A World of Joy to You

I met my homegirl, Sam, on a street corner in Laramie, Wyoming. Not many people can say that (though Teresa can too). We all gathered there for a conference, and, as a citizen of the host country, I was required to ferry people up into the state park that afternoon. Teresa and I drove my little Geo (which I still drive, half a lifetime and a kid later) to the dorm; I leaped out and yelled, “Anyone need a ride?” Sam replied, “We do” and she and her comrade jumped right into our car. I don’t know what made her decide in that sea of Wyoming plates that we were her ride, but I’m so glad she did. What joy Sam has added to my life. I know no one brighter, funnier, or more delightful.

As you can imagine, our carload laughed all the way up to the park, the whole time we were there, and all the way back down the hill. There was no way that I was going to miss out on more of that hilarity, so Sam spent the rest of the week with me and my pals (who had flown in from all over the country). The entire week I was nearly in tears with laughter. It was, for many reasons—Sam being one of them, the most joyful week that I had that whole year. This was the reason that Sam became known around my house as “The Funniest Person in the World.” My ex- I simply called, “The Second Funniest.” Whenever he would crack me up, I would say, “That’s why you’re the second funniest.” If he ever heard me laughing uproariously on the phone, he would walk into the room and ask, “Are you talking to Sam?” I always was. Of course, it takes quite a bit of brains to be that funny. Sam’s got it all. Here she is doing Uncle you know who--a performance that made me laugh for months, and I mean months--on a visit T and I made to San Diego.

One year for Christmas, Sam sent me He’s Got the Whole World In His Pants and other misheard song lyrics. We got on the phone together and read them and I laughed—not just because of the book, but Sam’s interpretive remarks and incisive comments—until I peed my pants. Honestly. At 30 (gee, that was ten years ago!). Now that’s saying something. You know all those students who packed into her classes over the years felt like they’d hit the jackpot. Just like her friends do. Witness the facts people. Even Steven Spielberg adores her; there he is while she blows us all a kiss (see T's post).

For years, Sam and I talked about relationships and their ups and downs and difficulties. We agonized over heartbreaks. I went to visit her the first time not long after her initial visit to Wyoming. We had such a great time; we ate brunch while we looked out on the sea lions; we lounged at the beach; we had meals together under the stars. We talked ‘til we were hoarse about how difficult romance was. And, of course, I laughed my butt off. As a perfect Sam capper, when I was leaving San Diego, she said, “Wow—that was so nice. You were here for three days, and you didn’t even bug me.” During that time, when I was on a fellowship and not “working” on anything but my dissertation, we emailed sometimes six or seven times a day, pouring out our hearts and minds, and, me, all the while, cracking up.

Then, blessedly, Sam met David, and the whole earth began to shift. After spending years of time and gobs of energy on people who weren’t worthy to touch the heel of her boot (how maddening it was that there were those fools who couldn’t appreciate fully the wonder that is Sam), Sam met this amazing man, and she was so happy. It was as she was finally getting her come-uppance. For all the joy she had given out, she was getting some back. Rarely have I been so delighted at someone else’s happiness.

It was at this time, and not because David compelled her (but, as I imagine it, because she was finally enveloped in love in many of her significant relationships) that Sam began to change her life. This extraordinary woman, who I had loved from the first day I’d met her, began to make these gorgeous emotional and physical transformations. What courage it takes, in a world where body is such a focal point of attention and the source of so much judgment, to change the body. Yet Sam did. She began to treat herself with the kind of love that she had reserved for her most beloved friends. Perhaps it takes even greater courage to love yourself enough to grow emotionally where there is often little incentive to take the time and energy to do so and so much disincentive not to. This manifested itself in a million ways, including Sam’s completion of her hard-won dissertation.

You can imagine, after this ode, how I felt when Sam and David decided to become parents. “How lucky that kid will be,” I thought. Again, Sam showed her courage. Even though they had to go through hell and high water to make it happen, they did it. Even though it meant a period of time with shots every night for Sam—in so many ways, metaphoric and literal, they did it. Even though it meant poking and prodding and tests and, then, in the wake of the brilliant adoption decision, paperwork, paperwork, paperwork, they did it. And Sam, in spite of the difficulties of it all, in spite of the pain of the process, was ever graceful. (A shout out to you too, David—you are both remarkable.) I knew the agony of the process wouldn’t beat her down. She made it happen, and, while she chronicled the pain, she also saw the moments of delight.

And now she is “Mom of the Year” and Jarrah is the luckiest girl in the world. Not because Sam doesn’t have a complex relationship to parenting. Not because she never feels exhausted or unhappy. Sam is amazing because she is able, with that same remarkable wisdom and humor, to make an impact on the world around her (far, far around her) with her writing. Thank goodness Sam finds time for the blog, as well as for her family. And thank goodness she answered my call on that street corner in Laramie. I didn’t even know what I was asking for at that time, but I’m so glad that I got it. Sam, thank you for all that you’ve done to bring joy to the world. May you be abundantly blessed with a three-fold return of the love and joy you’ve given. Here’s to forty more years, twice over. I’d be grateful for every, single one

Love you, Sam.

Happy Birthday.
Marlene