hopes and fears?

** Please note that I have many conversations with myself and do much writing in my head. Sometimes this leads to fractured thought and prose. This may be one of those times. **

 

After the last mass shooting that made the international news I thought to myself, “I’m not going to write about this, everyone else will be doing it and I don’t know that I have anything different to say.” And I didn’t. Write about it.

Yesterday afternoon, shortly before 3pm, when I heard about Newtown, CT, I thought to myself, “I can’t write about this.” This thought only occurred after my immediate reaction, which was a mish-mash of horror, nausea and resignation. Oh, and I was stunned for a bit. Then, while struggling to win the battle over the gnawing, spinning pain in by stomach I scrolled through a number of news stories and tried to keep myself from reading all of the comments people were posting (I’ll come back to this in a bit). Within minutes I realised it was time to go get BoyGenius from school.

A small knot of parents and grandparents were waiting by the doors, as we always do. There were a few comments, a small recounting of events for those who hadn’t yet heard and a collective shaking of heads. There were those who stated, as so many on facebook had, that all they wanted to do was hug their kids, go home, and hug their kids some more. I stayed away from all of that because that’s not the feeling I got. BoyGenius came bounding out the doors, we shared our signature greeting (him jumping into my arms and holding on for dear life while I spin him around until we’re both so dizzy we can barely stand), he told me there’s no school on Tuesday — 1 day teacher strike [a whole 'nother story] and then asked if he could go to the park. I said “sure” and zipped up his hoody for him before he ran off into the woods. I didn’t pull him any more tightly to me than I usually do, I didn’t hug him longer and I didn’t tell him I needed him to stay closer to me. I told him I love him and sent him off to the park, alone, to play with his friends. That’s what I felt like doing. (Well, that and throwing up … and the throwing up part is still present, almost 24 hours later.)

I don’t want to be afraid to send my son to school every morning. I don’t want to be afraid to take him to the mall to do some shopping. I don’t want to stop going to public gatherings in fear that some gun-wielding, grievance-carrying asshole will pick that day, that gathering to attend. So I’m not, and I won’t. HardWorker thinks of these things every day. I don’t. HardWorker has way more anxiety issues anyway, and things like this just feed her fears. Then again, so do television shows about bacteria on chicken or germs in hotel rooms. I won’t live in fear. I won’t have BoyGenius live in fear. Some of HardWorker’s fears have already rubbed off on him and I fight every day to keep him from absorbing any more. I don’t want my friends with small children, my friends with grown children, my friends with soon-to-be-arriving children to be crippled by fear of the world around us. I, like others I admire, choose to live in hope. I hope that the world will someday be a better place, that everyday it is indeed becoming a better place. I hope that we will stop hurting each other. I hope that we will cure disease. I hope that we will conquer famine. I hope for a lot of things. I choose hope over fear.

There is much talk when something like this happens; in comments on news stories, on facebook, on talk shows. There is much talk about gun control, as always happens at times like these. There is much talk about holding your children tightly. There is much talk about health care and mental illness. There is much talk about the US constitution and its amendments. There is much talk about how horrible that this should happen just before Christmas. People are saddened, devastated, shocked, stunned and horrified. Some are callous and self-serving. There is much talk.

Well I’m here to tell you that talk is cheap. Talk about gun control leads NOWHERE. You know why? Because the bigger picture in that discussion is one about power and lobbying and that picture is painted in very broad strokes with brushes made of thousand dollar bills; the details are the really important considerations and those details always get painted over. Talk about holding your children tightly is all well and good, but PLEASE don’t leave it until a tragedy happens to think about doing so. Talk about health care and mental illness needs to happen but again, those talks always become about politics and power and those money-brushes whitewash everything so not enough gets accomplished. Christmas — the season of love and light, goodwill towards men; does it really matter that this happened at this time of year? Would this horribly unnecessary tragedy be any easier to bear in May? Should we not be sad or shocked or horrified? No, I’m not saying that … what I’m saying is that more importantly that any of those things, we should be angry. Angry enough to take the necessary steps to ensure that this stops happening.

Gun control? Hell yes. You want the right to bear arms? Go right ahead. But be put on notice that every time something like this happens, every time there’s an armed robbery at the corner store, every time some gang shooting occurs, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE. Societal ills? Hell yes. Sure, everyone should be held accountable for their own actions but it’s pretty hard to swallow that what you or I or the politicians do has absolutely no bearing on the person standing next to us. WE ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE FOR EACH OTHER.  Loving your kids? Of course. Love them, respect them, listen to them, teach them. KNOW THEM.

