I love October. Its my favorite month. I love the frequent storms and the way the air changes in temperature and intensity. I like the sound that the birds make as they say good bye until next Spring. The colors amaze me. Yes...the trees fascinate me but so do the red streaks at sunset and the beiges and browns and oranges when the moon is heavy and full. The night sky sparkles and its navy blue instead of black...even daytime clouds have a different intensity..the whites become opaque and the greys become silver. I love to watch the leaves as they flutter and hover in the air before falling to the ground..and the feel of the frozen grass in the morning. October calls to me and whispers to me to write and write and write.
And so I do....
This afternoon I start my training in something that may well change my life again. I can see possibilities before I even start. This will be time well spent. I'm excited to be learning again. I am so grateful that I am infinitely curious and that I didn't lose that as I aged like so many people do.
Last month at this time my instincts were firing and dreams haunted me because I could feel my life turning. I get these when the moon is full and when the moon is gone it begins and the circle completes with the next full moon. Maybe its coincidence...I don't dispute those who dispute. I just know that in my life, I am that way... Even my children were born during the moon. I did not actually fear those dreams or visions.... but for one who is like me changes bring trepidation and uncertainty. It seems my whole life I have only longed for roots and solid ground and have yet to experience it. I can't complain because change equals growth and I learn so much from these uprootings....still I envy those who have lived in the same home, worked for the same company and loved the same person for years and years and years... They are the lucky ones I think. One day I hope to be like that. One day I hope that life becomes utterly boring and I am able to take comfort in another old face.
My stability comes from my faith and from my family. I am a lucky one. Blessed to have both.
I am worried about the friend I spoke of in earlier posts. Its difficult for both of us right now and we have this White Elephant between us that we are not addressing. He's become distant in his guilt and I cannot soothe him. I feel no guilt, but perhaps I should. I live for truth. I speak it when its hard. So does he. The problem comes when truth collides with the best interests of each other. A true friendship is as rickety a building as a marriage. It must be constantly stabilized and rebuild lest it fall down in a mountain of rusty nails and rotted boards. I won't let him disappear from me, though he tries to fade away. He is my friend and we made a few bad choices but those did not include the option of losing a friend. I will need him again one day just as he needs me now...whether or not he admits it. If we are lucky we are given a handful of people not born to us that we can trust absolutely. I'm not giving up on even one of those people. Those people are worth my efforts.
I miss my older children. My daughter stays in frequent contact and makes sure that my lovely granddaughter does not forget me...but its not the same. I miss knowing that I could just stop by, and that if I asked her to come for the holidays she could. She is doing right though, she is putting her family needs first in her life, even when she misses her Mama. My eldest son is a different matter, he's ever the hermit and keeps weird hours. We were so close when he was a child that I think it made a rift when he became an adult. So I watch him from a distance and welcome him when he calls...and he does but I long for more. My youngest is finally what I would call a young adult. He stayed on that precipice between boy and man for so long I wondered if and when he would finally cross over...but he's doing it now. Its going to kill me to let go of him. He needed me the most and now he needs me less and less each day. I should feel better about my kids being adults. I did my job in horrible situations and somehow managed to get it done...but I don't. I miss the babies I had.
The plus side to them growing up is that I've finally been able to start concentrating on all those dreams I had before I became a mother. I'm finally going to write that book. Maybe I will write a couple. I'm not going to wait until I have "time" because the time is now. I don't know if I will be published and honestly, its ok if I'm not. If I can't sell it/them then I will give it/them away. My words will once again become my children.... but I think I was right to put it all on hold because I will never get the satisfaction from writing, though it is my first love, that I got from Motherhood. When I do pass from this world I know I left a living legacy in them.
My work is good.
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label parenting. Show all posts
Thursday
Saturday
My Mother's Mother
A week ago today my family and I celebrated the life of my Grandmother. I think I've finally come to terms with everything....
I was asked to speak there and I did. In dreams I was overcome by the spirits of first my grandmother and then my grandfather. In fact, I wrote it quickly after the first dream....but the dream I had the next night made it clear that it wasn't quite finished. Grandpa always said if you are going to do a thing....do it right. He loved my Grandma too much to allow me to neglect certain aspects of her personality...most notably her damnable determination. Both frustrating and admirable while she lived, I completely left it out until the second dream.
Below is the memorial speech I gave in honor of my Grandma...I'm not really sure if I wrote it. It is pretty much exactly as I recited it with one small exception...the minister who spoke before me also stated he felt touched by my (very very determined) Grandmother and felt that she wanted him to include the same poem she directed me to say...so I didn't repeat in my speech it but I left it in the version below. LOL....guess I should have tried to go first....
Grandma always said I had a habit of using $20.00 words for a $5.00 message. I'll try to keep this on the cheap side. There aren't enough days in the year to share all the stories I would like to share or for you to share back anyway. I just want to give your memories a nudge and your heart a smile. I think that is all Grandma wants me to do anyway.
Some would say she had her ups and downs and no doubt she would say that too. I'm not here to talk so much about that. We've all had them. She handled them better than most.
As far as I've ever been concerned, she and Grandpa were the greatest influences in my life and the people that I want most to be like. They may not have been rich in dollars, but their lives were more valuable than all the gold in the world. They were plain people who could have had more for themselves if they had been willing to do less for others. They chose to enrich others instead. In the end, thier legacies to us are far more valuable than any money they could have left us. They were good people. We were truly blessed.
We are here to remember Grandma today and I guess what I'd like for us all to remember most is not that she died but that she really live, not quietly, not sorrowfully but loudly and boldly. Some would even say she was a bit of an eccentric. She'd like to hear them saying it too!.
She lived life on her terms and to her own satisfaction as much as I think any of us really can. In that way I like to think I'm a little bit like her. I think most of you are a bit like that too. As a matter of fact, I'd go so far as to say we are kind of known as that kind of family around these parts.
Waneta Rogers was an amazing woman. She was not much bigger than the leprachauns she tried to convince me still lived in Ireland. She dyed her hair bright red to give the world warning that she was a firebrand. She worked and played harder than men 4 times (not just twice) her size. Even so, she was completely feminine. She kept up her appearances and never let the world see her down. Grandma even dressed up and put make-up on before she went to the Salvation Army store (which she called the Sally-Shop). She mended and restyled her purchases so well that people would often comment on her fashion style and try to get her to reveal where she found such lovely pieces. She told the truth, but was seldom believed about it.
Grandma was a capable woman. There wasn't any person or any situation that she couldn't handle effectively. She could manage my siblings, my cousins and me all at the same time with a single look and she could make everything right in the world with one sweet smile. Heaven help the poor soul that would try to harm one of us. She could handle them too!
Let us remember, with a glad heart, the woman who defied convention and married an Indian when that just wasn't done. Let us remember the woman who tamed that wild giant of a man too. She never judged people on something so minor as the color of their skin, she made friends based on the content of their hearts. She was a supportive wife, a loving mother, a thoughtful sister, a wonderful friend, and the kind of grandmother that all children wish for. She was known as quite the character too! You never knew for sure what she would say or do next but it was pretty hard to be bored around her. She was interesting all the time. I don't think I ever heard her use the word *bored*. I don't think she knew it. I'm pretty sure she never was.
I'm also sure she wouldn't be pleased if she were to look down on us and see us crying or whining about our loss today. You all know that she didn't like cry babies or complainers much. I should know, when I was a child I was one. She had a few colorful sayings for that type of behavior. *Youknowwhat or get off the pot!*. If you don't like it then change it. Seriously, Grandma could have written Nike ads. Just do it! It was impossible to be wishy-washy around her. She simply would not stand for it.
