Today is the day that we, as a nation, give thanks to those who suffered to make this country prosper.
Over the years the thanks have become more personal. For some it amounts to nothing more than wealth, or that seat in Congress, or the "dopest" ride. For me, it is the following.
I am thankful for family, past, present, and future. They have lent a hand in making me who I am; what I might be.
I am thankful for friends. True friends. The ones that actually hear me, share in my joys, and stick by me through years of lost contact.
I am thankful for my God-given talents, passed down through Irish genes.
I give thanks for doctors. Their knowledge, along with God's help have cured many ills and continues to help heal those I love.
Most of all, I am Blessed and Thankful to have been chosen as the one to give birth to my greatest accomplishment--My Nick. He is funny, wise, strong, handsome and intelligent. I will never be able to offer the world anything greater.
Blessings to All,
Ann
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
Like A Son
I'm wondering how the mind of a teenage boy works.
This morning I got a call from my son, shortly after he left to walk to school, reporting that someone found it funny to write F*** Nick on our door and a penis on our garage door. Oh, and a large happy face, as if that made it all better. For some reason, my heart is breaking.
My son's best friends frequent our tiny apartment to hang or play Xbox, often. They are always welcome. In fact, they walk right in. They help themselves to my food and drink, and most call me "Mom". I love that they are that comfortable. Why, then, would one or more of them vandalize the property at which we live? Not only that, but write a derogatory phrase toward Nick? Kids will be kids, right? Uh uh. Not on a rental. Not at all, but definitely not on property that I do not own!
I have an idea who did it. And that makes my hurt even greater, as he is a good kid, but can be a stinker (much like my own). And he is just about Nick's best friend--one of my favorite visitors. He, like so many of my son's friends, is like a son to me. I feel free to tell him to hold down the noise, or not dis someone, or stop eating so much,
Although my son said he would clean up the graffitti after school, I did it, as I would not have the obscenities staring at the street all day. This is not an easy thing for me to do. Scrubbing, thanks to my diseases, leaves pain and weakness. Nick's best friends know that I have a disease that makes doing some things difficult. Apparently, they/he don't/doesn't care about us as much as I thought.
I had to call the Sheriff. They said to report it to the landlord to find out how to procede. So then I had to answer to my landlord. Although he was glad to hear it was cleaned up, he wants to press charges if the person(s) are found. This will leave me with an ethical dillema, if it is who I suspect it to be. The landlord thinks that perhaps 30 hours of painting somewhere will teach the offender a lesson, but I just don't see that happening. This is a town of 800, with one full time cop. Around half the population are children. There is little for them to do, but take walks, or drive around. And those things get mischevious sometimes.
My son is popular. Perhaps this comes with that. Years ago, our house/property was TP'd by my then stepdaughter's friends. She too, was popular. I don't know. I was not popular, nor did I live in town. I am just confused. And all that keeps running through my mind is "how could they/he do that"?
Lately, in this tiny town there has just been too much of this going on. Thefts, vandalizations. I know it's not all done by one person or group. It's small town entertainment. I spose I should "get over it". But, it's hanging on. The hurt and disappointment are sticking with me because the one I suspect is like a son. And I would expect more from my son.
I hope above hope that I am wrong in my suspicions. I hope it is one of the usual suspect trouble makers. We may never know. But, I'll always wonder who found insulting my son good fun.
This morning I got a call from my son, shortly after he left to walk to school, reporting that someone found it funny to write F*** Nick on our door and a penis on our garage door. Oh, and a large happy face, as if that made it all better. For some reason, my heart is breaking.
My son's best friends frequent our tiny apartment to hang or play Xbox, often. They are always welcome. In fact, they walk right in. They help themselves to my food and drink, and most call me "Mom". I love that they are that comfortable. Why, then, would one or more of them vandalize the property at which we live? Not only that, but write a derogatory phrase toward Nick? Kids will be kids, right? Uh uh. Not on a rental. Not at all, but definitely not on property that I do not own!
I have an idea who did it. And that makes my hurt even greater, as he is a good kid, but can be a stinker (much like my own). And he is just about Nick's best friend--one of my favorite visitors. He, like so many of my son's friends, is like a son to me. I feel free to tell him to hold down the noise, or not dis someone, or stop eating so much,
Although my son said he would clean up the graffitti after school, I did it, as I would not have the obscenities staring at the street all day. This is not an easy thing for me to do. Scrubbing, thanks to my diseases, leaves pain and weakness. Nick's best friends know that I have a disease that makes doing some things difficult. Apparently, they/he don't/doesn't care about us as much as I thought.