Whenever there is a mass shooting, particularly when school-aged children are involved, those who knew the perpetrator(s) have the same things to say. Either “he/she was a loner; he/she was bullied a lot; he/she always seemed to have problems or issues,” or “we never noticed anything wrong.” Both of these perspectives need to be examined. It’s like people are either saying “we always knew there was something wrong” (and nobody cared) or “we never cared enough to get to know” if things were really as good as they seemed. WE ARE ALL RESPONSIBLE FOR EACH OTHER. We need to accept that. Talking to someone might change their life. Smiling at someone may flip a switch in their head. A touch on a shoulder might let someone know that you actually see them standing next to you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that bad things won’t still happen just because you smile at someone. I’m not naive enough to think that the whole world can be healed with a hug. But neither am I callous or cynical enough to think that human kindness, human touch, human-ness won’t make a difference, either.

Today, though. Today. It’s not about guns. It’s not about mental illness. It’s not about money or power. It’s not about your kids or my son. It’s about the families of Sandy Hook Elementary School. Parents that lost their children. Children that lost their parents. Students that lost their friends and teachers. Teachers that lost their students. It’s about a small town that will be forever changed. It’s about people whose lives have been turned upside down. Lives that may never be righted again. Let us hope collectively that they can all find peace.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light, the hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight. May hope always wield the mightier sword.

 

what goes without saying?

“Well, that goes without saying.”

No, it doesn’t. It shouldn’t. As long as it isn’t hurtful, say it.

If you need to stand up for yourself, do it. Say it. If you see injustice being done, say so. If you love someone, tell them. If your neighbour has a really nice garden, let her know.

Your child’s teacher helped make grade 2 a fantastic year? … Tell that teacher. Hell, tell the principal! I did. I told the principal how I felt and I gave the teacher a copy of the parts of the letter that pertained to her. She needed to know how grateful I was, how happy I was, how happy BoyGenius was with his grade 2 experience. Telling her made her feel great, brought tears to her eyes and let her know that she really is doing it right.

People don’t know things unless you tell them. Good things and bad things. We usually don’t have much trouble telling people what we don’t like about what they’re doing, how they drive, the way they dress. We seem to have a much harder time telling people what we do like about them. It’s not all our fault. Many of us don’t know how to react when given a compliment. We brush it off, say something self-deprecating or tell the person praising us that they must be blind or crazy or something like that. I once had the occasion, after an afternoon and evening spent with a few friends and about 17 of our kids, to send all the moms an e-mail telling them that I had had a great time and that I loved all of their children. We had spent about five hours in one friend’s home, with 17 children ranging in age from 4 to 9 years, without once having to raise our voices or discipline anyone. Those kids were great! Every single response I got accused me of being drunk; not a one was able to just agree and say thanks.

If you are concerned about a friend’s stress level ask them to go for a walk with you and tell them you’re worried. They might give you the “I’m fine” answer or they might be so glad that someone noticed and cared enough to be concerned that they’ll walk and talk and get some things off their chest. It might not seem like much but it might be enough to let them get some respite from their struggles.

Think you’ve got the best paperboy in town? Tell him. Give him a tip. Is he someone from your neighbourhood? Tell his mom you think she’s done a great job raising a fantastic kid. When you meet someone and you think they have a fabulous smile or amazing eyes, tell them; even if it’s the guy behind the counter at the community centre. You might make a new friend or maybe you’ll just make someone feel like a million bucks. Either way, it’s a good thing.

If you buy a product and it has a problem, let the manufacturer know. You don’t have to be angry about it. Just point out to them that you’re disappointed and let them know what the issue is. Nine times out of ten, they will be apologetic and find some way to compensate you. Companies need to know if there is a problem with their manufacturing, with their quality control or with their shipping. (This is especially true for food products.)

You’ve seen it in movies, on tv; you’ve read it in books; maybe you have experienced it in real life: that goes without saying.

“Honey, did you enjoy dinner?” “Are you proud of me, mom?” “Do you love me?”

If they have to ask you, they don’t know. If they don’t know ….. it obviously doesn’t go without saying.

Fatboy Slim had it right all along … “I have to praise you like I should.”

