I was a wreck. At least I felt like a wreck. I didn't want to sleep because I didn't want to wake up. To wake up was to re-live it again. I was exhausted even when I was getting sleep. The first few days were a blur.
I remember pieces of planning the funeral, but only pieces. The funeral itself is fuzzy. I remember being there, I remember being in the car, I remember the pastor getting the name of the town wrong (weird that I remember that) and I remember the Honor Guard at the cemetery. There are other little details here and there that I remember but that's all the big stuff.
The other thing I remember is putting the pieces of this giant "mind puzzle" together. When bad things happen, some people instantly start looking for answers, reasons, as to why it happened. That's me. And I am relentless. Things came together fairly easily for me on this one though.
He had been able to go places and see and do things that people twice his age had never done. He was able to see his very good friends before he left. He had made a point to talk to our former pastors widow that morning because he really felt the need to speak to her. He had even kind of gone out his way to do it. He had been back from deployment and we were able to spend 30 days together. He had seen his family too. If he had been in an accident while he had been gone, it would have been even harder on me and his family.
I also knew that, while I missed him terribly and my heart was broken, that I would see him again someday. I had that assurance, that guarantee, because of my faith, and his. While neither of us acted it most of the time, we had both accepted Christ, me-when I was younger, and he just in the last few years when he was a teenager. I am glad that God doesn't treat us like we treat Him most of the time.
Things that had been important to him also fell into place. Some of these things did not come to me right away but over a period of days and weeks. Before we got the truck, he had mentioned possibly getting another motorcycle instead. We debated cost vs. safety. He had already crashed one bike. The decision was made to not get the bike because if something should happen, he wouldn't want me to see him like that. Whether it be disfigured, paralyzed or worse. So...we went with the truck. The night of the accident, I should have seen him lying in the road. He had been ejected and was lying in plain view. However, as you may recall, I was distracted by someone that looked like him walking up the off ramp. I believe this person was an angel, you can believe whatever you want. Because I was distracted, I pulled up past where I could see him, the truck was then blocking my view. I did get out of the car the one time but something inside me told me to get back in. Because I remembered the motorcycle/truck debate, I did not go to the visitation before the funeral and both sides of the family made sure the casket was closed for the funeral.
All these little things just made sense to me that, for whatever reason, all of this...the accident...everything was part of something bigger and I just needed to be ok with it
Unaware to me at the time, he had also put something else into motion...
Monday, August 24, 2009
Blame the Parents
In order for what comes next to make sense, you have to know what came in the 19 years prior. To be honest, a lot of people just didn't get it and I believe it led to confusion, accusations and hurt feelings. Hopefully, this will make sense to some of you.
The first Sunday after I was born and home from the hospital, I was in church. At least that's what they tell me because I don't remember. I know that was the case with my siblings so, based on that, it is true. We were there every Sunday, minimum. Sometimes also Sunday night and Wednesday night. I have never considered my family particularly religious. That's probably because "church" was the norm, that's what we did, that's what I knew. My family, including my grandparents, aunts and uncles, went to church. Never thought twice about it, never even thought to ask to stay home.
When I was in the fourth grade, we moved. The new church that we decided to go to was about 30 minutes, or so, away. There were churches closer, but that was the one we liked. Our old church had seemed really big to me. Of course, I wasn't that old and things tend to look bigger when your smaller. For instance, we had a poodle when I was very little. When I remembered her later, as I got a little older, I thought she had been this really big dog. Then, I saw pictures. She was not that big, I was just very small.
Anyway, the church we had left seemed big. There had been lots of kids my age that I was friends with. The new church was small and not as many kids in my immediate age group. But, we really liked it and really liked the people.
So, we went. Everything was good... right up to the point where I became a teenager.
Some things to note here would be that I was not the perfect child. Not even close. If a button could be pushed, I liked to push it. Cut class? Oh, yeah. Drive with out a license in someone elses car? That too. Smoke, drink and run around? In varying combinations, yes. Question religion? Been there, done that, made my mom cry.
That being said, I still never once, that I can recall, ever, EVER, tried to get out of going to church. I knew better. My parents house, my parents rules. I can also say here, thank God. There were Sundays that I hated being there. Hated it. I would look for every hypocrisy I could find. But, I still had to go and sit through it. Unless you have been there, you may not understand this part. I don't know how that preacher knew, and it didn't matter who the preacher was, but he knew every time what I had done the night before and let me have it. At least that's what it felt like. He really didn't know. Didn't have a clue. Truth is, he didn't need to know. I did. And God did. The guilt alone was enough to keep me out of what I considered "real trouble". Basically, while I wasn't a "good" kid, I had the potential to be worse.
I never blamed my parents for any of my behavior. I looked for excuses for it, but not blame for it. I tried to make the excuse that there had not been a youth group for me. There were, though, kids my age at church involved in activities. I just had no interest. Even when I could drive, I never drove there.
The first Sunday after I was born and home from the hospital, I was in church. At least that's what they tell me because I don't remember. I know that was the case with my siblings so, based on that, it is true. We were there every Sunday, minimum. Sometimes also Sunday night and Wednesday night. I have never considered my family particularly religious. That's probably because "church" was the norm, that's what we did, that's what I knew. My family, including my grandparents, aunts and uncles, went to church. Never thought twice about it, never even thought to ask to stay home.
When I was in the fourth grade, we moved. The new church that we decided to go to was about 30 minutes, or so, away. There were churches closer, but that was the one we liked. Our old church had seemed really big to me. Of course, I wasn't that old and things tend to look bigger when your smaller. For instance, we had a poodle when I was very little. When I remembered her later, as I got a little older, I thought she had been this really big dog. Then, I saw pictures. She was not that big, I was just very small.
Anyway, the church we had left seemed big. There had been lots of kids my age that I was friends with. The new church was small and not as many kids in my immediate age group. But, we really liked it and really liked the people.
So, we went. Everything was good... right up to the point where I became a teenager.
Some things to note here would be that I was not the perfect child. Not even close. If a button could be pushed, I liked to push it. Cut class? Oh, yeah. Drive with out a license in someone elses car? That too. Smoke, drink and run around? In varying combinations, yes. Question religion? Been there, done that, made my mom cry.
That being said, I still never once, that I can recall, ever, EVER, tried to get out of going to church. I knew better. My parents house, my parents rules. I can also say here, thank God. There were Sundays that I hated being there. Hated it. I would look for every hypocrisy I could find. But, I still had to go and sit through it. Unless you have been there, you may not understand this part. I don't know how that preacher knew, and it didn't matter who the preacher was, but he knew every time what I had done the night before and let me have it. At least that's what it felt like. He really didn't know. Didn't have a clue. Truth is, he didn't need to know. I did. And God did. The guilt alone was enough to keep me out of what I considered "real trouble". Basically, while I wasn't a "good" kid, I had the potential to be worse.
I never blamed my parents for any of my behavior. I looked for excuses for it, but not blame for it. I tried to make the excuse that there had not been a youth group for me. There were, though, kids my age at church involved in activities. I just had no interest. Even when I could drive, I never drove there.
There was a day at school, my Junior or Senior year, when I came across a conversation in the hallway. A group of guys were having a conversation about church and God. Two of them were basically witnessing to the other two. I stopped and listened. Not really saying anything. When the two being witnessed to left, the other two looked at me and said "you probably think we are really lame, don't you?". I told them that I did not think that they were lame and that I had actually admired and respected what they were doing. The look of surprise and shock spoke volumes. They went on to say that they had no idea I, of all people, would feel that way. I told them that I went to church every Sunday. More shock and disbelief. Not one of the best days of my life. At that point I felt the need to prove to them that I did know something. I talked to them for awhile, they were impressed with my knowledge. While I would not forget this encounter, I didn't do much to change anything.
Every kid at some point plays the "it's not fair" or "you gave different attention to this sibling or that" or "they had different opportunities to do..." cards. But, things were fairly even in the treatment department. As my sister became more of a teenager, I began to, well...not sure what the word would be, but it was somewhere between resent and respect, her for the teenager she was. She was "good". Balanced, normal, stayed out of trouble, did well in school, friends, activities, youth group...You get the picture. I began to look for reasons that I didn't turn out like that. Excuses. We had virtually the same opportunities. I CHOSE to be the way I was. Coming to that realization later on was a tough pill to swallow.
Even while I was Choosing to be the way I was, my parents hung in there. It may have been easier to just throw your hands up and say "fine, stay home". They could have taken the "well, when she is older she can make a decision as to what she wants to do, we're not going to force anything on her right now" route. But they didn't. And I am grateful.
I would have to say that my whole "question it" phase really only lasted a short time. It also really only existed because I didn't want to be accountable for my behavior. If there is no one to answer to, there is no trouble.
