I write for two blogs. One is for the Atlanta City Moms Blog, to which I am very committed and for which I keep all my deadlines. I also have this blog, to which I am completely irresponsible and only write when I have an unexpected event or an a-ha moment.
This post is neither. I am writing this one because I need to be free of a burden, and I am drumming up the courage to spill my tea.
The day before my 41st birthday, (I am almost 44 now), I was in my local Kroger. I had lost a ton of weight, and had put lot of hard work into Choosing Joy. However, my family was in the middle of a catastrophic ordeal, as my father had suffered a brain injury and was hospitalized for quite some time. But his condition had improved enough that I could return home and help my mom manage things via phone.
And I was on the phone with her when, while shopping, I noticed a man out of the corner of my eye. He was pacing back and forth behind me as I put together my lunch at the salad bar. I thought he was just impatiently waiting his turn, so I moved on. I finally made it to the spice aisle and was texting someone when a very loud voice inside my head instructed me to “keep walking”. I did, but then stopped further down the aisle to finish the text. Behind me, I heard the crunch of a potato chip bag. And then it happened.
---
I think victims of sexual assault deal with the crimes committed against them in different ways. Mine was to freeze, to demand to know what he was doing, to tell him to get away from me, and then freeze again.
But I wish I had chased after him. I wish I had kicked his ass. I wish I had been stronger.
I also wish the Kroger staff hadn’t left me and my groceries alone in their deli for over an hour while I waited for the police and my husband. Thank goodness one of the patrons there took the time to lean over and quietly ask me questions, trying to calm me down.
Although they had the entire incident on video, the police never found him, and my case was closed. Well, for them anyway. From the moment that man put his hand up my dress and did the unthinkable, I have never been the same. It took me a year to re-enter that Kroger, and when I did, I had a full-on panic attack.
I retreated from my world, and, in turn, my world retreated from me. MealTrain apparently doesn’t have a category for “crime victim.” As time went on, feeling such deep rejection and hopelessness, I cut myself off completely. Thank God for the angel friends and family who stuck with me, despite that fact that I had nothing to give them in return. They keep me going even now, and I bet they don’t realize how much they help me. I need to tell them.
This is so very personal. But if there is one thing I am trying to learn, and hope to impart, it is that while my happiness is my responsibility, I cannot recover without support. If you are going through something, and you feel alone, don’t be afraid to be raw and real with someone you trust. We all need at least one person in our lives to whom we can say absolutely anything. And we need to give ourselves permission to feel all the feelings, because healing can’t start until the band aid is ripped off.
I am tugging at that band aid – and it is starting to give. So don't cry for me, Argentina. And don't give up on me either.
Until next time, keep crowin’ and don’t stop trying to find your joy!
Saturday, July 2, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Time Out
Waiting for the 11th grade basketball game to finish so I can cheer on my son's 7th grade team. Sitting next to a mom I don't know.
Mom I Don't Know: Do you know who's winning?
Me: I am sorry, I don't. I just walked in. Who are you cheering for?
Mom I Don't Know: The home team.
Me: Oh, me too! My son plays in the same league for the 7th grade team.
Lively banter follows about where the boys go to high school and the newest guilty pleasure by Julian Fellowes.
Whistle blows. A Mom on Other Team Starts Screaming. Gets kicked out of game. Second Mom on Other Team Takes Up Where She Left Off.
Mom I Don't Know: Ugh. We played a game recently where they had to hire a police officer to stand next to one mom during a game, and she still got thrown out. She is an actress on some reality show and she is always getting escorted out of games. The other parents loved her.
Me: I just don't understand why people think it is ok to behave like that.
3rd Quarter. Our 11th grade team is winning handily, but tensions are high. Without warning, a player from the opposing team throws a punch at one of our players.
The stands clear.
Boys, adults, strangers are all tangled up in an explosion of violence. Everyone is screaming.
And then.
I see Second Mom. She is in the middle of the melee. She grabs one of our players, throws him to the ground, and is on top of him, cussing him out, hands all over him.
This next part gets a little blurry. Here's what I can remember.
I get up out of my seat. I run over to some players who are trying to get in the fight.
