A friend told me about an experience she had recently with a friend and her eighteen year old daughter. The daughter, my friend told me, couldn’t decide if she wanted to be eighteen or eight. When she wanted to be eighteen, it was like they were girlfriends, my friend said, but when she wanted to be eight, my friend had to become a mother figure.
She had never dealt with anyone like that before. Then she felt as though my late wife Janet were by herself telling her what to do. Everything worked out just fine. Janet had spent her career as a probationer officer. The people she supervised had that same problem with growing up.
I shared Janet’s secret with my friend. She always said she treated her probationers, children and dogs the same way. Make them feel loved and safe but let them know they still had a collar around their necks and she wasn’t afraid to yank it. Of course, the collar around the necks of the probationers and children was figurative. When they heard her say “heel” they knew she meant it. Of course, she didn’t really say “heel” to the probationers or the children. (Well, once or twice she did slip up and tell the children to “heel”.)
I had to give my friend a hug for sharing her experience with me. It was another example of how cancer had failed to separate me from my darling wife of forty-four years. She’s in my heart and in the hearts of people around me.
Come to think about it, I think she pulled that “heel” trick on me a few times. Maybe she still is. I hope she is.