Remember that catchy phrase from when we were children? I think most of us at one time or another have been the subject of that chant. Well, today, as an adult, I direct it toward a 43-year-old woman named Melissa Gough of Sudbury, Massachusetts. Seems immature and childish that as an adult, I have to resort to that eons old catchphrase but in my objectivity, it is rightly fitting.
If the "liar liar pants on fire" phrase were a piece of clothing, Mrs. Gough would wear it very well.
I detest liars. Let's start with a some words synonomous with liar: Deceiver, falsifier, deluder, fibber, maligner, misleader, perjurer, storyteller and trickster.
You get the picture. The glaring fact about liars is that they tend to actually believe the lies they tell and attempt to twist the lies so intricately that they then convince themselves their lies ARE the truth.
Pathetic losers with no backbone, no spine, no self-confidence, no conscience, no soul.
But here's the trapdoor for liars: Someone else always knows the truth. And that someone else is just lying in wait (no pun intended) to pull the rope on the trapdoor and let the liar fall straight down into the sea of truth - and drown.
Liars lie for one reason and one reason only: to cover their collective butts. Usually it's to get out of trouble or worse, to subject a person about whom they are lying to horrible stress, emotional anguish and destroy their lives. It happens.
Unless of course the person lying has been diagnosed as a pathological liar then that changes the scope of the reasoning behind the lie. It just makes them candidates for the loony bin.
But as for Mrs. Gough, in my opinion, she lied to CHA (cover her ass). See here's what happened: On June 9th, around 11:00 a.m. I was driving to work, taking the same route I have taken for nearly 10 years. I have a large truck, wide and tall. Someone in a small vehicle would be hard-pressed to see around me, left or right side. Matter of fact, drivers on either side would have to edge their vehicles far out into the main thoroughfare to see around or above my truck. It's a simple fact. But hey, everyone gets their turn.
Some people, like Melissa Gough, can't wait their turn and pull stupid, reckless and careless illegal manuevers because they consider themselves privileged or their "right" to subject other drives to their dumb-ass-ness.
Melissa Gough couldn't wait her turn. At a single-car, narrow left-turn lane intersection that bisects two major streets in Framingham, Mrs. Gough came up behind me, and passed me illegally on the left.
Nope, she could not wait her turn at all.
Matter of fact, not only did she not wait her turn and illegally pass me on my my left, her stupidity, recklessness, carelessness and negligence cut me off, blocked me and impeded me from making my left turn, causing me to hit her, causing the accident that has now subjected myself AND my son to extreme duress, not to mention the financial hardship that is pending as a result of her recklessness, carelessness - and her lies.
How do I know this? Remember I wrote a few paragraphs back that no matter how many times people lie there is always at least one peson who knows the truth? I know the truth. And Melissa Gough - even though she lied that day, and continues to perpetuate her lies - she knows the truth, too.
But I'm out ahead of her because the best part of the truth is that I only have to remember it one time. It never changes. And the events of the morning of June 9th are clear as granite quarry water because these events will never change. And the details of the accident will remain crystal clear in my mind.
And I intend to prove that Melissa Gough lied to the police and lied to her insurance company in order to cover her ass. And lie that is going to come back and haunt her in the form of a civil lawsuit when I am finished with presenting my defense to the insurance commission. I don't know how to put a price on stress and loss of sleep and worry not to mention the fact my son is very upset and stressed out over Melissa Gough's lies. I'm a grownup. I can deal with this. But she is hurting my son. And while money can't take away his pain over this, it's the principal of the matter. Liars get caught eventually.
But let me take you through the events of June 9th: I had stopped on the main road, my left blinker on (one of my pet peeves is people who don't use blinkers - they are not installed for decorative purposes in cars, you know) and when I had a clear way, I turned left off the main road into the single-car, narrow left turn lane. I was the first vehicle in that lane.
This particular turn lane allows vehicles to turn left onto the next main street. A vehicle stops, and being that traffic is ONLY approaching from the right, a prudent, reasonable, experienced, seasoned veteran driver knows that he or she must yield to oncoming traffic from the right and when he or she has a clear path, may turn left without having to look left because there is no traffic approaching from the left.
With me so far?
So here I am, sitting at a complete stop in that single-car, narrow turn lane, and considering that when people turn into the lane, they are turning left so the natural "curve" of the turn is to hug the left side and there is maybe a two-foot gap between a vehicle sitting there and the "island" or "grassy berm" on the left of the vehicle.