Me: Son, sit down! Don't do it!
Player: Don't touch me!
Me to Second Mom: Ma'am, please stop! Sit down! Sit down!
Second Mom: YOU sit down!
Coach holding Second Mom back: SHUT UP!
Me: Act like an adult! (Remind me to work on my comebacks.)
I then return to my seat, realizing my mission was futile.
Suddenly, I am surrounded with fingers in my face.
Second Mom, Her Friend, and Her Son: You better watch yourself you better watch how you to speak to my mom you better shut the hell up unless you want to get tore up you need to leave it to the kids you sitting there acting all nice ...
Somehow, my son's assistant coach gets between them and me and saves me from injury. They go away. I am shaking.
The police come, and I give my statement. They don't ask me for my name, and they don't seem that concerned about what has happened. However, I am later told by the head of the league that charges will be filed.
Anger. Hate. Pain. Fear. I saw it all manifested on that basketball court. And in trying to digest it all, the only thing I have learned is how much I don't understand about the world, and about people. There is no tidy wrap-up for this one - just a feeling of sadness for all those involved, and the hope that next time, things turn out differently.
Sigh.
Until next time, keep crowin' and growin' and lovin' through hate.
Mom I Don't Know: Do you know who's winning?
Me: I am sorry, I don't. I just walked in. Who are you cheering for?
Mom I Don't Know: The home team.
Me: Oh, me too! My son plays in the same league for the 7th grade team.
Lively banter follows about where the boys go to high school and the newest guilty pleasure by Julian Fellowes.
Whistle blows. A Mom on Other Team Starts Screaming. Gets kicked out of game. Second Mom on Other Team Takes Up Where She Left Off.
Mom I Don't Know: Ugh. We played a game recently where they had to hire a police officer to stand next to one mom during a game, and she still got thrown out. She is an actress on some reality show and she is always getting escorted out of games. The other parents loved her.
Me: I just don't understand why people think it is ok to behave like that.
3rd Quarter. Our 11th grade team is winning handily, but tensions are high. Without warning, a player from the opposing team throws a punch at one of our players.
The stands clear.
Boys, adults, strangers are all tangled up in an explosion of violence. Everyone is screaming.
And then.
I see Second Mom. She is in the middle of the melee. She grabs one of our players, throws him to the ground, and is on top of him, cussing him out, hands all over him.
This next part gets a little blurry. Here's what I can remember.
I get up out of my seat. I run over to some players who are trying to get in the fight.
Me: Son, sit down! Don't do it!
Player: Don't touch me!
Me to Second Mom: Ma'am, please stop! Sit down! Sit down!
Second Mom: YOU sit down!
Coach holding Second Mom back: SHUT UP!
Me: Act like an adult! (Remind me to work on my comebacks.)
I then return to my seat, realizing my mission was futile.
Suddenly, I am surrounded with fingers in my face.
Second Mom, Her Friend, and Her Son: You better watch yourself you better watch how you to speak to my mom you better shut the hell up unless you want to get tore up you need to leave it to the kids you sitting there acting all nice ...
Somehow, my son's assistant coach gets between them and me and saves me from injury. They go away. I am shaking.
The police come, and I give my statement. They don't ask me for my name, and they don't seem that concerned about what has happened. However, I am later told by the head of the league that charges will be filed.
Anger. Hate. Pain. Fear. I saw it all manifested on that basketball court. And in trying to digest it all, the only thing I have learned is how much I don't understand about the world, and about people. There is no tidy wrap-up for this one - just a feeling of sadness for all those involved, and the hope that next time, things turn out differently.
Sigh.
Until next time, keep crowin' and growin' and lovin' through hate.
Monday, March 7, 2016
For Brian
When
you are an awkward teenage girl with no prospects and you go to the
beach and meet a really great guy who doesn't know you
are supposed to be awkward, your whole world can change. I was that
girl, and Brian Fleenor was that guy. We met at St. George Island one
night and sat together by a bonfire, confessing to each other our demons
and dreams, as if we had been friends forever. After that starry,
remarkable night, we parted ways - ostensibly forever, as these things
go. Then weeks later, I received the most beautiful letter from him,
telling me how incredible it was to meet me, and how our time together
was bookmarked in his mind as one of those significant "life moments."
