Everyday on my way to work, on the outskirts of Portland, I approach a school zone. (One of two.) The cars ahead of me slowly decrease their speed to the posted 15 mph. This gives me a chance to check my surroundings out a bit....maybe change the CD if I'm not digging the music. Usually, I'm listening to MPR (Maine Public Radio for those who don't know.) I'm a self-described news junkie....and if I'm going to listen to radio personalities talk, or overplayed radio commercials....then I'm going to listen to something worth paying attention to. Anyway, this is all besides the point, I'm getting to.
Every day, I see these two young boys...maybe 4th grade...walking on the icy sidewalk, under the heavy burden of their school books, lunch and whatever else mom deems necessary for their day at school. Being March in Maine, it's still pretty cold....they're bundled up in their snow pants, winter coats, knits caps with bobbing pompoms on top, mittens/gloves....almost like Ralphie's little brother in "A Christmas Story." Each cold morning, they are sparing with random tree debris from the many storms that we've had this season....and trust me...there are LOTS to choose from. I never see their faces close enough to be able to spot them in the mall (probably a good thing...mom might think I'm a stalker.) To the untrained eye, they are actually pretty good at sparing. and every morning, it's a different set of discarded tree branches...some birch, some pine and on the rare occassion some maple.
They are probably forced to dispose of their armor before entering school premises....after all, fighting and role playing of that sort are no longer allowed on the playground. But this morning, I let my mind wander with these two boys and I've decided that they continue to grow closer and stay best friends their entire lives. They experience their coming of age (thanks Mid!!!) together much like the four boys in "Stand By Me." In high school, they get crushes on the same girls, spend long nights talking about how they are going to take over the world. Throughout college, they continue on their life's journey giving each other the support that each other can give. They have children around the same age; wives that become fast friends. And their lives will always, only be complete with each other in it.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Sisters United
There I sat in a blue patterned, winged back chair, book in hand ("From a Buick 8," by Stephen King) awaiting my "clear to go" from my most recent mammogram. My breasts were a bit tender from the from the pulling and squishing, despite the ibuprofen I took an hour before.
It dawned on me that myself and the five other women "patiently" waiting were in our own weird form of a reality show. The woman to my left could be my grandmother, knitting what looked like a scarf. To her left was "the career woman," constantly checking her voice mail, sending text messages. To her left was the soccer mom having her first mammogram and making nervous small talk. To soccer mom's left, and across the small room, was the stylish late 30's/early 40's young woman obviously feeling the inconvenience of where she is at. And finally, to the left of runway girl, was a woman who could be my aunt, with worry written all over her body. We were all waiting for preliminary results. Anxiously awaiting to find out if we need more testing. Not one of us wants to be pulled back into that room with the albatross they call a "machine." This usually means that the Radiologist found something not quite right with our mammogram.
My book forgotten, used as a writing table for my current reflection; the news playing on the television beside me. Each woman occupying herself in her own, personal unique way: knitting, reading, texting, television watching. We all appear calm, but a trained observer can note the nervousness hidden in each of the women: foot tapping, clenching jaws, cautious looks at THE DOOR. And I find that we're all sisters united and divided all at the same time. No one wants to talk about why we are here...some are routine, some are to explore newly found lumps. Yet, as women we are comforted by the company of each other and the small talk that women are prone to make in most situations.
Remember, Breast Health is very important. I was called into the room only to find out that my images from last year were not readily available. Six hours later, I'm still waiting to hear if I'm ok. Ladies, check your breasts monthly, and get your routine mammograms....they could save your life.
It dawned on me that myself and the five other women "patiently" waiting were in our own weird form of a reality show. The woman to my left could be my grandmother, knitting what looked like a scarf. To her left was "the career woman," constantly checking her voice mail, sending text messages. To her left was the soccer mom having her first mammogram and making nervous small talk. To soccer mom's left, and across the small room, was the stylish late 30's/early 40's young woman obviously feeling the inconvenience of where she is at. And finally, to the left of runway girl, was a woman who could be my aunt, with worry written all over her body. We were all waiting for preliminary results. Anxiously awaiting to find out if we need more testing. Not one of us wants to be pulled back into that room with the albatross they call a "machine." This usually means that the Radiologist found something not quite right with our mammogram.
