadows slipped across fields, I swung higher and higher, my arms wrapped around thick rope tied over crosspiece. The rope had come from an extra coil stored in haymow. Dad used same kind of rope for letting big door down so he could put hay into barn during summer.

When I had gone as high as I could go, I sat quietly while swing moved slower and slower and slower. More puffy clouds drifted across sun, and in field behind barn, clumps of alfalfa rippled in cold breeze. The thought crossed my mind that maybe I should have put on a stocking cap. But then reason prevailed. It was May, after all.

I hopped out of swing and strolled toward granary just as Dad brought another bag of oats and heaved it into truck.

The maple trees around lawn were now covered with green leaves, and as I passed beneath maple tree by gas barrel, I was close enough to truck to see crack in upholstery on top of seat behind steering wheel.

I had no more than lifted my foot to take another step toward truck when I noticed something out of corner of my eye.

I looked down.

And there, coiled in grass by my feet, was biggest snake I had ever seen.

I had come within inches of stepping on it.

The snake watched me with beady black eyes—and then its forked tongue flickered in my direction.

Before I had time to think, I drew a deep breath…turned…and took off for house.