We kept in touch, he came to visit me in my small town, and he managed
to make me feel more special and important than any boy ever had.
He did all these things without even once kissing me or holding my hand. We had connected in a way that didn't require anything more.
Years later, we would find each other again, after he met some of my friends at the same beach. And then once more, thanks to social media. I was able to see that he was happily married with an adorable son, and he could see that I had also found my way into a loving marriage with kids of my own. We couldn't believe that our brief time together would result in a Facebook Friending! But that is the way of the world in this new technological age.
I write about these memories now, because Brian died today.
He battled brain cancer until he could battle no more. I find myself feeling the loss more deeply than I expected - it has been 20 years since we spoke. But Brian was special, because he was the only man, until my husband, that showed me respect, interest, and caring without any physical expectations. He made me feel that I was a beautiful, worthy person, no strings attached.
I pray for Brian's wife and son, and for the family and friends that loved him so well. And I hope that Brian, who is resting now in eternal peace, is settled in by a roaring fire on a sandy beach, surrounded by the loving spirits of all the lives he touched. He made a difference to me, even if for one night.
Never underestimate how your life can be a blessing to another --- that is Brian's legacy, and I hope I can pay it forward.
Until next time, keep crowin' and making special moments with the ones you love.
He did all these things without even once kissing me or holding my hand. We had connected in a way that didn't require anything more.
Years later, we would find each other again, after he met some of my friends at the same beach. And then once more, thanks to social media. I was able to see that he was happily married with an adorable son, and he could see that I had also found my way into a loving marriage with kids of my own. We couldn't believe that our brief time together would result in a Facebook Friending! But that is the way of the world in this new technological age.
I write about these memories now, because Brian died today.
He battled brain cancer until he could battle no more. I find myself feeling the loss more deeply than I expected - it has been 20 years since we spoke. But Brian was special, because he was the only man, until my husband, that showed me respect, interest, and caring without any physical expectations. He made me feel that I was a beautiful, worthy person, no strings attached.
I pray for Brian's wife and son, and for the family and friends that loved him so well. And I hope that Brian, who is resting now in eternal peace, is settled in by a roaring fire on a sandy beach, surrounded by the loving spirits of all the lives he touched. He made a difference to me, even if for one night.
Never underestimate how your life can be a blessing to another --- that is Brian's legacy, and I hope I can pay it forward.
Until next time, keep crowin' and making special moments with the ones you love.
Thursday, October 15, 2015
Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes
Someone posted a video on Facebook recently of the most horrid looking thing I have ever seen. It appeared to be a burned gherkin pickle with painted on eye balls, and it had a bright orange forked tongue that resembled the horns of Satan.
The comments on this apparition ranged from disgust to fear, including one man who asked, “Are the lambs still screaming, Clarice?” But then the voice of reason shone through, and a level-headed nature lover declared that this was an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail Caterpillar. And this is what it becomes once it is done terrorizing the villagers …
Turns out that the creepy little creature was not a warning sign for the end of days. Turns out it was the promise of better things to come. It just had to go through the ugly to get to the beautiful. I bet the change was scary, though.
We have had some changes at our house too. This week, my daughter officially exchanged her cleats for boxing gloves, and her lacrosse stick for a paintbrush. She wriggled out of her cocoon to see what else was out there in the world. When she first told me and her dad of her plans, I was supportive, but really unsettled about it, until I noticed she's the happiest she has been in a long time.
It took courage for her to leave behind a sport she has played, and identified with, for so many years. And she is using this new-found confidence in other areas of her life -- confronting a bully, setting higher standards in her relationships, and taking ownership over her future. She is literally kicking butt.
I have always found change to be difficult and uncomfortable, but in this case, it has been like a strong cleansing wind that has swept through my daughter's soul and given her wings.
So, I leave you with David Bowie, who seemed to understand parenting much better than I. And, once again, I have received from my daughter another lesson in living:
And these children that they spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through
--- David Bowie, Changes
Until next time, keep crowin', and embrace the butterfly!