My book forgotten, used as a writing table for my current reflection; the news playing on the television beside me. Each woman occupying herself in her own, personal unique way: knitting, reading, texting, television watching. We all appear calm, but a trained observer can note the nervousness hidden in each of the women: foot tapping, clenching jaws, cautious looks at THE DOOR. And I find that we're all sisters united and divided all at the same time. No one wants to talk about why we are here...some are routine, some are to explore newly found lumps. Yet, as women we are comforted by the company of each other and the small talk that women are prone to make in most situations.
Remember, Breast Health is very important. I was called into the room only to find out that my images from last year were not readily available. Six hours later, I'm still waiting to hear if I'm ok. Ladies, check your breasts monthly, and get your routine mammograms....they could save your life.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Written in the Stars?
According to dictionary.com the definition of fate is: the universal principle or ultimate agency by which the order of things is presumably prescribed; the decreed cause of events; time. And karma: the cosmic principle according to which each person is rewarded or punished in one incarnation according to that person's deeds in the previous incarnation. Karma also references fate. Can you believe in them both? For instance, should I believe that it is simply my fate to have lived the life that I have so far. Or did something happen in my past life that predestines that I will have this road to follow? Or maybe it's both....maybe in my past life I did something so horrible that I am fated to live this life full of obstacles and bad luck......at times, it makes my head spin.
Last night, I was trying, in vain, to see the Comet Lulin. I was never good at astronomy and am not sure how I got a B in it in college. I can find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, but little else. My husband, the loving man that he is, humored me and would walk outside to the snow covered, ice encrusted driveway and look up at the heavens with me. We'd look to where I thought ESE is in the sky...searching valiantly for Saturn and Regulus. The temperature dipped into the teens and single digits, and still we'd be standing in the driveway all bundled up looking for the green comet. Each time, I'd resolve to go back onto the computer, consult a geek friend (not to worry, Mid is a self-described geek) and look at star charts on the internet trying to find a reference point.
On our third trip outside, Kip found Orion's belt! Finally, I had a reference point! Back into the warm house we trekked. Back to the computer. OK, if we locate Orion's Belt and I track the stars this way, I should see the constellation Leo....the symbol of my zodiac. Regulus is the front paw of Leo. Saturn can loosely be described as the back paw. And if you draw a somewhat straight line between the two, you should be able to see Comet Lulin.
So, out we go....one more time...into the cold, cold air to look again. Orion's belt, look back towards my neighbors house and slowly, I can actually see Leo!!! For the first time in my life, I can see Leo!!! For the first time in my life, I found a constellation! There was a small, non-descript "star" where the comet should have been, but it was not clear if it was Lulin.
As we walk back inside, my husband notes how he sometimes really enjoys my childlike exuberance and determination. That thought followed me through my evening and slumber. And today, it's a little bit clearer. What's going on in my life might be written in the stars, it might be fated and it just might be karma, but whatever it is, it's mine. And I need to take that determination and exuberance, match it with my rock solid support from my husband and family...and I need to overcome whatever is thrown at me! I'm not alone in this struggle. It's not just me dealing with all of this.
Even though, I sometimes feel like I'm the only one in the world and that I'm on the outside looking in.....I'm really not. And for that, I'm extremely grateful.
Last night, I was trying, in vain, to see the Comet Lulin. I was never good at astronomy and am not sure how I got a B in it in college. I can find the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper, but little else. My husband, the loving man that he is, humored me and would walk outside to the snow covered, ice encrusted driveway and look up at the heavens with me. We'd look to where I thought ESE is in the sky...searching valiantly for Saturn and Regulus. The temperature dipped into the teens and single digits, and still we'd be standing in the driveway all bundled up looking for the green comet. Each time, I'd resolve to go back onto the computer, consult a geek friend (not to worry, Mid is a self-described geek) and look at star charts on the internet trying to find a reference point.
