A Crossroads…Again

Posted on January 26, 2012 by thisnest | Permalink 4


I am at a crossroads. The road behind me has been long. Sometimes smooth, but those parts are only made clear by the rough patches they contrast with. Unfortunately for me, real degrees cannot be earned in the School of Life. The people who sign and distribute paychecks do not care that the real lessons in your life have been learned the hard way – or that the tuition you paid for that education wasn’t from grants or students loans…but rather from blood, sweat, and tears. Lots of them.

I’ve been at a crossroads before in my life. We left our college educations, not knowing how important they were – or how much we’d regret not having them – or how much suffering financially we would do without them, and we began to travel down a road that clearly seemed the right one for us. I guess it’s true what they say: “Sometimes the right road is the hardest one to take” and ours was both right and hard. Very hard. There have been times recently when I thought I held regret for choosing to take on Tony’s seven siblings, times when the outcome has so violently choked me into believing that our efforts weren’t worth it, and then I’m reminded…the story hasn’t ended. It’s not over. The ending may still be a happy one, yes, the ending will be a happy one.

I know what it means to be on welfare, trying to stretch food stamps to feed a literal army of children.

I know what it means to try and make a trip to the Goodwill or Value Village feel like a treasure hunt to the kids trying to find back to school clothes there.

I know what it means to desperately put our story out there at Christmas time, hoping someone (anyone?) would “adopt” all of our children for the holidays, hoping there would be at least a few gifts for each of them under our donated tree.

I know what it means to hope they don’t know the difference between Nike and Pro-Wings, between laces and velcro, between brand new and second (or third, or fourth) hand belongings.

I know what it means to make them believe that we had “snacky” dinners for fun, like an adventure, and not because peanut butter and jelly on Saltine crackers was all we had to give them.

I know what it means to fill out free lunch forms year after year after year, and hope that they would cover the “cool” food line.

I know what it means to learn how to do hair, hair unlike my own, how to fade it, and edge it, and perm it, and braid it, and twist it, and press it, and even an up-do for prom…because there was no way we could afford to give them all the “real” barber/beauty shop experience.

I know what it means to stretch my imagination, combine it with bedsheets and permanent markers, and create Halloween costumes out of everyday household items…and hope they felt proud of what they wore to go trick-or-treating.

I know what it means to let go of my pride and accept the gifts and donations that continually poured in, mostly from my family, so that we could continue taking care of Tony’s siblings.

I learned a lot about a lot. Including, but not limited to, developmental delays, mental health issues, emotional healing, bonding, love, sacrifice, cooking, baking, cleaning, teaching, mentoring, counseling, budgeting, laughing, crying, nursing, caring, parenting, nurturing, supporting, diversity, and stretching that almighty dollar…but still, a PhD in Life is rarely recognized when it comes to the world outside your own home. So here I am, nearly two decades later, still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

I have to go back to school, I want to go back to school, to finished what I started before I was a mother…so that I can be a better mother now. Our own five kids are all still at home with us, the youngest just two years old…the oldest a junior in high school. I never in a million years thought I’d be in college at the same time my children were, but now that’s a big possibility. That is, if I’m brave enough to balance school with all the directions I’m already being pulled in.

I am brave enough.

Yes, I am.

Pray for me.

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God Is Good!

Posted on January 20, 2012 by thisnest | Permalink 1


“They’re sending me to Bend.” His words echoed in my mind. They’d called him in early, at about six in the morning, and I couldn’t believe they chose that day, of all days, to send him through a steep and rugged mountain pass in his semi. Our children were all celebrating the early-morning news of a snow day…but I was fighting off the dread that was rising up from the pit of my stomach. I decided to say a prayer of protection for my husband, and throughout the day I repeated it in silence.

I was able to speak to him a few more times during the day. Once – for him to tell me that he’d made it through the scariest part and was nearly to his destination, and again – for him to tell me that he was headed back into the worse part of it, on his way back to Portland. The girls and I were on the way to their volleyball practice at that point and, although I figured I’d make it back home before he did, I was looking forward to his call that he’d made it through safely…that call never came.

