My brother bullied me when I was a kid. But now as an adult, I know it was just his way of establishing the sibling hierarchy - he was older AND of course, he was the boy so it was inherently normal for him to annoy the hell out of me and push me around a time or two. The bullying wasn't enough to bring me to tears or turn me into a serial killer but simply his way of keeping me in my place (wherever that was!). I remember when we were kids my mother would dress us in enough layers in winter to melt the polar ice caps and my brother would push me over in the snow and I could not get up. I was a turtle on its back and my brother would laugh at me and leave me there to figure out a walk to get back onto my two feet (hmmm. maybe I should have directed my anger at my mother and not my brother???)
I think sibling bullying is inherent - it is something that has been around for thousands of years - it's just the term "bullying" wasn't around when the cavemen brothers (and sisters) were beating each other up for no other reason other than they did. Most likely, back then, it was over a lost of stolen club or tool, or perhaps simply to garner the attention of parents - or garner the attention of a special boy or girl.
More often than not, brothers and sisters who annoy and bully their siblings are just being brothers and sisters and there is nothing vicious or cruel about their behavior. The younger sibling - usually the recipient of the torment - takes it to heart and feels his or her older sibling is nothing short of a monster that needs to be vaporized right then and there. In some instances, fists and feet will fly and patches of hair torn out of heads and parents have to listen to both sides of their children's argument to avoid the appearance of favoritism. An hour later, peace is usually restored.
So at what point does bullying escalate into the kind of vicious and horrendous daily torment that caused 15-year old Phoebe Prince to hang herself after months of bullying by high school classmates, or Rutgers' student Tyler Clementi to kill himself because his college roommates thought it would be "fun" to post a video online of Tyler having sex with someone of the same gender?
Schools have instituted policies to prevent bullying. States have passed anti-bullying laws to punish those who push others to the brink - and beyond. "Cyberbullying" is now a crime punishable by possible jail time. But are these laws harsh enough?
Not to the hard-core bullies. Those "policies" and "laws" are just words on paper. And their victims would rather suffer in silence - or in death - than stand up and tell the world how his or her own world is being destroyed by one tormentor.
Humans are wired to fight and protect themselves and their offspring, their land, their possessions. These are survival mechanisms that kick in instinctively when we are threatened. We protect ourselves - or attempt to - against those whose intentions are to inflict hurt and pain upon us in the form of words - written or verbal. With the technological advancements available, "cyberbullying" is a very real, tangible, living, breathing monster with tentacles that can reach all the way around the world and cause someone insurmountable pain.
Weapons in the form of words. I've written about this before.
But don't you wonder what prevents people like myself - and my brother who was simply a "brother bully" to me and has since grown and raised a family as I have done -- from crossing that line and becoming someone like one of those nine teenagers who bullied Phoebe Prince to her suicide or someone like one of those three Rutgers' students who bullied Tyler Clementi to take his life, too?
What set my brother and I apart from those genuine monsters? And each and every bully who caused someone's death?
There is not - and most likely never will be - a clear cut answer.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Snow in New England - It's Just A Way of Life
As I sit here and look out my kitchen windows I see how the branches of trees are reaching to the ground with the weight of the recent foot and a half plus of snow that Mother Nature dumped on us (she's sitting on a white-colored sand beach with a Pina Colada in her hand, snickering right now).
While the beauty of the scenery is spread out before me, I can't help but reminisce about my early childhood in Vermont. I was born during a blizzard and playing in the snow was part of my daily routine. It was nothing for my mother to bundle up my brother and I with enough layers of clothing that caused us to walk like Frankenstein but with certainty that her children were warm enough to withstand the harsh cold of Vermont.
I remember sledding down Hilltop Avenue on my wooden-slatted Radio Flyer sled and then of course the silver metal saucers and the heavy metal toboggans that of course were death sleds if you went up a jump and leaned to the wrong side. But I lived to tell about those death-defying rides which back then, simply evoked peals of laughter and a lot of chapped lips.
Of course, I didn't have to shovel any of it when I was younger but now, as an adult, I find myself looking at the snow with one eye closed and tyring to ascertain how much Tylenol I will need to alleviate the back pain incurred from shoveling all the snow (as I am doing right at this moment).
There is something wondrous about snow - especially when one has children with whom to enjoy that wonder. Snowmen with varying sizes of bodies, vegetable adornments and of course, the illustrious hat. Spray painting snow with food coloring. Snowball fights and forts. I remember not caring how much snow was on the ground but about playing in it, with it and how many things I could make with it.
While I balk at going outside because I do not like to be cold (and unfortunately, the Coumadin I take makes me a good candidate for an extra freezer because I am cold all the time), my son delights in newly fallen snow and I see myself in him - the way I used to be when I was his age - and his cajoling breaks me down and I end up outside with him and find myself enjoying the simple things that make him happy.
We are collecting a few spray bottles right now to take outside which will hold various colors of food coloring to pretend we are Picasso or Michaelangelo.
The snowbanks and snow-covered bark may not be the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel but for my son, they are places that he express his own creativity and be a kid.
And that's what matters most to me.
Of course, the hot chocolate and whipped cream that will follow our journey out into the winter wonderland will be an enticement back in all unto itself.
While the beauty of the scenery is spread out before me, I can't help but reminisce about my early childhood in Vermont. I was born during a blizzard and playing in the snow was part of my daily routine. It was nothing for my mother to bundle up my brother and I with enough layers of clothing that caused us to walk like Frankenstein but with certainty that her children were warm enough to withstand the harsh cold of Vermont.
I remember sledding down Hilltop Avenue on my wooden-slatted Radio Flyer sled and then of course the silver metal saucers and the heavy metal toboggans that of course were death sleds if you went up a jump and leaned to the wrong side. But I lived to tell about those death-defying rides which back then, simply evoked peals of laughter and a lot of chapped lips.
Of course, I didn't have to shovel any of it when I was younger but now, as an adult, I find myself looking at the snow with one eye closed and tyring to ascertain how much Tylenol I will need to alleviate the back pain incurred from shoveling all the snow (as I am doing right at this moment).
There is something wondrous about snow - especially when one has children with whom to enjoy that wonder. Snowmen with varying sizes of bodies, vegetable adornments and of course, the illustrious hat. Spray painting snow with food coloring. Snowball fights and forts. I remember not caring how much snow was on the ground but about playing in it, with it and how many things I could make with it.
While I balk at going outside because I do not like to be cold (and unfortunately, the Coumadin I take makes me a good candidate for an extra freezer because I am cold all the time), my son delights in newly fallen snow and I see myself in him - the way I used to be when I was his age - and his cajoling breaks me down and I end up outside with him and find myself enjoying the simple things that make him happy.
We are collecting a few spray bottles right now to take outside which will hold various colors of food coloring to pretend we are Picasso or Michaelangelo.
The snowbanks and snow-covered bark may not be the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel but for my son, they are places that he express his own creativity and be a kid.
And that's what matters most to me.
Of course, the hot chocolate and whipped cream that will follow our journey out into the winter wonderland will be an enticement back in all unto itself.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Senseless Tragedies in Arizona: Mental Illness Behind The Trigger
The shootings in Arizona - six people killed, 13 wounded including Arizona Congresswoman Gabrielle Giffords who was shot in the head - is another senseless tragedy that has raised more questions to which no one has answers.
But the media and people around the country are once again pointing fingers at the "weak" gun laws in Arizona - and other states - for allowing persons like Jared Lee Loughner, to purchase the gun and ammunition which was used in his killing spree.
Let's be clear about one thing: It is NOT the gun that kills, it's the person behind the gun. And "weak" gun laws in any state are not going to prevent the tragedies as has occurred in Arizona.
Loughner, a 22-year old young man with a history of mental illness, opened fired on Giffords' "Congress On Your Corner" event, an event she had created for the benefit of the general public, an event where anyone could attend and voice their concern or issue - and be heard. Loughner purchased a semiautomatic gun and two magazines that held 30 bullets each, and two more that held 15 bullets each. He filled out the paperwork as required, provided proper identification (over 18 years of age) as required and passed the ATF federal background check which asked if he had ever been adjudicated mentally ill.
Loughner apparently has never been adjudicated mentally ill but is erratic behavior, his postings and writings on youtube.com have now raised the anger of many because he was allowed to purchase the gun that he used to kill six people in Arizona, including a nine-year old, and seriously wounding Giffords with a gunshot to her head.
Sadly and tragically, Christina Taylor Green, the nine-year old who was killed, was an "aspiring politician" who was newly elected to her school's student council and who was born on 9/11/01.
The media has profiled the victims of Loughner's massacre. The media has profiled Loughner to some degree and the portrait painted of this killer is blurred and smeared with indicators of mental illness.
Loughner was prone to "outbursts" of such an unusual nature that no one wanted to sit next to him in class. His behavior forced him to leave a community college. He was turned down when he attempted to enlist in the Army.
But the pointing fingers keep turning back to the fact that Loughner was able to purchase a gun and use it to the extent he did.
How do we "tighten" gun laws? Should these laws even be tightened? The Second Amendment - the right to bear arms - is a constitutional right because as I stated - it's not the gun itself that kills - it's the person pulling the trigger. And determining if someone is "mentally stable" to purchase a gun is not up to the shop owner who sells that person a gun. It's not going to be found on a form and a blank box waiting to be checked either "yes" or "no" as to the purchaser's adjudication - or not - of mental illness.