Lord help you if you ever said the word *can't* in her presence. Actually to this, I can almost hear her reminding me that *the Lord helps them that helps themselves!*
I can honestly say that without this not-so-gentle wisdom from Grandma, I would not be who I am today. Chances are neither would any of you.
So lets not cry today. If you must shed a tear let it be a tear of joy for being so lucky to have been a part of her life. Lets celebrate her! Lets be grateful we have such a wonderful legacy in her memory. Grandma was a fireball! She was an oddity! She was freakin hilarious most of the time! She was also courageous and kind. She was smart, especially in politics and current events and plain spoken. She never pretended to be anyone she wasn't. Of all the people I've ever known, she was the most comfortable in her own skin. She was true to herself. We should all aspire to be more like her in that way. She was a practical woman. She never wasted a thing and was recycling items long before it became the *thing to do*. Waste not. Want not. She had her priorities and she lived by them. Family came first, then friends, then strangers. She never cared about any material thing. She only cared about people. Especially her people. Especially us.
She was the first one I ever heard say *Dynamite comes in small packages*. Truer words were never spoken.
We don't want to forget her people watchers because it was a really warped sense of humor that came up with that one. I swear I was afraid to misbehave because I just knew that Grandma could see us through all those magical (as she told me) eyes.
Remember the unusual knick-knacks and collectors items she called dust catchers, but couldn't part with. That's because we kept giving them to her. It was never the decorations she liked, it was having little pieces of us around that she couldn't give up.
We don't want to forget that she would help out her neighbors and welcome strangers either. She defended her family against any danger that came and never backed down from evil. She was something special. When she had a word or two to say, EF Hutton listened.
Let us remember those gentle hands that could give us a man size whoopin or an angel's hug depending upon our needs at the time. Let us remember her eyes crinkled in laughter or touching our soul in the few tears she shed. Don't you forget that stubborn chin either! When she was right she was right.
I won't forget her determination. When she couldn't drive any longer, she took up riding that adult size tricycle, despite the fact that it really was way too big for her. She was something else! If one solution didn't work, she always found another. Long before people ever said the words *failure is not an option* she was living them.
Some would say our life is less now that she is gone....not me. My life is *more* because she lived. My life is more because every lesson she ever taught me comes up again and again. She made sure I had the right answers. How can I cry about her death when I still feel her life in me? I still see evidence of her in my children. I can look around and see evidence of her existence in each of us here. When I look at my daughter, Grandma's eyes smile back at me. I still see her. I still feel the love she gave us. Its that voice in my head that tells me in very colorful ways to not give up when things get tough. When I fall I can hear Grandma snickering and telling me that my backside isn't going to do me much good sitting on the ground like that. Her invisible arms still comfort me in my sadness. Her wisdom keeps me from being too hypocritical. I hear her laughter everytime I see some really bizarre knick knack. I think of her and she lives. Actually I don't even need to think of her first, not when I can see her so plainly in your faces.
I know she lives for you too..
So I don't want to see any of you shedding too many tears.
You know Grandma didn't like crybabies.
Someone once wrote these words, I'm not sure who.....but I think Grandma felt this way....
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free
Miss me a little - but not too long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me - but let me go
For this is a journey that we must all take
And each must go alone
It's all a part of the Master's plan
A step on the road to home
When you are lonely, and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me - but let me go
Thank you.
I was asked to speak there and I did. In dreams I was overcome by the spirits of first my grandmother and then my grandfather. In fact, I wrote it quickly after the first dream....but the dream I had the next night made it clear that it wasn't quite finished. Grandpa always said if you are going to do a thing....do it right. He loved my Grandma too much to allow me to neglect certain aspects of her personality...most notably her damnable determination. Both frustrating and admirable while she lived, I completely left it out until the second dream.
Below is the memorial speech I gave in honor of my Grandma...I'm not really sure if I wrote it. It is pretty much exactly as I recited it with one small exception...the minister who spoke before me also stated he felt touched by my (very very determined) Grandmother and felt that she wanted him to include the same poem she directed me to say...so I didn't repeat in my speech it but I left it in the version below. LOL....guess I should have tried to go first....
Grandma always said I had a habit of using $20.00 words for a $5.00 message. I'll try to keep this on the cheap side. There aren't enough days in the year to share all the stories I would like to share or for you to share back anyway. I just want to give your memories a nudge and your heart a smile. I think that is all Grandma wants me to do anyway.
Some would say she had her ups and downs and no doubt she would say that too. I'm not here to talk so much about that. We've all had them. She handled them better than most.
As far as I've ever been concerned, she and Grandpa were the greatest influences in my life and the people that I want most to be like. They may not have been rich in dollars, but their lives were more valuable than all the gold in the world. They were plain people who could have had more for themselves if they had been willing to do less for others. They chose to enrich others instead. In the end, thier legacies to us are far more valuable than any money they could have left us. They were good people. We were truly blessed.
We are here to remember Grandma today and I guess what I'd like for us all to remember most is not that she died but that she really live, not quietly, not sorrowfully but loudly and boldly. Some would even say she was a bit of an eccentric. She'd like to hear them saying it too!.
She lived life on her terms and to her own satisfaction as much as I think any of us really can. In that way I like to think I'm a little bit like her. I think most of you are a bit like that too. As a matter of fact, I'd go so far as to say we are kind of known as that kind of family around these parts.
Waneta Rogers was an amazing woman. She was not much bigger than the leprachauns she tried to convince me still lived in Ireland. She dyed her hair bright red to give the world warning that she was a firebrand. She worked and played harder than men 4 times (not just twice) her size. Even so, she was completely feminine. She kept up her appearances and never let the world see her down. Grandma even dressed up and put make-up on before she went to the Salvation Army store (which she called the Sally-Shop). She mended and restyled her purchases so well that people would often comment on her fashion style and try to get her to reveal where she found such lovely pieces. She told the truth, but was seldom believed about it.
Grandma was a capable woman. There wasn't any person or any situation that she couldn't handle effectively. She could manage my siblings, my cousins and me all at the same time with a single look and she could make everything right in the world with one sweet smile. Heaven help the poor soul that would try to harm one of us. She could handle them too!
Let us remember, with a glad heart, the woman who defied convention and married an Indian when that just wasn't done. Let us remember the woman who tamed that wild giant of a man too. She never judged people on something so minor as the color of their skin, she made friends based on the content of their hearts. She was a supportive wife, a loving mother, a thoughtful sister, a wonderful friend, and the kind of grandmother that all children wish for. She was known as quite the character too! You never knew for sure what she would say or do next but it was pretty hard to be bored around her. She was interesting all the time. I don't think I ever heard her use the word *bored*. I don't think she knew it. I'm pretty sure she never was.
I'm also sure she wouldn't be pleased if she were to look down on us and see us crying or whining about our loss today. You all know that she didn't like cry babies or complainers much. I should know, when I was a child I was one. She had a few colorful sayings for that type of behavior. *Youknowwhat or get off the pot!*. If you don't like it then change it. Seriously, Grandma could have written Nike ads. Just do it! It was impossible to be wishy-washy around her. She simply would not stand for it.
Lord help you if you ever said the word *can't* in her presence. Actually to this, I can almost hear her reminding me that *the Lord helps them that helps themselves!*
I can honestly say that without this not-so-gentle wisdom from Grandma, I would not be who I am today. Chances are neither would any of you.
So lets not cry today. If you must shed a tear let it be a tear of joy for being so lucky to have been a part of her life. Lets celebrate her! Lets be grateful we have such a wonderful legacy in her memory. Grandma was a fireball! She was an oddity! She was freakin hilarious most of the time! She was also courageous and kind. She was smart, especially in politics and current events and plain spoken. She never pretended to be anyone she wasn't. Of all the people I've ever known, she was the most comfortable in her own skin. She was true to herself. We should all aspire to be more like her in that way. She was a practical woman. She never wasted a thing and was recycling items long before it became the *thing to do*. Waste not. Want not. She had her priorities and she lived by them. Family came first, then friends, then strangers. She never cared about any material thing. She only cared about people. Especially her people. Especially us.