Home from practice, dinner served, little ones put down for the night…still no call. We were trying call him, beginning to grow worried and hoping to hear his voice, but his voicemail kept picking up instead. I waited. I tried to call again. I waited some more. Nothing. Finally at eleven thirty, almost eighteen hours since he left for work, I decided to call his dispatcher myself. I stumbled over my words in an attempt to find out where my husband was.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked
“Antonio Sparrow.” I answered
“Oh, um, can you hold? I need to transfer you to my supervisor.”

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.

My hope for any reassurance was quickly dashed as his words stabbed clear to the heart of me: “We last had contact with your husband at seven. We’ve been unable to get throught to him since.” Now nearing midnight, that news was not what I wanted to hear. I had an immediate urge to throw up. I gave the dispatcher my number, in exchange for his promise to call me as soon as he heard anything.

Another half hour passed. Nothing. I waited, full of an energy I’d never experienced before, eyes darting from the clock to the phone, and then back again – over and over and over.

At almost one in the morning, the silence was so loud. My home was so warm, and all I could think about was whether or not my husband was too. My mind was racing between different scenarios, most of them scary, and my fear was growing with each passing minute…

The phone rang.

The caller ID that flashed across our muted TV screen told me everything I ever wanted to know. It was him. My husband. Thank You, Lord. As fast as my eyes saw his name, my hands grabbed the phone, and my mouth began firing off questions.

My poor husband had been stranded in the snowy mountain pass. Authorities had stopped traffic and were not allowing anyone through. His hands had been frozen solid, thawed out, and then frozen again as he chained up the big rig. His back was aching from that same task, and his head was still pounding from the collision it had with cold, hard metal of his truck – as he stood up after getting those chains on. He was exhausted, frustrated, irritated, worried, and homesick…but he was safe.

GOD IS GOOD.

The energy that had sustained me through those hours of worry, well, it was quickly replaced with a literal wave of fatigue. I felt it wash over me, starting in my neck and shoulders and moving down through my feet. It was wierd.

I’d like to tell you that the remainder of the night (or should I say morning) went smoothly but, after staying awake and waiting for him for the following three hours, he called me from just down the street. The snowstorm had made its way to our area just in time to meet him at an incline down the road – and send his car into a ditch. AWESOME. Tired barely begins to describe the mood in the house the remainder of the day. Actually, I take that back…GRATEFUL barely begins to describe the mood in the house the remainder of the day.

Thanks again, Father…

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Black or Biracial?

Posted on January 13, 2012 by thisnest | Permalink 1


I was asked recently about how we are raising our daughters. The questioned pertained to whether we are bringing the girls up as black women or biracial women. My answer? They will be black women and they will be biracial women. If there are any out there who think this is confusing, hear me out.

They are half of me and they are half of my husband. I am white and he is black, so they are both – black AND white. We teach them to embrace all the parts of their whole and to love every cell within them, however, how they self-identify and how they are viewed by various other members of society won’t always be the same thing. For example, I have heard it stated several times since his election in 2008, that President Obama is considered our country’s first black president – even though his mother’s skin was white like mine. Halle Berry was the first black woman to win an Oscar for Best Actress – and her mother’s skin is also white like mine. Tiger Woods is the first black man to win The Masters, even though he is only one quarter black. Here’s one you may not know – the United States Navy’s first, black Four-Star Admiral was J. Paul Reason, and he also came from a multiracial background. With all of that said, we are raising women of color who will be viewed as biracial OR black, depending on who is doing the viewing.