A person can have mental illness without ever committing a crime. Unusual behavior or "outbursts" are not crimes and will not turn up in a background check. Loughner was not qualified to join the Army. Why? He was simply determined to be "unqualified."
You can sit and ask four thousand questions about Loughner, and you can point fingers at the alleged too weak gun laws but the fact remains is that mental illness can be hidden, it is not a piece of tangible, concrete evidence that will confirm or deny the psychological state of mind of a person, and certainly whether someone is approved or denied the ability to purchase a gun.
Even if Loughner had been denied his purchase, he would have found another way to carry out his murderous killing spree.
The killings are horrific tragedies and yet another reminder that mental illness still remains a mystery to many and is truly only brought to light when this kind of tragedy occurs.
Loughner will most likely not be deemed competent to stand trial and be committed for the rest of his life to a psychiatric institution and never be held accountable for his crimes because he himself may not understand his actions. It does not absolve him of his crimes and certainly, the store that sold Loughner his gun and ammo should not be blamed.
Perhaps Loughner has everyone fooled and knew exactly what he was doing - his actions being justified by only himself inside his own twisted, upside down world in which he has lived, inside his own blurred and smeared portrait of himself he painted in his brain.
His picture, unfortunately, is not worth a thousand words but a thousand more questions of how deep his mental illness is which will go unanswered forever.
But the media and people around the country are once again pointing fingers at the "weak" gun laws in Arizona - and other states - for allowing persons like Jared Lee Loughner, to purchase the gun and ammunition which was used in his killing spree.
Let's be clear about one thing: It is NOT the gun that kills, it's the person behind the gun. And "weak" gun laws in any state are not going to prevent the tragedies as has occurred in Arizona.
Loughner, a 22-year old young man with a history of mental illness, opened fired on Giffords' "Congress On Your Corner" event, an event she had created for the benefit of the general public, an event where anyone could attend and voice their concern or issue - and be heard. Loughner purchased a semiautomatic gun and two magazines that held 30 bullets each, and two more that held 15 bullets each. He filled out the paperwork as required, provided proper identification (over 18 years of age) as required and passed the ATF federal background check which asked if he had ever been adjudicated mentally ill.
Loughner apparently has never been adjudicated mentally ill but is erratic behavior, his postings and writings on youtube.com have now raised the anger of many because he was allowed to purchase the gun that he used to kill six people in Arizona, including a nine-year old, and seriously wounding Giffords with a gunshot to her head.
Sadly and tragically, Christina Taylor Green, the nine-year old who was killed, was an "aspiring politician" who was newly elected to her school's student council and who was born on 9/11/01.
The media has profiled the victims of Loughner's massacre. The media has profiled Loughner to some degree and the portrait painted of this killer is blurred and smeared with indicators of mental illness.
Loughner was prone to "outbursts" of such an unusual nature that no one wanted to sit next to him in class. His behavior forced him to leave a community college. He was turned down when he attempted to enlist in the Army.
But the pointing fingers keep turning back to the fact that Loughner was able to purchase a gun and use it to the extent he did.
How do we "tighten" gun laws? Should these laws even be tightened? The Second Amendment - the right to bear arms - is a constitutional right because as I stated - it's not the gun itself that kills - it's the person pulling the trigger. And determining if someone is "mentally stable" to purchase a gun is not up to the shop owner who sells that person a gun. It's not going to be found on a form and a blank box waiting to be checked either "yes" or "no" as to the purchaser's adjudication - or not - of mental illness.
A person can have mental illness without ever committing a crime. Unusual behavior or "outbursts" are not crimes and will not turn up in a background check. Loughner was not qualified to join the Army. Why? He was simply determined to be "unqualified."
You can sit and ask four thousand questions about Loughner, and you can point fingers at the alleged too weak gun laws but the fact remains is that mental illness can be hidden, it is not a piece of tangible, concrete evidence that will confirm or deny the psychological state of mind of a person, and certainly whether someone is approved or denied the ability to purchase a gun.
Even if Loughner had been denied his purchase, he would have found another way to carry out his murderous killing spree.
The killings are horrific tragedies and yet another reminder that mental illness still remains a mystery to many and is truly only brought to light when this kind of tragedy occurs.
Loughner will most likely not be deemed competent to stand trial and be committed for the rest of his life to a psychiatric institution and never be held accountable for his crimes because he himself may not understand his actions. It does not absolve him of his crimes and certainly, the store that sold Loughner his gun and ammo should not be blamed.
Perhaps Loughner has everyone fooled and knew exactly what he was doing - his actions being justified by only himself inside his own twisted, upside down world in which he has lived, inside his own blurred and smeared portrait of himself he painted in his brain.
His picture, unfortunately, is not worth a thousand words but a thousand more questions of how deep his mental illness is which will go unanswered forever.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Parenting Is Not for Dummies
I'm almost afraid to go check but did someone publish a book called "Parenting for Dummies?"
Parenting is not for dummies but unfortunately, many parents are just wired that way and certainly don't need a book to tell them what they already are - and worse.
This is my humor showing but let's be real here: When you "become" a parent, you are either in or out. That is about as black and white as it gets. However, as thousands and thousands of both mothers and fathers and moms and dads out there in this world, the lines between black and white are severely blurred by those "parents" who decide when he or she wants to be a "parent" to his/her child or children.
Let's look at definitions first. The American Heritage Student Dictionary defines parent as: "a man or woman who contributes one of the two reproductive cells that determine the genetic makeup of a child;" "a biological father or mother" and the third one "a person who nurtures and raises a child."
There is nothing in any of those three definitions that mention unconditional love, loving without expectation or terms or devotion or taking a bullet for your child or children, protecting your child from the monsters in the closet, spending quality time with your child or children (married, separated or divorced) and there is NOTHING in those three definitions that says a parent can pick and choose to be a parent when it suits him or her.
So, my question is for all the moms and dads in this world who "pick and choose" when you feel like being a parent: What gives you the right to decide when it suits you to be a parent?
Please don't get me wrong: This "picking and choosing" is an extremely common occurrence. And not surprising, it is not limited to divorced parents. It goes on in marriages.
But does anyone consider how it affects the child or children of these situations? I am not a perfect parent and I've never claimed to be and I will never be one but I have been a 24/7, 365 mom since the day I found out I was pregnant with Jake. There has not been one day that I woke up and said "huh. Don't feel like being a Mom today and actually followed through." Have there been times when I've wanted to throw myself in front of a bus because single parenthood got the best of me and I figured death was far better than going at this alone? Yes. But did I do it? No. Why? Because one look at my son was all it took to make me see that the sun is going to rise the next day and that the next day will probably be better than the day I thought about being bus kill.
People marry, people have kids. Or, people just have kids and kids and more kids by three or four different mothers and fathers. Some people have kids just to sleaze off state-aid services because they are supporting drug habits, criminal proclivities or are just plain lazy and will never amount to anything. Nice, shining examples for their children. And most like, those children will grow up to be exactly like their shining examples of parents.
Then there are those who marry, have a child or children, and realize what a horribly bad judgment call he or she made, extricates himself or herself from the marriage and embarks on the single parent journey which is fraught with frustration, anger, bitterness and resentment, struggles of the fourth kind while still trying to figure out how to be a parent when he or she has absolutely no tools with which to work.
Contrary to popular belief (and the books that line the shelves of bookstores all over the world), there is no book that tells you how to be a parent. None. Not one. Everyone is wired differently. Everyone takes a different approach. Some mimic what they already know from their own parents. Some, like me, just make it up as I go along. I had horrible role models for parents. Sure, I had a house (a structure built on a foundation), but never a home; I had a mother (but not a mom) and my memories of her are ironing with a wine glass in her hand and taking the horrific verbal abuse my father heaped upon her daily; and I had a father whose lust for power and money was far more important than taking his kids to summer camp, to sports practices and games, going outside and playing kick the can at night or helping with homework.
I had none of that. Which is the reason why the rift between myself and my three siblings is so huge and wide that there is nothing that can close that gap. And I thank my parents for creating that for us.
And this is the reason why I always believed I'd be a horrible parent and I never wanted children because I was so afraid I'd end up repeating the same learned behavior to which I'd been accustomed for the first 38 years of my life.
Somehow, someway, I did not repeat those learned patterns and behavior when I became a mother. I look at my son now and I can't describe the emotion he evokes inside of me - it is something so far beyond love it's not definable. And how my child brought that out in me will forever remain a mystery because I certainly was not the recipient of that same kind of love.
My ex-husband is an alcoholic so having grown up with a mother who nurtured her wine glass instead of her children, and a father whose quest for a firmly-rooted spot at the top of the employment chain was powered by more determination than he put into raising his kids - it's no wonder I chose unwisely when I married. I made a very bad judgment call. My ex drank, and he was far more interested in making as much money for himself than he was in saving for our future.
I married my family. Learned patterns, learned behavior. What a novel concept.