If a child is never given a set of standards, and not parent imposed standards because kids, as they get to be teenagers, will look for holes in everything you tell them, how will they know what things should measure up to? Children have incredible faith on their own. Give them something bigger than you to have faith, real faith, in. Give them something to use as a measuring stick for life. If you don't, they may never fully measure up to anything. Because my parents chose to not bend because I was choosing to be difficult, it made the situation I had found myself in easier to bear.
It also made me understand it, accept it and come to peace with it.
All those things I had been so ready to dispose of at one point, were right there when I needed them. If you are upset with my rationalization of everything and what was happening next...well...you can blame my parents. The faith I had was because of them.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Definitions
I want to stop right here for a moment and explain some things. This is not a pity party. Never has been. And its not me shopping for your sympathy. Was it a horrible thing that happened? Yes, and you can feel that way because it was. But don't do the "you poor thing" routine.
Was it hard? Yes.
Did it change me? Yes, but it changed everybody, not just me.
Was it a defining moment in my life? Yes, but it was "A" defining moment, not "THE" defining moment.
Pick up any dictionary and look up virtually any word. What do you find? Various uses and definitions. Change the context or the language and the definition changes. My point is, we are not "one definition" beings. At least we shouldn't be. People should have many defining moments in their lives. That's what helps us change and grow. If you are stuck with just one definition of who you are, you might want to re-evaluate some things. If you are that same teenager or little kid that you use to be, you're not growing. If you are the same parent that you were when your child was born and now your kids are grown, you're not growing. If your relationships with people are exactly the same as they were when they were new, you're not growing.
This is even more true for Christians. If you are the same exact "Christian" you were the moment you became one, you're not growing.
Don't get me wrong, you're "definitions", if you will, stay with you. How often you choose to use them, in what context you use and why you use a particular one is up to you. If you choose to use the same one over and over again, no matter the situation, it's not always going to work out the best. In other words, don't use them as excuses. They may help explain why you are a particular way in certain circumstances but don't use them as excuses for your behavior.
What makes a defining moment? It can be anything that changes your perspective, your attitude, your well being, anything. This moment changed my perspective. I saw people differently. In fact, in some instances, I saw people, really saw them, for the first time. This was true with my family.
My dad was, well...strict? stern? not sure how to some it up. Let's just say he wasn't one of those touchy-feely people. Not that we didn't know that he loved us, he did and we knew it. You just always approached him with cautious respect when you were in trouble. He was (and still is) fairly funny though you can't encourage that kind of behavior, especially when you are a teenager because parents just look for ways to embarrass you. I don't know about my siblings but I thought he was kind of tough too. You know, like that whole "my dad can beat up your dad" thing. I remember listening to him sing in church one time and thinking, "I've never heard John Wayne sing, but I'll bet that's what it would sound like." Ok, that's probably not a compliment to his singing voice but you get the idea.
Anyway... up to this point I can only remember ever seeing my dad cry one time, when my great-grandma died. I was in my full teenager mode when it happened, cynical, not fond of most adults and questioning everything that I could. I remember it struck me as strange. The two of them, at least from my perspective, had fought, a lot. Maybe "fought" is too strong a word but I always thought he was kind of hard on her. If she had frustrated him so much, why is he so upset now? Of course I would understand later that he had, in fact, loved her tremendously. He was just honest with her, wouldn't get sucked into her "woe's me" drama and tried to push her to be better.
My dad cried after the accident and seeing him cry was hard because I felt responsible. He stepped up and took care of some things that my in-laws couldn't face. He didn't have to do that, but he did. I saw him differently after that. He wasn't just the wall you had to get through to get what you wanted. He was vulnerable.
I saw my sister a little differently too. The nosy, always in my business, little sister that cried if you looked at her sideways stepped up. She knew who my friends were and took on the task of calling them to let them know what happened. That's a serious job, having to tell the story over and over again. He had adored her, maybe he had seen some of this before that I had ignored because she was "just the little sister".
I don't remember much about the first few days after the accident. Just little pieces here and there. I remember sitting on the bed, my brother and sister sitting there too. I don't remember any body saying anything. Just sitting. I don't remember if I was crying or if I was in between bouts, but we just sat there, not saying anything. There was nothing to say and nothing that needed to be said. I can not think of a time when the three of us had ever sat together like that. I saw them not just as the brat and the twerp. They were people.
They were family. They were there.
Sometimes there are defining moments within defining moments. Little, extra bonuses that can be good or bad. I would love to say that everything was peachy all the time after that. Nope. We were still family after all. It started a process for everyone though. I think we all saw each other and the world differently. Glimpses into who we might really be or who we might become. Priorities and plans changed. Decisions were made, either openly or sub-consciously, about what weaknesses had been exposed and what would remain so and what would have to be covered up.
If Mr. Webster himself showed up at your door to write a dictionary of your life, would it be a short visit?
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Accidents Happen
It has been 20+ years since that night and I can still remember every detail down to what we were both wearing.
I don't dwell on it, it's just that when something is burned that deep into your psyche, you can't get rid of it. Someone will ask a question, or something will trigger a memory and then, there it is. It comes back in clips sometimes. Like photos thrown across a table. No order or reason, just there.
We had gotten a new car. It was a Ford, ugh...not a fan. After a week, we took it back and got the truck. Chevy! Much better.
Because we had bought it in the valley and not near the base, we had left our original car at my parents house. He was off that weekend, so we went to visit and get the car. While we were there, we also decided to get a dog. We were moving up... two cars and our first, fuzzy faced kid. She was a shy German Shepherd mix. Perfect for our new, smaller apartment. We didn't always think things through.
He had just returned from a 6 month deployment a few weeks earlier and wanted to see his friends. We stopped there on our way out of town and ended up staying way too late. By the time we were headed home, it was well after midnight. I was in my car with the dog, he was in the truck.
Because it was so late and he was so tired, we stopped a couple of times so he could walk around and so the dog could too. At the last stop, I started to get in my car but walked back over to the truck. He was falling asleep in the driver's seat.
"Hey, wake up! Are you going to be ok?"
"Yeah, I'll be alright. We're almost there."
"Ok, if your sure. We could leave one of the cars here and I could drive."
"I'm not leaving anything here. I'll be ok."
"Alright. Put your seat belt on."
I made sure he was buckled in and got in my car.
He pulled out first. His tail lights were right in front of me. The dog made a noise or something because I looked down for just a second. When I looked up, I couldn't see the lights any more. I sped up. There were lights up there but I couldn't tell which ones were his. I went a little faster and caught up to the lights. Not him.
I was starting to think I was nuts. How could I have lost him that fast? Did I pass him and not realize it? It was weird, like he just vanished.
I kept driving and driving. Still nothing. There weren't many cars on the road. It was somewhere between 2-3am. I came around a corner and my headlights finally hit the truck.
It was in the middle of the road and upside down.
My initial reaction was panic, like some one had sucked all the air out of the car. Then, as I got closer, I saw someone walking up the off ramp on the shoulder. That was him. My thoughts then turned to that of "you idiot, what did you do?" I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I got closer and my lights hit him just as I pulled up past the truck. I was pulling over to the shoulder and waiting for that moment of acknowledgement, except that when our eyes finally met, it wasn't him. I watched this person walk past my car, I followed him with my eyes as he just kept walking. I turned back for a second, then looked again and he was gone. I was sure that was him.
Now the panic was back. Suddenly there was someone tapping on my window. "We've already called CHP. You don't need to stay."
"Wh..what?"
"We've already called it in."
"Thats my husbands truck."
Expressions change. "Umm, how do you know?Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
"Wait here."
In every movie you will ever see, this is where the person gets out of the car and runs to where the other person was. If you were to picture yourself in this situation, that is what you would picture. That is not what happened.
I couldn't move. I sat almost perfectly still except for the nervous movements of my hands on the steering wheel. I could not have gotten out of that car if it had been on fire. I absolutely could not move. Various people came to the window and tried to talk to me. I only half understood. When I did finally move, I got out, walked around my car one time and got right back in. I sat there, in my car, alone, with my dog, on the side of the road for almost 3 hours.
CHP came, the ambulance came, the coroner came.
The two officers that were there drove me home. One drove me in my car while the other followed. They had asked if I had anyone that they could call for me. My closest family was over an hour away. They asked if there was anyone from the ship that could come. I gave them some names.
The patrolmen stayed with me at my apartment until the guys could get there.
One called my parents and then they both drove me to meet my dad and my in-laws.
If you ever get pulled over and the officer is cranky or just not as pleasant writing your ticket as you would like him to be, think about this; Maybe he's had a long shift, maybe he just came from a senseless accident where a child was hurt, or, maybe, he just drove a 19 year old widow home.
I don't dwell on it, it's just that when something is burned that deep into your psyche, you can't get rid of it. Someone will ask a question, or something will trigger a memory and then, there it is. It comes back in clips sometimes. Like photos thrown across a table. No order or reason, just there.
We had gotten a new car. It was a Ford, ugh...not a fan. After a week, we took it back and got the truck. Chevy! Much better.
