Brave New World

We are living in a new era. The 21st century is upon us and nothing is the way it used to be. Children grow up much faster than we did, and it is not uncommon for babies to have babies. Years ago it was shameful for a young girl to have a baby. They were often sent away to have their babies in secret, or worst yet, have an abortion. Now it is different. Our young people follow the example of the stars who have children first and wed later, only to divorce and continue a destructive cycle and we are left to wonder.

Teenagers have a say in all aspects of their own life and are often consulted for their opinion in the many choices they have to make. This is not a bad thing but I wonder where it stops.

I had always promised myself that my children ( if I was fortunate to have any) would never suffer the indignities that I did. They would never be ashamed of who and what their parents were or where they came from. I would never take out my frustration on them in a physical, mental or emotional manner. Their lives would be full of plenty and I would always stand guard, guardian at the gate.

My daughter is only 11 years old and I have remained faithful to the promises I made. There is plenty of plenty and as an only child I indulge her; it is her right and my promise. Tonight she asked, as she had many times, for a girlfriend to spend the night. If you have read my blog in the past you know that at any given time there is a small army of girls camping out in my home, basking in the glow of adolescence, lounging with indifference as only tween girls can.

But tonight I said it was not possible. I said "No". I saw her change before my very eyes, the attitude adjustment, the questioning look, and worst of all, the hand on the hip. Again, this is typical adolescence behavior. But it jolted my heart because I have always said "yes", "o.k.", and "sure". I have fed the masses and taxied them home, to the movies and the park. I have been better than good and she knows that. What happened??

We were able to work through this event and she apologized for her behavior. I went to bed a little shaken but this too shall pass. I tell of this incident because I try so hard to be the "good" mom. To fill each and every need, to go above and beyond the call of duty. What did I do wrong??

I know that parenting is not easy but our children are gifts. Our patience is tried more than often than we care to admit but the difference is we are the grownups and it is our job to take charge in a grownup way. And so I do. And so do you. Tomorrow we will pick up where we left off.

And keep on doing what we do best.

Busting Out All Over

I want to take this time to thank all of you who have been reading my blog and have taken the time and energy to post a comment. It is just the beginnings of something which I hope to be absolute and to help us all heal on our journey towards wholeness. It is a journey that at times I am somewhat hesitant to embark upon due to the dangers encountered on the way. One must examine the hand they have been dealt in this life and find a way to make the best of it. At the end of the day we find a peacefulness of body and spirit that has been a long time coming. Each day we battle for our right to walk among those who have never fought for air in the manner we have. In a way, I feel as though perhaps we have been enlightened and my heart is more open and gentle because of it. It allows me to take a moment and stand back and consider my actions before I commit an unforgivable sin.

There is no easy way to talk about the past but with each other's support and knowledge that we are not alone, we can at least begin the conversation that reaches out and pulls us in. Please continue to read, post a comment and heal. You are not alone.

Ever.

The Final Curtain

I do not usually respond to the news of the day, but today is different. Michael Jackson died today. I believe that Michael and I were very much alike. Longing for a childhood of his own, he surrounded himself with small children and a place where he never had to grow up. Longing for a childhood of my own and safety from the monsters under the bed, I created a world for my daughter where animals talked and reasoned, and became a part of an ever growing loving family.

My heart is so broken because Michael was a gentle soul who looked for love in all the wrong places. He meant so very well but was used by those who saw the answer to their prayers in the simple expectations of a man clinging to a childhood he never had. Michael lived through the children he helped to enjoy a time that is quick and fleeting. Only once are all things so wonderful, pure and filled with joy.

Growing up is easy. It is remaining a child filled with wonder, and a belief in magic that is difficult.

Good-bye Michael. We will miss you for all that you are and have been. My love to you!!

For A Few Dollars More

One of the unsettling aspects of being physically abused by your mother is that it sets you up to be abused by others later in life. Since you have never known anything else, it takes a while to learn that love is not a four letter word and that that all your interactions with others do not have to come with pain and anguish. It took me a long time to learn that my self-worth was not contingent on whether someone cared for me or not. It took me years to learn to stand up for myself, even when it was apparent I was getting the short end of the stick.

Many people saw how broken I was and took advantage of my low opinion of myself. I did not need as much as others, could work longer and harder for less pay, and virtually be forgotten by those who I so much wanted to love and care for me.

Many years ago when I was a starving college student, I was on my way back to my dorm after working some little thankless job that barely put change in my pocket. I was ill prepared for college life. I had never been anywhere, done anything, or been around girls that had trunks full of clothes and personal property that they could actually cart off to another place. I was an oddity and not just because I was black. I arrived with a half filled suitcase that I knew I would have to fill on my own. I did not go to college for any great love of learning or knowledge. I went to get out of the house before my mother killed me. The summer I graduated high school her rage was great. We both knew that it would be better for me if I was not there.

I used to always walk with my head down, and on this particular day it was fortuitous for me because lying right in front of me was a wad of recently lost cash. Just as I bent to pick it up I head a voice demand that I hand it over. Staring at me was the much, much older boyfriend of one of the Resident Assistants of my dorm. In her I saw some of myself. She was very unattractive and mousy and no doubt very grateful for the attentions of this man. I had the money in my hand and I was reluctant to turn it over. It was, after all, mine. I had found it! I could very well use it to buy cigarettes, soda, snacks. He again demanded the money, telling her to tell me that I had to give it to him.