My son's father never got it. I just don't think he's cut out to be a father or parent or dad of any kind even though he has a second child. His parents were devoid of emotion - jeez, I NEVER saw them hug or kiss the whole time I was dating my ex-husband. Never. And even when I think back, my ex's affection was detached and like cardboard. I should of gotten a clue. But of course, what am I saying? Look at what I had for parents. So what in the world made me think I'd be any kind of a decent parent?
Because I stayed. I was in this single parent role for the long haul. I did not move, I did not remarry and (ugh) I did not have another child because I was too busy struggling to take care of the one I already had!
Clearly, my son's "father" had other ideas. He wasn't in Jake's life for the first three years - he just bailed and drank and went on his merry way. No kid, no responsibilities. Jake didn't even notice because I'm all he had. Then I went to court toward the end of the third year because I was just plain tired of struggling, was awarded child support and physical custody and a visitation schedule was arranged with which I had no problems because no matter what, I wanted my son to have some form of a father in his life. Boy, was I disillusioned. And then reality slapped me in the face for the next 10 and a half years.
My ex balked at the child support order. That's too much, he said. You don't need all that money. This child support is going to last you until Jake is 21 and I'm not giving you one penny more for anything or any reason. Huh. Really. Eight hundred dollars a month is going to last until Jake is 21years old.
And this is how it went. I do not remember a time when my ex gave me support willingly. I do not remember a time when he gave it to me on time. He had full access to his son anytime but he chose not to take advantage. There was no contribution to diapers, formula, clothes, toys, nothing. He'd call and say he was coming for a visit. And then never show up. And then I wouldn't hear from him for days and days.
My son was young but I could see the disappointment in his eyes every single day. My ex had girlfriends and attempted to bring them into my son's life. I said no - visitation is for you and your son - not your short-term relationships. He laughed at me and said, "well, too bad Jake's not going to see me because of you."
Alcoholics are impossible to deal with. I've learned that recently. Blame, denial, blame, denial. They do not take responsibility for their own actions and behavior because they are too busy consuming alcohol to see past the bottle from which they are destroying their lives - and the lives of others.
I finally got a divorce and a divorce agreement was hammered out. Pretty simple - we did not have any assets so the main crux of the agreement was taking care of Jake and his future.
Clearly, my ex husband thought the agreement was written in Swahili or some other foreign language because he failed to uphold most of the divorce agreement with the exception of the child support. He was supposed to set up a life insurance policy naming his son as a beneficiary. Not an unrealistic request. He is bound to pay half of my son's summer camp expenses and half of one sport in which my son participates per season. Not an unrealistic request. And he is bound to pay half of all of my son's college education including tuition, room and board and books and computers and whatever else goes with college expenses.
Now ask me if any of this has occurred either without a struggle or court intervention.
In March, 2007, my son came home from visiting his father and I found a nip bottle of vodka in his backpack. I'll spare you the details. But my ex decided to stop paying child support for nine months and I had to go back to court at which he was found in contempt but the judge actually said to my ex "if you want to drink, do it at home. Don't do it in front of your son." If I had a book I would have thrown it at her head. While I understand her statement, her thought process was clearly skewed.
So my ex's bank account was seized by DOR and I was already in deep credit card debt because I had nine months of no support to make up, and my ex calls me screaming because his mortgage check bounced. Yes, he remarried, bought a house, had another kid and oh gee, quite conveniently forgot that he already had a son that he wasn't financially and emotionally supporting. Wonder how that slipped his mind.
Oh, did I forget to mention he never paid the summer camp fees, the sporting fees and never contributes to clothes or school photos or any of the four hundred thousand other expenses above and beyond child support?
And on and on and on it has gone. He never talked to his son about remarrying and how it would affect him. He never talked to his son about moving far away that it would affect the visitation schedule. And never talked to his son about how having another child would affect him - not my ex, my son.
Clearly, I wasn't about to be the recipient of that talk which was fine but he just left his son out all together.
I understand people move on after relationships or marriages end. People marry, divorce, remarry and have more children every time.
But I do not understand how these very same people can simply "move on" and start a "brand new family" and leave behind the child or children that were on this earth first.
That is what is so mind boggling to me. It shouldn't be because I'm so used to this behavior by my son's father all these years. But I still shake my head trying to figure out how this happens. Does the wiring just simply change? Or cross? What is it with mothers and fathers who leave the first child or children behind and sashay off to start a new life and a new family?
Paying child support (via wage garnishment) does NOT MAKE YOU THE WORLD'S GREATEST MOTHER OR FATHER.
My son will be 11 this year. And suddenly, he gets it. He will not speak to his father nor does he want to see him. It seems like all the vanishing years have caught up with my son and he has realized that anyone can be a "father" (biologically speaking") but being a "dad" is far, far different and way more involved.
I wrote my ex a five page letter basically saying "guess what? This is your problem. I've spent far too much time and too many years trying to fix your mistakes and I absolutely refuse to do that anymore. I've made too many of my own that I am still fixing but I will not fix yours. You either choose to fix this with your son or not. I did not move out of the area. I did not remarry. I did not have another child. You have done those things. Your financial woes are not my problem. Our divorce agreement is pretty short but very specific. You have not taken care of your son financially. But more importantly, he is now convinced that you do not love him because you refuse to take care of him. He wants to know why you can buy a house but not give me the money for the things you are supposed to, same benefiting only our son. "
And I concluded my letter with "Our son is not an out of sight, out of mind situation. He is a living, breathing human being, a little boy who is troubled and hurts fiercely inside because of you."
Now ask me if anything I said in my letter had any affect whatsoever. I mailed it Dec. 28th. Today is January 8th. Has his father come screeching into my driveway unannounced to see his son? No. Did he receive any Christmas present - hand-delivered - from his father? No. My ex just calls my cell and leaves short, lame messages that my son listens to and shakes his head when I hand him the phone and ask him if he wants to call his father back.
You cannot make a "dad." A father is a biological term. But a "dad" - that's created, molded, woven, built, welded, signed sealed and delivered.
The one thing that is twisting my heart into something akin to a pretzel is that I never had a dad, either. I had a father. But I never had a dad. And history has repeated itself because of me. Yes, I know, I could not predict the future and I didn't break the patterns of learned behavior soon enough because I married an alcoholic who cared more about making money than taking care of his child.
But here I am, nearly 11 years later, and while my son is hurting, he has formed a shield around himself that shines and glimmers like polished gold - he is funny, smart, sociable, loves Jeff Gordon and the Red Sox, is doing really well in school, loves to read and dreams of working at NASA someday because he can't ask enough questions about exactly how the universe was formed and why the nine planets in our solar system line up so perfectly and so symmtretrically that everything works the way it's supposed to, he bursts into hysterics when he sees the ASPCA animal commercials which tells me he has deep, deep compassion for animals, he thinks about kids in other countries who are victims of natural disasters and how can he help, even in some small way; and above all else, he will throw his arms around me and hug me and tell me how much he loves me and that I am his best Mom.
And that is what I have done, that is what I have created, woven, melded, moulded, welded and signed and sealed. And perhaps someday when my son calls me to tell me he discovered a new galaxy through the Hubble Telescope or waves at me via camera from the space station on which he's working, or calls me and tells me he delivered 10 puppies or he's designed a piece of a space capsule or he got a job as the lead frontman singer with a band or whatever it is he ends up doing, I'll know I got it right.
Anyone can be a mother or a father.
But being a "Mom" or a "Dad" - that's not even a job for Superman. You really just make it up as you go along and hope you get it right.
So far, I think I've done OK - all by myself, 24/7 365.
And I hope I get many more years to keep doing this "Mom" job.
Lifehouse: "I'm all in for life ..."
Parenting is not for dummies but unfortunately, many parents are just wired that way and certainly don't need a book to tell them what they already are - and worse.
This is my humor showing but let's be real here: When you "become" a parent, you are either in or out. That is about as black and white as it gets. However, as thousands and thousands of both mothers and fathers and moms and dads out there in this world, the lines between black and white are severely blurred by those "parents" who decide when he or she wants to be a "parent" to his/her child or children.
Let's look at definitions first. The American Heritage Student Dictionary defines parent as: "a man or woman who contributes one of the two reproductive cells that determine the genetic makeup of a child;" "a biological father or mother" and the third one "a person who nurtures and raises a child."
There is nothing in any of those three definitions that mention unconditional love, loving without expectation or terms or devotion or taking a bullet for your child or children, protecting your child from the monsters in the closet, spending quality time with your child or children (married, separated or divorced) and there is NOTHING in those three definitions that says a parent can pick and choose to be a parent when it suits him or her.
So, my question is for all the moms and dads in this world who "pick and choose" when you feel like being a parent: What gives you the right to decide when it suits you to be a parent?
Please don't get me wrong: This "picking and choosing" is an extremely common occurrence. And not surprising, it is not limited to divorced parents. It goes on in marriages.
But does anyone consider how it affects the child or children of these situations? I am not a perfect parent and I've never claimed to be and I will never be one but I have been a 24/7, 365 mom since the day I found out I was pregnant with Jake. There has not been one day that I woke up and said "huh. Don't feel like being a Mom today and actually followed through." Have there been times when I've wanted to throw myself in front of a bus because single parenthood got the best of me and I figured death was far better than going at this alone? Yes. But did I do it? No. Why? Because one look at my son was all it took to make me see that the sun is going to rise the next day and that the next day will probably be better than the day I thought about being bus kill.