She was the first one I ever heard say *Dynamite comes in small packages*. Truer words were never spoken.
We don't want to forget her people watchers because it was a really warped sense of humor that came up with that one. I swear I was afraid to misbehave because I just knew that Grandma could see us through all those magical (as she told me) eyes.
Remember the unusual knick-knacks and collectors items she called dust catchers, but couldn't part with. That's because we kept giving them to her. It was never the decorations she liked, it was having little pieces of us around that she couldn't give up.
We don't want to forget that she would help out her neighbors and welcome strangers either. She defended her family against any danger that came and never backed down from evil. She was something special. When she had a word or two to say, EF Hutton listened.
Let us remember those gentle hands that could give us a man size whoopin or an angel's hug depending upon our needs at the time. Let us remember her eyes crinkled in laughter or touching our soul in the few tears she shed. Don't you forget that stubborn chin either! When she was right she was right.
I won't forget her determination. When she couldn't drive any longer, she took up riding that adult size tricycle, despite the fact that it really was way too big for her. She was something else! If one solution didn't work, she always found another. Long before people ever said the words *failure is not an option* she was living them.
Some would say our life is less now that she is gone....not me. My life is *more* because she lived. My life is more because every lesson she ever taught me comes up again and again. She made sure I had the right answers. How can I cry about her death when I still feel her life in me? I still see evidence of her in my children. I can look around and see evidence of her existence in each of us here. When I look at my daughter, Grandma's eyes smile back at me. I still see her. I still feel the love she gave us. Its that voice in my head that tells me in very colorful ways to not give up when things get tough. When I fall I can hear Grandma snickering and telling me that my backside isn't going to do me much good sitting on the ground like that. Her invisible arms still comfort me in my sadness. Her wisdom keeps me from being too hypocritical. I hear her laughter everytime I see some really bizarre knick knack. I think of her and she lives. Actually I don't even need to think of her first, not when I can see her so plainly in your faces.
I know she lives for you too..
So I don't want to see any of you shedding too many tears.
You know Grandma didn't like crybabies.
Someone once wrote these words, I'm not sure who.....but I think Grandma felt this way....
When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free
Miss me a little - but not too long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that we once shared
Miss me - but let me go
For this is a journey that we must all take
And each must go alone
It's all a part of the Master's plan
A step on the road to home
When you are lonely, and sick of heart
Go to the friends we know
And bury your sorrows in doing good deeds
Miss me - but let me go
Thank you.
Wednesday
Better Days
That, Dear Readers, is my one and only photo of my grandparents together. Years ago I had many photos of my Grandma, but as many of you know, I had a terrible apartment fire where most of my photos went up in flames. It was years before I tried my hand at photography again. In fact its only been a couple of years now.
This photo means so much to me. I know those of you who have known me for a few years could probably tell stories about my grandparents yourself now. I have quoted them and written parables about the way they lived and loved so much. I've actually saved many of the emails I've received about these stories because your responses touch my heart.
I'm not sure how old they were in this photo. It doesn't matter. Can you see the love in the way they stand so close together. Grandpa is supporting her back with his arm. He always did that. If you look closely you will see that my Grandma is looking upwards at him, usually he was looking downward at her. Usually they were smiling, but they were probably just pausing before leaving when this shot was taken. It looks as if Grandpa had just opened her door for her. Just one of those common ordinary things he always did for ladies that ruined me for all other men I think.
I received this photo in my email yesterday from my cousin Janie (Freckles on Multiply). I cried when I first looked at it and I've been flooded with happy memories ever since. It was the first of many happy lucky events that make me feel as if my run of sadness and frustration may be coming to an end.
Seriously, it wasn't just the deaths of my Aunt Ethel and Grandmother. Those losses couldn't be overcome by a simple photograph but I seemed to have stopped feeling sorry for myself over them. Self pity is such an ugly thing.
There was a lot of bitterness with the last break-up though, not to mention annoyance because he was having such a hard time accepting the truth. Then there was annoyance at other guys for approaching me as if I were single and didn't want to be (i probably would have been annoyed if I hadn't been approached too...hey I can't help being female). Work has been frustrating and busy. My GM has been out ill and the Front Desk Manager and I have been trying to cover all the little things she needs to manage from her sick-bed so she only needs to come out for major things. I've been doing my job ok but computers keep breaking down (we really need to replace some important ones) and to be honest, its getting harder and harder to bring them back to life. I've been getting frustrated with my coworkers because I keep having to show and tell them the same things over and over and over. I've been repairing things left and right at home too. I forgot to renew my license plate and insurance on time. Now I have to find new insurance before March 3 (I don't actually have to...but they ticked me off by trying to raise my rates!). I did actually renew my plates on time but I live in fear of getting stopped because I haven't received my sticker yet so all I have is a printed out receipt until it arrives, probably tomorrow. Then I blew out a tire yesterday on the way to work and it took all day to find someone who would put my doughnut on for me. My brother came through for me though. (My second bit of luck....He always does. Bless his widdle black heart. I'm a lucky sister.) Then the tire shops tried to rip me off wanting over $120 to put on 2 USED tires. I told them No and decided to give it a day so I didn't shoot anyone.
Then I came home and my luck continued to change, I received a call from a guy I actually am interested in getting to know better. He seems to have the same interest. I've known him for a while but not well. He doesn't seem dweebish, he's not a jerk, and he appears to be absolutely normal at this point. He's more than kinda cute too.
Today I replaced those tires for get this $35! It was supposed to be $40 when I called and I was pretty happy with that...but since I smiled so pretty he called it ladies day and knocked $5.00 off the price. Yes that included putting the dern things on too. The tires are nice too. I probably can get a year and a half off of them.
Then I went to the Supermarket and no joke, virtually everything I bought was on sale and I got a couple of free hoosier fries because I made the girl at the counter laugh. Seriously. I spent $88 but I saved over $40.
I stopped off to buy gas and the guy at the gas station gave me an extra 2 bucks free. Seriously. I asked for $10 but he set it for $12 and when I went back to pay for it, he said No no no....free to me.
Then I came home and took a nap.
As Princess of the Universe, my daughter, Cecelia used to say: "Tomorrow is gonna be a great day!"
Reflections about Grandma
I can't write about my Grandma and not write about myself and the other women in my family. Somehow we are one and the same. I have often written about the women in my family. We outnumber the men, I think its probably about 3 to 1 normally in our genetic history, though sometimes it seems closer to 4 to 1, my siblings are 4 to 1. I have a saying, *We don't have an x gene, we have a capital X gene.*
We women absolutely adore the men, they are a jovial bunch! They kind of have to be, a sense of humor is a must when you are surrounded by wildly passionate females. The women are all strong. At risk of insulting the men, we are the strongest gender in our family. We never give up and we are the ones who inspire or force the men to become the leaders that they usually are. Even my mildest female relative, my baby sister Rhonda, who I've often mentioned, is a handful. No one else but me would dare call her mild. We all avoid confronting each other. We know that we are formidable. Nothing is more hair raising than to watch two women in our family disagree. Personally I'd rather fight a thug from the streets.