On our third trip outside, Kip found Orion's belt! Finally, I had a reference point! Back into the warm house we trekked. Back to the computer. OK, if we locate Orion's Belt and I track the stars this way, I should see the constellation Leo....the symbol of my zodiac. Regulus is the front paw of Leo. Saturn can loosely be described as the back paw. And if you draw a somewhat straight line between the two, you should be able to see Comet Lulin.
So, out we go....one more time...into the cold, cold air to look again. Orion's belt, look back towards my neighbors house and slowly, I can actually see Leo!!! For the first time in my life, I can see Leo!!! For the first time in my life, I found a constellation! There was a small, non-descript "star" where the comet should have been, but it was not clear if it was Lulin.
As we walk back inside, my husband notes how he sometimes really enjoys my childlike exuberance and determination. That thought followed me through my evening and slumber. And today, it's a little bit clearer. What's going on in my life might be written in the stars, it might be fated and it just might be karma, but whatever it is, it's mine. And I need to take that determination and exuberance, match it with my rock solid support from my husband and family...and I need to overcome whatever is thrown at me! I'm not alone in this struggle. It's not just me dealing with all of this.
Even though, I sometimes feel like I'm the only one in the world and that I'm on the outside looking in.....I'm really not. And for that, I'm extremely grateful.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The first gay man I ever met.
My uncle, Ovilia Mitchell Jr., died today. Uncle Mitch (wouldn't you want a nickname?) was suffering from Alzheimer's for the last four years and died alone in Hartford, Connecticut. He was the oldest of eleven children, my father being the "middle" child. He was predeceased by his father and a younger brother, Robert, who died in Vietnam. My grandmother has now had to bury her son, her husband and another son.
Uncle Mitch was the first gay person I've ever met. Not being extremely close with my father's side of the family, my first memory of Uncle Mitch occurs around 25 or so years ago. I was attending a baby shower for my cousin Elaine (my dad's oldest sister's daughter) with my mom. Some of the men were in the bar of the Bristol Club while the "womenfolk" fawned over pastel pinks, blues, yellows and greens. I remember "admission" to the shower was jars of baby food. My cousin Kathy and I were marveling at the amount Elaine had gotten. Kathy and I were close even though we lived hundreds of miles away from each other.
We ran out behind the club to where there was a barbeque pit and my Uncle Mitch was there. I'm not sure if he recently came out of the closet or if this was old news to the family. All I knew is that Uncle Mitch had someone who used to be his wife and his daughter Dawn. I'm not clear on the exact wording that was used, but the gist of the conversation between Uncle Mitch and some of the male family members was that he would be going in to join the baby shower and it was most definitely ok because he was gay.
I thought gay was happy and wondered why the other men weren't happy that Elaine was having a baby. Babies were great! I was a rather rude, impertinent child who never shyed away from asking the questions that popped into her head. I asked Uncle Mitch what made his gayness so special and why he was the only one happy. All this time later, I think that he was rather offended by my question but explained that he didn't like girls, he liked boys. And, if I wanted to know more about it, I'd have to ask my parents.
Yah, this cleared it up for me. He didn't like girls, but he was going to go inside where ALL the girls were??!?!?!?!?! Eventually, my parents delicately explained what it meant to be gay. I understood it the best that I could. For now on, at all the "girl parties" my Uncle Mitch would be there. And that was cool with me....he always had candy in his shirt pocket!
As I grew up, we drifted apart from my father's side of the family even further. Christmas, Wedding and Funerals were when I'd see them....until Uncle Mitch and Freddie moved from Florida to Rhode Island. Uncle Mitch threw the coolest parties, gave the biggest hugs and loved life to it's fullest. Freddie died about 10 years ago from AIDS....and Uncle Mitch died alone. My father is devastated by his loss and I sit here full of sorrow for watching my dad deal with this.