People marry, people have kids. Or, people just have kids and kids and more kids by three or four different mothers and fathers. Some people have kids just to sleaze off state-aid services because they are supporting drug habits, criminal proclivities or are just plain lazy and will never amount to anything. Nice, shining examples for their children. And most like, those children will grow up to be exactly like their shining examples of parents.
Then there are those who marry, have a child or children, and realize what a horribly bad judgment call he or she made, extricates himself or herself from the marriage and embarks on the single parent journey which is fraught with frustration, anger, bitterness and resentment, struggles of the fourth kind while still trying to figure out how to be a parent when he or she has absolutely no tools with which to work.
Contrary to popular belief (and the books that line the shelves of bookstores all over the world), there is no book that tells you how to be a parent. None. Not one. Everyone is wired differently. Everyone takes a different approach. Some mimic what they already know from their own parents. Some, like me, just make it up as I go along. I had horrible role models for parents. Sure, I had a house (a structure built on a foundation), but never a home; I had a mother (but not a mom) and my memories of her are ironing with a wine glass in her hand and taking the horrific verbal abuse my father heaped upon her daily; and I had a father whose lust for power and money was far more important than taking his kids to summer camp, to sports practices and games, going outside and playing kick the can at night or helping with homework.
I had none of that. Which is the reason why the rift between myself and my three siblings is so huge and wide that there is nothing that can close that gap. And I thank my parents for creating that for us.
And this is the reason why I always believed I'd be a horrible parent and I never wanted children because I was so afraid I'd end up repeating the same learned behavior to which I'd been accustomed for the first 38 years of my life.
Somehow, someway, I did not repeat those learned patterns and behavior when I became a mother. I look at my son now and I can't describe the emotion he evokes inside of me - it is something so far beyond love it's not definable. And how my child brought that out in me will forever remain a mystery because I certainly was not the recipient of that same kind of love.
My ex-husband is an alcoholic so having grown up with a mother who nurtured her wine glass instead of her children, and a father whose quest for a firmly-rooted spot at the top of the employment chain was powered by more determination than he put into raising his kids - it's no wonder I chose unwisely when I married. I made a very bad judgment call. My ex drank, and he was far more interested in making as much money for himself than he was in saving for our future.
I married my family. Learned patterns, learned behavior. What a novel concept.
My son's father never got it. I just don't think he's cut out to be a father or parent or dad of any kind even though he has a second child. His parents were devoid of emotion - jeez, I NEVER saw them hug or kiss the whole time I was dating my ex-husband. Never. And even when I think back, my ex's affection was detached and like cardboard. I should of gotten a clue. But of course, what am I saying? Look at what I had for parents. So what in the world made me think I'd be any kind of a decent parent?
Because I stayed. I was in this single parent role for the long haul. I did not move, I did not remarry and (ugh) I did not have another child because I was too busy struggling to take care of the one I already had!
Clearly, my son's "father" had other ideas. He wasn't in Jake's life for the first three years - he just bailed and drank and went on his merry way. No kid, no responsibilities. Jake didn't even notice because I'm all he had. Then I went to court toward the end of the third year because I was just plain tired of struggling, was awarded child support and physical custody and a visitation schedule was arranged with which I had no problems because no matter what, I wanted my son to have some form of a father in his life. Boy, was I disillusioned. And then reality slapped me in the face for the next 10 and a half years.
My ex balked at the child support order. That's too much, he said. You don't need all that money. This child support is going to last you until Jake is 21 and I'm not giving you one penny more for anything or any reason. Huh. Really. Eight hundred dollars a month is going to last until Jake is 21years old.
And this is how it went. I do not remember a time when my ex gave me support willingly. I do not remember a time when he gave it to me on time. He had full access to his son anytime but he chose not to take advantage. There was no contribution to diapers, formula, clothes, toys, nothing. He'd call and say he was coming for a visit. And then never show up. And then I wouldn't hear from him for days and days.
My son was young but I could see the disappointment in his eyes every single day. My ex had girlfriends and attempted to bring them into my son's life. I said no - visitation is for you and your son - not your short-term relationships. He laughed at me and said, "well, too bad Jake's not going to see me because of you."
Alcoholics are impossible to deal with. I've learned that recently. Blame, denial, blame, denial. They do not take responsibility for their own actions and behavior because they are too busy consuming alcohol to see past the bottle from which they are destroying their lives - and the lives of others.
I finally got a divorce and a divorce agreement was hammered out. Pretty simple - we did not have any assets so the main crux of the agreement was taking care of Jake and his future.
Clearly, my ex husband thought the agreement was written in Swahili or some other foreign language because he failed to uphold most of the divorce agreement with the exception of the child support. He was supposed to set up a life insurance policy naming his son as a beneficiary. Not an unrealistic request. He is bound to pay half of my son's summer camp expenses and half of one sport in which my son participates per season. Not an unrealistic request. And he is bound to pay half of all of my son's college education including tuition, room and board and books and computers and whatever else goes with college expenses.
Now ask me if any of this has occurred either without a struggle or court intervention.
In March, 2007, my son came home from visiting his father and I found a nip bottle of vodka in his backpack. I'll spare you the details. But my ex decided to stop paying child support for nine months and I had to go back to court at which he was found in contempt but the judge actually said to my ex "if you want to drink, do it at home. Don't do it in front of your son." If I had a book I would have thrown it at her head. While I understand her statement, her thought process was clearly skewed.
So my ex's bank account was seized by DOR and I was already in deep credit card debt because I had nine months of no support to make up, and my ex calls me screaming because his mortgage check bounced. Yes, he remarried, bought a house, had another kid and oh gee, quite conveniently forgot that he already had a son that he wasn't financially and emotionally supporting. Wonder how that slipped his mind.
Oh, did I forget to mention he never paid the summer camp fees, the sporting fees and never contributes to clothes or school photos or any of the four hundred thousand other expenses above and beyond child support?
And on and on and on it has gone. He never talked to his son about remarrying and how it would affect him. He never talked to his son about moving far away that it would affect the visitation schedule. And never talked to his son about how having another child would affect him - not my ex, my son.
Clearly, I wasn't about to be the recipient of that talk which was fine but he just left his son out all together.
I understand people move on after relationships or marriages end. People marry, divorce, remarry and have more children every time.
But I do not understand how these very same people can simply "move on" and start a "brand new family" and leave behind the child or children that were on this earth first.
That is what is so mind boggling to me. It shouldn't be because I'm so used to this behavior by my son's father all these years. But I still shake my head trying to figure out how this happens. Does the wiring just simply change? Or cross? What is it with mothers and fathers who leave the first child or children behind and sashay off to start a new life and a new family?
Paying child support (via wage garnishment) does NOT MAKE YOU THE WORLD'S GREATEST MOTHER OR FATHER.
My son will be 11 this year. And suddenly, he gets it. He will not speak to his father nor does he want to see him. It seems like all the vanishing years have caught up with my son and he has realized that anyone can be a "father" (biologically speaking") but being a "dad" is far, far different and way more involved.
I wrote my ex a five page letter basically saying "guess what? This is your problem. I've spent far too much time and too many years trying to fix your mistakes and I absolutely refuse to do that anymore. I've made too many of my own that I am still fixing but I will not fix yours. You either choose to fix this with your son or not. I did not move out of the area. I did not remarry. I did not have another child. You have done those things. Your financial woes are not my problem. Our divorce agreement is pretty short but very specific. You have not taken care of your son financially. But more importantly, he is now convinced that you do not love him because you refuse to take care of him. He wants to know why you can buy a house but not give me the money for the things you are supposed to, same benefiting only our son. "
And I concluded my letter with "Our son is not an out of sight, out of mind situation. He is a living, breathing human being, a little boy who is troubled and hurts fiercely inside because of you."
Now ask me if anything I said in my letter had any affect whatsoever. I mailed it Dec. 28th. Today is January 8th. Has his father come screeching into my driveway unannounced to see his son? No. Did he receive any Christmas present - hand-delivered - from his father? No. My ex just calls my cell and leaves short, lame messages that my son listens to and shakes his head when I hand him the phone and ask him if he wants to call his father back.
You cannot make a "dad." A father is a biological term. But a "dad" - that's created, molded, woven, built, welded, signed sealed and delivered.
The one thing that is twisting my heart into something akin to a pretzel is that I never had a dad, either. I had a father. But I never had a dad. And history has repeated itself because of me. Yes, I know, I could not predict the future and I didn't break the patterns of learned behavior soon enough because I married an alcoholic who cared more about making money than taking care of his child.
But here I am, nearly 11 years later, and while my son is hurting, he has formed a shield around himself that shines and glimmers like polished gold - he is funny, smart, sociable, loves Jeff Gordon and the Red Sox, is doing really well in school, loves to read and dreams of working at NASA someday because he can't ask enough questions about exactly how the universe was formed and why the nine planets in our solar system line up so perfectly and so symmtretrically that everything works the way it's supposed to, he bursts into hysterics when he sees the ASPCA animal commercials which tells me he has deep, deep compassion for animals, he thinks about kids in other countries who are victims of natural disasters and how can he help, even in some small way; and above all else, he will throw his arms around me and hug me and tell me how much he loves me and that I am his best Mom.