Because we had bought it in the valley and not near the base, we had left our original car at my parents house. He was off that weekend, so we went to visit and get the car. While we were there, we also decided to get a dog. We were moving up... two cars and our first, fuzzy faced kid. She was a shy German Shepherd mix. Perfect for our new, smaller apartment. We didn't always think things through.
He had just returned from a 6 month deployment a few weeks earlier and wanted to see his friends. We stopped there on our way out of town and ended up staying way too late. By the time we were headed home, it was well after midnight. I was in my car with the dog, he was in the truck.
Because it was so late and he was so tired, we stopped a couple of times so he could walk around and so the dog could too. At the last stop, I started to get in my car but walked back over to the truck. He was falling asleep in the driver's seat.
"Hey, wake up! Are you going to be ok?"
"Yeah, I'll be alright. We're almost there."
"Ok, if your sure. We could leave one of the cars here and I could drive."
"I'm not leaving anything here. I'll be ok."
"Alright. Put your seat belt on."
I made sure he was buckled in and got in my car.
He pulled out first. His tail lights were right in front of me. The dog made a noise or something because I looked down for just a second. When I looked up, I couldn't see the lights any more. I sped up. There were lights up there but I couldn't tell which ones were his. I went a little faster and caught up to the lights. Not him.
I was starting to think I was nuts. How could I have lost him that fast? Did I pass him and not realize it? It was weird, like he just vanished.
I kept driving and driving. Still nothing. There weren't many cars on the road. It was somewhere between 2-3am. I came around a corner and my headlights finally hit the truck.
It was in the middle of the road and upside down.
My initial reaction was panic, like some one had sucked all the air out of the car. Then, as I got closer, I saw someone walking up the off ramp on the shoulder. That was him. My thoughts then turned to that of "you idiot, what did you do?" I shook my head and rolled my eyes. I got closer and my lights hit him just as I pulled up past the truck. I was pulling over to the shoulder and waiting for that moment of acknowledgement, except that when our eyes finally met, it wasn't him. I watched this person walk past my car, I followed him with my eyes as he just kept walking. I turned back for a second, then looked again and he was gone. I was sure that was him.
Now the panic was back. Suddenly there was someone tapping on my window. "We've already called CHP. You don't need to stay."
"Wh..what?"
"We've already called it in."
"Thats my husbands truck."
Expressions change. "Umm, how do you know?Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'm sure."
"Wait here."
In every movie you will ever see, this is where the person gets out of the car and runs to where the other person was. If you were to picture yourself in this situation, that is what you would picture. That is not what happened.
I couldn't move. I sat almost perfectly still except for the nervous movements of my hands on the steering wheel. I could not have gotten out of that car if it had been on fire. I absolutely could not move. Various people came to the window and tried to talk to me. I only half understood. When I did finally move, I got out, walked around my car one time and got right back in. I sat there, in my car, alone, with my dog, on the side of the road for almost 3 hours.
CHP came, the ambulance came, the coroner came.
The two officers that were there drove me home. One drove me in my car while the other followed. They had asked if I had anyone that they could call for me. My closest family was over an hour away. They asked if there was anyone from the ship that could come. I gave them some names.
The patrolmen stayed with me at my apartment until the guys could get there.
One called my parents and then they both drove me to meet my dad and my in-laws.
If you ever get pulled over and the officer is cranky or just not as pleasant writing your ticket as you would like him to be, think about this; Maybe he's had a long shift, maybe he just came from a senseless accident where a child was hurt, or, maybe, he just drove a 19 year old widow home.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Clarity Comes Later
I originally had no intention of telling this but it keeps coming back to me and I feel that I should share.
There are things that I have to keep for myself but to help you in the long run, you're going to need to know this. When it happened, it made no sense. It was just a late night conversation after a long day when everyone was way too tired.
What it became was something that I would go back to and hold on to and go over again and again in order to make sense of what had happened. It ultimately helped me have an understanding of what we sometimes refer to as the "bigger picture". Sadly, because this particular situation then seemed so clear and obvious, it made me expect that kind of clarity when faced with hard times again. It was, in fact, a two edged sword.
He had gone to bed early. I finished my usual bedtime routine and got into bed. He was laying on his side, back to me, facing the wall. It was obvious he had been crying.
"Hey..what's wrong" I touched his shoulder.
"Nothing"
"I know something is wrong. What is it?"
"It's nothing...it's just..I was thinking...and I was wondering... and if something happened to me...ever...you know...would you look for me?" He's still facing the wall.
"Look for you?"
"You know...in Heaven. Would you look for me in Heaven?"
"Well, you're not going to die so..."
"I'm serious. Would you look for me?" He is starting to get upset again, it was obvious that this was real for him.
"Of course but you're being ridiculous. There's no way your getting there before me. We'll go together or something. When were old we will sit down and go one-two-three-die. And that will be that."
"I don't think so"
"Well, if I go before you will you look for me?"
"Yes, but that's not going to happen. I'm not going to get old."
"Sure you will. You'll be old, I'll be old, we'll be old together." I'm starting to get a little freaked out at this point.This is not a conversation for newlyweds, especially ones our current ages.
"Ok, but will you look for me? Will you really? Do you promise?"
"Of course. I promise."
"Good. Will you get married again?"
"Of course not. I could never marry any one else. I love you."
"I think you should get married again."
"I'm not marrying anyone else"
"Yes you will. Promise me you'll get married again."
"Ok, fine, I'll get married again. It's not like it's ever going to happen any way."
"I just need to know you will be alright."
"How could I be alright with out you?"
"You'll be alright."
He never once turned over and looked at me. He just kept staring at the wall. I don't know what he saw there, or who, but his questions were so matter of fact and direct... It was as if someone was telling him exactly what to say. When the conversation finally ended, I just laid my head against his back and went to sleep. We never talked about it again.
There are things that I have to keep for myself but to help you in the long run, you're going to need to know this. When it happened, it made no sense. It was just a late night conversation after a long day when everyone was way too tired.
What it became was something that I would go back to and hold on to and go over again and again in order to make sense of what had happened. It ultimately helped me have an understanding of what we sometimes refer to as the "bigger picture". Sadly, because this particular situation then seemed so clear and obvious, it made me expect that kind of clarity when faced with hard times again. It was, in fact, a two edged sword.
He had gone to bed early. I finished my usual bedtime routine and got into bed. He was laying on his side, back to me, facing the wall. It was obvious he had been crying.
"Hey..what's wrong" I touched his shoulder.
"Nothing"
"I know something is wrong. What is it?"
"It's nothing...it's just..I was thinking...and I was wondering... and if something happened to me...ever...you know...would you look for me?" He's still facing the wall.
"Look for you?"
"You know...in Heaven. Would you look for me in Heaven?"
"Well, you're not going to die so..."
"I'm serious. Would you look for me?" He is starting to get upset again, it was obvious that this was real for him.
"Of course but you're being ridiculous. There's no way your getting there before me. We'll go together or something. When were old we will sit down and go one-two-three-die. And that will be that."
"I don't think so"
"Well, if I go before you will you look for me?"
"Yes, but that's not going to happen. I'm not going to get old."
"Sure you will. You'll be old, I'll be old, we'll be old together." I'm starting to get a little freaked out at this point.This is not a conversation for newlyweds, especially ones our current ages.
"Ok, but will you look for me? Will you really? Do you promise?"
"Of course. I promise."
"Good. Will you get married again?"
"Of course not. I could never marry any one else. I love you."
"I think you should get married again."
"I'm not marrying anyone else"
"Yes you will. Promise me you'll get married again."
"Ok, fine, I'll get married again. It's not like it's ever going to happen any way."
"I just need to know you will be alright."
"How could I be alright with out you?"
"You'll be alright."
He never once turned over and looked at me. He just kept staring at the wall. I don't know what he saw there, or who, but his questions were so matter of fact and direct... It was as if someone was telling him exactly what to say. When the conversation finally ended, I just laid my head against his back and went to sleep. We never talked about it again.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Rebel Without a Clue
He was not what was on the surface. Oh, sure. He looked the "Bad Boy" role and that's what caught my attention. It turned out to be a ruse.
You would think the motorcycle, leather jacket, smoking thing was real. He was three years older than me but at times you would never know it. Turns out it was only part of the story.
Truth was, he was a softy. A push over. And, most importantly, just a big kid at heart. He had a Peter Pan quality in that, he could be the leader and convince you that he was in charge but deep down, still a kid. Best part was you felt like a kid most of the time you were around him too.
Because he had a soft heart, he took a special liking to my sister. Not that she needed any special attention that I saw, but he saw something different. She had a soft heart, too.For instance, all my dad had to do was look at her a certain way and she would burst into tears. And, he knew I was not particularly nice to her. He was an only child and not versed in the ways of siblings. But, to make him happy, I tried, when I could and mostly when he was around, to be nicer. It was frustrating when he would come over to see me and make an effort to say hello to her first. He always made sure to give her a big hug, too. It did not thrill me, but that was him.