I had to call the Sheriff. They said to report it to the landlord to find out how to procede. So then I had to answer to my landlord. Although he was glad to hear it was cleaned up, he wants to press charges if the person(s) are found. This will leave me with an ethical dillema, if it is who I suspect it to be. The landlord thinks that perhaps 30 hours of painting somewhere will teach the offender a lesson, but I just don't see that happening. This is a town of 800, with one full time cop. Around half the population are children. There is little for them to do, but take walks, or drive around. And those things get mischevious sometimes.
My son is popular. Perhaps this comes with that. Years ago, our house/property was TP'd by my then stepdaughter's friends. She too, was popular. I don't know. I was not popular, nor did I live in town. I am just confused. And all that keeps running through my mind is "how could they/he do that"?
Lately, in this tiny town there has just been too much of this going on. Thefts, vandalizations. I know it's not all done by one person or group. It's small town entertainment. I spose I should "get over it". But, it's hanging on. The hurt and disappointment are sticking with me because the one I suspect is like a son. And I would expect more from my son.
I hope above hope that I am wrong in my suspicions. I hope it is one of the usual suspect trouble makers. We may never know. But, I'll always wonder who found insulting my son good fun.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Like A Fist
Twenty years ago the message in the commerial was "Words Hit Harder Than A Fist." It was geared toward domestic and child abuse. Apparently, few people took this to heart, or perhaps, believed it. I believed it. Words had beaten the shit out of me all my life. At school, and at home. And yes, they leave scars. Deep scars that never heal completely because the next word, and the next, keep tearing them open. And for some reason, unlike physical scars, they don't get tougher. Each painful word or phrase hurts just as much, or more than they did the first time. And no one can see them.
Or can they? Self destructive behaviors are, many times indicative of verbal abuse. Whether it is excessive piercing, tats, promiscuity, or drugs, it does show. For me, it was alcohol and promiscuity. After being told repeatedly by my father that no man would ever want me, that I was homely, lazy, stupid, I believed it. I went bat-ass crazy trying to prove him wrong. I thought of suicide many times before I was finally forced into seeing a doctor and a therapist. I learned that I wasn't so bad. But, it took years and years of therapy, and medication combos to get to the point I am, at age 50, believing I deserve what anyone else deserves. To exist.
There are several campaigns active right now to bring awareness to bullying. Most are focused on the GLBT community, and the teens in it. Of course, that is because, recently, the suicide rate in that demographic has risen at a shocking rate. But, it is not just the GLBT community that is affected by the thoughtless, evil(?), tossing of hurtful words and phrases.
Try on these words and phrases....Cow, Fatty, Beanpole, Slut, Emo, Fag, Heifer, That's so gay, You're so queer, You run/catch/talk/ like a girl, She's so butch, Dike, Lesbo, Does your face hurt, cause it's killing me, You're a waste of air, Loser, Spoiled, If I want it done right, I have to do it myself, Waste, Stupid, Weeby, Rice Burner, and my personal favorite--Butter Butt.
I almost wish I could say that only kids used these words, but I can't. They learned these words. From parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, older siblings. The new campaign states that "it can start as a joke." And I suppose, to some, the words are funny. Unless they've been directed toward you. Or maybe because they were directed toward you. It Ain't Funny. Period.
A local school district is being sued by the family of an African American girl who was subjected to racism/bullying by her algebra teacher. Get this. The Caucasian teacher writes an algebra problem on the board. The AA girl raises her hand and states that she doesn't understand it. The C teacher tells her that of course she doesn't, "it's a White thing." The C teacher then writes another problem on the board, and asks the AA girls if she understands it. The AA girl asks "why because I'm black?" The C teacher laughs and says "yes." At what point did Algebra become a race issue? And even if in some alter universe it was, how could a teacher--of any ethnic origin--belittle a student--of any ethnic origin--in in front of the entire class. In the school, where children are sent to learn.
I've preached this before. Parents learn respect. Google it if you need help. Grandparents, come out of your "that's how we did it in my day" frame of mind, and learn from your kids. Kids. KIDS, talk to your parents if you feel hurt, talk to your peers if they are hurting someone. Don't "go with the flow". If you see hurtful, act, tell. Don't let someone suffer the pain of verbal, but invisible fists, because you don't want to be next. If enough of you stand up for the bullied, there will be no one left to bully!