And that is what I have done, that is what I have created, woven, melded, moulded, welded and signed and sealed. And perhaps someday when my son calls me to tell me he discovered a new galaxy through the Hubble Telescope or waves at me via camera from the space station on which he's working, or calls me and tells me he delivered 10 puppies or he's designed a piece of a space capsule or he got a job as the lead frontman singer with a band or whatever it is he ends up doing, I'll know I got it right.
Anyone can be a mother or a father.
But being a "Mom" or a "Dad" - that's not even a job for Superman. You really just make it up as you go along and hope you get it right.
So far, I think I've done OK - all by myself, 24/7 365.
And I hope I get many more years to keep doing this "Mom" job.
Lifehouse: "I'm all in for life ..."
Friday, January 7, 2011
Golden Voice Ted Williams - A Second Chance
I know I blogged about this man recently but something caught my eye in a recent story I read. Ted Williams, the homeless man who has turned into an overnight sensation because of his "golden voice" (the ultimate radio voice), stated that he had always hoped something would happen that would make his now 92 year old mother proud of him again. Williams' descent into drugs and alcohol destroyed his life and he has been living on the streets in Ohio for nearly a decade.
But what exactly makes a parent proud of their children? Or more important, why is it so important for children (or adults in this case) to do something that will evoke pride from their mother or father or both?
I have always wrestled with this because the one question I would ask anyone is "are you doing something to make YOURSELF proud or doing something to make someone else proud?"
I think it should always be the former because if you feel that pride inside of your soul - whatever it is you do - then everything else is just a bonus. It shouldn't matter - really - what other people think of you as long as you have the self confidence and self esteem to believe that what you do, what you are doing or what you have done is prideful enough to sustain your own conscious. After all, you are the one who has to live with your decisions and results.
I have learned recently that no matter what a child does sometimes, it may never evoke pride from a parent. But that is NOT the child's fault. Parents are wired a certain way and sometimes that wiring is passed down to their child or children but I am a firm believer that we make our own destinies and we live with the rewards and successes or suffer the consequences of our actions. You can be as successful as they come, but sometimes it's just never enough for your parents.
Why? Because parents look at the success of their children and muse about their own failures and attempt to burden their children with that guilt of those failures. Trust me - I am living proof.
But Ted Williams admitted that drugs and alcohol took him down and destroyed is life. Some parents, like my own, will never admit their own follies and mistakes because it would be they may have failed in their role as a parent because all four of their children are as distant as Pluto from one another and there is no sibling love in our family and therefore, none of us give a hoot about making anyone proud - certainly not our parents. My father embraced his role as a vice president of a major company with more than just gusto and determination - there was greed and power laced into his drive for success and during that drive, he left his family behind to flounder. My mother was from a alcoholic family and i don't remember a day when she didn't have a glass of wine in her hand. But as a kid, I thought that was all normal. And certainly, getting straight A's in school, staying out of trouble didn't evoke any pride from my parents because both were too immersed in their miseries - or successes - to realize that their own kids were waiting for them to say "hey, wow, great job, i am so proud of you." I don't recall my parents ever saying that to me.
And now as an adult, I look at my son and know that I didn't turn out to be wired any way except the way I am wired for me. My son brings home an A - I slobber all over him. He brings home a B, I slobber all over him. I tell him every single day how much I love him, and how proud I am of him. When my son struggles with a homework assignment, particularly a writing assignment, I tell him, "Do your best - whatever your best may be."
And whatever the outcome, I know I'll still be proud of him.
I've made it through nearly 49 years floundering in the waters of life without drowning and in the past few weeks, I seem to be making it back to shore, getting my feet back on solid ground. I didn't descend into drugs or alcohol in my life but sometimes the haunting memories of a life that was not filled with pride and words from parents that would have meant everything - maybe - still try to grab hold of me and shake me up.
But then I just turn and push those memories down into the water and drown them and keep my eye on the shore.
I hope Ted Williams does the exact same thing. Keep walking in a straight line and keep your eye on the shore. It's solid ground and you are the only one who should matter now. If you succeed and become successful and defeat the demons that have gripped you for so long, then you have won both the battle and the war.
And that's is your own pride that you will create. And that is what will count the most.
But what exactly makes a parent proud of their children? Or more important, why is it so important for children (or adults in this case) to do something that will evoke pride from their mother or father or both?
I have always wrestled with this because the one question I would ask anyone is "are you doing something to make YOURSELF proud or doing something to make someone else proud?"
I think it should always be the former because if you feel that pride inside of your soul - whatever it is you do - then everything else is just a bonus. It shouldn't matter - really - what other people think of you as long as you have the self confidence and self esteem to believe that what you do, what you are doing or what you have done is prideful enough to sustain your own conscious. After all, you are the one who has to live with your decisions and results.
I have learned recently that no matter what a child does sometimes, it may never evoke pride from a parent. But that is NOT the child's fault. Parents are wired a certain way and sometimes that wiring is passed down to their child or children but I am a firm believer that we make our own destinies and we live with the rewards and successes or suffer the consequences of our actions. You can be as successful as they come, but sometimes it's just never enough for your parents.
Why? Because parents look at the success of their children and muse about their own failures and attempt to burden their children with that guilt of those failures. Trust me - I am living proof.
But Ted Williams admitted that drugs and alcohol took him down and destroyed is life. Some parents, like my own, will never admit their own follies and mistakes because it would be they may have failed in their role as a parent because all four of their children are as distant as Pluto from one another and there is no sibling love in our family and therefore, none of us give a hoot about making anyone proud - certainly not our parents. My father embraced his role as a vice president of a major company with more than just gusto and determination - there was greed and power laced into his drive for success and during that drive, he left his family behind to flounder. My mother was from a alcoholic family and i don't remember a day when she didn't have a glass of wine in her hand. But as a kid, I thought that was all normal. And certainly, getting straight A's in school, staying out of trouble didn't evoke any pride from my parents because both were too immersed in their miseries - or successes - to realize that their own kids were waiting for them to say "hey, wow, great job, i am so proud of you." I don't recall my parents ever saying that to me.
And now as an adult, I look at my son and know that I didn't turn out to be wired any way except the way I am wired for me. My son brings home an A - I slobber all over him. He brings home a B, I slobber all over him. I tell him every single day how much I love him, and how proud I am of him. When my son struggles with a homework assignment, particularly a writing assignment, I tell him, "Do your best - whatever your best may be."
And whatever the outcome, I know I'll still be proud of him.
I've made it through nearly 49 years floundering in the waters of life without drowning and in the past few weeks, I seem to be making it back to shore, getting my feet back on solid ground. I didn't descend into drugs or alcohol in my life but sometimes the haunting memories of a life that was not filled with pride and words from parents that would have meant everything - maybe - still try to grab hold of me and shake me up.
But then I just turn and push those memories down into the water and drown them and keep my eye on the shore.
I hope Ted Williams does the exact same thing. Keep walking in a straight line and keep your eye on the shore. It's solid ground and you are the only one who should matter now. If you succeed and become successful and defeat the demons that have gripped you for so long, then you have won both the battle and the war.
And that's is your own pride that you will create. And that is what will count the most.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
It's Never Too Late To Be What You Might Have Been
I watched a video last night which has been making the rounds on youtube.com about a man with a golden voice - Ted Williams, a homeless man (or vagrant as one website deemed him) who panhandled for money in exchange for a vocal display of his gift.
Apparently, a reporter from a Columbus, Ohio newspaper heard this man's voice and now Mr. Williams is all over the news, all over the radio, and job offers and offers of a residence are pouring in.
When I heard THAT voice come out of his mouth, it evoked the same reaction when I first saw Clay Aiken on American Idol and Susan Boyle.
At first glance, you want to dismiss these people for their ordinary looks, frumpy dress, or whatever it is that causes people to go "yah, right."
Who are we to judge by outward appearances? But human natures succumbs to that - judging all the way to the grave.
For whatever the reasons Ted Williams (I LOVE his name) ended up homeless and penniless, he may now have a second lease on life. Why Susan Boyle had been hidden from the world for so long is perhaps a matter of mitigating circumstances - she just could not put herself in the right place at the right time for someone to hear that she, too, had an amazing voice. And look what happened - she rocketed to stardom.
Granted, Clay Aiken's ride to superstardom was short lived but the fact remains he will always have that amazing voice and I believe now he is a father. How amazing will it be when his children hear their dad sing to them?
Many of us are born with gifts. Some of us grab that gift and run as fast as they can and find the niche in this world in which they were meant to be a part and share that gift. Others have no idea what to do with their gift and live a life of mediocrity simply because they were never given the encouragement nor the tools with which to share their gift. Parents can be a damning influence ("you'll never amount to anything even if you are a genius or you can sing or play guitar or piano or paint ..." you get the picture).
But then there are those of us who let life pass by and never utilize our gift to its absolute fullest until something knocks us off our rails and we stand back and realize that our gift - whatever it may be - is our ticket to a new ride to a better life.
Ted Williams is going to get that chance.
Susan Boyle got the chance.
And then of course there's me.
And the thought that crosses my mind right now is yes, it's never too late to be what you might have been.