Monday’s words (on a Tuesday) – E

Alright, alright, it’s a Tuesday and not a Monday .. but we had a long weekend and the first day after a long weekend always feels like a Monday so I think I’m okay.

Today’s post is brought to you by the letter E and by the number 2216 (the number of E words I’ll be talking about).

E is for everything

When I first thought of this “series” I figured it would at least give me something to write about without having to give it too much thought; that turned out not to be the case. When I get around to these particular posts I find myself giving a lot of thought to words: words that start with the letter I’m at, words that are derived from those words, words that don’t fit the category but have the same or similar or opposite meanings, words that hurt, words that build.

I have a lot of favourite words starting with E, relatively speaking. They go something like this:

• exhausted
• ephemeral
• ethereal
• ease/easement
• ebb
• enliven
• eddy
• epitome
• ewer
• envision
• element/elemental
• ember
• envelop
• embrace
• engage/engagement
• enlighten

Now let me tell you what I like about these words and you can tell me if you feel the same .. or differently .. or nothing at all.

I love the thought that a person or an idea can be exhausted. We have explored all aspects of this, we have exhausted all avenues of thought. Do you have someone in your life who exhausts you? In a good way or in a bad way? I think we all have people who exhaust us in a “bad” way but I believe it is a rare find indeed when you come across a person who can exhaust you in a “good” way. I have a friend who exhausts me physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually and believe me, it’s all good. What that means to me is that I am so comfortable that I can let everything (good, bad, stressful or joyous) drain out of me, allowing me to look at it, to sift through it, to decide — sometimes with help — what is worth hanging on to and what should be let go.

I don’t really like the idea that some things are so short lived that they are ephemeral, but I absolutely love the fact that there is a term for this phenomenon and that it is such a beautiful word. Ephemeral. The word itself makes the idea easier to live with. Ethereal is another beautiful word. Extremely delicate, spiritual, heavenly, otherworldly, too perfect for this world. What a gorgeous word. What a sad and lovely concept.

I love the words ease and easement. Knowing that you are able to do something with ease is a good feeling — unless it’s something bad, then you should probably be concerned about the ease with which you are able to do it. Knowing that something you do can help ease someone’s feelings or hardships … that’s gotta make you feel good. And as far as easement goes, I’m referring to the feeling of comfort or peace, or the act of easing or relieving someone’s discomfort, not the right of way that allows you to use someone else’s property to get to yours. Although I kind of like that usage of the word as well.

I love the ocean and am soothed by the ebb and flood of the tide. When ebb is used to describe the lessening of things in general, although it is often seen as a negative descriptive term, I can’t help but think of the ebb of pain or the ebb of sorrow or the ebb of any other hard or painful thing. I always see it as a gentle calm settling over whatever is troubling someone. That’s why I like the word ebb.

There isn’t much that needs be said about the word enliven. It speaks for itself. “You enliven me.” You make me feel more alive, you animate me and my spirit, you inspire me, you brighten my countenance.

An eddy is a current of water (or air) that moves or flows contrary to the main current — man, I love that idea. Sure, it’s often a water feature so it grabbed me from way back, but going against the flow, building your own little current, whirlpool or whirlwind … that is totally cool. In fact, it’s the epitome of cool. Ahh, epitome. The embodiment of something. While I love the word epitome for its meaning, I love using it for its pronunciation. Epitome. Another one I love the sound of is ewer. It comes up often in crossword puzzles and knowing that when the clue is “pitcher” the answer is “ewer” always makes me smile.

Envision is kind of like enliven for me; the word itself is enough to make me see its meaning. I truly believe that a person can do or make or be anything that they can envision. It won’t always be easy, the way to get to that point may not be easily seen but as long as you can envision the goal I think you’ll get there eventually. (Eventually is one I didn’t mention but I fall back on it often. Eventually and eventuality. Those words keep me going sometimes; they give me hope.)

Element and elemental are words I appreciate in all of their presentations. Fundamental, essential, basic. Natural habitat. Sphere of activity. Being “in your element” must be an amazing feeling.

Embers are defined as parts of a dying fire; the small glowing or smouldering bits of coal or wood or ash. But if you bank the embers you retain the heat and can easily kindle a new flame when necessary. Embers may be tiny, they may be a part of something that is dying but they are hot. So very, very hot. When people speak of dying embers I think of sparks and heat and flames. I think of love that never dies; no matter how small that glowing ember is it can quickly be sparked to a raging fire.

