“Happy New Year”, we hear the phrase on everyone’s lips.  We truly all wish for a better world in 2017.  We hope for positive changes in the world and promise ourselves that we will try to change the world, starting with ourselves.

The start of every new year feels like turning over a new page in our book of life.  I remember when a new school year started every September.  New clothes, to replace the ones we had outgrown over the summer, for those of us who attended a school with a uniform, replacement costs were expensive so, quite often we just had hems let down to allow for the growth spurt.

There would always be new socks, shoes and underwear and sometimes new shirts as we just could not fit into last year’s clothes.  At most English schools, even now, the girls wear shirts and a tie during the winter months.  In summer a dress of a lighter fabric was the rule.  Going back to school, meeting old friends and some new ones was always an exciting time.

What I liked best about the first day of school was new exercise books.  Our books were provided by the school, a different colour note book for every subject.  I remember the joy I found in writing my name on a new book, promising myself that this book would be kept neat, no messy smears, no erasing and I would write each work with care so the book would remain a joy to behold.  However, this promise to myself was always short lived.

I was a fairly clever child, had learned to read before starting school, had been moved to advanced classes in junior school and was a bit of a loner.  Probably, due to the fact that I was brought up as an only child and lived with my grandma from age two to eleven, I had been treated to various aunts and uncles teaching me to read, write, spell and basic math, while I was very young.  I was an avid reader and went through the entire junior section of our local library by the time I was ten.

Although I was ahead of many of the other kids in class, I was an awful writer.  My handwriting is a disgrace, even now.  The advent of the typewriter, then the computer, was years away, so my terrible handwriting always let me down.

However, every September was a new start I had a new book, a clean page before me and I was determined to do better.  I really tried to control my writing but, usually before the first line was completed, I had made an error.  My writing used to start off neat and tidy but, as I got swept into the math or history subject, I would become more excited and in a hurry to put words to paper.  The result would be different directions in the letters, uneven size of text and general messiness.  I would always be disappointed in my work and, although I would often get an “A”, I would not want to show anyone my work as it was so ugly.

The advent of mechanical writing was wonderful for me, I could write to my heart’s content and it was legible, my time had come to shine.  However, it was far too late to assist me in school so I always felt that I had let myself down, had failed again.

As I matured, the same feeling of a fresh start, came with every new year, a new chance to do things right.  As does most of the world, I made New Year’s resolutions.  Eat healthier, exercise more, be a better person, be more patient, in fact, probably the exact wishes that at least 75 percent of my fellow humans made.

Like most other humans I began with gusto for the first ten days or so, I would lose five or six pounds, then the diet got boring, the weather was not encouraging me to walk too far and it was nicer to stay home and read.  Dave seemed to be going to extremes to try my patience, so I would give him some flack.  The whole lot of promises would go by the wayside within two weeks and, once again, I felt like I had failed.

About thirty years ago, I was in the field of social work, this included attending many lectures, most of which were just common sense things that really should come naturally.  However, one speaker said something that has stuck in my mind to this day.  He said, if anyone does not like or accept you for who you are, that is their problem, so don’t make it yours.  This statement seemed to hit me like a lightening bolt.

I had spent a lot of my life trying to be the daughter my mother had wanted me to be, but I always failed to meet her expectations.  She didn’t approve of my husband, my child raising, my housekeeping and a lot of other things I did.  However, my family was happy, my kids were well fed and exposed to different aspects of the world, so they had some good experiences, my home was clean and tidy.  So what did it matter if I had “germ carrying” animals, served taco’s one night instead of meat and potatoes, or if Dave had a beard?  This was our home, our life and our business.

The next time mom came for a visit and started on her diatribe of my failures, I reminded her I was an adult, this was my home and family and the dog and cat were part of it, I liked Dave with a beard and, if she didn’t like things the way they were, she could leave.
This she did, never to return or to speak to me until the day she died.  I truly felt like she had died that day and mourned for several months, however standing up for myself had given me confidence and, as I aged, got more confident each day.  I am a nice person, I try to be kind to all I meet, I am generous and I am very overweight.  I would like to lose weight, but not enough to really stick to a diet.  I am happy in the person I am, anyone who doesn’t care for me is missing out on a good thing.

My mother missed out on the joy of her only grandchildren but Dave’s mom more than made up for the bitter grandparent they had lost.  She was also an excellent mother to me and we were best friends for many years.  I still miss her.

Resolutions for 2017?  To try my best to be a better person, but also to remember to thank God for the person that I am, and to walk a little closer to Him every day. If I do this, how can I fail?