I believe, to this day, that I have never discriminated against the Gay-Lesbian community because of my Uncle Mitch. He paved the way for an open conversation and full acceptance....and that from a Roman Catholic family!!! I only regret that I didn't go and visit him more and that my father won't get a "proper" good bye for his oldest brother.
Uncle Mitch was the first gay person I've ever met. Not being extremely close with my father's side of the family, my first memory of Uncle Mitch occurs around 25 or so years ago. I was attending a baby shower for my cousin Elaine (my dad's oldest sister's daughter) with my mom. Some of the men were in the bar of the Bristol Club while the "womenfolk" fawned over pastel pinks, blues, yellows and greens. I remember "admission" to the shower was jars of baby food. My cousin Kathy and I were marveling at the amount Elaine had gotten. Kathy and I were close even though we lived hundreds of miles away from each other.
We ran out behind the club to where there was a barbeque pit and my Uncle Mitch was there. I'm not sure if he recently came out of the closet or if this was old news to the family. All I knew is that Uncle Mitch had someone who used to be his wife and his daughter Dawn. I'm not clear on the exact wording that was used, but the gist of the conversation between Uncle Mitch and some of the male family members was that he would be going in to join the baby shower and it was most definitely ok because he was gay.
I thought gay was happy and wondered why the other men weren't happy that Elaine was having a baby. Babies were great! I was a rather rude, impertinent child who never shyed away from asking the questions that popped into her head. I asked Uncle Mitch what made his gayness so special and why he was the only one happy. All this time later, I think that he was rather offended by my question but explained that he didn't like girls, he liked boys. And, if I wanted to know more about it, I'd have to ask my parents.
Yah, this cleared it up for me. He didn't like girls, but he was going to go inside where ALL the girls were??!?!?!?!?! Eventually, my parents delicately explained what it meant to be gay. I understood it the best that I could. For now on, at all the "girl parties" my Uncle Mitch would be there. And that was cool with me....he always had candy in his shirt pocket!
As I grew up, we drifted apart from my father's side of the family even further. Christmas, Wedding and Funerals were when I'd see them....until Uncle Mitch and Freddie moved from Florida to Rhode Island. Uncle Mitch threw the coolest parties, gave the biggest hugs and loved life to it's fullest. Freddie died about 10 years ago from AIDS....and Uncle Mitch died alone. My father is devastated by his loss and I sit here full of sorrow for watching my dad deal with this.
I believe, to this day, that I have never discriminated against the Gay-Lesbian community because of my Uncle Mitch. He paved the way for an open conversation and full acceptance....and that from a Roman Catholic family!!! I only regret that I didn't go and visit him more and that my father won't get a "proper" good bye for his oldest brother.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Bankers
My husband and I are certainly no one to lecture about the importance of managing your money. We, ourselves, didn't have very good role models. I spent my entire childhood watching my parents juggle money only to run out and have the phone shut off, oil run out of the tank, electricity off for a week at a time. My husband's parents, clearly middle class, managed their money extremely well but didn't pass this knowledge on to their son. You see, they NEVER talked money and finances with him.
Yet, they were quick to give him the boot after high school graduation. From there he entered the United States Navy. Never known for being babysitters, the US Navy gave him money and he had no idea what to do with it!! Me, coming from less than humble beginnings...spent my money on the things I wanted when I wanted. It wasn't long into our marriage that we found ourselves in a lot of financial trouble that took us YEARS to get out of. Our credit score was still lacking but we were able to get financing for a home in Connecticut.
My father, suffering from COPD and emphysema, came down seriously ill and was in ICU for several weeks. With young children, I was relying on him to ensure that they safely came home from school and stayed safe. This couldn't happen when he was in the hospital. I asked my employer to grant me a sift in hours for the next few weeks to ensure the safety of my children. This was not allowed and I was unceremoniously let go...forced to choose between my family and my job! But, that is a different blog all together.