The part about being a kid at heart was humorous on occasion. Even though he had been places, he had never really been anywhere on his own and I certainly hadn't. You can imagine my family's chuckle when we had to call home the morning after our wedding to get directions to where we were going. (This was, after all, pre-GPS and cell phones.) When we finally got there, we went in to our hotel room. He sat down the bags and said, "You have go to be kidding?Was your mom trying to be funny?"
My mom had made our reservations for us. I had been in enough hotels to know that the lay out of the room was fairly standard. Literally, standard room, 2 beds. The fact that we could sleep where ever we wanted was not sinking in. After I gave him a look that must have made him think, he got it. Thirty minutes later, I mentioned I was hungry and wanted to go a little way down the coast to eat at a specific place. He looked at his watch, "I don't know. Do you think we have time?" Time for what?? It's not like you have to have me home by a certain time. "Oh, YEAH! I forgot". And so it was, the beginning of our life together.
One year, seven months and ten days later it would be over. He would be gone. Forever to be Peter Pan.
You would think the motorcycle, leather jacket, smoking thing was real. He was three years older than me but at times you would never know it. Turns out it was only part of the story.
Truth was, he was a softy. A push over. And, most importantly, just a big kid at heart. He had a Peter Pan quality in that, he could be the leader and convince you that he was in charge but deep down, still a kid. Best part was you felt like a kid most of the time you were around him too.
Because he had a soft heart, he took a special liking to my sister. Not that she needed any special attention that I saw, but he saw something different. She had a soft heart, too.For instance, all my dad had to do was look at her a certain way and she would burst into tears. And, he knew I was not particularly nice to her. He was an only child and not versed in the ways of siblings. But, to make him happy, I tried, when I could and mostly when he was around, to be nicer. It was frustrating when he would come over to see me and make an effort to say hello to her first. He always made sure to give her a big hug, too. It did not thrill me, but that was him.
The part about being a kid at heart was humorous on occasion. Even though he had been places, he had never really been anywhere on his own and I certainly hadn't. You can imagine my family's chuckle when we had to call home the morning after our wedding to get directions to where we were going. (This was, after all, pre-GPS and cell phones.) When we finally got there, we went in to our hotel room. He sat down the bags and said, "You have go to be kidding?Was your mom trying to be funny?"
My mom had made our reservations for us. I had been in enough hotels to know that the lay out of the room was fairly standard. Literally, standard room, 2 beds. The fact that we could sleep where ever we wanted was not sinking in. After I gave him a look that must have made him think, he got it. Thirty minutes later, I mentioned I was hungry and wanted to go a little way down the coast to eat at a specific place. He looked at his watch, "I don't know. Do you think we have time?" Time for what?? It's not like you have to have me home by a certain time. "Oh, YEAH! I forgot". And so it was, the beginning of our life together.
One year, seven months and ten days later it would be over. He would be gone. Forever to be Peter Pan.
Why Do They Call it Love When It Feels Like the Flu?
What is it about "bad boys" that make some girls go weird. Seriously.
You have practiced the art of cool and aloof. You've got it down pretty good.
"Sorry, we're you talking to me? I wasn't interested." And then you meet THAT guy. And all of a sudden, you've got nothing. You stare. You blush. Good lord, you may even giggle. GIGGLE! What has happened to you?
I was the victim of a horrible crime such as this.
It started out simple enough. He was the best friend of my current boyfriend. No problem. Totally safe.
*cue flirting* Uh-oh.
RE-focus. Try to set him up with one of your friends.
*more flirting* Not working
This is becoming a serious problem. Then,
Too late, your gone, your knees are mush, you're brain isn't functioning and you have a knot in your stomach.
It must be love. Or really bad sushi, but I don't eat sushi so...
So let me re-cap our first year together. Ready?
I'm dating his best friend.
Ditch best friend, become boyfriend/girlfriend
He cheats on me with former girlfriend.
I break up with him.
Run into him and previously mentioned tramp at dance club one night. Follow him around like an idiot waiting for a confrontation that never happens.
Best friend/my ex has lots of fun saying "I told you so".
Months pass
See him at a concert. Do not speak to him.
Break down and call him the next day. Small talk, no big deal, except for the "I miss you's".
Then nothing for several more weeks.
Out one Saturday night with my friends and decide to swing by the known apartment of one of his friends.
See his motorcycle in the parking lot.
Approach the door. Chicken out, won't knock.
Leave a questionable note on his motorcycle.
Sunday morning. Leaving church, stand up and turn around and he is standing there. Wants to know what was up with that note. Uh, try to explain.
He says the "I had been thinking about you any way" line.
Then says he was just coming by to say he was leaving.
He left. For quite awhile. On the road with his friends band. At least that is the version I got.
He'll call when he gets back.
Still waiting.
More waiting.
Get a weird feeling and call him.
He answers.
I yell really bad, mean things at him that I can not post here or else it will get labeled as having adult content.
He says he was in an accident on his bike and that's why he hadn't called.
I rush, more or less, to his house.
Walk past mangled bike, go inside.
Yep, you messed up your face. That is going to heal though, right?
Make up. Get back together.
Engaged within the next four months.
So, that's it. Year One. Exactly the way it went down. There was a lot of crying mixed in there too.
I felt sick every time I was going to see him. Oh, I tried to get over it but it didn't work.
All my hard work down the drain. Not only that, I had agreed to marry him! When his best friend and I were going out, he asked me once if I thought he and I would get married. I laughed. Out loud. I felt bad about it later. Even more so when I was actually engaged to his friend.
My friends thought I was crazy. My teachers were less than thrilled. I was, after all only 17 and a senior in high school. My parents...well, not sure. I think at that point they were taking the wait and see approach. After he enlisted in the Navy so that he would have a way to support us, they took it seriously. They had done the same thing and I think they knew that I was the kid that was going to do whatever I wanted anyway. So, once he left for Basic, we started planning a wedding.
I Smell a Rat
Up to now, things have been fairly one sided. Five years is a big difference. Shove it into one room and it can become an even bigger difference.
There were lots of room "cleaning" episodes (did I mention we found a claw once?) and various other issues. "Get out! I'm in here with my friends. You weren't even in here until we came in here!" Get the picture? And your stuff was not safe.
Apparently there is some unspoken rule amongst siblings that goes something like this: "If they didn't want me to touch it, they should not have left it where I could see it." I don't know where this comes from but I have even watched it unfold with my own kids. My brother once walked into our room, took my Peter Criss (original drummer for KISS) poster off the closet door and TORE IT UP!! His defense was "I could see it and I didn't like it" You couldn't see it from the hall. You had to actually walk into our room! Did he get in trouble? Of course not. However, if I had gone into his room and done that I would have been. Simply because "I should know better".
Anyway, I was careful to put anything considered "Stuff" where it could not be seen. Some serious snooping would have to take place in order to locate it. Notes and trinkets were carefully hidden in locations that I will still not reveal. As I got older, the definition of "Stuff" would take on new meanings. There was the PlayGirl that my friend swiped from her mom (I know, ew) that we hid under the play house. We were in junior high lest you think we were 8 year old pervs. Forgot about it until it was faded but got it out before my dad relocated the play house to another part of the yard. whew!
Then there was "THE Stuff". I was smart enough to never bring anything like that into my house but I figured paraphernalia was safe. I underestimated "the sister".
The item in question was carefully hidden in my purse, in a side pocket. She had no business going through my purse (this fact would become exhibit A for the defense and really the only defense I had). I was about 15-16 which would make her about 10-11. I left it on my bed and went out of the room. She searched through the purse, into the side pocket and pulled out an "item" wrapped up in a Ratt headband (ironic, isn't it?) *For those of you not in the know, Ratt was an 80's hair band* Having found said item, she took it straight to my mom.
I will save you the details of what happened next. That will be for another time.
My mom played the "She told because she was worried about you" card. Yeah, right, sure. Nothing up to now gave me any indication that she cared one way or the other. She was 11. "She didn't know what it was and brought it to me to find out". Not buying that one either. Yes, its true if she had brought it to me her life would have been in jeopardy, but not the point right now. Either way, after the interrogation and threats of rehab, I would have to go back to that room that I shared with the rat. Honestly, I don't think she realized, at least not at the time, why I was so mad at her. And I stayed mad for quite awhile. Whatever patience I had for the little darling was now fully tested.
I do not remember much interaction with her again until the day love walked in...
Please Don't Worry
I have been asked to add a disclaimer.
My sister is not currently, nor has she ever been, institutionalized. She has two, seemingly, normal children and has managed to hold down a job. They let her have a driver's license and she has lived alone. CPS has never had to visit her house.
*Just in case any of you were worried about her sanity. She wanted me to put you at ease.*
Consider yourself eased.
