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Stand On It

Whether it was monster trucks, dragsters, stock cars, motocross, four wheeling, or getting to work on time, Mary liked it fast and loud. Little did I know when I started dating this pretty hippy gal that she would take me to my first NASCAR race and accompany me to countless drag races and motor sports events.

Mary was a sensitive, conscientious, and graceful woman who could get down there on the fence with her boys and feel the rubber flying off funny car tires, dotting our skin and clothes with black. She could stand at the edge of a gravel parking lot and watch Bigfoot launch into the air and smash cars twenty feet away. She could sit under the summer sun at Dover International Speedway for hours on end rooting for, and against, the drivers. She was meant to be the mom to two gasoline fume loving boys.

Those boys still tease me about not driving as fast as Mom. My younger says, “Yeah, she had a metal foot.”
“That’s lead foot, Son.”
“Nah, I like ‘metal.'”
Metal foot it is.

Mary enjoyed so many things in life. From the quietest of museum galleries to the loudest of cars. She showed our boys that life was to be lived. Experiences became the core of our home education philosophy. Expose a child to all the wonderful creations of God and man and let that child find his own loves and passions. The boys are a lot like Mary, up for anything and ready to take the lead on an adventure.

I fear they’ll also drive like her.

God bless,
Jason

Photo credit unknown.
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A Dad of Letters

I embraced a psychological death this week. More than two months after the physical death of my wife I am coming to the realization that I have to rebuild part of my mind.

I listen to Jordan Peterson a lot (and you should too) and grew into maturity listening to and reading Joseph Campbell. I never thought the Hero’s Journey would apply to me, but to quote Peterson, “Wrong!” Here I am, in the dark wood, dragons all about, and a village to save. It’s scary and I tried to deny the task that God has set before me. A sulfurous beast gave me no choice in the form of a combined birthday party for my boys. It almost took me out to do this without Mary. It killed part of me and I feel a little more peace for it being gone. The emptiness isn’t so much an impassable black hole any longer, but a blank page I have to fill.

Blank pages to fill can be scary too. But more dragons must be slayed and I have been inspired to spill a lot of ink in the process. I have a thousand wells of inspiration, but one very important source came in the form of a TEDxWilmington talk that happened as I girded myself to receive guests and facilitate the celebration. After surviving the party I was able to catch a replay of Alessandra Nicole‘s presentation. I knew it was about letter writing and included an image of the boys, so we sat down to watch together. I had no idea that it would feature our story, that I was watching it at the most perfect time, nor that it would light my way farther into that dark wood.

I wrote two quick letters the next morning, one with the help and guidance of my younger son. These are small markers of my rebuilding; clearing of rubble, choosing of materials, drafting of plans, inspecting of still-standing structures and foundations, slaying of dragons. I can’t put it back together, I’m going to build something new page by page and brick by brick.

God bless,
Jason

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The Lacking a Nearly Perfect Teammate Problem

Mary and I centered our lives around team work. We both came from team sport backgrounds and discovered nearly perfect teammates in each other. We identified problems in written and verbal exchanges and devised how each of us could apply our skill set to best solving each one together. We believed that if a problem is not addressed, it will get worse. Identifying and prioritizing problems is the first step.

The Lacking a Nearly Perfect Teammate Problem is underneath all the other quandaries now. Solutions have been ad hoc and temporary so far. I can’t recall chipping away at a puzzle for this long and not, at least, feeling like I was closer to a resolution.

Language is a not-nearly-perfect teammate. But it’s the tool God has given me to make the uncertainty into something real. Once I can grasp these dilemmas, I’ll write through them and hope that I can help someone else along the way.

God bless,
Jason

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Home?

Green heron, blue heron, swifts, geese and goslings, robins, flies, dogs big and small, friends, mallards, sparrows, and innumerable creatures we couldn’t name. The only thing that was odd not to see was a green-winged macaw named Rudy. We didn’t plan an adventure at Brandywine Park in Wilmington, but we got it.

This is why “home” education is an inadequate term. I couldn’t have identified half of those birds five years ago. I probably wouldn’t have even spotted some of them if I hadn’t shifted my perception of what education meant. It’s holistic for us. We sit down by a river for lunch and three mallards put on a courtship battle at our feet. We’ve got a day’s worth of lessons right there. Art in the surprisingly blue feathers of the female, Drama in the males’ struggle, Biology, Ecology…the boys’ questions turn to Sociology and Psychology. Forget lessons, a curriculum has waddled upon us!