What followed was several months of unemployment. My husband was just starting out in the automotive technician field and his pay was less than cellar. Working with Option One Mortgage company was no picnic. They refused partial payments, in fact, they sent back payments that were not made in full. The refused to help us every step of the way. Of course, I don't think I ever spoke with an english speaking service representative.
Months of fighting the mortgage company, foreclosure notices and each other, we finally gave up and became one of the first Sub-Prime Mortgage Victims. Now, I don't place the entire blame on Option One...but they do own some of it. The point is....we couldn't handle our finances and now can't get financed for a slice of bread.
So why......why are those in "charge" at these banks getting a bailout and keeping their jobs. Why are their "grunt" workers being laid off while they continue to receive exhorbant incomes, bonsues and perks??? How has this bailout helped Main Street America? Small businesses all over America are closing because their lines of credit aren't being renewed...but hey James Dimon, Henry Meyer, Richard Fairbank and the TONS of other overpaid, hyped up executives can keep their multi-million dollar salaries, company perks and luxurious houses while people like us begin to look over the edge at homelessness, malnutrition, and utterly lack of help from our state and local governments. (If you click on the title of this post, you'll be forwarded to the msnbc.com article that prompted my rant.)
Yet, they were quick to give him the boot after high school graduation. From there he entered the United States Navy. Never known for being babysitters, the US Navy gave him money and he had no idea what to do with it!! Me, coming from less than humble beginnings...spent my money on the things I wanted when I wanted. It wasn't long into our marriage that we found ourselves in a lot of financial trouble that took us YEARS to get out of. Our credit score was still lacking but we were able to get financing for a home in Connecticut.
My father, suffering from COPD and emphysema, came down seriously ill and was in ICU for several weeks. With young children, I was relying on him to ensure that they safely came home from school and stayed safe. This couldn't happen when he was in the hospital. I asked my employer to grant me a sift in hours for the next few weeks to ensure the safety of my children. This was not allowed and I was unceremoniously let go...forced to choose between my family and my job! But, that is a different blog all together.
What followed was several months of unemployment. My husband was just starting out in the automotive technician field and his pay was less than cellar. Working with Option One Mortgage company was no picnic. They refused partial payments, in fact, they sent back payments that were not made in full. The refused to help us every step of the way. Of course, I don't think I ever spoke with an english speaking service representative.
Months of fighting the mortgage company, foreclosure notices and each other, we finally gave up and became one of the first Sub-Prime Mortgage Victims. Now, I don't place the entire blame on Option One...but they do own some of it. The point is....we couldn't handle our finances and now can't get financed for a slice of bread.
So why......why are those in "charge" at these banks getting a bailout and keeping their jobs. Why are their "grunt" workers being laid off while they continue to receive exhorbant incomes, bonsues and perks??? How has this bailout helped Main Street America? Small businesses all over America are closing because their lines of credit aren't being renewed...but hey James Dimon, Henry Meyer, Richard Fairbank and the TONS of other overpaid, hyped up executives can keep their multi-million dollar salaries, company perks and luxurious houses while people like us begin to look over the edge at homelessness, malnutrition, and utterly lack of help from our state and local governments. (If you click on the title of this post, you'll be forwarded to the msnbc.com article that prompted my rant.)
Monday, January 26, 2009
Paralyzed
Some people get paralyzed by their fears. Some get paralyzed by certain phobias like heights, bridges, dark rooms, water. And some get paralyzed by their own emotions. I'm not talking the kind of paralysis that cements your feet to the ground or has you gasping for breathe. I'm talking about the kind of paralysis where you psychologically cannot move...either forwards or backwards. I'm one of those people who gets paralyzed by my own emotions....feeling inferior being the biggest one.