I'm stopped, left blinker on, looking right, and given my 30 year plus years as a reporter, my attention to detail is acute. Three cars passed me coming from the right, the second being a police car. I then had a clear view on my right. And again, no reason in the world to look left because (a) no approaching traffic on the left; (b) I've driven that route for at least 10 years and (c) it was 11:00 a.m. and traffic was light and (d) no reason in the world to look left because there is NO TRAFFIC APPROACHING FROM THE LEFT.
So I'm looking right just in case a UFO decides to land all of a sudden and I step on the gas, with left blinker on, still looking right and CRUNCH! I slammed my foot on the brake, looked up and was horrified to see a car to my left driver's side, halfway into the street. My first thought that went through my head is WHERE THE EFF DID THAT CAR COME FROM? And the second thought was I knew the driver has passed me illegally on my left, cut me off, blocked me from making my turn and therefore caused the accident. Not only that, the driver's recklessness, carelessness and negligence could have caused a major accident because again, I have a large truck and she was driving a BMW. Her vehicle was halfway into the street, sideways and the only way she could have gotten to where her car was positioned at that moment is that she had to have driven up and over the berm, passing me illegally on my left, ending up halfway out in the street and subjecting her passenger to a possible "t-bone" situation. What an idiot.
I got out of my truck, saw the damage and went into shock! My entire front left driver's side fender was crushed inward, my light cover has large scrapes and scratches on it and worst of it all? I had just gotten this truck only five months ago.
I took a deep breath, walked over to her car, which was still halfway into the second main street, and I said to her, "What in the world were you thinking? You can't pass me on the left. That's illegal. Look what you've done to my truck! Oh my god, are you kidding me?"
She just stared at me, mumbled "I'm sorry I didn't know" and then shut up.
Then I called the police, I called my employer and continued to look at the damage - in shock - to my truck. The one thought rolling around my head was that I had been pushed up against the steering wheel by the impact and given I have three blood clots and have been told to be extremely careful about getting injured in any way, shape or form - even the slightest bruising can cause more blood clots - I became fearful. And I was thankful that my son was not in the car because he knows of my medical condition and he would have panicked.
I waited for the police officer to arrive, he saw the position of the cars, he could clearly see that Melissa Gough had passed me illegally on the left and caused the accident.
BUT ... since he didn't "see" it happen, he claimed he couldn't write up an accident report. (Note: I have since discovered that the officer should have written up a report because the damage to my truck is documented at well over a thousand dollars and given the fact he KNEW because of the registration that my vehicle was brand new, he should have but did not file an accident report. )
The cop then asked us if anyone was hurt, we both said no, and then he asked us to move our vehicles across the street to a bridge area where traffic could still easily pass without anyone subjecting themselves to being run over. And this is where Melissa Gough's lies began.
The cop asked us what happened. I told him the truth, I had stopped, I was first, Melissa Gough passed me on my left, cut me off, blocked me and caused the accident. She stood there, and I could see the uncertainty flitting over her features and the wheels turning in her head.
She then said to the cop "She hit me. My car was there first."
I could not believe that she had just lied to the cop. My mouth dropped open and I stared at her. She looked everywhere but at me. Then she said "I have a witness." A woman I presumed to be her mother got out of the car and said "I'm a witness." I'm sure my shock was splashed all over my features.
I said, "what are you a witness to? Your daughter came up behind me, passed me illegally on my left and caused me to hit her because she should never have done what she did. What are you a witness to??"
The cop didn't seem to care very much, perhaps because no arms or legs were strewn about the street, there was no gushing blood from cartoid arteries having been pierce by flying metal, no large pieces of windshield glass sticking out from our eyeballs.
He said something snarky like "your insurance companies can duke it out."
But the lie was out of the bag.
The cop actually made some convoluted statement about how "young" he looked. Yes, he looked about 12 years old which is probably why he didn't feel the need to further question Mrs. Gough and her passenger about what REALLY happened. My gut feeling is that if the cop had pressed Mrs. Gough for specific details, she would have caved in under the pressure of interrogation and changed her story.
As it stands, not only did Mrs. Gough lie to the cop, she then filed a claim with her insurance company and lied to it.
But let me back up just a bit: In that turn lane, there is only room enough for second car to line up exactly behind the first car. Two vehicles - two trucks or two sedans or two dump trucks cannot fit side by side and the turn lane was not designed for side-by-side vehicle positions because anyone edging out onto the second main street would subject themselves to being "t-boned" by traffic approaching from the right. So the engineers of this turn lane designed it for cars to turn into it, line up back fender to front fender, and essentially, wait your damned turn.
The exception to this turn lane is that if a landscaping vehicle with a trailer or a dump truck turned into the lane, the vehicle behind each would have to wait on the main road to turn into the lane until either of those large-sized vehicles made the left turn onto the next main road.