This sisterhood is passed, it seems, down the maternal line as well. My sisters and I, despite the differences we note from time to time, are really quite alike. We have the soul and the passion of our mother and our maternal aunt. Our mother and our aunt had the soul of our grandmother, who from what I understand inherited her spirit from her mother, whom I never knew. We all may have bits and pieces of our fathers in us, they pass on beliefs and kindness to us. But the truth of it all is that without this *never say die, never give up, never give in* spirit in our female lineage, I think our family would have died out during the potato famine in Ireland. That is when another woman, down the female line, raised her numerous siblings and made it to America, her siblings in tow. The next generation of females, which include my spirited daughter Celia, are even stronger.
On the outside and to outsiders we may appear to be socially acceptable and appear to be ladies most of the time. Appearances can be deceiving and so can we. The women of our family never needed the women's liberation movement. We never needed a law to tell us that we are as good or as capable as a man or to demand and receive justice in a man's world. All we ever needed was recent family history. We usually outwardly conformed to the social rules of history while breaking numerous conventions privately. Unless we didn't care a flying uknowwhat, then we would break the rules and damn the consequences. History repeats itself alot in my family.
My Grandma skipped school one day and married a Cherokee boy. When she married him interacial marriage was illegal in some states and unacceptable everywhere, especially in her father's house. Native Americans were in the same boat that all other dark races were then. To say that my Grandpa was a wild one would be an understatement. He was huge too. He was a golden gloves boxer who stood over 6'. My Grandma was about 4'11" and small framed to boot. To say she tamed him would be a misstatement. She directed his energy though. Because of who she was, he became who he was. There was more power and intelligence in her small form than in any man he ever met, I'm sure. He was wise enough to note that. He never treated her as *the little woman*. My Grandpa was the bravest man I ever met, but he knew better. The things I remember most about their relationship are that passion and love were ever present. I don't remember ever seeing any indifference there, like I see in most couples after a time. I remember, even while I was just a young girl barely curious about sexuality, that they were very romantic towards each other. Very touchy-feely. They argued from time to time too, but even that was passionate and full of love. When they did argue, it seemed as if two sides of the same person were reflecting on the wrong that the feet had done to the hand when the body fell down. I used to love to watch them make thier morning coffee when ever I stayed there. It was like the whole thing was a choreographed dance. Grandma would take the pot apart and Grandpa would reach for the coffee. She would fill the pot with water and he would lift it out of the sink.... It was a beautiful sight. Always, when I think of what I wanted life to be like for me, that was it. To make coffee together like we were one person.
Grandma was a beautiful woman, but she didn't really care. I remember convincing her to wear more glamorous make-up in her middle 50's once. She humored me and wore it all day, but I knew she thought it was ludicrous. I thought she looked beautiful. Most of the time she wore nothing more than a little powder and lipstick. She did like jewelry, especially earings. She used to tell me I was naked without them. Its funny....she didn't care about how she looked so much, but she did want to put on a good face and maybe a little bling bling for the world to see. She was naturally a platinum blonde. She dyed her hair red for as long as I can remember. I asked her about that once. It seems that when my handsome grandfather was at his peak as a boxer he quite naturally enjoyed the attentions (without cheating in any form) of the women who flocked to him a bit too much. Grandma would, of course, get rid of those ladies in short order but she began dying her hair red to give them (probably him too) warning. I can only assume it worked. If Grandpa was admiring the ladies, I know I never saw it. Smart guy. She wasn't really jealous though, it was more of a pride thing. Those women should never have dared to approach HER husband. It wouldn't surprise me to learn she had actually kicked a few asses to tell you the truth. I think I would have. Ok truth be told, I have.
She was always about family. She loved her man, she loved her children and she loved their offspring. We never doubted her love, though there are times we questioned why. I'm not writing about the failures though. We all have them. I am writing about the woman who loved anyway, even when some of us did not deserve it. She somehow made time for each of us. We all have wonderful stories about our one on one time with Grandma. She tried to be wise, but she never spoke as eloquently as she lived. Grandpa was the talker, she was the doer. She used to make big Sunday friend chicken dinners and she would squeeze as much of her large family as possible into her tiny house. She seemed to live for the banter that went around the dinner table. I learned just as much from watching her do what needed to be done as I did listening to Grandpa speak about social issues. Her actions reflected his words. Grandma did not let important things go undone, she never let the unimportant cloud her vision. She was the essence of practicality. She paid attention to the whole picture, she didn't get stuck on the details like the dreamers in our family. Grandma pulled us all together when we were trying to pull her in different directions. She was like a lighthouse. If we felt sad or confused, we could go to her and she would busy us with tasks and we could think uninterupted. My mother has been growing more and more like her these past years. Trying to keep the warring factions at bay, trying to spank the dreamers among us back into reality. I feel kind of sorry for Mom. For having such tiny feet, Grandma left big shoes to fill. Mom is the matriarch now and the family is bigger than Grandma's, probably even wilder now. Grandma and Aunt Shirley are watching down on her I know, and will lend guidance through dreams, but my poor mother has a passionate bunch of women to guide and prepare for the next generation. It isn't easy. Not when we all have that bloodline of strong women. There's that capital X gene again for good or ill. I hope she can keep Grandma's sense of humor amidst it all. She's going to need it now.
I didn't mention my Grandma was funny did I? OMG! She was outrageous. Grandma would take us shopping at the local department store and go around sniffing toilet paper because she wanted to find the best smelling one. She would sniff loudly and pretend not to notice the other shoppers! Must be where I get the playing pranks on strangers thing. Another thing she would do at the store is let big stinkers, sometimes big loud stinkers and then loudly blame it on my siblings and me. "Tressa ANN what did YOU do?!?!" she would say as if she were disgusted and scolding me for my behavior. I would blush and get so angry and she would just chuckle all the way home until I was laughing with her even while I was praying to God none of my friends were there. I can remember her tricking me into annoying the neighbors with my off key clarinet playing by convincing me that I was so good she wanted the neighbors to know how much better her granchild was than their children and grandchildren! She did the same thing with me reading out loud. As a little girl she built up my ego so much that by the time I went in to get my tonsils out (4 years old) I had an attitude that commanded me to steal all the toys from the hospital play room. I then locked myself into the bathroom and refused to come out because I knew I deserved all those toys more than the other kids. When the nurses were finally able to restrain me (it took massive doses of sleep meds and a net over the crib they were trying to keep me in), I fell asleep ranting about how they could not do this to me and that I would tell my Grandma and she was going to be really mad because she said I looked just like Shirley Temple and was going to be a star some day. Yeah, Grandma could convince me of just about anything and she had a lot of fun doing just that.
There are lots of things I could say about her, she had the patience of a saint. She must have listened to the "Disco Duck" 100 times in a row one day because it was my favorite song at the time. She actually tried to learn to dance *the Hustle* from me. She let my friends spend the night and we painted knick knacks all day. She never told me to shut up (she whispered to mom to tell me though I am sure). She forgave almost anything. Her heart was always open for the love of her family. She wouldn't put up with shit out of any of us though. You haven't been told off until she got a hold of you. She was brave too. A year ago she tried to take on some neighborhood thugs while spending some time at my Mom's. They backed down. I bet she made them feel guilty about their own grandmothers. They probably hung their head in shame just like I did the few times she felt the need to straighten me out. She was protective of us all. I remember when I was about 13 or so, she caught my sister and me talking to boys and first she chased them off with a switch and then she chased us home with the same one. She loved that we were all such pretty girls but she thought we shouldn't trust boys. Wise woman sometimes. When she moved back to her hometown for a while I used to write her from time to time. I remember once I thought it would be funny if I corrected her spelling and grammar. Ok I was probably showing off too. I only did that once! Trust me, I was TOLD. She used to say I used $20.00 words for a $5.00 message, I think I finally understood what she meant sometime in my early 30's and I toned it down a bit. People liked me more after that.
I loved my Grandma. I wasn't good about visiting her as an adult. I will regret that forever I guess. I bet she would tell me not to worry about it though. She knew I loved her and that was enough. She was enough for me.
