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Remembering life's lessons and mother's love

Peter Hamilton

Thanksgiving was great. I needed those four days to reconstruct myself. I barely finished.

I spent dinner on Thursday without my mom for the third year in a row, and without my pop for the first time ever (my mom has passed away; my pop was in Seattle). With the Hamilton household quiet, I got to thinking. After a couple days, I came up with some ideas that weren't too original. But nonetheless, they seem to be worth mentioning.

The process started simply. I found, and flipped through, my junior high school yearbook after dinner on Thursday. I guess you could say that I had some serious time on my hands.

I was surprised by all the K.I.T.'s (keep in touch) and I-hope-to-see-you-over-the-summer's signed by people I could barely remember (and some I could not remember at all). There was one line by someone named Leslie that read, "we may be scrubs (term for seventh-graders at my school) this year, but next year we'll be the big kids!"

Lucky for us, the next year we were just that ­ the big kids.

Unfortunately, I stopped being a kid a while ago. And I have gone on to do something far more difficult. I have grown up and become the adult that every junior high kid thinks they will never become.

Right now I have all the freedom the seventh-grader inside me wanted back in 1981. I can stay up all night, I can drive, I can go to a bar. I can even do all three at once if I'm feeling frisky. I am a dream come true to my former self.

If that is the case, then why do I go to bed by 11 p.m., take the bus to school and avoid alcohol at all costs?

Maybe it's because I spent my undergraduate years staying up as late as possible, driving as fast as my engine would let me and drinking as much as my body would tolerate. I did it. It got old, just like me.

Thursday night I went to bed with the realization that I am a full-fledged adult. I must have dreamed the kind of dreams that adults dream because I don't remember any.

The next day I was awakened by the kind of news you never get used to. My good friend, Alexandra, had her mother die unexpectedly a few days before. Even though my own mother died three years ago, I did not know what to say to Alexandra. I wanted to help her, but I knew there was nothing I could say that would help.

Everyone tried to console me after my mom died (and it did help to a certain degree), but none of my friends' words of comfort were capable of doing what I wanted. I simply wanted to hear my mother's voice again.

Alexandra's tragedy got me thinking about this enigma in which we live. Up to that point, I had always felt that the meaning of life was love. I mean, I knew diamonds were a girl's best friend and boys were made of snails and puppy dog tails, but in the back of my mind I knew that love made the world go round.

So what happens when a major source of love in your life dies? I looked, but that answer wasn't in my user's manual.

Let's fast-forward to Saturday night. I was home when a good friend of mine, Caryn, came over for one of those I'm-home-for-the-holidays-so-come-on-over-and-talk talks.

Somewhere around midnight (after gossiping about who's doing what, and with whom) we agreed that loving people may be the meaning of life, but that didn't mean there was any security in it. I guess it didn't take a couple of geniuses to come up with that conclusion, but at that moment it seemed deep.

It wasn't until I gave a post-Thanksgiving prayer that night (for Alexandra's mother) that the pieces started falling in place for me. Since I hadn't done my traditional what-I-am-thankful-for speech at dinner Thursday, I decided to thank God for all the wonderful things in my life. One of the top things on my list (right behind that fabulous trouncing of the USC football team God dished up this year) was all the knowledge my mother had given me.

I didn't realize it until the next day, but I had come up with an addendum to my meaning-of-life user's manual. I had found a partial answer to the question, how can love still make the world go round when a major source of love dies?

My answer was that my mom had finished her duty. Her duty was to raise, love and educate her children. She did just that ­ boy, did she do that. And after teaching me and my sister everything she knew, she left us to gather more knowledge.

I guess the same could be said for Alexandra's mother.

And to expand on that, I guess the same could be said for Buddha, Christ and Mohammed.

I guess love does make the world go round, but knowledge is the axle grease that lets it run smoothly (ouch, that is such a stretch).

But I have strayed somewhat. I was talking about the seventh-grade Peter Hamilton who has grown into the adult Peter Hamilton. It is hard to believe that I now have unlimited freedom. I can say and do anything I want.

What do I want to do with all this freedom? Well, I don't think I'll worry about the fact that I go to bed early, ride the bus or avoid bars. Actually, those things seem to make me happy.

And I think it's safe to say they probably make my mom happy as well. God knows I wish I had done those things (and not all the stupid things I did do) when she was alive.

But that doesn't really answer the question of what I would like to do with all this freedom. To be honest, my only aspirations are to get married, have kids and teach my children everything I know ... oh yeah, and have my children grow up to be Bruins.

For those of you wondering what my mom taught me, here goes:

TOP 10 THINGS JANET HAMILTON TAUGHT PETER HAMILTON:

1. Treat children as though they matter. Listen to them. Don't talk at them.

2. Turn rocks over.

3. Winners lose, losers don't enter the race.

4. Patience beats power every time.

5. Those who dance live forever.

6. Dogs are dumb, but they are not downright stupid, like cats.

7. You make your own chosen reality, so choose wisely.

8. Don't eat yellow snow.

9. Hugs cure all.

10. Be a Bruin (my mom was).

Thank you, mom. And if you see Alexandra's mom, say hi to her for me.

Hamilton, a graduate art student, is the editor in chief of UCLART, a literary art journal. His latest art works are currently on display at twoPART, 11769 Santa Monica Blvd., West L.A. He invites you to see the display.

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