The comments on this apparition ranged from disgust to fear, including one man who asked, “Are the lambs still screaming, Clarice?” But then the voice of reason shone through, and a level-headed nature lover declared that this was an Eastern Tiger Swallowtail Caterpillar. And this is what it becomes once it is done terrorizing the villagers …
Turns out that the creepy little creature was not a warning sign for the end of days. Turns out it was the promise of better things to come. It just had to go through the ugly to get to the beautiful. I bet the change was scary, though.
We have had some changes at our house too. This week, my daughter officially exchanged her cleats for boxing gloves, and her lacrosse stick for a paintbrush. She wriggled out of her cocoon to see what else was out there in the world. When she first told me and her dad of her plans, I was supportive, but really unsettled about it, until I noticed she's the happiest she has been in a long time.
It took courage for her to leave behind a sport she has played, and identified with, for so many years. And she is using this new-found confidence in other areas of her life -- confronting a bully, setting higher standards in her relationships, and taking ownership over her future. She is literally kicking butt.
I have always found change to be difficult and uncomfortable, but in this case, it has been like a strong cleansing wind that has swept through my daughter's soul and given her wings.
So, I leave you with David Bowie, who seemed to understand parenting much better than I. And, once again, I have received from my daughter another lesson in living:
And these children that they spit on
As they try to change their worlds
Are immune to your consultations
They're quite aware of what they're going through
--- David Bowie, Changes
Until next time, keep crowin', and embrace the butterfly!
Monday, August 31, 2015
The Subtle Giraffe
Today is my 43rd birthday. Birthdays are often catastrophic for me --- on a Biblical level. Truly, honestly, cursed. Those who know my story can confirm that this is not an exaggeration. I usually approach August 31 with a great deal of dread, and with the assumption that it will be the worst day of my life. That I will once again be the lame gazelle that can't escape the merciless clutches of the deadly cheetah.
But today, it wasn't like that at all. Today I was like the subtle giraffe.
A dear friend called this morning to wish me a happy birthday, and to share details from a family funeral that occurred over the weekend. The stories progressed in such outrageousness that I finally told her, "The universe is literally shoving this down your throat, begging you to write it all down."
And then I wondered, what is the universe trying to tell me?
Two weekends ago, my parents were in town. My sister and her family came over for brunch, which turned out to be a birthday party for me. They were running a little late, which is to be expected when you have a toddler. But it turns out the reason was because the baker dropped my cake and then spelled my name wrong on the new one. My sister wouldn't leave until the cake was perfect.
Last weekend my sister-in-law and her kids made dinner for me. When I walked in the door, my three year old nephew jumped into my arms and gave me a big hug. He then led me around the house to show me my flowers and balloon. He wanted me to see that everything was perfect.
This morning, I awoke to texts and Facebook messages from people who chose to start their day by wishing me well. I had a greeting card from my husband on my nightstand and breakfast waiting for me downstairs. I received a random text from my son's former coach, telling me what a great basketball player he is. And then I got a text from my daughter.
I have experienced great pain and loss on my birthday. But today I received the gift of the subtle giraffe. A thing so big, yet so easily overlooked, that it took a million signs from the universe for me to open my eyes and see it.
But today, it wasn't like that at all. Today I was like the subtle giraffe.
A dear friend called this morning to wish me a happy birthday, and to share details from a family funeral that occurred over the weekend. The stories progressed in such outrageousness that I finally told her, "The universe is literally shoving this down your throat, begging you to write it all down."
And then I wondered, what is the universe trying to tell me?
Two weekends ago, my parents were in town. My sister and her family came over for brunch, which turned out to be a birthday party for me. They were running a little late, which is to be expected when you have a toddler. But it turns out the reason was because the baker dropped my cake and then spelled my name wrong on the new one. My sister wouldn't leave until the cake was perfect.
Last weekend my sister-in-law and her kids made dinner for me. When I walked in the door, my three year old nephew jumped into my arms and gave me a big hug. He then led me around the house to show me my flowers and balloon. He wanted me to see that everything was perfect.