Side note- My mom pointed out that the whistling thing was actually my sisters idea. She had asked her if, perhaps, there was something else she could do to exude her happiness that was less harmful to others. She picked whistling. Even though she couldn't actually do it. Go figure. (and please refer back to previous paragraph)
My sister is not currently, nor has she ever been, institutionalized. She has two, seemingly, normal children and has managed to hold down a job. They let her have a driver's license and she has lived alone. CPS has never had to visit her house.
*Just in case any of you were worried about her sanity. She wanted me to put you at ease.*
Consider yourself eased.
Side note- My mom pointed out that the whistling thing was actually my sisters idea. She had asked her if, perhaps, there was something else she could do to exude her happiness that was less harmful to others. She picked whistling. Even though she couldn't actually do it. Go figure. (and please refer back to previous paragraph)
Tricks of the Trade
I gained some great life skills as an oldest child. No, it was not the fact that I was "old enough to know better" though I certainly heard that often enough. It was the art of puppetry. Some people would call it manipulation but that has an ugly ring to it. I prefer puppetry.
Most of my early teen years were spent feeling like my dad had wanted a boy first. No such luck. He had to wait 7 years after the first attempt to finally get one.
Anyway, as the oldest, the hard jobs fell on me. I learned to split wood, mow the lawn, build my first car, etc. You know the usual girl stuff. Except NOT. Every weekend I prayed that what ever it was that I had to do it would be done in the backyard where no one would see me. But again, I digress.
So, it was on one of these occasions that it occurred to me I had potential slave labor at my disposal. It would just take the right...motivation.
There are some universal truths about children. 1) They love games 2)They enjoy a little healthy competition (in particularly between siblings) and 3)They trust just about everyone.
The task at hand that day was to move the insane amount of branches that my dad had just cut from the trees in the front yard and move them around to the back of the house by the wood pile. Did I mention they were in the front yard?? Ok, this was a problem. Not only were they in the front yard but the only way to get them where they needed to go was to drag them across the yard and drive way, around the far corner of the house and then across the back yard. Apparently cutting through the garage with them was not an option.
Think...think...think.... GOT IT!
So the victims, er...siblings, were playing (where is the fairness!!) in the front.
I carefully laid the bait. "Hey! Check this out" It's important to make whatever it is that you eventually want them to look fun or cool or like the most amazing thing they have ever seen.
"I can drag all these branches at one time by myself" This is where you set the standard, making sure to set the bar high so that it may take several attempts for them to achieve it. But don't make it so hard that it is impossible. I started with 4 branches neatly stacked on top of each other.
"And watch how fast I can drag them. You should time me!" Even if this is the hardest thing you have ever done, make it look easy and most importantly KEEP SMILING.
After you have done it once, whatever "it" is, make sure you follow the next steps to the letter. You can choose your own wording.
"I bet you can't do that. It would be too hard for you because your little. That's why dad asked me to do it." Them's fightin' words to any little brother or sister on the planet. Name dropping your parents adds credibility.
"Oh yeah?" and "I bet I can's" soon follow. It is at this point that you must set the ground rules. How much time do they have, what is the minimum they can do, etc. Remember you are in control. If you add in how surprised/proud/happy your parents will be to see them helping it will get you even further. Of course this can never happen because "you're old enough to know better" and you will be in trouble.
Making it a race or some other type of contest is the best route to take. Once they are off and doing the actual work you MUST stay in a visible location. You don't have to actually "do" anything other than make it look like you are doing something. For instance, "I'm going to walk ahead of you to make sure the path is clear and you can get through there super fast". In reality, you are probably on look-out for anything that resembles a parent. If at any time they catch on to you, don't panic! Stay calm and try the hook again "See, I knew you couldn't do it. You're just giving up" As long as your siblings believe you are still doing "something" they will stick it out.
Once the work is done, be prepared for the "What do we get?". As long as you never actually promised them anything, you are in good shape. This is where they can begin learning the joys of a job well done, and isn't that a reward in itself? Smaller children take praise really well, "Wow, you really surprised me. You can do it after all. You're much bigger than I thought."
I will be honest, the older they get, the harder it becomes to just snowball them. Later on they respond better to threats, offers of money and, when all else fails, blackmail. That last one is tricky though because as the older sibling, they probably have a LOT more dirt on you than you have on them.
When you become a parent, a teacher, or work in upper management, these skills can, may and will come in handy. With your own children, keep these tips in mind:
1. Remember to make it a game
2. Continue to look busy yourself; rearrange items on the table, wipe down the counter a few hundred times, etc.
3. Sell it to your spouse before they have a chance to tell him what they did today. Example-"Look, honey, the kids helped out with the dusting today. Aren't you proud of your little helpers?" Make sure the children are present when you do this. That way he is less likely to point out all the places they missed. After all, you can't go back over it because that would just crush their little feelings and self esteem.
If the kids tell first, you will be exposed as a labor camp captain. Strike first!
4. Kids are pretty smart for the most part. If you're not careful, you will blow it. Oh sure, once in awhile you meet a kid that you look at and think "how in the world did this kid make it out of the womb on his own without a road map and a flash light" but most of them are pretty smart. If you are sitting at the table reading the newspaper and sipping a latte, they will revolt.
If you simply must take a break try this instead....
"Mom, why are you just watching TV and not helping us?"
"Oh, I'm not sweetie. It's just that Ellen is about to tell me how to do this. Let me listen and then I will be able to come help you."
Oh sure, they'll look at you funny and question your intelligence but its worth it for a few minutes of quiet.
*Disclaimer*Please note, that last scenario does not work in an upper management situation. Make adjustments accordingly. Try sitting in front of a computer as opposed to watching Ellen. Of course, you can watch Ellen online...
Most of my early teen years were spent feeling like my dad had wanted a boy first. No such luck. He had to wait 7 years after the first attempt to finally get one.
Anyway, as the oldest, the hard jobs fell on me. I learned to split wood, mow the lawn, build my first car, etc. You know the usual girl stuff. Except NOT. Every weekend I prayed that what ever it was that I had to do it would be done in the backyard where no one would see me. But again, I digress.
So, it was on one of these occasions that it occurred to me I had potential slave labor at my disposal. It would just take the right...motivation.
There are some universal truths about children. 1) They love games 2)They enjoy a little healthy competition (in particularly between siblings) and 3)They trust just about everyone.
The task at hand that day was to move the insane amount of branches that my dad had just cut from the trees in the front yard and move them around to the back of the house by the wood pile. Did I mention they were in the front yard?? Ok, this was a problem. Not only were they in the front yard but the only way to get them where they needed to go was to drag them across the yard and drive way, around the far corner of the house and then across the back yard. Apparently cutting through the garage with them was not an option.
Think...think...think.... GOT IT!
So the victims, er...siblings, were playing (where is the fairness!!) in the front.
I carefully laid the bait. "Hey! Check this out" It's important to make whatever it is that you eventually want them to look fun or cool or like the most amazing thing they have ever seen.
"I can drag all these branches at one time by myself" This is where you set the standard, making sure to set the bar high so that it may take several attempts for them to achieve it. But don't make it so hard that it is impossible. I started with 4 branches neatly stacked on top of each other.
"And watch how fast I can drag them. You should time me!" Even if this is the hardest thing you have ever done, make it look easy and most importantly KEEP SMILING.
After you have done it once, whatever "it" is, make sure you follow the next steps to the letter. You can choose your own wording.
"I bet you can't do that. It would be too hard for you because your little. That's why dad asked me to do it." Them's fightin' words to any little brother or sister on the planet. Name dropping your parents adds credibility.
"Oh yeah?" and "I bet I can's" soon follow. It is at this point that you must set the ground rules. How much time do they have, what is the minimum they can do, etc. Remember you are in control. If you add in how surprised/proud/happy your parents will be to see them helping it will get you even further. Of course this can never happen because "you're old enough to know better" and you will be in trouble.
Making it a race or some other type of contest is the best route to take. Once they are off and doing the actual work you MUST stay in a visible location. You don't have to actually "do" anything other than make it look like you are doing something. For instance, "I'm going to walk ahead of you to make sure the path is clear and you can get through there super fast". In reality, you are probably on look-out for anything that resembles a parent. If at any time they catch on to you, don't panic! Stay calm and try the hook again "See, I knew you couldn't do it. You're just giving up" As long as your siblings believe you are still doing "something" they will stick it out.
Once the work is done, be prepared for the "What do we get?". As long as you never actually promised them anything, you are in good shape. This is where they can begin learning the joys of a job well done, and isn't that a reward in itself? Smaller children take praise really well, "Wow, you really surprised me. You can do it after all. You're much bigger than I thought."
I will be honest, the older they get, the harder it becomes to just snowball them. Later on they respond better to threats, offers of money and, when all else fails, blackmail. That last one is tricky though because as the older sibling, they probably have a LOT more dirt on you than you have on them.