We women absolutely adore the men, they are a jovial bunch! They kind of have to be, a sense of humor is a must when you are surrounded by wildly passionate females. The women are all strong. At risk of insulting the men, we are the strongest gender in our family. We never give up and we are the ones who inspire or force the men to become the leaders that they usually are. Even my mildest female relative, my baby sister Rhonda, who I've often mentioned, is a handful. No one else but me would dare call her mild. We all avoid confronting each other. We know that we are formidable. Nothing is more hair raising than to watch two women in our family disagree. Personally I'd rather fight a thug from the streets.
This sisterhood is passed, it seems, down the maternal line as well. My sisters and I, despite the differences we note from time to time, are really quite alike. We have the soul and the passion of our mother and our maternal aunt. Our mother and our aunt had the soul of our grandmother, who from what I understand inherited her spirit from her mother, whom I never knew. We all may have bits and pieces of our fathers in us, they pass on beliefs and kindness to us. But the truth of it all is that without this *never say die, never give up, never give in* spirit in our female lineage, I think our family would have died out during the potato famine in Ireland. That is when another woman, down the female line, raised her numerous siblings and made it to America, her siblings in tow. The next generation of females, which include my spirited daughter Celia, are even stronger.
On the outside and to outsiders we may appear to be socially acceptable and appear to be ladies most of the time. Appearances can be deceiving and so can we. The women of our family never needed the women's liberation movement. We never needed a law to tell us that we are as good or as capable as a man or to demand and receive justice in a man's world. All we ever needed was recent family history. We usually outwardly conformed to the social rules of history while breaking numerous conventions privately. Unless we didn't care a flying uknowwhat, then we would break the rules and damn the consequences. History repeats itself alot in my family.
My Grandma skipped school one day and married a Cherokee boy. When she married him interacial marriage was illegal in some states and unacceptable everywhere, especially in her father's house. Native Americans were in the same boat that all other dark races were then. To say that my Grandpa was a wild one would be an understatement. He was huge too. He was a golden gloves boxer who stood over 6'. My Grandma was about 4'11" and small framed to boot. To say she tamed him would be a misstatement. She directed his energy though. Because of who she was, he became who he was. There was more power and intelligence in her small form than in any man he ever met, I'm sure. He was wise enough to note that. He never treated her as *the little woman*. My Grandpa was the bravest man I ever met, but he knew better. The things I remember most about their relationship are that passion and love were ever present. I don't remember ever seeing any indifference there, like I see in most couples after a time. I remember, even while I was just a young girl barely curious about sexuality, that they were very romantic towards each other. Very touchy-feely. They argued from time to time too, but even that was passionate and full of love. When they did argue, it seemed as if two sides of the same person were reflecting on the wrong that the feet had done to the hand when the body fell down. I used to love to watch them make thier morning coffee when ever I stayed there. It was like the whole thing was a choreographed dance. Grandma would take the pot apart and Grandpa would reach for the coffee. She would fill the pot with water and he would lift it out of the sink.... It was a beautiful sight. Always, when I think of what I wanted life to be like for me, that was it. To make coffee together like we were one person.
Grandma was a beautiful woman, but she didn't really care. I remember convincing her to wear more glamorous make-up in her middle 50's once. She humored me and wore it all day, but I knew she thought it was ludicrous. I thought she looked beautiful. Most of the time she wore nothing more than a little powder and lipstick. She did like jewelry, especially earings. She used to tell me I was naked without them. Its funny....she didn't care about how she looked so much, but she did want to put on a good face and maybe a little bling bling for the world to see. She was naturally a platinum blonde. She dyed her hair red for as long as I can remember. I asked her about that once. It seems that when my handsome grandfather was at his peak as a boxer he quite naturally enjoyed the attentions (without cheating in any form) of the women who flocked to him a bit too much. Grandma would, of course, get rid of those ladies in short order but she began dying her hair red to give them (probably him too) warning. I can only assume it worked. If Grandpa was admiring the ladies, I know I never saw it. Smart guy. She wasn't really jealous though, it was more of a pride thing. Those women should never have dared to approach HER husband. It wouldn't surprise me to learn she had actually kicked a few asses to tell you the truth. I think I would have. Ok truth be told, I have.
She was always about family. She loved her man, she loved her children and she loved their offspring. We never doubted her love, though there are times we questioned why. I'm not writing about the failures though. We all have them. I am writing about the woman who loved anyway, even when some of us did not deserve it. She somehow made time for each of us. We all have wonderful stories about our one on one time with Grandma. She tried to be wise, but she never spoke as eloquently as she lived. Grandpa was the talker, she was the doer. She used to make big Sunday friend chicken dinners and she would squeeze as much of her large family as possible into her tiny house. She seemed to live for the banter that went around the dinner table. I learned just as much from watching her do what needed to be done as I did listening to Grandpa speak about social issues. Her actions reflected his words. Grandma did not let important things go undone, she never let the unimportant cloud her vision. She was the essence of practicality. She paid attention to the whole picture, she didn't get stuck on the details like the dreamers in our family. Grandma pulled us all together when we were trying to pull her in different directions. She was like a lighthouse. If we felt sad or confused, we could go to her and she would busy us with tasks and we could think uninterupted. My mother has been growing more and more like her these past years. Trying to keep the warring factions at bay, trying to spank the dreamers among us back into reality. I feel kind of sorry for Mom. For having such tiny feet, Grandma left big shoes to fill. Mom is the matriarch now and the family is bigger than Grandma's, probably even wilder now. Grandma and Aunt Shirley are watching down on her I know, and will lend guidance through dreams, but my poor mother has a passionate bunch of women to guide and prepare for the next generation. It isn't easy. Not when we all have that bloodline of strong women. There's that capital X gene again for good or ill. I hope she can keep Grandma's sense of humor amidst it all. She's going to need it now.
I didn't mention my Grandma was funny did I? OMG! She was outrageous. Grandma would take us shopping at the local department store and go around sniffing toilet paper because she wanted to find the best smelling one. She would sniff loudly and pretend not to notice the other shoppers! Must be where I get the playing pranks on strangers thing. Another thing she would do at the store is let big stinkers, sometimes big loud stinkers and then loudly blame it on my siblings and me. "Tressa ANN what did YOU do?!?!" she would say as if she were disgusted and scolding me for my behavior. I would blush and get so angry and she would just chuckle all the way home until I was laughing with her even while I was praying to God none of my friends were there. I can remember her tricking me into annoying the neighbors with my off key clarinet playing by convincing me that I was so good she wanted the neighbors to know how much better her granchild was than their children and grandchildren! She did the same thing with me reading out loud. As a little girl she built up my ego so much that by the time I went in to get my tonsils out (4 years old) I had an attitude that commanded me to steal all the toys from the hospital play room. I then locked myself into the bathroom and refused to come out because I knew I deserved all those toys more than the other kids. When the nurses were finally able to restrain me (it took massive doses of sleep meds and a net over the crib they were trying to keep me in), I fell asleep ranting about how they could not do this to me and that I would tell my Grandma and she was going to be really mad because she said I looked just like Shirley Temple and was going to be a star some day. Yeah, Grandma could convince me of just about anything and she had a lot of fun doing just that.