Much of the base knowledge has come from books and learning in the home, but the excitement and application is there in the unexpectedness. And most of our birding knowledge has come from time in the field with experts of varying degrees. The green heron is a great example. We were at Ashland Nature Center and asked a naturalist about the interesting bird that was fishing along the Red Clay Creek. She told us it was a green heron, but there was disagreement among the Zerbeys so we did our follow-up research. Sure enough, this bird we hadn’t heard of, and is hardly green, was introduced to our world.

The journey for the right words continues…

God bless,
Jason

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Zerbey World

Mary and I didn’t discuss our children’s education until we had two of them. It seems absurd now that we spent so little time thinking about how we were guiding their development from the earliest stages to what was next.

I left my job as a proofreader/editor to care for our boys when the second was born and childcare expenses (+ gas + tolls + time away from family) became more than we would tolerate.

Over the next few months I made a Halloween costume, saw live music during lunch time, visited museums, and got to tell Mary a thousand stories about our days.

I didn’t regret it for one second. It was the first time that I felt like I was doing what I was born to do. Mary saw it too. We stopped talking about finding freelance work or what am I going to do “next”? We had to invent “next,” or so we thought.

We narrowed our focus to kindergarten and started with our own experiences, except for my first crush (I’ll never forget our student teacher, Ms. Austin), I had no idea what happened in that year.

Hold on. I remember the following summer. I did the math on my age difference with Ms. Austin and resolved I had the patience if she could find it. I also convinced my mom to help me write a letter to her. The first math and writing lessons I ever cared about were created by my own initiative. Ms. Austin wrote back, let me down easy, and showed me the power of knowledge. It wasn’t success that got me excited, but it was a taste of the adult world. I engaged with an adult outside the school system and took my chance like an equal.

That’s what I want for my boys. Not to subvert and battle the system like I had to, but to live outside of it. Not just taste the adult world, but live in it.

God bless,
Jason

 

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The Beautiful Gratitude

I married the greatest soccer manager, supporter, and cheerleader one could imagine. It started when I moved to Delaware and she helped me find a home with  Concord Soccer Association. I joined their adult co-rec team, Classics II, and got back to playing the same month our first son was born. Soccer was never too much, even when I took over managing as we had our second son. Mary more-than-ensured that soccer was a part of our lives. She brought our boys to games, did almost all of the managing paperwork, and listened to my endless recaps of games or plays she missed.

Mary didn’t have a whole lot of incentive to cultivate my love of the game. She came from a football coach dad and soccer got me into trouble while we were dating. We played and celebrated hard in those days and after being banned from a bar or two, a possible assault, and having a teammate throw up on her I don’t know how Mary thought soccer should stay in our lives. Again, her wisdom and patience saved me. Leading Classics II has been the greatest experience outside blood family I’ve had over the last ten years. They’ve become family. And not only these great folks, but the other teams I’ve been blessed to play with, the charity tournaments, the pickups, the opponents, and the other leaders I’ve gotten to watch and learn from, our soccer family is enormous and generous. From delivered meals, donations to the boys’ education fund, invitations to pro games, Bible studies, parties, and dinners to well wishes and prayers, our soccer family has embraced us and protected us.

Soccer has never been an “escape” for me, but more of a meditation. My mind is in a different mode on the field, but Mary and the boys are always there with me. As I glance over to see the boys playing while I play, I feel blessed that this isn’t some part of Daddy’s life that they didn’t know. I’m blessed that Mary inspired me to be a better player, leader, dad, and human. Her memory still inspires me and guides me in how to go about that.

After 30 years of playing I’ve got too many people to thank. Maybe you’re one of those people.

Thank you and God bless,
Jason

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Daffodils and Gratitude

Like so many things, I didn’t discover Winterthur until we had children. It started with a visit in 2013 and we were hooked from the start.

We joined directly and began discovering all the wonderful experiences and people that make up this magnificent estate. Terrific Tuesdays, Kids Grow, Time Traveler’s Tour, Wow Wee Ones, Touch-It Room, innumerable tram tours…yikes…there are too many things to list. And the programs are only possible because of an amazing staff and volunteer core. One thousand acres, a 175-room museum, and top-quality activities all through the year; it should take an army, but from our second visit we were seeing familiar faces. Our boys have made friends with tram drivers, gardeners, docents, member representatives, and a big wig or two. On Mary’s passing we received personal notes from volunteers and employees. Some attended her memorial. They’ve been a special part of our family.