When you become a parent, a teacher, or work in upper management, these skills can, may and will come in handy. With your own children, keep these tips in mind:
1. Remember to make it a game
2. Continue to look busy yourself; rearrange items on the table, wipe down the counter a few hundred times, etc.
3. Sell it to your spouse before they have a chance to tell him what they did today. Example-"Look, honey, the kids helped out with the dusting today. Aren't you proud of your little helpers?" Make sure the children are present when you do this. That way he is less likely to point out all the places they missed. After all, you can't go back over it because that would just crush their little feelings and self esteem.
If the kids tell first, you will be exposed as a labor camp captain. Strike first!
4. Kids are pretty smart for the most part. If you're not careful, you will blow it. Oh sure, once in awhile you meet a kid that you look at and think "how in the world did this kid make it out of the womb on his own without a road map and a flash light" but most of them are pretty smart. If you are sitting at the table reading the newspaper and sipping a latte, they will revolt.
If you simply must take a break try this instead....
"Mom, why are you just watching TV and not helping us?"
"Oh, I'm not sweetie. It's just that Ellen is about to tell me how to do this. Let me listen and then I will be able to come help you."
Oh sure, they'll look at you funny and question your intelligence but its worth it for a few minutes of quiet.
*Disclaimer*Please note, that last scenario does not work in an upper management situation. Make adjustments accordingly. Try sitting in front of a computer as opposed to watching Ellen. Of course, you can watch Ellen online...
Monday, August 17, 2009
Just to clarify
About now you are probably wondering where this is going. Hang in there, trust me.
My relationship with my sister is complex and you need to know that as it will come in to play in some of the stuff that is coming later.
I don't think ours is a relationship that is incredibly different from others, it's just, well, different. We are different. My brother and I, though 7 years apart, were more "alike", for lack of a better word, than my sister and I. In fact, she recently pointed out that he and I use to team up and attack her together. This is partially true, but not important right now.
What is important is one of the ways that we were very much NOT alike. I like to think that I was more of the silent brooding type. She was "happy", dangerously happy, creepy happy. Ok, so yeah, isn't that sweet and what's wrong with being happy. Blunt force trauma to the head is what's wrong with "happy".
She went through this phase, the "cartwheel" phase. You had to stick your head out of any door very carefully and look both ways. Then, if it was clear, make a break for it before she came at you, out of no where. My sister, the spazoid, was doing cartwheels down the hall. On a regular basis. For no good reason.
My mom took her aside and asked her why she was constantly doing cartwheels in the house, and more importantly down the hall where you could get clocked in the head. Her response..."I don't know, I guess its because I'm just so HAPPY" Well the rest of us were NOT happy. She was an in-house road hazard. So, my mom suggested she try something else, like whistling, if she was so happy. Problem was she couldn't whistle and she was so darn happy all the time she almost hyperventilated.
Eventually, she moved on. She got over the whistling and the cartwheels. At least in the house.
I don't think its because she stopped being happy. She just found a safer way to exhibit it. I am fairly certain she still has moments of happy now but I am also certain it is safe for her children to walk down the hall without fearing for their life.
It would be nice to go back and bottle some of what she was feeling then to have in reserve for times later on when all of us could have used it. Sadly once those moments are gone, we can't get them back.
My relationship with my sister is complex and you need to know that as it will come in to play in some of the stuff that is coming later.
I don't think ours is a relationship that is incredibly different from others, it's just, well, different. We are different. My brother and I, though 7 years apart, were more "alike", for lack of a better word, than my sister and I. In fact, she recently pointed out that he and I use to team up and attack her together. This is partially true, but not important right now.
What is important is one of the ways that we were very much NOT alike. I like to think that I was more of the silent brooding type. She was "happy", dangerously happy, creepy happy. Ok, so yeah, isn't that sweet and what's wrong with being happy. Blunt force trauma to the head is what's wrong with "happy".
She went through this phase, the "cartwheel" phase. You had to stick your head out of any door very carefully and look both ways. Then, if it was clear, make a break for it before she came at you, out of no where. My sister, the spazoid, was doing cartwheels down the hall. On a regular basis. For no good reason.
My mom took her aside and asked her why she was constantly doing cartwheels in the house, and more importantly down the hall where you could get clocked in the head. Her response..."I don't know, I guess its because I'm just so HAPPY" Well the rest of us were NOT happy. She was an in-house road hazard. So, my mom suggested she try something else, like whistling, if she was so happy. Problem was she couldn't whistle and she was so darn happy all the time she almost hyperventilated.
Eventually, she moved on. She got over the whistling and the cartwheels. At least in the house.
I don't think its because she stopped being happy. She just found a safer way to exhibit it. I am fairly certain she still has moments of happy now but I am also certain it is safe for her children to walk down the hall without fearing for their life.
It would be nice to go back and bottle some of what she was feeling then to have in reserve for times later on when all of us could have used it. Sadly once those moments are gone, we can't get them back.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Remaking a Classic
I have never watched The Exorcist. Yes, I understand I may be the only one on the planet over a certain age that has not seen it. I have heard enough about it to know that I, like every one else, would probably be freaked out and traumatized for life. Or something like that.
I have, however, seen most of the "popular" scenes. And I can, with no reservation and based on that knowledge, tell you about the time my own mother was possessed by some sinister being.
It was time to clean our room. The room spent a lot of time in some sort of disarray. Because it was split down the middle for most things, your stuff on that side, my stuff on my side, its hard to imagine how this could be. And, more importantly, how this could create strife. It should be obvious where the problem was. If that half was clean, the other person was the one that should be in there cleaning up their mess. Not so with this room. I think while we were sleeping it dumped things from the closet and mixed everything up on the floor. Because, without fail, when it was time to clean, there would be a fight.
It was on one of these occasions when the above possession took place. Apparently, we had been arguing and fighting most of the morning. I do not recall this part of the story. Those details were added by our mother at a later date. I think she is just remembering it wrong because, well, she was possessed.
So, we are in the room, debating over what stuff belongs to who and whose fault all this is, and getting a bit loud and possibly animated. It was at that point that there was a very sudden, very loud THUD. It was audible above our "discussion". Our room went silent. We looked at each other. I can honestly say there was fear in the air and it was thick. Very carefully, we poked our heads out of the bedroom door. We stepped out into the hallway and there, in the living room, was our mom. Sitting on the fireplace (not literally on the fireplace but on the hearth) and looking a bit, shall we say, out of sorts.
Side note-There was a fashion phenomenon in the 80's created by a Doctor. Dr. Scholl to be exact. My mom had a pair and loved them.
After observing moms current position, we looked to see what had made that horrible sound. There, in the wall, was a hole. And on the floor in front of the hole, lay her sandal. The heavy, wooden, doctor created sandal. We looked at it and looked back at her. At this point she spoke. The words were coming out of her mouth but it was through very gritted teeth. Dirty Harry was speaking through our mother and he said, "Just be glad that wasn't one of your heads".
We retreated, quickly, back to our room and shut the door. I know there was a lot of very quiet blaming going on. And I do mean quiet. We were careful not to make a sound. I would love to tell you that our room got clean. I can not confirm that. I know we eventually came out but a lot of time passed before either of us were brave enough. How much time? I don't know. The only reason I know we came out is because I am, obviously, not still in there.
We knew we had pushed her buttons, finally severed that last nerve.
The fact that she snapped that particular day was surprising because normally when the quarreling got too much, she would just get in her car and leave. Yep. Gone. Oh, she always came back and usually wasn't even gone that long. Just enough to make us wonder and sweat out who was going to have to explain it to our dad if she didn't come back. I'm surprised she wasn't a drinker. No one that had met us and seen us in action would have blamed her, I'm sure. We tried her patience, at least that's what she use to tell us we were doing.
And yet, we all survived and no one got hurt.
I have, however, seen most of the "popular" scenes. And I can, with no reservation and based on that knowledge, tell you about the time my own mother was possessed by some sinister being.
It was time to clean our room. The room spent a lot of time in some sort of disarray. Because it was split down the middle for most things, your stuff on that side, my stuff on my side, its hard to imagine how this could be. And, more importantly, how this could create strife. It should be obvious where the problem was. If that half was clean, the other person was the one that should be in there cleaning up their mess. Not so with this room. I think while we were sleeping it dumped things from the closet and mixed everything up on the floor. Because, without fail, when it was time to clean, there would be a fight.
It was on one of these occasions when the above possession took place. Apparently, we had been arguing and fighting most of the morning. I do not recall this part of the story. Those details were added by our mother at a later date. I think she is just remembering it wrong because, well, she was possessed.
So, we are in the room, debating over what stuff belongs to who and whose fault all this is, and getting a bit loud and possibly animated. It was at that point that there was a very sudden, very loud THUD. It was audible above our "discussion". Our room went silent. We looked at each other. I can honestly say there was fear in the air and it was thick. Very carefully, we poked our heads out of the bedroom door. We stepped out into the hallway and there, in the living room, was our mom. Sitting on the fireplace (not literally on the fireplace but on the hearth) and looking a bit, shall we say, out of sorts.
Side note-There was a fashion phenomenon in the 80's created by a Doctor. Dr. Scholl to be exact. My mom had a pair and loved them.