"It gets better", "stand up and be counted", "make a difference", "just do it". There are positive messages out there too. Grab them. Embrace them. Practice them. To the recipients of the good deed..."Pay It Forward." Someday, maybe some of the scars can stay healed.
Or can they? Self destructive behaviors are, many times indicative of verbal abuse. Whether it is excessive piercing, tats, promiscuity, or drugs, it does show. For me, it was alcohol and promiscuity. After being told repeatedly by my father that no man would ever want me, that I was homely, lazy, stupid, I believed it. I went bat-ass crazy trying to prove him wrong. I thought of suicide many times before I was finally forced into seeing a doctor and a therapist. I learned that I wasn't so bad. But, it took years and years of therapy, and medication combos to get to the point I am, at age 50, believing I deserve what anyone else deserves. To exist.
There are several campaigns active right now to bring awareness to bullying. Most are focused on the GLBT community, and the teens in it. Of course, that is because, recently, the suicide rate in that demographic has risen at a shocking rate. But, it is not just the GLBT community that is affected by the thoughtless, evil(?), tossing of hurtful words and phrases.
Try on these words and phrases....Cow, Fatty, Beanpole, Slut, Emo, Fag, Heifer, That's so gay, You're so queer, You run/catch/talk/ like a girl, She's so butch, Dike, Lesbo, Does your face hurt, cause it's killing me, You're a waste of air, Loser, Spoiled, If I want it done right, I have to do it myself, Waste, Stupid, Weeby, Rice Burner, and my personal favorite--Butter Butt.
I almost wish I could say that only kids used these words, but I can't. They learned these words. From parents, grandparents, teachers, coaches, older siblings. The new campaign states that "it can start as a joke." And I suppose, to some, the words are funny. Unless they've been directed toward you. Or maybe because they were directed toward you. It Ain't Funny. Period.
A local school district is being sued by the family of an African American girl who was subjected to racism/bullying by her algebra teacher. Get this. The Caucasian teacher writes an algebra problem on the board. The AA girl raises her hand and states that she doesn't understand it. The C teacher tells her that of course she doesn't, "it's a White thing." The C teacher then writes another problem on the board, and asks the AA girls if she understands it. The AA girl asks "why because I'm black?" The C teacher laughs and says "yes." At what point did Algebra become a race issue? And even if in some alter universe it was, how could a teacher--of any ethnic origin--belittle a student--of any ethnic origin--in in front of the entire class. In the school, where children are sent to learn.
I've preached this before. Parents learn respect. Google it if you need help. Grandparents, come out of your "that's how we did it in my day" frame of mind, and learn from your kids. Kids. KIDS, talk to your parents if you feel hurt, talk to your peers if they are hurting someone. Don't "go with the flow". If you see hurtful, act, tell. Don't let someone suffer the pain of verbal, but invisible fists, because you don't want to be next. If enough of you stand up for the bullied, there will be no one left to bully!
"It gets better", "stand up and be counted", "make a difference", "just do it". There are positive messages out there too. Grab them. Embrace them. Practice them. To the recipients of the good deed..."Pay It Forward." Someday, maybe some of the scars can stay healed.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
World Wide Wonderful
I received a message today on my Facebook wall that brought tears to my eyes. Not because of what it said, although the message was sweet and much needed. The tears came because the message came from a woman that was a part of my past that was self-destructive, and made few women friends. It got me to thinking.
When I was young, I knew people that I attended school and Sunday School with. Oh, and lots of cousins. When I became an "adult", I met people I worked with and attended bars with. Lots of bars. Lots of people. Lots. And it wasn't all good. I pissed alot of people off. Drinking alot, and searching for the man that would prove Daddy wrong. I didn't make many woman friends.
At that time, the 60's, 70's, 80's, we knew people by what we heard/saw/perceived. No behind the scenes stories to explain the whys of a person. The government was priviledged to have that ability for many years with a computer system that could access other computers across something later called cyberspace. I'm not sure how the story goes, as to how WWW came to the common folk, but at some point it opened up the world.
In our house, it oozed in in 1997. Although I didn't know its power yet, the idea of searching for anything my heart desired was appealing. What I discovered at that time were chat rooms. Some strange, some boring, some supportive. As I tend to do, I became addicted to the chat rooms that offerred support for my newly diagnosed Fibromyalgia. I spent hours chatting. I didn't "know" these helpful people, but they were my friends. Slowly, the fun chat rooms closed and everything became too serious for me, so I went in search (because I could!) for something else to fill my time. I found games networks. I spent my days looking for hidden objects like a pro. After all, I'd spent a great deal of my childhood in Dr.s' waiting rooms, and had found every toaster or chicken in a tree that Highlight magazine could offer.