Apparently, a reporter from a Columbus, Ohio newspaper heard this man's voice and now Mr. Williams is all over the news, all over the radio, and job offers and offers of a residence are pouring in.
When I heard THAT voice come out of his mouth, it evoked the same reaction when I first saw Clay Aiken on American Idol and Susan Boyle.
At first glance, you want to dismiss these people for their ordinary looks, frumpy dress, or whatever it is that causes people to go "yah, right."
Who are we to judge by outward appearances? But human natures succumbs to that - judging all the way to the grave.
For whatever the reasons Ted Williams (I LOVE his name) ended up homeless and penniless, he may now have a second lease on life. Why Susan Boyle had been hidden from the world for so long is perhaps a matter of mitigating circumstances - she just could not put herself in the right place at the right time for someone to hear that she, too, had an amazing voice. And look what happened - she rocketed to stardom.
Granted, Clay Aiken's ride to superstardom was short lived but the fact remains he will always have that amazing voice and I believe now he is a father. How amazing will it be when his children hear their dad sing to them?
Many of us are born with gifts. Some of us grab that gift and run as fast as they can and find the niche in this world in which they were meant to be a part and share that gift. Others have no idea what to do with their gift and live a life of mediocrity simply because they were never given the encouragement nor the tools with which to share their gift. Parents can be a damning influence ("you'll never amount to anything even if you are a genius or you can sing or play guitar or piano or paint ..." you get the picture).
But then there are those of us who let life pass by and never utilize our gift to its absolute fullest until something knocks us off our rails and we stand back and realize that our gift - whatever it may be - is our ticket to a new ride to a better life.
Ted Williams is going to get that chance.
Susan Boyle got the chance.
And then of course there's me.
And the thought that crosses my mind right now is yes, it's never too late to be what you might have been.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Raunchy Videos from the Enterprise - Honors Has Gone Where No Man Has Gone Before!
Captain Owen Honors, the Naval Commander of the U.S.S. Enterprise has been relieved, fired, removed, from his post over raunchy videos that surfaced (so what else is new?) and that caused fierce consternation and obvious embarrassment to the US Navy over the contents.
The videos were allegedly shot in 2006 and 2007 and were made for crew entertainment only - on closed circuit TV aboard the Enterprise and not for public viewing.
I personally have not seen the videos in their entirety (who has?) only edited versions that the Virginian Pilot newspaper posted.
Here is my question: While the anti-gay slurs are not appropriate, is it really necessary to relieve him of his post? I mean c'mon - Capt. Honors is NOT a terrorist, child molester or bomber or any other horrific type of criminal. And it's not like he was having sex with anyone in the video, either.
I understand that since President Obama repealed the "don't ask, don't tell" law or whatever it was called in the military that the military is now genuinely conscious of any kind of anti-gayisms (is that the correct terminology?) that anyone makes - verbal or written. And I am a supporter of common sense when it comes to people who say stupid things and should have STUPID DUMB ASS tattooed on his or her forehead for making anti-gay or anti-semitic or any kinds of comments that raise the ire of certain 'groups' that employ political correctedness 24/7 365. I get all of that.
But Capt. Honors is, according to news reports, an exemplary officer and there are many people defending him and his so-called lewd, comedic videos.
Frankly, I could care less what kinds of videos he makes as long as he defends my country and keeps the whackheads who wake up in the morning and decide to strap on a bomb instead of a belt after having their bagel and orange juice and go out and smithereen a few hundred civilians (infidels for you detail oriented readers) all in the name of Allah Schmallah from dive bombing on me!
I think the Navy has overreacted to these videos. Suffice to say, Capt. Honors will probably profusely apologize to the world for his "lack of judgment, common sense and his inappropriate language and footage of other naval officers who were involved in the making of the videos" and all that blah blah blah that everyone has to say when they get pushed into a corner and scolded for being naughty, and in Capt. Honors case, demoted down to the naval dungeon (admin position).
There are far more important things that the Navy should be paying attention to than Capt. Honors' videos from three and and four years ago. Who cares? He didn't hurt anyone, the videos weren't snuff videos (heaven forbid), no animals were hurt in the making of the videos and I don't think the USS Enterprise was being attacked by anyone during the making of the videos.
In two weeks, this will be old news and something or someone else will become chopped liver fodder for the media to devour.
In my famous last words (rolling my eyes) ... WhatEVAH.
Frankly, the blackbirds falling out of the sky in Arkansas is far more interesting. Perhaps the US Air Force should be checking this out? Aliens abducting blackbirds for experiments?
OK, OK, enough of my twisted humor.
The videos were allegedly shot in 2006 and 2007 and were made for crew entertainment only - on closed circuit TV aboard the Enterprise and not for public viewing.
I personally have not seen the videos in their entirety (who has?) only edited versions that the Virginian Pilot newspaper posted.
Here is my question: While the anti-gay slurs are not appropriate, is it really necessary to relieve him of his post? I mean c'mon - Capt. Honors is NOT a terrorist, child molester or bomber or any other horrific type of criminal. And it's not like he was having sex with anyone in the video, either.
I understand that since President Obama repealed the "don't ask, don't tell" law or whatever it was called in the military that the military is now genuinely conscious of any kind of anti-gayisms (is that the correct terminology?) that anyone makes - verbal or written. And I am a supporter of common sense when it comes to people who say stupid things and should have STUPID DUMB ASS tattooed on his or her forehead for making anti-gay or anti-semitic or any kinds of comments that raise the ire of certain 'groups' that employ political correctedness 24/7 365. I get all of that.
But Capt. Honors is, according to news reports, an exemplary officer and there are many people defending him and his so-called lewd, comedic videos.
Frankly, I could care less what kinds of videos he makes as long as he defends my country and keeps the whackheads who wake up in the morning and decide to strap on a bomb instead of a belt after having their bagel and orange juice and go out and smithereen a few hundred civilians (infidels for you detail oriented readers) all in the name of Allah Schmallah from dive bombing on me!
I think the Navy has overreacted to these videos. Suffice to say, Capt. Honors will probably profusely apologize to the world for his "lack of judgment, common sense and his inappropriate language and footage of other naval officers who were involved in the making of the videos" and all that blah blah blah that everyone has to say when they get pushed into a corner and scolded for being naughty, and in Capt. Honors case, demoted down to the naval dungeon (admin position).
There are far more important things that the Navy should be paying attention to than Capt. Honors' videos from three and and four years ago. Who cares? He didn't hurt anyone, the videos weren't snuff videos (heaven forbid), no animals were hurt in the making of the videos and I don't think the USS Enterprise was being attacked by anyone during the making of the videos.
In two weeks, this will be old news and something or someone else will become chopped liver fodder for the media to devour.
In my famous last words (rolling my eyes) ... WhatEVAH.
Frankly, the blackbirds falling out of the sky in Arkansas is far more interesting. Perhaps the US Air Force should be checking this out? Aliens abducting blackbirds for experiments?
OK, OK, enough of my twisted humor.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Day 3 of 2011 - Taking Trips Down Memory Lane on Facebook
Facebook has become a window to my past the last few days as I am "finding" people with whom I attended elementary and junior high school. Some I simply remember by their names and then everything is just blank. Some I remember as people I didn't like very much because I was bullied just because of my former last name which I refuse to print here other than to write (a) it RHYMES with a Disney character and something about his nose and (b) little known fact - my former last name is also known as a certain kind of Italian celery (fennel) that tastes like black licorice which in itself is absolutely DISGUSTING! Notwithstanding the fact that having been bullied much of my life because of my name, I still cringe when it's spoken out loud because it just brings back bad memories and I literally RAN into the courtroom when I was old enough, waving my name change form in front of the judge's face. Best $80.00 I ever spent!
Anyways, back to memory lane. I've "friend requested" a bunch of people from eons ago who may or may not accept my request - many have already done so - because they don't know who I am. I won't accept anyone I do not know. Some I've actually asked who the heck he or she is because I could not imagine why he or she was friend requesting me.
Friend requesting is an interesting concept. You get a little "yahoo guy" that does a little dance inside of you when someone accepts your request and that little "yahoo guy" slumps his shoulders in dejection (and rejection?) when you see your friend list drop down one or two or three because someone or several "friends" have dropped you. And you have no idea who dropped you unless you are one meticulous list making son of a gun who actually KEEPS a list of friends and peruses it every day to see who has dropped you from their facebook page ! (that's kinda creepy if you ask me. Those people need to get a serious life).
But for me, right now, it's kinda cool finding people that I went to school with even if they have no idea who I am! I know who they are. And even if they don't accept me, it won't phase me in the least. People get too sensitive over Facebook dropping or whatever it's called. Who cares? How many of the people on your friends' list do you actually SEE? Most of my friends are people I graduated with and I have gone for YEARS without seeing most of them! Others are random people who are friends of friends that I will never meet and others are members of my extended family - my cousins. My sister and nephew are on my page but I never talk to them online!
One of the people I went to junior high school with accepted my friend request and I was stunned to see he's some kind of big rock star now! How cool is that! Funny how we don't think about that stuff when we are young or, alternatively, what we think we will be when we grow up isn't how our lives turn out. It's whether we allow our lives to fill with regrets that will keep us from making our dreams a reality or if we simply move on and find a way to fulfill at least one of the dreams of our youth. I did - I got to pitch for the Boston Red Sox in 1986 when I attended one of those fantasy camps. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat just to say I got to pitch - twice. And of course, writing books has always been my biggest dream. if JK Rowling can do what she did, then why can't I?