This morning, I awoke to texts and Facebook messages from people who chose to start their day by wishing me well. I had a greeting card from my husband on my nightstand and breakfast waiting for me downstairs. I received a random text from my son's former coach, telling me what a great basketball player he is. And then I got a text from my daughter.
Turns out, I am actually blessed. Yes, some horrible things have happened to me. And yes, I am still dealing with their darkness. But look at all the people that love me - and look at all the good things weaving their way into my world. I have a daughter who makes me laugh like no one else can, and is going to change the world, just by being herself. I have a son whose drive to succeed and whose work ethic inspires everyone around him. I have a husband that loves me so much, and a family that goes out of their way to make me feel special.
How can I feel cursed with so many people in my corner?
The answer is, I can't. I will still have good days and bad days, but on this day, this birthday, I can see life for what it truly is - an adventure, a safari, in which sometimes, the cheetah goes home hungry.
Turns out, my birthday was perfect.
Until next time, keep crowin', and look for the subtle giraffe in your life!
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
Thy Kingdom Come ...
My daughter and I were chatting after lunch at a Panera in Virginia, finishing some food before a lacrosse game, when she laid down some wisdom. As usual, it came most unexpectedly. After I made a particular comment, she replied, "Well, thy kingdom come, thy kingdom go."
Me: What do you mean?
Her: Isn't that how it goes?
Me: No. Let's review the Lord's Prayer again. But can I use that sometime?
Her: Sure.
I didn't have to keep it in my pocket for long.
Three days later, we were back in Virginia for another lax tourney, but with a different team.
We joined this new team by invitation, and were honored to have the chance to participate in a national championship. The practices had gone really well - my daughter's Coach #1 said she was top 50 college material and was planning to use his connections to get her recruited. The team has a major corporate sponsor, and so our only expenses were for travel. Having just finished a season with our regular club team, which was suddenly mired in bickering and turmoil, this was like a breath of heavenly fresh air. We even had a cute bulldog puppy as a mascot.
Thy kingdom come ...
Game One: Here we go. First game with the team that is going to get us to the top and make us a household name. Game begins, game ends. We lose. Coach #2 brings the team to a huddle. Coach #1 yells at the team to get off the field. Coach #2 tells Coach #1 to relax. Coach #1 disagrees with this directive in a verbally violent way. Everyone within earshot stares, slack jawed.
Thy kingdom go ....
Game Two: Game begins. Game ends. We lose. Coach #1 comes up to my daughter afterwards "I know you didn't play much, but you are going to start the next game. You are my favorite."
Thy kingdom come ...
Game Three: Game begins. Game ends. My daughter doesn't play.
Thy kingdom go ....
It is now nighttime. The team pays for pizza at the pool as uniforms are being washed. My daughter joins her compatriots in the lounge area. I sit at the parent table and observe what happens when salad is combined with beer. My daughter later reports Coach #2's revelation: "I hate coaching. I don't want to do it any more. This is my last season."
Thy kingdom is going ...
Game Four: The team pulls out a one-point win over a team from Utah. During the post-game hand shake, Coach #1 tells Utah Player #4 "It sucks to suck."
Thus begins SuckGate. The Utah team takes umbrage to an adult verbally abusing a child, and sends their largest male over to our tent to demand an apology. Coach #2 complies and delivers an apology to #4. Coach #1 is then approached in a poking fashion to also apologize. He does so, reluctantly, because he says the girl started it. Our parents are in an uproar, because Utah #4 was saying "sucks to suck" during the game, and the Utah girls were elbowing and fouling. They believe the Coaches' behavior is justified and honorable. Prudently, I decide to get involved:
Me: Yeah, but an adult should never speak to a child that way.
Team: Daggers and hell fire go back to your mamma's teat you worthless traitor. 'Merica.
Thy kingdom is gone ...
So I tuck tail and head to a table at the concession stand with my daughter's best friend and her parents. As we are sipping on Cokes labeled "Bro" and "Awesome" another team parent comes up to us. He has approached the coaches to ask why his daughter was asked to join the team but isn't getting any playing time. Their response was that if he didn't like it, he could get the *F* out. Thus, he and his family were getting the *F* out.
Thy kingdom is in flames ...
