The Lanyard

I was talking to my brother-in-law about Alex's recent obsession, and he mentioned a poem titled, The Lanyard by Billy Collins. I looked it up, laughed quite hard, and knew it had to make an appearance here, as I was just recently gifted a precious lanyard.

The Lanyard
by Billy Collins

The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the pale blue walls of this room,
bouncing from typewriter to piano,
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
I found myself in the L section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one more suddenly into the past --
a past where I sat at a workbench at a camp
by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid thin plastic strips
into a lanyard, a gift for my mother.

I had never seen anyone use a lanyard
or wear one, if that’s what you did with them,
but that did not keep me from crossing
strand over strand again and again
until I had made a boxy
red and white lanyard for my mother.

She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard.
She nursed me in many a sickroom,
lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips,
set cold face-cloths on my forehead,
and then led me out into the airy light

and taught me to walk and swim,
and I, in turn, presented her with a lanyard.
Here are thousands of meals, she said,
and here is clothing and a good education.
And here is your lanyard, I replied,
which I made with a little help from a counselor.

Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth,
and two clear eyes to read the world, she whispered,
and here, I said, is the lanyard I made at camp.
And here, I wish to say to her now,
is a smaller gift--not the archaic truth

that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took
the two-tone lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless, worthless thing I wove
out of boredom would be enough to make us even.


(You can watch/listen to him read it here, which I highly recommend!)

Alex returned from his second week of summer camp with two arms full of bracelets. Some were purchased at the camp store and some were products of his own creation. During the drive home, there were a few stories told about swimming and boating and the climbing wall and all those things that dominated every other trip to camp. But surprisingly, the main focus was on these creations called "Boondoggles," that he had learned to make during arts and crafts. Boondoggles are crafty bracelets or lanyards made from a special cordlike material, by twisting and weaving them in various ways.

A few days later, Stefan took him out to buy the proper equipment. And to Alex's great delight, they located a website with instructions on many different kinds of bracelets and lanyards and other crafts. Since then, hardly a day has passed when Alex isn't hunkered down, creating a new one. (I've been presented with two, so far) And he's talking, talking, talking about every single detail.

Today is focus is creating a rocket ship. I've been listening to the details for the last two hours. I love every bit of this---his focus, his intensity on details, and his pride in his finished result.

Most importantly, I love seeing this expression:

I'd say we are even, my boy.