My favorite quote is "It's never too late to be what you might have been."
It really isn't if you just believe in yourself.
Now, if only my teenage naval officer George Chapman who was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia on the U.S.S. Enterprise and who I genuinely liked - alot - would turn up!
You never know.
Anyways, back to memory lane. I've "friend requested" a bunch of people from eons ago who may or may not accept my request - many have already done so - because they don't know who I am. I won't accept anyone I do not know. Some I've actually asked who the heck he or she is because I could not imagine why he or she was friend requesting me.
Friend requesting is an interesting concept. You get a little "yahoo guy" that does a little dance inside of you when someone accepts your request and that little "yahoo guy" slumps his shoulders in dejection (and rejection?) when you see your friend list drop down one or two or three because someone or several "friends" have dropped you. And you have no idea who dropped you unless you are one meticulous list making son of a gun who actually KEEPS a list of friends and peruses it every day to see who has dropped you from their facebook page ! (that's kinda creepy if you ask me. Those people need to get a serious life).
But for me, right now, it's kinda cool finding people that I went to school with even if they have no idea who I am! I know who they are. And even if they don't accept me, it won't phase me in the least. People get too sensitive over Facebook dropping or whatever it's called. Who cares? How many of the people on your friends' list do you actually SEE? Most of my friends are people I graduated with and I have gone for YEARS without seeing most of them! Others are random people who are friends of friends that I will never meet and others are members of my extended family - my cousins. My sister and nephew are on my page but I never talk to them online!
One of the people I went to junior high school with accepted my friend request and I was stunned to see he's some kind of big rock star now! How cool is that! Funny how we don't think about that stuff when we are young or, alternatively, what we think we will be when we grow up isn't how our lives turn out. It's whether we allow our lives to fill with regrets that will keep us from making our dreams a reality or if we simply move on and find a way to fulfill at least one of the dreams of our youth. I did - I got to pitch for the Boston Red Sox in 1986 when I attended one of those fantasy camps. And I'd do it again in a heartbeat just to say I got to pitch - twice. And of course, writing books has always been my biggest dream. if JK Rowling can do what she did, then why can't I?
My favorite quote is "It's never too late to be what you might have been."
It really isn't if you just believe in yourself.
Now, if only my teenage naval officer George Chapman who was stationed in Norfolk, Virginia on the U.S.S. Enterprise and who I genuinely liked - alot - would turn up!
You never know.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Day 2 of 2011 and Once Again Food Rules - Five Guys
I am a carnivore. I admit it. I like meat. Red meat and still mooing. I know that sounds disgusting to many people but I figure since I've been eating rare burgers and steak since I was a kid and am still alive and blogging about it, eating rare meat is not a death wish (now watch me keel over dead after I finish this blog.
My son has semi-inherited my love of all red meat. He will eat the Chinese teriakyi steak sticks (who doesn't) and my meatloaf and burgers with cheese and ketchup - and that's it.
I,on the other hand, load my burgers with as many "fixings" as possible. And THEN I put on enough ketchup to fill a small country.
Today my son and I had supper at Five Guys, a no-frills burger place in Framingham that sells hamburgers, cheeseburgers and hamburgers and cheeseburgers and hot dogs, I think. My best friend Julie recommended this place and said "get the little burger." The "little" burger was a bit bigger than average size - plenty for me and clearly, for my son. And it was NOT flat as a pancake like Mickey D burgers.
The place is decorated simply. Small square wooden tables and wooden chairs, red and white decor, and get this - peanuts in the shell on the table in a cardbord container. Just one of those no-nonsense burger joints.
I think I inhaled my burger - it was that good. Cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, grilled mushrooms and jalapenos. And a lot of ketchup. Yah, I know, people say why bother getting the burger if you're just gonna drown it in ketchup. Excuse me - I am the one eating the burger and I can taste the burger just fine thank you very much.
But Five Guys burgers were absolutely outstanding. Not too greasy but just enough grease to give the burger amazing flavor and not too thick that you couldn't take a seriously big bite. I don't know what the "regular" burgers look like - but the "little" burgers were definitely worth the first mouthful.
The french fries are real fries made from real potatoes right on the spot I think 'coz I saw bags and bags of potatoes stacked up on the floor as I walked in the door. There was a steady stream of customers coming and going and we did not wait even 10 minutes to get our order. Jake inhaled his burger. Mine was already digesting by the time he finished his.
The fixings are FREE - yes, I said free. And free refills on the soda. Kind of a throwback to the restaurants of the old days. I had to ask the cashier if I was reading the "free fixings" and "free refills" right.
This place is definitely worth bringing family to. I think they have hot dogs so for the young kids, it may be worth it to try this place out. I'm not a big hot dog eater but I'd be willing to try one if the dogs are as good as the burgers.
You know what I wish? I wish I was independently wealthy that I could take an entire summer off with my son, buy a motorhome and travel around the country and eat at all the places the Travel Channel touts as the Top 100 Best Places to eat in the country. How cool would that be???? Of course, having dropped nearly 35 pounds, I'd have to find a pool and/or a health club at which to swim or get on a treadmill every day so as not to gain the weight back! And of COURSE I'd have to take in as many major league ballgames as possible along the way. Jake and I have a standing invitation to a Kansas City Royals game if we ever find ourselves in KC.
But seriously, how much fun would that be to do that?
How much is Megamillions on Tuesday?????????!!!!!
My son has semi-inherited my love of all red meat. He will eat the Chinese teriakyi steak sticks (who doesn't) and my meatloaf and burgers with cheese and ketchup - and that's it.
I,on the other hand, load my burgers with as many "fixings" as possible. And THEN I put on enough ketchup to fill a small country.
Today my son and I had supper at Five Guys, a no-frills burger place in Framingham that sells hamburgers, cheeseburgers and hamburgers and cheeseburgers and hot dogs, I think. My best friend Julie recommended this place and said "get the little burger." The "little" burger was a bit bigger than average size - plenty for me and clearly, for my son. And it was NOT flat as a pancake like Mickey D burgers.
The place is decorated simply. Small square wooden tables and wooden chairs, red and white decor, and get this - peanuts in the shell on the table in a cardbord container. Just one of those no-nonsense burger joints.
I think I inhaled my burger - it was that good. Cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, grilled mushrooms and jalapenos. And a lot of ketchup. Yah, I know, people say why bother getting the burger if you're just gonna drown it in ketchup. Excuse me - I am the one eating the burger and I can taste the burger just fine thank you very much.
But Five Guys burgers were absolutely outstanding. Not too greasy but just enough grease to give the burger amazing flavor and not too thick that you couldn't take a seriously big bite. I don't know what the "regular" burgers look like - but the "little" burgers were definitely worth the first mouthful.
The french fries are real fries made from real potatoes right on the spot I think 'coz I saw bags and bags of potatoes stacked up on the floor as I walked in the door. There was a steady stream of customers coming and going and we did not wait even 10 minutes to get our order. Jake inhaled his burger. Mine was already digesting by the time he finished his.
The fixings are FREE - yes, I said free. And free refills on the soda. Kind of a throwback to the restaurants of the old days. I had to ask the cashier if I was reading the "free fixings" and "free refills" right.
This place is definitely worth bringing family to. I think they have hot dogs so for the young kids, it may be worth it to try this place out. I'm not a big hot dog eater but I'd be willing to try one if the dogs are as good as the burgers.
You know what I wish? I wish I was independently wealthy that I could take an entire summer off with my son, buy a motorhome and travel around the country and eat at all the places the Travel Channel touts as the Top 100 Best Places to eat in the country. How cool would that be???? Of course, having dropped nearly 35 pounds, I'd have to find a pool and/or a health club at which to swim or get on a treadmill every day so as not to gain the weight back! And of COURSE I'd have to take in as many major league ballgames as possible along the way. Jake and I have a standing invitation to a Kansas City Royals game if we ever find ourselves in KC.
But seriously, how much fun would that be to do that?
How much is Megamillions on Tuesday?????????!!!!!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
1-11-11 Palindrome Day
My Einstein son said Happy New Year to me when he came down the stairs this morning and immediately pointed out that today is a palindrome. If only I was wired that way ....
Think about it, though. A palindrome is numbers or words that are spelled exactly the same backwards and forwards. Either you look at that as simplicity at is finest or the most boring aspect of numbers and words. Aren't words supposed to stand out boldly and mightily? Aren't numbers supposed to add up to something or take away something or multiply something or divide something as big as the Grand Canyon?
Many people live their lives like a palindrome. Always the same - backward or forward. That sounds safe and comfortable. But devoid of passion, change, color, light, all the emotions that humans possess.
I am NOT a palindrome. I was for a while. But not anymore.
I didn't win Megamillions last night. No one did. I took a small bit of comfort in that knowledge.
So what is in store for me for 2011? No clue. I know about today. And right now, that's all I need to know. In six months, I learned not to try to predict events that have not (or may not) happen. I have learned not to let others' guilt or displeasure, happiness or sorrow, anger, bitterness or resentment make ME feel that way - only if I allow it to happen. I am done 'allowing' other people's emotions to control me and my life.