Envelop and embrace are words that fill me with warmth and hope and an overall feeling of love and kindness. They are good words. I envelop you in my love. I not only embrace you in the physical sense, but I embrace your thoughts and ideas. How cool is that!?

When I think of engagement I think of BoyGenius. I think of how I want his teachers to engage him. I think of how I want him to be engaged in learning. I think of how it makes me smile when I see him engaged in conversation with a peer or a mentor, or when I know he wants to engage someone in conversation or in some other activity that interests him.

Enlighten. To give someone greater knowledge and understanding of something, be it materially, spiritually or philosophically. You often hear “well, let me enlighten you” used in a negative connotation but I think we should stop doing that. I think if I have knowledge or understanding of a subject or a situation I should be happy to share, to increase your understanding; I shouldn’t ever use enlightenment in such a way as to make you feel small or make a situation worse. That’s not what it’s about.

Wow. This has turned into quite an entry. I hope I haven’t bored you. Who knew E words could take over like that? (I actually pared down my list, if you can believe it.)

childhood revisited

As I watch my son roll down a 50-60 degree decline, onto the tarmac at the bottom, I am reminded of the games we used to play when I was a child. Things were different then. Or were they??

True, we didn’t have video game systems – but we did spend time at the arcade. True, we only got 3 channels on the television up until I was in about grade 4 – but once mom went to work so she could pay for cable, well then we got 13 channels! True, cartoons were only shown early on Saturday or Sunday mornings – except for The Flintstones; they were on every day at lunch. True, there weren’t any “kids’ networks” to monopolize our viewing time – but we did schedule our homework around the ABC After School Special on Wednesday afternoons, The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights and Sonny & Cher, The Hudson Brothers and Carol Burnett.

children at play

We played tag, both the frozen and regular varieties. We played hide & seek. We played Cowboys & Indians. We played badminton, frisbee and touch football. We played marbles (we usually called them alleys). We played Red Rover and British Bulldog. We played baseball or 21-up. We played on snow-hills and in vacant lots, we hiked across town to “Duck’s Pond,” we climbed trees and tried to swing on vines and once we discovered that those vines weren’t the same kind Tarzan swung from we brought rope with us. We hung upside down from the swings and walked from one end of the teeter-totter to the other. We tried desperately to swing so high and fast that we’d be able to go all the way around the top bar (someone had seen someone else do it one time, don’t you know). We rode our bikes, no hands, with the front wheel turned backwards. Standing. Downhill. We rode double and triple (and we didn’t have helmets). We skipped rope, although I never did manage to get more than two jumps in on double-dutch. We swam every day as soon as the weather permitted.

I grew up in a small town, huge backyard, empty fields across the street and next to us, trees for climbing right outside my door, pathways from the edge of our property right down to the lake. The lake was home to the main town park, complete with climbing apparatuses, swings, teeter-totters, merry-go-rounds and fast metal slides. BoyGenius is growing up in a “town” with roughly 80,000 more inhabitants than mine had. There are no vacant lots or empty fields nearby, unless you count the baseball or soccer fields at his school. We have pathways from almost the edge of our property right down to the lake. There are playgrounds along the way but these days you are hard-pressed to find a merry-go-round or a teeter-totter. The school playground is bordered by a small forested area – most of the neighbourhood kids play in there on a daily basis. BG loves to climb trees and the baseball backstop; heck, he’ll climb walls if he can get a foothold. He’ll swim in any body of water that holds enough volume to cover him. He hasn’t quite mastered my technique when jumping off the swings (the one that totally gives you the feeling of flying), but he’s trying. He brings vines home from the forest, hoping to find a way to attach them to trees so he can swing from one to another, like Indiana Jones.

So it would seem that our childhood pastimes are not completely divergent although there are some marked differences. BoyGenius and his friends play tag; sometimes it’s just like what we played and sometimes it’s just a little bit different in that they play it in the forest, combine it with hide & seek and call it manhunt or mantracker. They will play regular hide & seek as well.  The frozen tag they play can be a bit different as well – one version is called graveyard and doesn’t involve any running around  … no movement at all, actually. Cowboys & Indians – well, you’re not allowed to play that anymore are you? I haven’t seen anyone playing marbles in at least 20 years. Neither Red Rover nor British Bulldog are allowed in schoolyards anymore so none of the kids today even know about them. If there are ever snow-hills in the schoolyard the children are not allowed on them. Pick-up football or baseball games have been replaced by organized soccer and t-ball. We don’t let our kids bike all over town or slosh around in duck ponds in hopes of catching tadpoles or snapping turtles. That’s if you could even find a duck pond these days.