As much as I felt she didn't want to, she turned to me and said, "You better give it to him." I slowly handed him the salvation that I had briefly held. There would be no late night snacks. No feeling that I had something to rely on. I often think about that incident; how boldly this man stole from a girl who so needed it. I do believe that in the righteous order of the universe, he got more than he bargained for.

I believe that I think about this because now, I would and could know what to do. No one could make me give up anything! Or take from me what was rightly mine. We know better now and that feels good.

Do The Right Thing

I try very hard to always do the right thing. By that I mean never going out of my way to hurt or hinder some one else. I always offer help, even when it is not asked for but may make the difference in someone's difficult day. I try to be patient in those moments when it is truly saintlike to be so. Being a teacher it is not easy. I am not perfect, only human, and often fail in my attempts to be as good as I would like to be.

There are times when I do not want kids in my house; my day was long and there is still much to do, yet I allow them to come because it may be better for them to be here rather than some place else and I try to understand that. My acts of kindness are a direct result of my firsthand experiences of a lack of the same. How often I had wished someone might have been kind to me or noticed my physical and emotional pain.

I know that people knew. I know the nuns at my school knew when I limped to class because my body hurt so, but I was not pretty or blond, and therefore I did not matter. I know the neighbors knew. They turned their backs because it was none of their business. These were the sixties and seventies and everyone was busy with what they were busy with. No one had time to see and I was invisible anyway.

I try to do the right thing because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't. I do right by my daughter because I love her so and she is mine. I heal through my love for her. With her head on my shoulder, her hair falling slightly over one eye I heal. It is a long and difficult process and we know it may take a lifetime. Still and now we remember. But we also remember to do the right thing.

What A Girl Wants

There is a part of me that is full of want. Not wants that are selffish or that can be bought with cash money, but wants that are beyond the grasp of my reach. I see and hear them as I dart about my daily business. My wants acost me as I turn the aisle in the farmer's market, as I edge my way through each very unremarkable day, I am confronted with wants that are no longer possible for me.

My wants lie in a history of what could have been had I been the product of a conventional home; two parents who were unconditionally devoted to one another, a yard with a painted picket fence, a dog, perhaps a cat. Leaping out of bed with the cozy pink comforter, I would slid my feet into fuzzy warm slippers, don my robe and hurry down to a steaming breakfast full of all good things for a cherished growing girl. An affectionate mother nuzzles my cheek as she fills my breakfast plate. Later, standing in front of my closet I choose a becoming out fit to start my successful day at school. Later, she will help me with my homework, give me a bath, and tuck me in smothering me with kisses. Together my parents gaze at me lovingly before turning off the light and gently closing the door. Tomorrow it will be the same, and so each and every day after that. I grow strong, smart and confident. And that is all I ever know.

But it wasn't that way at all. There was no picket fence or cozy pink comforter. There was no smothering of kisses. Instead chaos ruled my world, and my father, when he did dare to venture home his stay was short. He was a quiet and passive man, and no match for the woman whose voice, littered with obscenities could be heard blocks away. When I finally did get to know him, I was an adult. We did not have many years together. He died of lung cancer two days before my daughter was born. I mourned that he never got to hold her.

I wanted to be loved and cherished, and to grow up with the basic necessities of life. I wanted to be protected and get gifts on my birthday and at Christmas time. I wanted to live a carefree childhood, and not to be in a constant state of fear wondering when I would get my ass kicked for no good reason. I wanted to be able to have a conversation with my brothers with out being told later that if I was caught having sex with them, that I would be killed. I wanted electricity and heat, food and clothes, and not to be called names that I didn't understand till much later. I wanted to not feel lost and think that everything bad that happened was somehow my fault. I wanted to not feel guilty for having to eat to live. I wanted my mother to like me and not make that face when she looked at me.

But wanting is not a bad thing It's just too late.

Summertime

It is now June and school is let out for the summer. Although I too am jubilant about this fact ( I am a teacher as is my husband) the prospect of a house filled with tween girls frightens and in some ways delights me. The summer vacation is but a day old and already weekend long sleepovers have been planned; the nail polish and movies chosen, the snacks high and plentiful.



I tell myself that this is the summer of youth, the days long, hot and lazy; the nights cool and full of entertaining talk. It must be wonderful to be young, to embrace each day without a worrisome thought or care. The fridge is full of delicious things to eat and the crumb cake I made yesterday has but a few short hours. The boys who once walked my block unnoticed are now met with a chorus of girlish screams, and a dozen feet scramble from window to window just to watch them saunter by. No, it's not George, Paul, John and Ringo. Just Justin and Xavier, the two coolest sixth graders from the local middle school.


Oh, how I could enjoy this youth if only it were my own! My mind would be filled with the most satisfying dreams of love and adventure. What will I be? Who will I marry? But it is not, so therefore I watch with envy and amusement the carefree moments of my daughter and her friends. I give and then give some more because these are moments to treasure and turn to memories. They will provide a cushion on which to ride into those bumpy stages of life before adulthood. It will prove to be a necessary foundation upon which to build the character and love that a mother carries inside for her children. I want for her what I could not have myself.


Although we have been denied so much, it takes but little to see the power of love. In the blink of an eye the summer will be over, and we will trudge through red and yellow falling leaves as the wind swirls them underfoot. Another school year upon us; another season to dream our very own dreams. And on and on....