The image above is from Mary’s last hike there. Carrying family, she did it every day and got to act out the role on this beautiful Second Saturday walk in January. We’re going to return for another special walk with Chris Strand this weekend. Fortunate for us (and many others), it’s also Daffodil Day. Celebrating spring and the new Follies garden displays, it’s the perfect way to discover, or rediscover, the wonder of Winterthur.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

God bless,
Jason

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Waking Up With Iggy Pop

I’m gonna break into your heart
I’m gonna crawl under your skin
I’m gonna break into your heart
And follow till I see where you begin

-Iggy Pop, “Break Into Your Heart”

Mary would not have liked to hear this first thing in the morning.

She broke into my heart at a time when I was completing construction of another defensive shield. She opened me up to a world that I was reluctantly giving up on. She introduced me to a big family and community of friends and showed me how to navigate all these wonderful people.

Mary’s death hasn’t broken my heart, but broken into it. It’s the excitement and possibility of a new love, the terror of being found out to be an unworthy sinner, and the adrenaline pump of being one goal down with four minutes to go.

Mary was the perfect concert mate, even when she wasn’t particularly thrilled about the artist. This show was something special. It was shortly after David Bowie had died and Iggy didn’t mention him once, but played almost all of The Idiot, an album he wrote and recorded with Bowie. He played his best material with the tightest backing band. Although I failed to turn her into a fan, she thoroughly enjoyed the show and I earned permission to play the cleaner songs around the house.

Life is different around here, nowadays you might find the Zerbey Three listening to this gem:

God bless,

Jason

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The Personal Pronoun Problem

My name is Jason Zerbey. In my 39th year I found Jesus and lost my wife, Mary Zerbey.

We were home educating our 6- and 8-year-old boys. I was the lead educator and Mary supported us financially through her job, emotionally through her love, and spiritually through her spirit.

Now I’m trying to puzzle together our new life without her. She provided too much to replace, but more than we need to celebrate her legacy through our exploits.

I stopped drinking, but I still can’t speak clearly. “We” used to cover it all. No matter if I was on my own or in any temporal combination of Zerbeys, it was always, “We went here ,” “We did this,” “We decided that…” Everything was as a team. The Zerbey Three are still a team, but there’s now an “I” that has to show up.

I’m very much out of “I” practice.

With many blessings, we are surrounded by amazing communities here in Delaware and worldwide who are uplifting that “I.” Even so, I can’t decide whether they are “my boys” or “our boys.” Context seems to matter, but I have learned to listen to my heart more closely than I do the Chicago Manual of Style or Grammar Girl.

We Zerbey Three still feel Mary working in our lives. God has taken her body, but He’s left us her nearly boundless love. We’re on this new journey with Mary and for Mary.

So if you catch me using an awkward-sounding “we,” don’t worry, it’s not denial, it’s truth.

God bless,

Jason

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February Took My Mary, April Brought Back Poetry

Mary always wanted me to write her a poem.

I had hit a 12-man defense of writer’s block shortly before we met and was never able to work my way through it. I don’t know why I stopped writing or why I couldn’t start again. Maybe I got too practical, political, earthly. Or maybe the healing I found in poetry was now embodied in this beautiful spirit who was leading me into a fuller and healthier life.

The books of poetry, the journals, and the floppy disks of verse are still around, but I haven’t really shared that old passion with my children. Losing Mary has stripped me right down to all my weaknesses. The worst is when they seem like too much for me to overcome. The best is when I can take a breath and confront one.

As National Poetry Month, April used to be special for me. This April can feel like the cruelest at times, but God has placed poetry in front of me again and I won’t ignore it. My younger son picked up a book seemingly about dragons and it turned out to be about Matsuo Basho.  Then I ran into Jonathan Whitney at Delaware Art Museum and he encouraged me to attend a special music and poetry presentation at The Delaware Contemporary. It was a “say yes” moment and helped orient our lives in a healing direction.

The Twin Poets and Mélomanie were amazing and Jonathan was fierce on the box drum.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My boys sat for nearly two hours in the front row and really listened. The younger wanted to buy the Twin’s book of poetry, Our Work, Our Words and I quickly learned that it was specifically for the soccer and E-A-G-L-E-S–infused piece, “no time to study.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry is back in our lives and the timing is no coincidence. I don’t know if I’ll finally be able to write that poem for Mary, or if one of the boys will take up the task, but I do know that we’re missing a beautiful part of our lives and we’re trying to fill it with tangible and intangible creations of love. I expect a lot of that work to be done in words.

God bless,

Jason