Game Five: We are playing the defending champions and we lose gloriously. However, my daughter gets time on the field and the team mom/Coach #1's wife exits the stands with a pee sized stain on her butt. So, it's a win win.
5:36 p.m. text: Meet in the lobby at 6:00 for team dinner.
We meet in the lobby at 6:00 for team dinner. All the girls on the team are wearing denim shorts and tank tops, except my daughter and her best friend, who were excluded from the dress code memo. They receive feedback on their attire for the remainder of the evening.
We leave at 6:30 for a caravan to the Latino Village, which is actually a small yellow building used for the lottery, candles of the saints, and various sundries. We then get back in our cars and head to Plaza Azteca, who was not expecting us. Later that night, at least 5 girls, including my daughter and her best friend, enjoy an evening serenading the toilet. But the silver lining is that Coach #1 paid the entire bill while getting drunk at the bar. Coach #2 did not attend, as he was dog sitting our mascot.
Game Six: We lose, because karma.
The tournament is over, and my daughter and I return to the hotel. I quickly and expensively change our flight to an earlier time, discover that we are in the "C" boarding group and promptly upgrade to business class. If you have not flown Southwest, then you won't understand that. The sociology experiment that is their boarding system preys upon the weak, and should be reserved for another blog.
And that, dear reader, is it. Because my friend Tania told me, "Not sure you really have to have a hook; sometimes, it’s just a report."
Until next time, keep crowin' --- but very carefully ...
Me: What do you mean?
Her: Isn't that how it goes?
Me: No. Let's review the Lord's Prayer again. But can I use that sometime?
Her: Sure.
I didn't have to keep it in my pocket for long.
Three days later, we were back in Virginia for another lax tourney, but with a different team.
We joined this new team by invitation, and were honored to have the chance to participate in a national championship. The practices had gone really well - my daughter's Coach #1 said she was top 50 college material and was planning to use his connections to get her recruited. The team has a major corporate sponsor, and so our only expenses were for travel. Having just finished a season with our regular club team, which was suddenly mired in bickering and turmoil, this was like a breath of heavenly fresh air. We even had a cute bulldog puppy as a mascot.
Thy kingdom come ...
Game One: Here we go. First game with the team that is going to get us to the top and make us a household name. Game begins, game ends. We lose. Coach #2 brings the team to a huddle. Coach #1 yells at the team to get off the field. Coach #2 tells Coach #1 to relax. Coach #1 disagrees with this directive in a verbally violent way. Everyone within earshot stares, slack jawed.
Thy kingdom go ....
Game Two: Game begins. Game ends. We lose. Coach #1 comes up to my daughter afterwards "I know you didn't play much, but you are going to start the next game. You are my favorite."
Thy kingdom come ...
Game Three: Game begins. Game ends. My daughter doesn't play.
Thy kingdom go ....
It is now nighttime. The team pays for pizza at the pool as uniforms are being washed. My daughter joins her compatriots in the lounge area. I sit at the parent table and observe what happens when salad is combined with beer. My daughter later reports Coach #2's revelation: "I hate coaching. I don't want to do it any more. This is my last season."
Thy kingdom is going ...
Game Four: The team pulls out a one-point win over a team from Utah. During the post-game hand shake, Coach #1 tells Utah Player #4 "It sucks to suck."
Thus begins SuckGate. The Utah team takes umbrage to an adult verbally abusing a child, and sends their largest male over to our tent to demand an apology. Coach #2 complies and delivers an apology to #4. Coach #1 is then approached in a poking fashion to also apologize. He does so, reluctantly, because he says the girl started it. Our parents are in an uproar, because Utah #4 was saying "sucks to suck" during the game, and the Utah girls were elbowing and fouling. They believe the Coaches' behavior is justified and honorable. Prudently, I decide to get involved:
Me: Yeah, but an adult should never speak to a child that way.
Team: Daggers and hell fire go back to your mamma's teat you worthless traitor. 'Merica.
Thy kingdom is gone ...