There are lots of things I could say about her, she had the patience of a saint. She must have listened to the "Disco Duck" 100 times in a row one day because it was my favorite song at the time. She actually tried to learn to dance *the Hustle* from me. She let my friends spend the night and we painted knick knacks all day. She never told me to shut up (she whispered to mom to tell me though I am sure). She forgave almost anything. Her heart was always open for the love of her family. She wouldn't put up with shit out of any of us though. You haven't been told off until she got a hold of you. She was brave too. A year ago she tried to take on some neighborhood thugs while spending some time at my Mom's. They backed down. I bet she made them feel guilty about their own grandmothers. They probably hung their head in shame just like I did the few times she felt the need to straighten me out. She was protective of us all. I remember when I was about 13 or so, she caught my sister and me talking to boys and first she chased them off with a switch and then she chased us home with the same one. She loved that we were all such pretty girls but she thought we shouldn't trust boys. Wise woman sometimes. When she moved back to her hometown for a while I used to write her from time to time. I remember once I thought it would be funny if I corrected her spelling and grammar. Ok I was probably showing off too. I only did that once! Trust me, I was TOLD. She used to say I used $20.00 words for a $5.00 message, I think I finally understood what she meant sometime in my early 30's and I toned it down a bit. People liked me more after that.
I loved my Grandma. I wasn't good about visiting her as an adult. I will regret that forever I guess. I bet she would tell me not to worry about it though. She knew I loved her and that was enough. She was enough for me.
Saturday
Nostalgia
If auld aquaintance......
I've had a migraine since Wednesday. Seriously. Bad Bad Bad. I'm left work early. I still have not received a New Years Eve Midnight Kiss in my life. (I'm thinking this is an omen) I finally started feeling better (but still kind of tired) a couple of hours ago.
I had dropped Walter off at the College Football Hall of Fame. His Winter hang out since there isn't an enclosed skatepark anymore and laid down for a nap. When he called at 4:30 for pick-up...I woke up, feeling refreshed and singing moonshadow....Seriously....*i'm being followed by a moon shadow...moon shadow moon shadow.
In the dream I was 11 again. Snuggled up against my favorite (and missing) Aunt. Wearing my Native American braids tied with leather just like hers.... As my aunt softly strummed her folk guitar she taught me the words to this song. It was a happy song to sing when I was sad or confused. She loved me and I her. For reasons I won't share I haven't seen her since around that time. It was the most awful year of my childhood for losses....that was also the year my Grandfather passed on. The thing is, she was one of the most influential people in my life. I am sure this memory has a special meaning for me now....not really hidden either as I contemplate my recent moods....
She had moon shadows following her....and I have mine. Its all about questioning your life. About living life with joy despite the constant need for answers and worries plaguing you. I've been thinking about running away again. I'm so good at that. Worries about my youngest child, the economy here, the changes happening at work, the crime, and being in a dead-end relationship. I don't want to be alone though. Those are my moon shadows.... Blocking the light. Still as the year I concentrate on Hope comes to a close this month I find that hope is ever present. I think I've got a real grip on it now. The dream helped but I think I would have reached sanity again....As soon as Spring came.
I'm not going anywhere. I will deal with whatever I have to deal with....
Let the light shine down.
I've had a migraine since Wednesday. Seriously. Bad Bad Bad. I'm left work early. I still have not received a New Years Eve Midnight Kiss in my life. (I'm thinking this is an omen) I finally started feeling better (but still kind of tired) a couple of hours ago.
I had dropped Walter off at the College Football Hall of Fame. His Winter hang out since there isn't an enclosed skatepark anymore and laid down for a nap. When he called at 4:30 for pick-up...I woke up, feeling refreshed and singing moonshadow....Seriously....*i'm being followed by a moon shadow...moon shadow moon shadow.
In the dream I was 11 again. Snuggled up against my favorite (and missing) Aunt. Wearing my Native American braids tied with leather just like hers.... As my aunt softly strummed her folk guitar she taught me the words to this song. It was a happy song to sing when I was sad or confused. She loved me and I her. For reasons I won't share I haven't seen her since around that time. It was the most awful year of my childhood for losses....that was also the year my Grandfather passed on. The thing is, she was one of the most influential people in my life. I am sure this memory has a special meaning for me now....not really hidden either as I contemplate my recent moods....
Moon Shadow
Cat StevensI'm being followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow-moon shadow
leaping and hopping on a moon shadow
moon shadow-moon shadow
and if I ever lose my hands
lose my plough, lose my land
oh, if I ever lose my hands
oh, if...I won’t have to work no more
and if I ever lose my eyes
If my colours all run dry
yes, if I ever lose my eyes
oh if …I won't have to cry no more.
yes, I'm being followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow - moon shadow
leaping and hopping on a moon shadow
moon shadow - moon shadow
and if I ever lose my legs
I won't moan and I won't beg
Oh if I ever lose my legs
oh if...I won't have to walk no more
And if I ever lose my mouth
all my teeth, north and south
yes, if I ever lose my mouth
oh if...I won't have to talk..............
Did it take long to find me
I ask the faithful light
Ooh did it take long to find me
And are you going to stay the night
I'm being followed by a moon shadow
moon shadow - moon shadow
leaping and hopping on a moon shadow
moon shadow - moon shadow moon shadow -
moon shadow moon shadow - moon shadow
She had moon shadows following her....and I have mine. Its all about questioning your life. About living life with joy despite the constant need for answers and worries plaguing you. I've been thinking about running away again. I'm so good at that. Worries about my youngest child, the economy here, the changes happening at work, the crime, and being in a dead-end relationship. I don't want to be alone though. Those are my moon shadows.... Blocking the light. Still as the year I concentrate on Hope comes to a close this month I find that hope is ever present. I think I've got a real grip on it now. The dream helped but I think I would have reached sanity again....As soon as Spring came.
I'm not going anywhere. I will deal with whatever I have to deal with....
Let the light shine down.
Sunday
The Empty Nest
My 15 year old son, Walter, is making holes in the nest I've built around him.
I've brought three people into this world with the sole intent of letting them go. I've been trying to hang on to this one a while though. Its not working. Doing my job well means that in the end, my job is downsized and eventually dissolved.
I look at him and I long for the 8-year old boy who would look at me in sheer adoration instead of judgment. I miss the 4-year old who would literally jump into my arms and cover my face with kisses. What happened to the 12 year old who brought all his confusions and mysteries in life to me for explanation and coping skills? There is this man hanging out at my house now.
He needs to shave.
"Because I'm the Mom" is not an acceptable response anymore. He asks deeper questions and questions my decisions and whether or not I am misusing my authority, even while he remains respectful of it. This young man is making me question myself and my motivations. I am not always pleased with my findings.
I have been doing the *Mom* thing for so long that I do it by rote. He makes me think and moralize myself like a couple other people once did.
Walter reminds me of another young man who once lived here and idolized me. That young man moved away and runs his own life now. He doesn't really need me, only my love now. I had great feelings of pride and relief the first time I went through this. I had done my job, fulfilled my purpose. It was no longer my personal responsibility or financial responsibility to take care of him 24/7. He could do it on his own because I taught him well. Richard was always a good boy and now he is a good man.
Walter questions me much like his sister once did. I do love those questions even when I am annoyed by them. Profoundness of thought. Thinking outside the box. I taught her that. It was and is one of the most passionate relationships of my life. Mother/Daughter. So alike and so different. To see my own face, like a conscience, arguing everything I thought was true and winning as often as not was to say the least, unnerving. Cecelia came into the world and left my home in the most original ways possible. I felt pride and relief with her as well. She was so powerful and still so feminine. I taught her well. I also felt a certain loneliness. I began to talk to myself a lot then, but it was in her voice.
My two oldest kids were like night and day, in personality, in looks.
Walter is some weird combination of the two of them. As long as I've had him around I could relive parts of life with them pretty easy. My nest felt a lot larger after the oldest two grew up but never as empty as it is beginning to feel these days.
I find that when I look for men to date that children or grandchildren are a big plus. I don't want motherhood to end. I want to keep my finger in the pie.