All I've ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else. I didn't want to be different. I believe this all started shortly after my father moved us all from Connecticut to Lewiston, Maine. My family, at the age of 7, was my world. My best friend, Lisa (name changed), lived next door to me. I lived walking distance to my maternal grandparents, my mother's uncle, my dad's sister. If you've ever been to the foothills of Connecticut and you're familiar with the town Terryville, you'll understand that this was an extremely small community with little economic infastructure. And my father moved us to Lewiston, Maine...the second or third largest "city" in Maine??? I found myself lost in a sea of people. I entered 3rd grade and all of those cemented friendships had little room for me...and I had no confidence to build a plan to infiltrate.
Then my parents moved.....in 2 years we moved 3 times and finally ended up in New Auburn, Maine the summer before I began fifth grade. This feeling of not fitting in had started seeping in there...but it wasn't until middle school that I really felt it. Maybe it's because of what was happening with my family at the time. I felt I had to hide what happened at home...not out of shame, but out of survival. No one wants to be friends with the kid with the crazy mom, three colored house, junk cars in the yard and trouble maker brothers. It probably didn't help that I somehow earned the distinction of not being like by the most popular girl in our grade, Susan (named changed.) And Susan had it all....money, looks, talent, parents who were normal and successful. I avoided her on the playground everyday for the longest time because she threatened to punch me. I wonder now if I had stood up to her, how would things be different. Alas, this isn't a Hollywood movie is it? Nope, I tucked my tail between my legs and dealt with the lumps life gave me.
To this day, I still moan about not being good enough, not fitting in. And a good friend (you know who you are) helped me realize that I've built walls so massive and then added a cocoon around myself that the real me is crying to get out. Maybe she's gone from crying to screaming. It's probably not a good thing that I over-analyze everything and therefore read into every word, body movement to help instill this feeling of inferiority. It's literally strangled my ability to trust people, like people, let people in. In fact, in response our conversation, I told my friend "I have walls because if I let people in, they hurt me!" And my past experiences have only served to cement all of these feelings. I had good friends in middle school.....then one of them had a father who followed me in his truck, tried to bring me into the back of his house and then denied the whole thing....the guidance counselor pull Tina, and her sister Tanya (names changed), into her office and told them of my accusations...can you say "good bye friends"?
And it's still happening now....whether it's all in my head or part of some sick form of karma....it's really sad that in a group of four people, you sometimes feel like the fifth wheel. But, I have to ask myself....how much of my insecurity am I bringing into this? And how much is my ever growing depression from being unemployed (and in a sense, incapacitated) fueling this fire? So I talk to my good friend and he says....."They are going to hurt you anyway." And you know what, he's right. (Go ahead, write it down, you know you want to.)
I talk to my life partner, soulmate, husband....who perhaps knows me better than I know myself. And being part of the group of four, he's got first hand knowledge...and he is struggling with how to help me through this. How can he stop me from hurting from these things? It's never going to go away. But I've got really good people around me to help me through the process. And as my own personal defense mechanism, I'll continue to over-analyze everything...it's both a blessing and a curse. But I won't, can't, give it up. It's what keeps me from turning into my mother.
All I've ever wanted was to fit in with everyone else. I didn't want to be different. I believe this all started shortly after my father moved us all from Connecticut to Lewiston, Maine. My family, at the age of 7, was my world. My best friend, Lisa (name changed), lived next door to me. I lived walking distance to my maternal grandparents, my mother's uncle, my dad's sister. If you've ever been to the foothills of Connecticut and you're familiar with the town Terryville, you'll understand that this was an extremely small community with little economic infastructure. And my father moved us to Lewiston, Maine...the second or third largest "city" in Maine??? I found myself lost in a sea of people. I entered 3rd grade and all of those cemented friendships had little room for me...and I had no confidence to build a plan to infiltrate.
