High Hopes
“Next time you’re found, with your chin on the ground.
There’s a lot to be learned, so look around
Just what makes that little old ant, think he’ll move that rubber tree plant?
Anyone knows an ant, can’t, move a rubber tree plant.
But he’s got high hopes. He’s got high hopes.
He’s got high apple pie in the sky hopes
So any time you’re gettin’ low, ‘stead of lettin’ go, just remember that ant
Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant”
– Frank Sinatra – High Hopes
I cut my teeth on High Hopes. The silly, Pollyannaish lyrics and remedial melody resonated through the rooms of my family home. While never idyllic, my childhood was pretty good. My personal problems, COULD be overcome by hope, coupled with a dose of diligence. Until the stinkin’ rubber tree scored some Miracle Bloom and grew to momentous proportions.
My dad had his lung removed when I was 15. Prior to his surgery, I sensed that the implications of this event went beyond our predictably sad, yet hopeful, family discussions. Ear glued to the upstairs floor vent, I overheard plaintive late night conversations that chilled me to the bone.
Dad: “I don’t know how we’re gonna make it, hon. I get some sick time from work but not enough to float us.”
Mom: “ I’ll see what I can do, the kids are all in school, I can go back to work.”
Dad: sounding choked up “I’m sorry hon, I’ll try my damnest to get back to work as fast as I can.”
Mom: “I can do this, Clarence, don’t worry, just YOU get through this.”
At 15, I didn’t grasp the economics of maintaining a family. I did, however, understand this was BAD (with a capital B.) My dad’s surgery was a success, as was his next, for throat cancer. He defied modern medicine when the big “C” spread to his brain, then disappeared without a trace (never to return). I love and admire dad’s tenacity and pie in the sky hope. We breathed a sigh of relief, believing health was on the horizon, after his six-year cancer tsunami. About a year later, he started to have mini strokes and eventually full fledged heart attacks. Although his spirit remained shiny and bright his body surrendered 15 years after lung cancer.
Mom’s courage, drive and strength surpassed Sinatra’s “little old ant.” Her high hopes for dad’s recovery launched an upward trajectory of unexpected business success. After his initial diagnosis, mom secured work as a secretary for a cotton diaper delivery service. As a result of her “can do” attitude, excellent follow-through and social intelligence, she quickly earned a promotion to office manager. Upon hearing this news, the glow on dad’s face, made me realize he NEVER doubted her ability to move the rubber tree.
One morning, she received a call from the company attorney. He told her the Owner/CEO of the company (who had also become a dear friend) had died while jogging. He asked her to inform the staff. Stunned by the news, she called dad and asked him to come support her. In shock, speaking through tears, mom relayed the tragic news. My heart aches acknowledging how intense this was for her, on the heels of narrowly escaping a similar conversation with my brothers and I.
Prior to cancer, mom was my taxi, nurturer, kisser of boo boo’s and reluctant cook of marginally edible meals. As a result of cancer, she became my superhero. Mom “scaled the rubber tree,” until appointed General Manager/Vice President of the diaper service. Under her guidance the company surpassed all sales and profit projections. Her leadership was gentle, affirming and, when necessary, tough as nails,.
Mom retired at age 70, beloved and admired by staff and owners alike. Her bravery perseverance and ability to quietly reinvent her life, inspires me everyday. Mom’s high hopes nudge me on when I am afraid to take action. At age 84, she remains in contact with the diaper service owners. One of them consistently asks for her “secret formula” of success. Mom smiles and replies, “I’ll never tell.” “Oops there goes another rubber tree,” indeed.