After observing moms current position, we looked to see what had made that horrible sound. There, in the wall, was a hole. And on the floor in front of the hole, lay her sandal. The heavy, wooden, doctor created sandal. We looked at it and looked back at her. At this point she spoke. The words were coming out of her mouth but it was through very gritted teeth. Dirty Harry was speaking through our mother and he said, "Just be glad that wasn't one of your heads".
We retreated, quickly, back to our room and shut the door. I know there was a lot of very quiet blaming going on. And I do mean quiet. We were careful not to make a sound. I would love to tell you that our room got clean. I can not confirm that. I know we eventually came out but a lot of time passed before either of us were brave enough. How much time? I don't know. The only reason I know we came out is because I am, obviously, not still in there.
We knew we had pushed her buttons, finally severed that last nerve.
We didn't see Dirty Harry leave that day but we were affected enough to be fearful of those sandals. And we knew, that as long as those sandals were in style, he might come back.
We still were not fearful of mom though, still didn't learn our lesson. She tells stories of how we use to call her at work. I would be on one phone, my sister on the other, arguing while trying to talk, tattle/rat on the other. She said one time, she just put the phone down and walked away. We kept arguing. At some point we figured it out, hung up and called back. We were not a quick study where our mom was concerned.
The fact that she snapped that particular day was surprising because normally when the quarreling got too much, she would just get in her car and leave. Yep. Gone. Oh, she always came back and usually wasn't even gone that long. Just enough to make us wonder and sweat out who was going to have to explain it to our dad if she didn't come back. I'm surprised she wasn't a drinker. No one that had met us and seen us in action would have blamed her, I'm sure. We tried her patience, at least that's what she use to tell us we were doing.
And yet, we all survived and no one got hurt.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Working together
My sister and I did have some common ground on occasion.
For instance, the time we decided it would be best to run away from home.
We lived way out in the middle of nowhere. And while there were neighbors, the best place for us to go would be to our grandmas house. Grandmas understand. Unfortunately, she lived 45 minutes away, by car. And, it was dark. We pondered our options and decided it would be best to get only a small jump on the journey, then get up early, and travel the rest of the way when it was light out. So, off we set... to run away... to the bathroom.
Yes, that's correct. We went all the way out our bedroom and across the the hall, to the BATHROOM. Now, even though we were running away, we were not heartless. We left a note detailing our plans on my sister's bed. So our parents wouldn't worry. We took what we could carry and thought we would need and, very quietly, settled in for the night. In the bathroom.
Imagine our surprise when there was a tap on the door and it opened! There was our mom. Busted. So close to escape. How did she figure it out? How did she find us so quickly? The note, I'm sure, didn't help. To make matters worse, we were in trouble.
Now this is where some of those ridiculous, ab-normal, paranoid fears come into play. My mom hits us with "What if the house had caught fire in the middle of the night? What if we couldn't find you??" Our house was not prone to suddenly lighting up in the middle of the night but she sold this as a real possibility. My sister has been afraid of potential house fires ever since. She has never been in a fire but is convinced at some point she will be. Every time she leaves her house, she worries that it will be burned down when she returns. This can lead to a little OCD behavior of constantly double checking all things hot or potentially flammable in your house. I use to go through that too but it has nothing to do with fire. I was once so convinced that I had left something on that I called my neighbor to go check. She had to break in through a back window.
Don't judge, I had a lot on my plate. We'll get to that later.
There would be other times that we would work together too. Like the time my moms head almost spun completely around...
For instance, the time we decided it would be best to run away from home.
We lived way out in the middle of nowhere. And while there were neighbors, the best place for us to go would be to our grandmas house. Grandmas understand. Unfortunately, she lived 45 minutes away, by car. And, it was dark. We pondered our options and decided it would be best to get only a small jump on the journey, then get up early, and travel the rest of the way when it was light out. So, off we set... to run away... to the bathroom.
Yes, that's correct. We went all the way out our bedroom and across the the hall, to the BATHROOM. Now, even though we were running away, we were not heartless. We left a note detailing our plans on my sister's bed. So our parents wouldn't worry. We took what we could carry and thought we would need and, very quietly, settled in for the night. In the bathroom.
Imagine our surprise when there was a tap on the door and it opened! There was our mom. Busted. So close to escape. How did she figure it out? How did she find us so quickly? The note, I'm sure, didn't help. To make matters worse, we were in trouble.
Now this is where some of those ridiculous, ab-normal, paranoid fears come into play. My mom hits us with "What if the house had caught fire in the middle of the night? What if we couldn't find you??" Our house was not prone to suddenly lighting up in the middle of the night but she sold this as a real possibility. My sister has been afraid of potential house fires ever since. She has never been in a fire but is convinced at some point she will be. Every time she leaves her house, she worries that it will be burned down when she returns. This can lead to a little OCD behavior of constantly double checking all things hot or potentially flammable in your house. I use to go through that too but it has nothing to do with fire. I was once so convinced that I had left something on that I called my neighbor to go check. She had to break in through a back window.
Don't judge, I had a lot on my plate. We'll get to that later.
There would be other times that we would work together too. Like the time my moms head almost spun completely around...
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
getting along
Just to be clear, I didn't spend every waking hour of every day thinking of ways to haunt my sister. We did get along. Especially when I was getting her to "do things". I take a lot of credit for her gymnastic abilities. I certainly helped her flexibility. I also helped her to not have certain fears. For instance, when she was around 3-4 yrs old, I introduced her to the joys of the swing set.
We did not have your run of the mill, backyard variety swing set. This thing was the grand-daddy of swing sets.
Super heavy duty, play ground worthy and made of steel! For extra safety, my dad then cemented it into the
ground. Oh yeah, it was that massive. It had your basic swings but on one end, there were a set of parallel bars about 3 ft high.The other end had a pull-up bar that was adjustable in height but came in somewhere around the 5ft mark. Cool.
I convinced my sister that she had a future in the circus (or something like that). She could walk on the parallel bars with one foot on either side. Once we mastered that, it was time for tight rope practice. I coached her through all of it from my position safely on the ground. I was at least 7yrs old and smart enough to know this was probably not a good idea. But, she didn't know that. SO, carefully, out onto the pull up bar she went. I know at some point I even got her to climb to the bar that runs across the top where the swings hang from. She was not, however, up there the first time my mom saw her. Luckily, she was only standing in the middle of the pull up bar. She did not suffer a single broken bone in her childhood! Just in case you were worried. I didn't get into too much trouble as everyone seemed to be ok. She continued to climb on the bars and walk on them even with out my "coaching".
As for the swing set, it has also survived. We even dug it up and moved it with us. It's still set up in my parents yard, re-cemented in, of course. A tree fell on it awhile back. Bent the pull up bar but didn't knock it over. Yeah, it's that massive. Cool.
I have to say, my sister got very good at climbing and has impeccable balance. She is also a roller coaster adrenaline junkie now. Connection? I don't know but I will take some credit.
We did not have your run of the mill, backyard variety swing set. This thing was the grand-daddy of swing sets.
Super heavy duty, play ground worthy and made of steel! For extra safety, my dad then cemented it into the
ground. Oh yeah, it was that massive. It had your basic swings but on one end, there were a set of parallel bars about 3 ft high.The other end had a pull-up bar that was adjustable in height but came in somewhere around the 5ft mark. Cool.
I convinced my sister that she had a future in the circus (or something like that). She could walk on the parallel bars with one foot on either side. Once we mastered that, it was time for tight rope practice. I coached her through all of it from my position safely on the ground. I was at least 7yrs old and smart enough to know this was probably not a good idea. But, she didn't know that. SO, carefully, out onto the pull up bar she went. I know at some point I even got her to climb to the bar that runs across the top where the swings hang from. She was not, however, up there the first time my mom saw her. Luckily, she was only standing in the middle of the pull up bar. She did not suffer a single broken bone in her childhood! Just in case you were worried. I didn't get into too much trouble as everyone seemed to be ok. She continued to climb on the bars and walk on them even with out my "coaching".
As for the swing set, it has also survived. We even dug it up and moved it with us. It's still set up in my parents yard, re-cemented in, of course. A tree fell on it awhile back. Bent the pull up bar but didn't knock it over. Yeah, it's that massive. Cool.
I have to say, my sister got very good at climbing and has impeccable balance. She is also a roller coaster adrenaline junkie now. Connection? I don't know but I will take some credit.
Monday, August 10, 2009
psychosis 101
I don't have a lot of memory from my pre-sibling days. In fact the earliest memory I can conjure up is that of my parents asking my input on a name for my soon to arrive first sibling. I was 4.
I gave them the most wonderful name my 4 year old brain could imagine. The name of my imaginary friend. My friend was named after someone that I was slightly enamoured with. The organist at our church. She was young, attractive and played that big giant thing on the stage. Cool. Of course my 4 year old version of her name was slightly altered as I could not pronounce her actual name (which was Charlotte, by the way. That's a lot of consonants for a kid) My parents liked the alternative pronunciation and thus, my imaginary friend soon came to life, so to speak. Lots of people have tried to psycho-analyze this, as I am sure you are doing now. Its fun to speculate but trust me, it won't help.