Many whites and, as illustrated above, much of white society will consider my children black. The remainder of the white population will either: #1. Have biracial friends or family and know enough to know better, or #2. Be so confused by my children’s racially ambiguous appearance that they will simply consider them non-white. I feel the black community is quicker to recognize them as biracial – although there have been instances when some of the black people in my children’s lives have expressed that they are “too white”, they “talk white” or “act white”. With that noted, now comes the part when we talk to our children about not only embracing the skin they’re in, but also about self-pride, self-integrity, and self-respect. They don’t ever have to pretend to be someone they’re not…and they should never deny a part of them they are.

My husband and I are both present and active in the lives of our kids. This means that, as with parents of all races, we talk to them about drugs and alcohol, sex, disease, and pregnancy, getting their educations, loving their God, and being the best people they can be. For us though, it also means involving ourselves in conversations about race, history, and how what has historically been kept separate, by hate – is now mixed in them, by love. I believe our children are very proud of themselves…and I hope they will always be proud of us.

Written by Donna Sparrow of This Nest, originally published at www.MulticulturalFamilia.com.

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A Visit From Grandma

Posted on January 10, 2012 by thisnest | Permalink 3


I dreamed about you last night, Grandma. I was with you, at your place. It was a retirement community…but not the one I was familiar with while you were still here with us. It was different but, in the dream, I still knew it was yours. You were leading me by the hand (I wish that I’d had the thought to look at our hands and see which one of us had your ring on), guiding me through the unfamiliar hallways. There were others around us but one person, in particular, was with you and me. I can’t recall who it was no matter how hard I try…I just know it was a female.

Turn after turn led us to an elevator. It was going up. As everyone loaded in ahead of me, I let go of your hand to take my place in the elevator too. You weren’t coming with me and, somehow, I knew that already. The moment our hands released each other, I felt an overwheming burden of sadness and I turned to look at you. There you stood with your short, curly hair and your soft, porcelain skin. You were wearing a nightgown and you raised your arms to me in a gesture of embrace. I rushed back to you, not knowing why I was so sad, and I fell into your arms. I buried my face into your neck.

Oh my God, I felt your warm skin and I inhaled your sweet scent. It was so real and in my dream I still could not understand my sadness. Then I woke up…

I’ve gone the rest of the day on the verge of tears. They’ve just been sitting there waiting to be unleashed, but I’ve been too busy attending to my family to let them flow – until now.

I miss you Grandma. I love you and I miss you. I think about you so often, and I kiss your ring each night when I take it off. Then, when God decides to allow me to rise the next day…a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I put it back on. I hope you find me again one night soon…I really want to spend some more time with you.

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Dee Dee’s First Volleyball Tournament!

Posted on January 8, 2012 by thisnest | Permalink 0

Did I say I was going to share some pics of today’s tournament?? PSYCH!! My old camera was out of batteries and so, for probably the first time ever in the history of the Sparrows, I didn’t take photos at one of the kid’s athletic events.

What I can share with you though are details…

We got up around 4:30 a.m. We got showered and ready, packed up the car, changed the carseat over from the Suburban (we only took one of the little guys), ate breakfast, hit the gas station, and took off down the freeway. An hour later we arrived at our tournament location. Memories of our first club season with her older sister began to swirl through my head as the sights and sounds of sixteen volleyball teams, four volleyball courts, team tables loaded with food, and herds of parents with fold-out chairs began to take over Willamette University. Let the games begin!

Dee Dee did pretty well. She had a lot of really great plays, surviving on her natural athletic instinct since she’s totally new to this level of the game. She had a few not-so-great plays too…but that’s not only to be expected, but embraced, as she uses these experiences to continue her growth into the phenomenal baller we all know she’s going to be! No one would know that she is one of the youngest athletes in the joint. Not when they catch a glimpse of her long and muscular frame, arms and legs for miles, and the power to back it all up with! She is so incredibly beautiful. I am so incredibly proud. I couldn’t wait for each new parent to ask me which of the players was mine…so I could announce with pride that the strong and lovely one in the middle-front, yes, she is mine!

I love you Dee Dee! You did a great job today. You picked up some more skills and a little more endurance for these very long tournament weekends. Keep up the good work, Baller!

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