Its not that I don't appreciate and enjoy my newly found freedom. I do. I love not having to hire a babysitter every time I need to leave by myself. I love not having to worry every time I lam not the one in charge of them. Its nice not to have to do the constant reminding..."Did you remember to use the bathroom and wash your hands before we leave?" "For the 30th time today pick up those damned toys before I break my neck!" "Be good and Mama will bring you a surprise when she gets home". Those days are over. Now my only reminder is for Walter to make sure his phone is charged on the off chance that he might need me and the more likely scenario that he needs more money or food. "Remember what I taught you baby....make me proud" I never say that. I hope it every time he goes through the door as the time gets closer and closer to the time he will walk away and mean it. All those lessons have become very important.
I can't babysit a near-man. He has to remember my voice in his head.
Lord I hope this one takes his time.
I've brought three people into this world with the sole intent of letting them go. I've been trying to hang on to this one a while though. Its not working. Doing my job well means that in the end, my job is downsized and eventually dissolved.
I look at him and I long for the 8-year old boy who would look at me in sheer adoration instead of judgment. I miss the 4-year old who would literally jump into my arms and cover my face with kisses. What happened to the 12 year old who brought all his confusions and mysteries in life to me for explanation and coping skills? There is this man hanging out at my house now.
He needs to shave.
"Because I'm the Mom" is not an acceptable response anymore. He asks deeper questions and questions my decisions and whether or not I am misusing my authority, even while he remains respectful of it. This young man is making me question myself and my motivations. I am not always pleased with my findings.
I have been doing the *Mom* thing for so long that I do it by rote. He makes me think and moralize myself like a couple other people once did.
Walter reminds me of another young man who once lived here and idolized me. That young man moved away and runs his own life now. He doesn't really need me, only my love now. I had great feelings of pride and relief the first time I went through this. I had done my job, fulfilled my purpose. It was no longer my personal responsibility or financial responsibility to take care of him 24/7. He could do it on his own because I taught him well. Richard was always a good boy and now he is a good man.
Walter questions me much like his sister once did. I do love those questions even when I am annoyed by them. Profoundness of thought. Thinking outside the box. I taught her that. It was and is one of the most passionate relationships of my life. Mother/Daughter. So alike and so different. To see my own face, like a conscience, arguing everything I thought was true and winning as often as not was to say the least, unnerving. Cecelia came into the world and left my home in the most original ways possible. I felt pride and relief with her as well. She was so powerful and still so feminine. I taught her well. I also felt a certain loneliness. I began to talk to myself a lot then, but it was in her voice.
My two oldest kids were like night and day, in personality, in looks.
Walter is some weird combination of the two of them. As long as I've had him around I could relive parts of life with them pretty easy. My nest felt a lot larger after the oldest two grew up but never as empty as it is beginning to feel these days.
I find that when I look for men to date that children or grandchildren are a big plus. I don't want motherhood to end. I want to keep my finger in the pie.
Its not that I don't appreciate and enjoy my newly found freedom. I do. I love not having to hire a babysitter every time I need to leave by myself. I love not having to worry every time I lam not the one in charge of them. Its nice not to have to do the constant reminding..."Did you remember to use the bathroom and wash your hands before we leave?" "For the 30th time today pick up those damned toys before I break my neck!" "Be good and Mama will bring you a surprise when she gets home". Those days are over. Now my only reminder is for Walter to make sure his phone is charged on the off chance that he might need me and the more likely scenario that he needs more money or food. "Remember what I taught you baby....make me proud" I never say that. I hope it every time he goes through the door as the time gets closer and closer to the time he will walk away and mean it. All those lessons have become very important.
I can't babysit a near-man. He has to remember my voice in his head.
Lord I hope this one takes his time.
Strong Boys become Stronger Men
I'm not a fan of a soft man. That's right. I don't want to see the feminine side of him anymore than he would particularly like to see my masculine side. In fact the surest way to bring out that tough girl from the hood in me is to show me his inner wuss. The more emasculated he is...the more I am liable to emasculate him further. I have no respect for a man who isn't as tough as me. I have no attraction to one who isn't far tougher. I'm raising my boys so that some other like-minded woman will bless the day I was born.
I worked pretty hard on my boys as a single mom. I wanted to make sure they did not (and do not) become mama's boys. They don't take any BS from me. Not that they would ever be disrespectful, they love me. I can't push them around though, nor will they allow me to *baby* them. My oldest never put me above the woman in his life and my youngest never will either. Neither will their women ever eradicate me from their heart and concern. They are just men about it. I want a man at least as manly as the men I raised.
My boys don't cry when they feel pain. It would have to be excruciating. They bear their scars like badges of honor. So proud of their own toughness as well they should be. For examples, my oldest son smashed his hand up hitting a brick wall over a girl when he was only 15. He didn't cry about it....he felt that he was stupid acting (he was right) and was more ticked off at himself than anything else and my younger son cut a major artery in his wrist when he was only 8, he didn't cry either just went calmly to his sister knowing she would know what to do. They did shed a few tears when my father died, when 9-11 happened, and tears of joy when their sister survived Hurricane Katrina. They are not heartless. They just don't cry over every little injury nor over spilled milk. Even my daughter and I are like that. In our heartbreaks, my children and I may cry, but we don't do it in front of the one who broke our heart nor do we wallow in it. No cry babies here....the boys are tougher than my daughter and I, but not by much. We are strong. A passionate emotion may bring a passionate reaction...but we recover our control pretty quickly.
My boys show tenderness and gentleness. Its never a weakness though. They are sentimental and never forget holidays and birthdays. They are gentlemen like cowboys were, not like suits are. A little rough around the edges including a sharp point here and there, but always willing to help when needed. A woman can steal their heart but never their pride. They are born and raised alpha-males. They don't take orders but are usually the one who give the directives. Calm in an emergency. The boys are steadfast and loyal with their friends and family. Born responsible and other than the occasional bouts of laziness....they work as hard as they play. Both of them had paying jobs by the time they were 14. Their bosses LOVED them and praised the way I've raised them.
They play hard too. Skateboarding was the sport of choice for all of my kids, my oldest son (and daughter) were on the wrestling teams (my youngest really should do it too), my oldest has gone skydiving and they all are game for whatever sport or activity is going on in a crowd. They enjoy basketball, backyard football and volleyball. My baby has bowled a 280 (at age 11) and didn't think it was a big deal, even when he won against kids 5 and 6 years older than he in the tournament.
You would think all that testosterone would make them aggressive and violent wouldn't you. Truthfully, they have gotten into fights. They win usually. They also try to avoid it usually, with my oldest being more successful than my youngest. My youngest tends to restrain rather than harm, unless it is the unusual situation where the kid who is fighting with him is equal in size/strength. Neither of them like fighting though. Its stupid and a waste when people all should be more accepting. Unfortunately due to communication problems related to the autism, they've been targeted. My oldest is now a 27 year old man and those days are thankfully long behind him....my youngest has a few years to go yet as a Freshman in High School. I am so grateful that he has his older brother for an example of what a real man is.
Do I sound prideful of them? I am but no more than I am for my daughter, but that has been and will no doubt be another posting. Incidentally....she met her real man, a friend of her brothers, at age 12 and married him at 20. Now nearly 3 years into it, barely an argument....As strong as my daughter is, she appreciates a strong MANLY man to lean on. He makes her more of a woman because he is more man than most.
What I would give to be as lucky as my daughter! Every time I start a new relationship I'm hopeful....maybe this time.
Word to potentials.....Look at my sons....Look at my son-in-law.....If you know that you will never be as manly as them....Don't waste our time....
But if you are....Then make me feel like a woman baby! I've been waiting on you....
Violence in the Neighborhood
I have one of thoooooooose families.