Now, lets be clear on this, my parents thought it was cute. And sure, it made for a sweet story. But we need to understand the idea of the imaginary friend. One, they are imaginary. Two, you can make them go away when you are tired of playing with them. Three, they pretty much let you call the shots. Are you starting to see the problem here??
There are nice pictures of my sister and I in matching outfits with me reading her a story. The truth of it is, I don't remember any of that. What I remember is having my own room and all the attention and not being able to make her go away when I was done playing with her. Let's not forget I had a corner on the kid market for nearly 5 years before she showed up. Then to add insult to injury, I got a brother right after I turned 7. My then two year old sister moved into my room. And, one more jab here, we had to share a bed. Who does this??? After a year or so, we moved and got a bigger house and we were able to get our own beds (thank GOD!)
but I believe the damage was done.
There is a line in a favorite movie of mine that says there should be 5 years between exceptional siblings. Its a lie. My brother is mostly normal, of course he has that whole "baby of the family" thing going. My sister and I, on the other hand, are mostly screwed up. Again, not my parents fault. We have good parents. Its the birth order thing. We are so far apart that I have the "only child" and "oldest child" traits. Not a bad combination but it can create issues. She, however, has "oldest" and "middle". I believe this is what has led her to be a sometimes neurotic Type A that has near nervous/emotional break downs.
If you were to ask her, she would blame some of her problems on me. Like the time she fell out of the closet and probably suffered some kind of brain damage. (I say fell out, she says dragged out/sat upon/head bounced off the floor... toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe) Or the fact that I constantly terrorized her.
Remember when I said that I didn't remember a lot of those fluffy moments created for the camera? Its true. Scaring the pee out of her is one of the things that I remember most about our relationship. Actually drawing a line down the middle of the room. Holding a pillow over her face while she slept until she finally stopped making that awful noise (some people call it breathing). Shaking my head at how ridiculous and un-cool she was one night when she went hysterical because she realized that if anyone ever broke into our house in the middle of the night to kill us, she would die first because her bed was the first one in the room. (I can't slight her too much on this one as I have these occasional ridiculous, paranoid things going on too. At least I am smart enough to keep them to myself) The list goes on. For most of my adolescence the mere fact that she existed was enough to make me crazy. Not because I didn't love her or care about her but we were very different. She was emotional and a little on the spazzy side. Me, not so much. It drove me nuts that she was like that. I wanted her to be more like me. She was probably better off.
I can say that now that we are mostly grown up, we get a long ok. Of course we are not sharing a bed, a room or even a zip code. She still bugs me sometimes and I'm sure its mutual.
So parents, whats in a name? What is the best spacing for siblings? Sometimes we have no control over either of these facts. But if you do, think long and hard about both. Someone will have to live with whatever choices you make.
I gave them the most wonderful name my 4 year old brain could imagine. The name of my imaginary friend. My friend was named after someone that I was slightly enamoured with. The organist at our church. She was young, attractive and played that big giant thing on the stage. Cool. Of course my 4 year old version of her name was slightly altered as I could not pronounce her actual name (which was Charlotte, by the way. That's a lot of consonants for a kid) My parents liked the alternative pronunciation and thus, my imaginary friend soon came to life, so to speak. Lots of people have tried to psycho-analyze this, as I am sure you are doing now. Its fun to speculate but trust me, it won't help.
Now, lets be clear on this, my parents thought it was cute. And sure, it made for a sweet story. But we need to understand the idea of the imaginary friend. One, they are imaginary. Two, you can make them go away when you are tired of playing with them. Three, they pretty much let you call the shots. Are you starting to see the problem here??
There are nice pictures of my sister and I in matching outfits with me reading her a story. The truth of it is, I don't remember any of that. What I remember is having my own room and all the attention and not being able to make her go away when I was done playing with her. Let's not forget I had a corner on the kid market for nearly 5 years before she showed up. Then to add insult to injury, I got a brother right after I turned 7. My then two year old sister moved into my room. And, one more jab here, we had to share a bed. Who does this??? After a year or so, we moved and got a bigger house and we were able to get our own beds (thank GOD!)
but I believe the damage was done.
There is a line in a favorite movie of mine that says there should be 5 years between exceptional siblings. Its a lie. My brother is mostly normal, of course he has that whole "baby of the family" thing going. My sister and I, on the other hand, are mostly screwed up. Again, not my parents fault. We have good parents. Its the birth order thing. We are so far apart that I have the "only child" and "oldest child" traits. Not a bad combination but it can create issues. She, however, has "oldest" and "middle". I believe this is what has led her to be a sometimes neurotic Type A that has near nervous/emotional break downs.
If you were to ask her, she would blame some of her problems on me. Like the time she fell out of the closet and probably suffered some kind of brain damage. (I say fell out, she says dragged out/sat upon/head bounced off the floor... toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe) Or the fact that I constantly terrorized her.
Remember when I said that I didn't remember a lot of those fluffy moments created for the camera? Its true. Scaring the pee out of her is one of the things that I remember most about our relationship. Actually drawing a line down the middle of the room. Holding a pillow over her face while she slept until she finally stopped making that awful noise (some people call it breathing). Shaking my head at how ridiculous and un-cool she was one night when she went hysterical because she realized that if anyone ever broke into our house in the middle of the night to kill us, she would die first because her bed was the first one in the room. (I can't slight her too much on this one as I have these occasional ridiculous, paranoid things going on too. At least I am smart enough to keep them to myself) The list goes on. For most of my adolescence the mere fact that she existed was enough to make me crazy. Not because I didn't love her or care about her but we were very different. She was emotional and a little on the spazzy side. Me, not so much. It drove me nuts that she was like that. I wanted her to be more like me. She was probably better off.
I can say that now that we are mostly grown up, we get a long ok. Of course we are not sharing a bed, a room or even a zip code. She still bugs me sometimes and I'm sure its mutual.
So parents, whats in a name? What is the best spacing for siblings? Sometimes we have no control over either of these facts. But if you do, think long and hard about both. Someone will have to live with whatever choices you make.
Here...we...go...
So, like most every other Blogger on the planet, someone once said to me "You should write a book".
To which came the reply "yeah,right". While I am very organized in certain areas of my life, my thought processes are NOT. If I wrote a book, it would be scattered at best. Plus, you have to really put yourself out there and who has time for that? Let's go the safe route and just plaster it on the internet.
I do have a lot to say though and without a creative outlet at the moment, the insanity is growing. One can only have so many exchanges within their head before you forget what you said out loud and what you just thought about very sternly. Basically, I need to download some information so that I have room to remember the current more pressing and important stuff. Like who was supposed to pick our youngest son up after practice (apparently, everyone forgot, but that is a story for another time)
There's lots to talk about and I hope to cover as much of it with a sense of humor as I can. Disclaimer*that wont always be the case, we may go deep on occasion* My sense of humor can be dry and I will warn you, this Blog will not be for the sarcastic weak of heart. The sarcasm will be flowing. I also believe in trying to find humor in every situation, even the tragic. So...consider yourself warned as there has been LOTS of tragic.
My life reads like a bad Lifetime channel movie of the week, I try to interject a little ComedyCentral where I can. We will cover death, infertility, adoption, parenting, teenagers and every other scary aspect of life. Don't come here looking for advice on how to be all cute and cuddly as it probably isn't going to happen. Real life, real answers. That's all I got.
Next post will take you back to where it started...
To which came the reply "yeah,right". While I am very organized in certain areas of my life, my thought processes are NOT. If I wrote a book, it would be scattered at best. Plus, you have to really put yourself out there and who has time for that? Let's go the safe route and just plaster it on the internet.
I do have a lot to say though and without a creative outlet at the moment, the insanity is growing. One can only have so many exchanges within their head before you forget what you said out loud and what you just thought about very sternly. Basically, I need to download some information so that I have room to remember the current more pressing and important stuff. Like who was supposed to pick our youngest son up after practice (apparently, everyone forgot, but that is a story for another time)
There's lots to talk about and I hope to cover as much of it with a sense of humor as I can. Disclaimer*that wont always be the case, we may go deep on occasion* My sense of humor can be dry and I will warn you, this Blog will not be for the sarcastic weak of heart. The sarcasm will be flowing. I also believe in trying to find humor in every situation, even the tragic. So...consider yourself warned as there has been LOTS of tragic.
My life reads like a bad Lifetime channel movie of the week, I try to interject a little ComedyCentral where I can. We will cover death, infertility, adoption, parenting, teenagers and every other scary aspect of life. Don't come here looking for advice on how to be all cute and cuddly as it probably isn't going to happen. Real life, real answers. That's all I got.
Next post will take you back to where it started...
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