So I tuck tail and head to a table at the concession stand with my daughter's best friend and her parents. As we are sipping on Cokes labeled "Bro" and "Awesome" another team parent comes up to us. He has approached the coaches to ask why his daughter was asked to join the team but isn't getting any playing time. Their response was that if he didn't like it, he could get the *F* out. Thus, he and his family were getting the *F* out.
Thy kingdom is in flames ...
Game Five: We are playing the defending champions and we lose gloriously. However, my daughter gets time on the field and the team mom/Coach #1's wife exits the stands with a pee sized stain on her butt. So, it's a win win.
5:36 p.m. text: Meet in the lobby at 6:00 for team dinner.
We meet in the lobby at 6:00 for team dinner. All the girls on the team are wearing denim shorts and tank tops, except my daughter and her best friend, who were excluded from the dress code memo. They receive feedback on their attire for the remainder of the evening.
We leave at 6:30 for a caravan to the Latino Village, which is actually a small yellow building used for the lottery, candles of the saints, and various sundries. We then get back in our cars and head to Plaza Azteca, who was not expecting us. Later that night, at least 5 girls, including my daughter and her best friend, enjoy an evening serenading the toilet. But the silver lining is that Coach #1 paid the entire bill while getting drunk at the bar. Coach #2 did not attend, as he was dog sitting our mascot.
Game Six: We lose, because karma.
The tournament is over, and my daughter and I return to the hotel. I quickly and expensively change our flight to an earlier time, discover that we are in the "C" boarding group and promptly upgrade to business class. If you have not flown Southwest, then you won't understand that. The sociology experiment that is their boarding system preys upon the weak, and should be reserved for another blog.
And that, dear reader, is it. Because my friend Tania told me, "Not sure you really have to have a hook; sometimes, it’s just a report."
Until next time, keep crowin' --- but very carefully ...
Thursday, July 2, 2015
WildLife
Please look at this photo. It is a picture of a raccoon riding on the back of an alligator. On its two hind legs.
You may have seen this photo on the internet already and know the back story. But if you haven't (and even if you have) there is clearly more here than meets the eye.
At first glance, we have a bad ass raccoon that ain't scared of no gator. He simply needed a ride downtown and this looked like a highly efficient option. He's got confidence, vision, and a clear path ahead.
However, the truth of this photo is this: One day, a father and son were out in the woods and accidentally startled the raccoon. It then scampered away, and by pure dumb luck, landed on the back of this alligator. The fact that the raccoon was not eaten and actually escaped is a Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom miracle. (Young people, Google it). What we are actually seeing here is a moment of frozen shock, not chutzpah.
This little internet nugget came and went, but the image still resonates with me.
I think, so many times, we portray ourselves as a raccoon on an alligator's back. No worries, no fears, life is an easy, breezy ride down the river. Social media has made it conveniently possible for people to always put their biggest and brightest smile forward.
But when you dig a little deeper, when you ask questions and spend time and squeeze hands, you find out that the raccoon doesn't want to be on the alligator, that it is holding on for dear life, and that it is desperately looking for the quickest way out.
How many times in your life have you felt that misunderstood, that alone, that scared?
It's OK. I have too. I just don't talk about it.
Pretending to be whole is hard work. As humans, when we are broken, we often don't know how to put the pieces back together. We turn to friends, family, food, faith, fountain drinks spiked with a little something - the search for peace takes us many places. And sometimes, we come up empty.
So where do we find sunshine on a cloudy day? How do we get off the gator's back?
Um, actually, I don't know - I was hoping you would tell me.
I jest. But truly, I don't have "the" answer. What I can tell you is that lately, I have been working on visualizing this:
And don't start singing Frozen ...
Now, I know that letting go is not as easy as releasing a balloon into the sky. But it is a first step. Recently, I have let go of a few things. I have let go of the belief that I control my children's destinies. I have let go of relationships that cause more harm than good. I have let go of the notion that I will actually clean my house. And I have let go of the dream that summer is for resting.
During this process, I realize that I may try to jump back up and grab that string dangling in the air. Because letting go is one thing, but having faith that everything will work out anyway, is quite another.
I'll let you know how it goes. Hopefully the news will be good. But even if it isn't, at least I know I'm not alone - or gator bait.
Until next time, keep crowin'!
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