I like to say we put the *fun* in dysfunctional.
My personal lineage goes back to Charlemagne on one side and the family of Will Rogers on the other.
I am basically the result of generations of blue blood gone slumming.
I have all the benefits of an indirect yet fully integrated (well except we don't have oriental or jewish people represented yet) family now. I love the various cultures that I get the opportunity to participate in. At this point the vast majority represents white trash, middle class white and black, reservation and non reservation Native Americans (there is a difference when you try to live completely *white* but aren't...I'm one of those). We also have a smattering of Puerto Ricans, Mexicans and 2nd & 3rd generation Poles. I have learned to not just accept, but to embrace all the various cultures. These people have brought out the best in me. I know what truly matters because of the family I relate too.
Its hard to believe that just a few generations ago my great Grandfather, who was a leader in the KKK disowned his own daughter for marrying a Cherokee (the beloved Grandpa I talk about so often). I hope Great Grandpa Cole turns in his grave. He was an evil man.
I also have the unfortunate propensity of some of my supposedly *higher class* relatives to snobbery in its various forms.
Kind of ironic now that I am the one in the ghetto again.
Blood will tell. I need to work on my attitude.
Me at 17.
My neighborhood is basically not white. I look white. I am 3/4 white, I guess I should look it. When I was young girl and lived in this area though, I didn't look so white. My skin has grown paler with age. The shape of my face has changed somewhat due to maturity and dental work. I don't blend in anymore (I was often mistaken for Mexican descent as a teen). My friends as a teen were mostly not white.
I thought I could move back here and not have any problems. I was wrong. It makes me sad that anyone would judge, by my pale look, that I would bigotted and discriminatory. It bothers me that I struggled so hard to better myself and now my improved speech and carriage makes people I want to be friends with actually wary of me.
But what really pisses me off is that last night, at nearly 10 pm, 4 well-dressed boys who happened to be black came to my door and asked to see my son. I let Walter go to the door so he could talk just a minute with these boys who he thought wanted to be his friend and learn about skateboarding (Walter did not actually know them). One of the boys sucker punched him for no reason other than he was a "white boy in the wrong neighborhood".
I probably should have called the police, instead I just told the little brats off. Promised the next time they came to my door I would call the police. I probably should have dumped a pail of water on him so he would have to explain that to his parents....but I didn't. I've got to move. Walter can not blend in with his white white skin and his hazel eyes. Walter is the target I've always said didn't exist.
I don't fit in anymore.
Saturday
Raising Kids or Raising Hell?
I believe in giving kids a lot of freedom but it must be weighted at the same time with restriction. Absolute freedom will not make your children love you... It may however make your children unloveable to others. Use your own judgment... draw a line... It doesn't have to be my line... but know why you draw it, and don't let your child cross it.
I had limits.. I used the word "No" when necessary while still giving my children the freedom to use temporary color (like pink) on her hair...to allow a pierced ear (on my elder son) and to grow long hair.
Parents you can give your child freedom... but allowing anarchy to reign in your home is a big mistake. Remember the children you raise will one day most likely be responsible for decisions that not only affect you and their possible future families but the world in general. Please give them a lesson in restraint once in a while!
EVERYBODY ELSE
I fail my children everyday, just like Everybody Else's parents do. I buy them items they shouldn't have because Everybody Else's mother does. I let them go places Everybody Else's father lets Everybody go. They want to be like Everybody Else. In this society, if your child is not like Everybody Else, neither you nor your child will be accepted. Everybody is in charge here. No one is brave enough to take Everybody Else to task or to enforce the rules that would remove the little monster from power.
Everybody Else has unlimited access to cable T.V., and internet connections. Everybody Else has a CD player and is allowed to listen to the profane lyrics that pass for music today. Everybody Else has his own car and stays out as late as he wants. He chooses his own friends, his parents trust his judgment better than their own. Everybody's folks seem to believe that discipline unduly stifles his creativity. Frankly, Everybody is spoiled.
Everybody Else's parents let their children dress in ways that express their individuality, no skirt is too short, no shirt too revealing to be worn. Everybody Else's baby brother is wearing "colors" and his big sister wears dark gothic styles with a small silver chain running from her eyebrow piercing and other piercings all the way to her naval ring. Everybody favors pants loose enough to show his undershorts, he has a skull tattooed on his arm. Everybody's parents understand it is only a phase that the kids go through. Everybody's parents think I have a problem because "you can't judge a book by its cover". Wonder if the publishing houses know that?
At school dances all music is allowed because if it isn't, Everybody's mother complains of losing freedoms or of being forced to bear discrimination (why is having discriminating tastes such a "bad" thing?) or that such language is usual and normal and should, therefore, be allowed. Everybody Else does it so that makes it ok. What ever happened to "good taste" and "being classy"?
My mother used to say that she never met Everybody Else's mother but she was glad she didn't have to raise this kid because that child was headed toward unimaginable terrors, troubles and certain death. I never was able to do what Everybody Else could do, never had the things that Everybody Else had. The few times I tried to be like Everybody Else in misbehavior, my parents came down hard on me. Funny, the Everybody Elses that I used to quote have pretty much lived up to my mother's expectations.
We want to give our children the freedom we never had, but instead give them chaos. We want them to have free expression and adventure, but it somehow turns into foolhardiness. We want to give them the value of a worldly education....but we're finding out that knowledge is worthless without comprehension.
I plan to be a lot more like my own mother from now on and a lot less like Everybody Else's. I wish Everyone Else would do the same.
Hypocritical Parenting
I’ve run into some problems with kids and young adults lately. It’s got me thinking...asking questions about why things are the way they are....
If we don't approve of society, then why do we allow it to raise our children?
Why is it that every time some kid flips out at school we rush to find someone to place the blame on? I know who is to blame. I looked in the mirror and there I found the one at fault. It is me. It is also you. We hide behind chaos and call it freedom. Freedom of religion, (freedom from religion), and freedom of speech. What we have here in the United States is chaos now. I have a hard time believing that this is what our God-respecting forefathers envisioned.
Freedom of religion and freedom of speech are supposed to protect the honest expression of ideals and to institute tolerance of differences. It was not intended to assist in the proliferation of hate groups and pornography.
In the 70's and early 80's, when most of today's parents grew up, one of the sayings of the day was "You are what you eat". It was true, at least in part. We are the essence of everything we put into our bodies spirits and minds. Substances enter our bodies from any of the 5 senses, not just taste, substance enters our consciousness from every manner. We are allowing our children to be poisoned. Most of the time we give them the poison ourselves. We've forgotten how to be parents.
I'm no better than you are. It isn't easy to tell your child no. We feel guilty because we aren't home much. Then we "fix" it by working even more hours to make more money, so we can buy our kids more gifts, gifts they don't need and probably shouldn't have, because we feel so guilty about not being home. Maybe we need to quit working overtime, and spend some time with our children.
We grew up during the great "pop psyche" era. We have been told so many times how terrible "bad feelings" are that we give-in to almost everything our children request to prevent them having any "bad feelings". We don't want to damage our children.
Our parents, I'm discovering, were not wrong. Guilt serves a purpose. Shame serves a purpose. Even anger serves a purpose. Those are the emotions that spur a person to do better. To not allow our children to feel them is equivalent to taking away their conscience. It's time we give our children the benefit of feeling bad. It might do us all some good.
When I was a child, my mother used to tell me that my behavior was a reflection of her. She was right. Right now we parents don't look so hot in the mirror I'm looking at.
Tuesday
My Eldest and me
This is Richard. He's mine. Guess there's no denying it huh? 26 year old single male to all the young ladies out there. As you can see, he's handsome and built with bricks! How did he grow up so fast? Where is my baby?
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