One day, I don't remember when, the term "MySpace" entered my psyche. I'd heard stories of how such sites preyed on the young people it was set up to attract. No child of mine would become a victim. But, as kids do, my ex-stepdaughter set up an account at a friends house. Slowly, I began hearing that this MySpace was actually a fun way to stay in contact with people, share music, and express your personality. Hmmm. A way to have fun and monitor child safety at once? I was "in"! It was fun, there were a few games, people to chat with, virtual gardens...a real entertaining "Space".
And then there was something much better. It was set up for college kids originally, and young people took to it like peanut butter to jelly. When both young ones in my house had accounts online, I signed up for Facebook. At first, my friends were classmates of my ex-stepdaughter. Then I found a few adults I knew, "friended them". Then there were more. And relatives. And old classmates, work comrads, and what I have listed as "back in the day". People I knew during my party days.
Life comes full circle. I am now "friends" with two of the women that treated me badly in my days of recklessness. And they are kind. The message I got today was from one of them.
Along with the fact that we've matured, healed, and had experiences that have shaped us over these past 30 years, there is Facebook. We can send virtual gifts, birthday wishes, share joys and sorrows, share gaming, and get to know each other in a way that face to face doesn't allow for most. And, yes, there is a downside to not being face to face. Accountability. Mudslinging has risen at an unfortunate and astounding rate. But, not in my Facebook "family".
And family! I've reconnected or increased connectivity with family members. I've seen their children and grandchildren--the future of our family tree.
The future. My goodness, what wide, wonderful world will open to us in the future?
When I was young, I knew people that I attended school and Sunday School with. Oh, and lots of cousins. When I became an "adult", I met people I worked with and attended bars with. Lots of bars. Lots of people. Lots. And it wasn't all good. I pissed alot of people off. Drinking alot, and searching for the man that would prove Daddy wrong. I didn't make many woman friends.
At that time, the 60's, 70's, 80's, we knew people by what we heard/saw/perceived. No behind the scenes stories to explain the whys of a person. The government was priviledged to have that ability for many years with a computer system that could access other computers across something later called cyberspace. I'm not sure how the story goes, as to how WWW came to the common folk, but at some point it opened up the world.
In our house, it oozed in in 1997. Although I didn't know its power yet, the idea of searching for anything my heart desired was appealing. What I discovered at that time were chat rooms. Some strange, some boring, some supportive. As I tend to do, I became addicted to the chat rooms that offerred support for my newly diagnosed Fibromyalgia. I spent hours chatting. I didn't "know" these helpful people, but they were my friends. Slowly, the fun chat rooms closed and everything became too serious for me, so I went in search (because I could!) for something else to fill my time. I found games networks. I spent my days looking for hidden objects like a pro. After all, I'd spent a great deal of my childhood in Dr.s' waiting rooms, and had found every toaster or chicken in a tree that Highlight magazine could offer.
One day, I don't remember when, the term "MySpace" entered my psyche. I'd heard stories of how such sites preyed on the young people it was set up to attract. No child of mine would become a victim. But, as kids do, my ex-stepdaughter set up an account at a friends house. Slowly, I began hearing that this MySpace was actually a fun way to stay in contact with people, share music, and express your personality. Hmmm. A way to have fun and monitor child safety at once? I was "in"! It was fun, there were a few games, people to chat with, virtual gardens...a real entertaining "Space".
And then there was something much better. It was set up for college kids originally, and young people took to it like peanut butter to jelly. When both young ones in my house had accounts online, I signed up for Facebook. At first, my friends were classmates of my ex-stepdaughter. Then I found a few adults I knew, "friended them". Then there were more. And relatives. And old classmates, work comrads, and what I have listed as "back in the day". People I knew during my party days.
Life comes full circle. I am now "friends" with two of the women that treated me badly in my days of recklessness. And they are kind. The message I got today was from one of them.
Along with the fact that we've matured, healed, and had experiences that have shaped us over these past 30 years, there is Facebook. We can send virtual gifts, birthday wishes, share joys and sorrows, share gaming, and get to know each other in a way that face to face doesn't allow for most. And, yes, there is a downside to not being face to face. Accountability. Mudslinging has risen at an unfortunate and astounding rate. But, not in my Facebook "family".
And family! I've reconnected or increased connectivity with family members. I've seen their children and grandchildren--the future of our family tree.
The future. My goodness, what wide, wonderful world will open to us in the future?
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