As I watch my son roll down that steep hill, I remember doing the same. I remember the feeling and I remember that I loved it. I know that I will have to work with him to perfect his mid-swing takeoff, and work on his landing so he doesn’t break his arm again. And I know that he shares my love of that completely dizzy feeling you get from turning and spinning, arms straight out, in a wide-open field until you can’t even keep yourself upright and fall flat to stare up at the cloud-spinning sky above.

Do you see memories of your own youth in the games your children play?

Monday’s words — A

Mondays. What do Mondays mean to you? As far as I’m concerned they are the day that you try to catch up on all the stuff that you didn’t get done on the weekend. If you work outside the home, I guess it’s different; when I went to work Mondays were okay, I didn’t have that big fear, the huge feeling of dread that some people get on Sunday night even. Monday meant I would see my work friends, I would get to buy a special coffee and listen to what everyone else did on the weekend.

Nowadays I see Mondays as that day to catch up. On sleep, on laundry, on unloading the dishwasher, on grocery shopping. Of course, it’s really just a mental illusion I create for myself. I don’t catch up. I might get some laundry done, I might go to the grocery store. I might not. I might read. I might just sit and watch television. Not that I didn’t watch television all weekend. Oh no. But that was different. There were other people around. Mondays – Mondays are the start of my week. HardWorker has gone to work and BoyGenius has gone to school. A new week has begun. It’s like a respite where you never thought you’d find one.

I’d like to start something on this Monday that I’ll hopefully be able to keep up for 26 weeks (but probably not in a row). I want to write a post featuring favourite words of mine. I don’t know that I’ll whip up some bit of prose or poetry every week; I might just list my favourites for any given letter. I don’t really know. I just really love words and sometimes just the sound of them or seeing them written out is enough to centre me, to calm me, to ground me, to send me soaring or crashing to the ground.

I figure the easiest way to keep track is to start with a different letter each week .. and since we have this neat little filing system called an alphabet, why not put it to good use? So let’s start with “A.”

• awesome – meaning inspiring awe; I do often use it as meaning very impressive which is how the kids use it (how can I help it, I’ve got an 8 year old?), but I really like the idea of something being awe-inspiring.
•  adept – an adjective meaning very skilled or proficient; I also like the related noun ‘adeptness.’ It just sounds cool to me.
• aver – to assert or affirm with confidence; I like the idea of knowing something well enough to be able to aver it instead of just stating it.
• antagonistic – hostile, unfriendly, acting in opposition; mostly I just like the way this one sounds … I don’t like acting antagonistically, but I can, and do at times.
• abroad – in or to a foreign country or countries;I love the idea of going abroad and I feel posh just saying “I’ve been abroad.”
• abrade – to wear off or down by scraping or rubbing; I also like abrasion. It’s the feeling that the word conveys to me when I say it or write it that puts it in my list.
• alliteration - the commencement of two or more words of a word group with the same letter; I’m ever enjoying the employment of alliteration in literature.

I don’t just count these words among my favourites because of their meanings — sometimes it is simply the sound or feeling of the letters as they roll off my tongue. Sometimes the meanings take away from the word, but being able to use them in a sentence brings me joy.

How do you feel about words? Do you have favourites? Do you find yourself using the same words over and over in your day to day conversations? I remember hearing children complaining about adults using “their” words like awesome or cool. I remember finding myself using “absolutely” way too much when working with students on their reading. I remember hearing Erica Kane of “All My Children” talking about “people of their ilk” and thinking ‘no one really talks like that’ – that was probably close to 30 years ago and it has still got a place in my memory. Words are something that I cherish and I realized about 20 years ago that some people really do ‘talk like that’ and that I am one of them.

family — born or built?

Yesterday was my mother’s 85th birthday. Last weekend we attended a “surprise” party to celebrate my aunt’s 90th birthday, and the week before that another aunt had her 85th. When I mentioned these occasions to a friend she said “Whoa, you got some good genes there!” meaning she guesses I’ll live to a ripe old age as well. I like that. I also really like that she didn’t ask for a family tree to figure out where my aunts fit in — because really, in tree form, they don’t.