I control my life. And my son's. And he and I are all that matter. Everything and everyone else is secondary. That's not to say I'm going to become a recluse - far, far from that. But I went through six months of self-discovery and a lot was horrendously painful and full of regrets and sorrow. But I am learning how to overcome what I allowed others to make me feel.
My mother is an alcoholic. My sister is a drug addict. My youngest sister is just plain rotten to the core. And my brother is as detached from his immediate family as a freestanding three-car garage. And there is my father who lives in Florida, and still has enough money to wallpaper the state, but who is alone because none of his children or grandchildren speak to him. Actually, my mother is like that too except she tries to live her life through her children - mostly living it inside her wine glass and wine bottle.
I refuse to allow her or anyone in my family - or my son's father inclusive - to make me feel bad about how my life has turned out. While I was influenced obviously because my family history, I am the only one to whom I have to answer every single day.
But it still very, very difficult to comprehend that both of my parents do not love me, or perhaps do not love me in the manner I expect them to. I have discovered that their love always came with a condition, a term and an expectation. Neither understand the concept of unconditional love. My entire life was a big term, a specific condition and of course, the expectation that they would love me if .... Boy, that really sucked when i found that out. But then again, looking back and right up until now present day, it comes as no surprise.
And of course, what is even more not a surprise is the learned pattern of behavior that persons like myself tend to repeat over and over and over when seeking a relationship because what we learn is all we know. Some, like my brother, simply find another family that actually had the proper tools with which to guide their own children and my brother found that family when he met his wife and he grew up to be a decent loving father. But he still despises his siblings and doesn't hesitate to take out the knife and stab any one of us at any given time. In a way, I don't blame him because we are all bad reminders of his own childhood. We are all bad reminders of each other, period. But he's wealthy and he owns three homes and is very very successful and unfortunately has put himself up on a pedestal to look down upon his three sisters who all failed in some capacity in life. All three sisters are divorced. My brother has been married for eons. But again, he got his tools from somewhere else - not his own family. I bet if some rocket scientist psychologist got a hold of my brother, my brother would crumble like a cookie and reveal how his father crushed his dreams, that his father called his wife to be a 'goddamned spic' and didn't pay a penny toward my brother's college education which is probably what pushed my brother to be somebody. Not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to throw it back in his father's face (quietly of course) but still pretend that he has a relationship with his father just because he became successful, too.
Well boulya to you, brother.
But do I care? Not anymore. This is why I write about it. It's cathartic getting this crap out of my system. Each minute I peel away a piece of the past that is littered with my dysfunctional family, my former relationships which weren't relationships at all --- and discard that piece. Bigger pieces still lay upon my soul like thousands of years of sediment. I bet if someone dug far enough into me, they'd find a t-rex LOL
But I'll get there. But it's still hard. I am surrounded by people whose parents would do anything for their kids - and do. Even as adults. And the reason ? Those parents would say, "hey,those are my KIDS.' Who wouldn't help their kids in dire straights?"
My hand is already up in there air.
My parents wouldn't help me. And when I asked, I was refused flat out and called horrible names by my mother and my father - well, I knew what he thought of me when I was eight years old. He crushed me long before he crushed my brother.
BUT I am still here. Somehow, someway. And I have a son who's almost 11 and I will do anything for him. I will not be like my parents (and I never have been) and I have no idea how I was able to turn out to be a good mother.
Maybe I did end up being wired a certain way. It just took having a son to figure it out.
And of course, I seem to have found a place in my soul that I opened up and let God in. Little by little. Some of prayers were answered. Big ones, actually. So I have to have faith that something or someone was listening. And perhaps everything that happened in the past six months was for a very specific reason. I haven't figured out what it is yet.
I still miss Alex. There are just certain hurts that will never go away. And he is one of those hurts.
But I did say to him "hey, it's your loss, not mine."
And that is the truth. It's my mother's loss, my father's loss, my brother's loss and every single person who made me feel bad about myself - because I allowed them to make me feel that way.
No more. Hasta la veesta all you negative sayers. No more.
And yes, it is REALLY your loss.
2011 - I am ready. Or getting there each day.
Think about it, though. A palindrome is numbers or words that are spelled exactly the same backwards and forwards. Either you look at that as simplicity at is finest or the most boring aspect of numbers and words. Aren't words supposed to stand out boldly and mightily? Aren't numbers supposed to add up to something or take away something or multiply something or divide something as big as the Grand Canyon?
Many people live their lives like a palindrome. Always the same - backward or forward. That sounds safe and comfortable. But devoid of passion, change, color, light, all the emotions that humans possess.
I am NOT a palindrome. I was for a while. But not anymore.
I didn't win Megamillions last night. No one did. I took a small bit of comfort in that knowledge.
So what is in store for me for 2011? No clue. I know about today. And right now, that's all I need to know. In six months, I learned not to try to predict events that have not (or may not) happen. I have learned not to let others' guilt or displeasure, happiness or sorrow, anger, bitterness or resentment make ME feel that way - only if I allow it to happen. I am done 'allowing' other people's emotions to control me and my life.
I control my life. And my son's. And he and I are all that matter. Everything and everyone else is secondary. That's not to say I'm going to become a recluse - far, far from that. But I went through six months of self-discovery and a lot was horrendously painful and full of regrets and sorrow. But I am learning how to overcome what I allowed others to make me feel.
My mother is an alcoholic. My sister is a drug addict. My youngest sister is just plain rotten to the core. And my brother is as detached from his immediate family as a freestanding three-car garage. And there is my father who lives in Florida, and still has enough money to wallpaper the state, but who is alone because none of his children or grandchildren speak to him. Actually, my mother is like that too except she tries to live her life through her children - mostly living it inside her wine glass and wine bottle.
I refuse to allow her or anyone in my family - or my son's father inclusive - to make me feel bad about how my life has turned out. While I was influenced obviously because my family history, I am the only one to whom I have to answer every single day.
But it still very, very difficult to comprehend that both of my parents do not love me, or perhaps do not love me in the manner I expect them to. I have discovered that their love always came with a condition, a term and an expectation. Neither understand the concept of unconditional love. My entire life was a big term, a specific condition and of course, the expectation that they would love me if .... Boy, that really sucked when i found that out. But then again, looking back and right up until now present day, it comes as no surprise.
And of course, what is even more not a surprise is the learned pattern of behavior that persons like myself tend to repeat over and over and over when seeking a relationship because what we learn is all we know. Some, like my brother, simply find another family that actually had the proper tools with which to guide their own children and my brother found that family when he met his wife and he grew up to be a decent loving father. But he still despises his siblings and doesn't hesitate to take out the knife and stab any one of us at any given time. In a way, I don't blame him because we are all bad reminders of his own childhood. We are all bad reminders of each other, period. But he's wealthy and he owns three homes and is very very successful and unfortunately has put himself up on a pedestal to look down upon his three sisters who all failed in some capacity in life. All three sisters are divorced. My brother has been married for eons. But again, he got his tools from somewhere else - not his own family. I bet if some rocket scientist psychologist got a hold of my brother, my brother would crumble like a cookie and reveal how his father crushed his dreams, that his father called his wife to be a 'goddamned spic' and didn't pay a penny toward my brother's college education which is probably what pushed my brother to be somebody. Not because he wanted to, but because he wanted to throw it back in his father's face (quietly of course) but still pretend that he has a relationship with his father just because he became successful, too.
Well boulya to you, brother.
But do I care? Not anymore. This is why I write about it. It's cathartic getting this crap out of my system. Each minute I peel away a piece of the past that is littered with my dysfunctional family, my former relationships which weren't relationships at all --- and discard that piece. Bigger pieces still lay upon my soul like thousands of years of sediment. I bet if someone dug far enough into me, they'd find a t-rex LOL
But I'll get there. But it's still hard. I am surrounded by people whose parents would do anything for their kids - and do. Even as adults. And the reason ? Those parents would say, "hey,those are my KIDS.' Who wouldn't help their kids in dire straights?"
My hand is already up in there air.
My parents wouldn't help me. And when I asked, I was refused flat out and called horrible names by my mother and my father - well, I knew what he thought of me when I was eight years old. He crushed me long before he crushed my brother.
BUT I am still here. Somehow, someway. And I have a son who's almost 11 and I will do anything for him. I will not be like my parents (and I never have been) and I have no idea how I was able to turn out to be a good mother.
Maybe I did end up being wired a certain way. It just took having a son to figure it out.
And of course, I seem to have found a place in my soul that I opened up and let God in. Little by little. Some of prayers were answered. Big ones, actually. So I have to have faith that something or someone was listening. And perhaps everything that happened in the past six months was for a very specific reason. I haven't figured out what it is yet.
I still miss Alex. There are just certain hurts that will never go away. And he is one of those hurts.
But I did say to him "hey, it's your loss, not mine."
And that is the truth. It's my mother's loss, my father's loss, my brother's loss and every single person who made me feel bad about myself - because I allowed them to make me feel that way.
No more. Hasta la veesta all you negative sayers. No more.
And yes, it is REALLY your loss.
2011 - I am ready. Or getting there each day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)