Then my parents moved.....in 2 years we moved 3 times and finally ended up in New Auburn, Maine the summer before I began fifth grade. This feeling of not fitting in had started seeping in there...but it wasn't until middle school that I really felt it. Maybe it's because of what was happening with my family at the time. I felt I had to hide what happened at home...not out of shame, but out of survival. No one wants to be friends with the kid with the crazy mom, three colored house, junk cars in the yard and trouble maker brothers. It probably didn't help that I somehow earned the distinction of not being like by the most popular girl in our grade, Susan (named changed.) And Susan had it all....money, looks, talent, parents who were normal and successful. I avoided her on the playground everyday for the longest time because she threatened to punch me. I wonder now if I had stood up to her, how would things be different. Alas, this isn't a Hollywood movie is it? Nope, I tucked my tail between my legs and dealt with the lumps life gave me.
To this day, I still moan about not being good enough, not fitting in. And a good friend (you know who you are) helped me realize that I've built walls so massive and then added a cocoon around myself that the real me is crying to get out. Maybe she's gone from crying to screaming. It's probably not a good thing that I over-analyze everything and therefore read into every word, body movement to help instill this feeling of inferiority. It's literally strangled my ability to trust people, like people, let people in. In fact, in response our conversation, I told my friend "I have walls because if I let people in, they hurt me!" And my past experiences have only served to cement all of these feelings. I had good friends in middle school.....then one of them had a father who followed me in his truck, tried to bring me into the back of his house and then denied the whole thing....the guidance counselor pull Tina, and her sister Tanya (names changed), into her office and told them of my accusations...can you say "good bye friends"?
And it's still happening now....whether it's all in my head or part of some sick form of karma....it's really sad that in a group of four people, you sometimes feel like the fifth wheel. But, I have to ask myself....how much of my insecurity am I bringing into this? And how much is my ever growing depression from being unemployed (and in a sense, incapacitated) fueling this fire? So I talk to my good friend and he says....."They are going to hurt you anyway." And you know what, he's right. (Go ahead, write it down, you know you want to.)
I talk to my life partner, soulmate, husband....who perhaps knows me better than I know myself. And being part of the group of four, he's got first hand knowledge...and he is struggling with how to help me through this. How can he stop me from hurting from these things? It's never going to go away. But I've got really good people around me to help me through the process. And as my own personal defense mechanism, I'll continue to over-analyze everything...it's both a blessing and a curse. But I won't, can't, give it up. It's what keeps me from turning into my mother.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
For A Moment
For a moment, the world stopped today. Whether you're liberal or conservative; democrat or republican; white or black; young or old; man or woman; you cannot deny the historical and social significance of today. Barack Obama will become our first African American president. He's sending a message to the world and to our youth that anything is possible. You can do it. We can do it. It can be done.
He's united a country torn apart by war, greed and social inequalities. While we cannot ignore those who speak vehemently against Mr. Obama, or who wish him harm, today is not a day to focus on those short-sighted individuals who lack the ability to think outside their own boxes.
Today, we open our minds to hope. Hope that Mr. Obama will be able to carry out the majority of his campaign promises. Hope that Mr. Obama will restore the American Dream....a dream that is less about financial propserity and more about pride in ourselves, our neighbors, our country. Hope that social equality is within our grasp once again....because without social equality, America loses it's lustre.
Good luck Mr. Obama. May your road be paved with opportunities to make US better.
He's united a country torn apart by war, greed and social inequalities. While we cannot ignore those who speak vehemently against Mr. Obama, or who wish him harm, today is not a day to focus on those short-sighted individuals who lack the ability to think outside their own boxes.
Today, we open our minds to hope. Hope that Mr. Obama will be able to carry out the majority of his campaign promises. Hope that Mr. Obama will restore the American Dream....a dream that is less about financial propserity and more about pride in ourselves, our neighbors, our country. Hope that social equality is within our grasp once again....because without social equality, America loses it's lustre.
Good luck Mr. Obama. May your road be paved with opportunities to make US better.
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