The statistical probability of two vehicles lining up the way Mrs. Gough claims her vehicle and my vehicle lined up that morning in that turn lane is about zero in forty million.
But alas, her lies continued. She filled out her insurance claim and stated that her vehicle was in that turn lane first, that I hit her from behind and it was a "classic fender bender." That's it. I took a photo of her car, the right rear area of her BMW which is registered to her husband and not her. A scratch on her bumper and a scratch on her light cover. My truck took the brunt of the damage because of her stupidity, her negligence, her recklessness and of course, her lies.
Lies, lies, lies yah yah they're gonna get you .... Remember that song from the Thompson Twins?
Anyways, here's the end result: My own insurance company ruled against me and the claims rep (who I think can't be more than 12 years old) stated to me that she based her ruling SOLELY on the fact that Mrs. Gough's statement was consistent with the damage. The COMMERCE (yes, COMMERCE) claims rep never spoke to Mrs. Gough, never either viewed or fully viewed the numerous videos I took of the interesection, never viewed the simulation of the accident video I took using my son's Hot Wheels cars, and never fully or at all viewed the video of me standing at that intersection/turn lane to show that cars line up single file and not the way Mrs. Gough claims our vehicles were lined up.
The COMMERCE claims rep - her name is Maritzka Rivera - epic failed in her duty to protect me as her insured. Actually, she was pissed at me already because I complained to her supervisor about her lack of cooperation, her lack of responding to my numerous requests for confirmation of receipt of documents, etc. etc. So the claims rep already had a hard on for me and ruled against me, went on vacation and then just never bothered to tell me until I began to badger her supervisor about Ms. Rivera's lack of customer service.
Hate when that happens, don't you?
I am a sixteen year customer of Commerce. I have not cost it a DIME in claims except for two windshield replacements that were the result of normal wear and tear over the years. That's it. No speeding tickets, no drunk driving, no drugs, no texting, no sexting (ha ha) no distractions, no dogs trying to drive my car.
Nothing, Nada. Zero. Zilch. Not a dime.
But clearly that doesn't mean jack shit to Commerce.
I invited the Commerce claims rep to view the intersection. She refused. Ms. Rivera stated to me that she solely based her ruling against me on hearsay. On a single piece of paper with some words -- no, make that lies - written by Mrs. Gough and Ms. Rivera's EXACT words to me were "the other driver's statement is consistent with the damage to the vehicles."
Oh and Ms. Rivera told me in her "driving experience" drivers who rear-end other drivers are always at fault.
I think Ms. Rivera is about 12. She refused to disclose her "driving experience" or the length of time in which she's been a driver. I've been driving for 33 years. I don't think Ms. Rivera has been on Earth for that period of time.
Funny how the damage in THIS situation is confined EXACTLY to the left side of my driver's side fender and Mrs. Gough's alleged damage is EXACTLY to the right rear. Two scratches.
Nope. The statistical probability of two vehicles lining up the way Mrs. Gough claims we were lined up - nah, doesn't work for me.
So here I am up against Commerce the Insurance Giant who doesn't give a rat's ass about it's insured nevermind that I have a clean, (squeaky clean) driving record, haven't cost it a dime in sixteen years and there's Mrs. Melissa Gough of Sudbury, Massachusetts driving her husband's BMW and perpetuating the biggest lie in the world.
People lie to cover their asses. And Melissa Gough lied to cover her ass for one of several reasons: Her driving record is not so squeaky clean.
Or she lied simply bcause she could. Because, in my opinion, Melissa Gough is a coward, pathetic, disgusting and pretty much believes she's above the law.
Can't pass people on the left in that turn lane, Melissa Gough. The cop told me in a conversation recently if he had seen you do what you did, he would have issued you a citation. And then I would not be sitting here telling the entire world about your pretty little lies.
Funny thing is I wrote her a nice letter right after the accident and asked her to step up the plate and tell the truth. I gave her a chance. I asked her to do the right thing.
Epic fail, Mrs. Gough. Epic complete total fail.
I told her that I say to my son "If you tell me the truth, I won't be mad."
Clearly, Melissa Gough's parents never said that to HER.
I don't know whether Melissa Gough has any children, but I hope she doesn't because she is horribly poor excuse for a parent if this is the example she is setting for her child or children. Melissa Gough may as well say "hey kids, it's OK to lie and ruin other people's lives because it will save Mommy and Daddy a lot of money."
Melissa Gough to you, I say again: Liar liar pants on fire.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Sibling Bullying - Precursors or Simple Establishment of Sibling Hierarchy?
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.
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.
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.
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