My parents came to Canada in the early 1950s. My father came by boat and my mother followed a few months later in a Super Connie prop plane. Just the two of them, a young, newly married couple off to build a life together. Just the two of them. My father’s family and my mother’s family stayed behind. It was just the two of them.

My brother SkinnyGuy arrived in 1957 and BlueEyes followed in 1961. By the time I showed up in ’64 SkinnyGuy had been to visit the Fatherland with my parents and my dad’s parents had spent 6 months over here, just missing my arrival which occurred on the same day they sailed back across the pond. My parents had already built a network of friends and some of those friends became pseudo-family to us kids. Whether they were our godparents or just close family friends, they were “aunt” and “uncle” and their kids were our “cousins.” We had cousins — real ones, they were just far away and mostly older than we were. We had our grandparents and our aunts and uncles but we only saw them about every 4 years when one or another of us flew in whichever direction was fitting. For being as far apart as we were, we grew up with a fairly strong sense of family. I think we did well. Most of the success of those relationships is down to my parents making sure we learned two languages growing up, making sure we wrote letters, sent birthday cards and shared photos. It was important to my parents and to us that we know our family.

What was just as important was that we had a virtual family over here where we were the only branch of our family tree. I always marveled at the ease with which some people became aunts and uncles to us and at how some family friends never made it past the “Mr” and “Mrs” stage. Where was the line that those people never got across? Funnily enough, some of those Mr & Mrs couples and their kids are still people I consider family. I couldn’t not. There are also of course some members of my actual family that I hardly know at all.

• When I was sick at school but my mom was at work I knew there was another home I could go to and be taken care of. It wasn’t an aunt who was home, it was Frau V–. Her three boys are like additional brothers to me even though we don’t see each other often. When she was sick and dying from cancer her daily question to my mom was “is the baby here yet?” but BoyGenius and Frau V– missed each other by 10 days. He knows all about her, though. She’s family.
• If I needed a place to stay while my parents went on vacation, there was an aunt and uncle who would open their home. My cousins and I tried not to get into too much trouble during those two weeks but we certainly didn’t promise anything. I vaguely remember some broken furniture .. but it wasn’t anything serious. We had each others’ back — that’s what family does. Those people are family to me and I know their grandchildren, their great-granddaughter and their kids’ in-laws. Family.
• When I told my then-manager that I needed a day off to attend my aunt’s funeral in my hometown she actually asked me if it was my mom’s sister or my dad’s. This manager knew (or should have known) that neither of my parents had any siblings here. She needed to justify (or not) the time off I was taking. My manager didn’t care that this woman was someone I had known and loved since I was 3 years old, that I had been through dark days with my aunt and her family. I couldn’t get a bereavement day because she wasn’t really my aunt and it wasn’t really convenient for me to be off. I took the day.
• My cousins’ kids don’t call their aunts and uncles by “Aunt” and “Uncle.”  My cousins thought it was too formal and would make them feel too old fashioned .. not to mention too old. I think the kids have missed out. They all call each other by their first names and don’t seem to feel that close bond of “family.” They all get along just fine: brothers, in-laws, cousins, their in-laws, and now we have two new little grandsons in the mix; it just seems a bit distant, somehow.
• My father’s cousin’s children always thought of my parents as Tante and Onkel and us as cousins (the proper title might be second-cousins or something similar). We are just cousins and to BoyGenius their kids are his cousins. We are family.
• There are some branches of my family tree that I have only gotten to know through social networking sites like facebook. We are indeed blood relatives on my mother’s side but she had four brothers who spread across the country and didn’t do very well at keeping in touch with one another. My mom worked hard to keep in touch with her nieces and nephews and the internet has allowed me to get to know next generations. My family grows.
• At my Aunt W’s 90th birthday party I was a little bit shocked when HardWorker asked my cousin, “So how do you guys know each other? How did you meet?” I was thrilled when my cousin, with a confused look on her face, answered, “We grew up together. We’re family.”

a great definition of "family"

Family isn’t necessarily born. In fact, some people strive to get away from their blood relations. Some people must get away from their blood relations. No question. I am lucky that this isn’t the case for me. Does that mean that those people don’t have or shouldn’t have people they call family? No. We are not defined by our families but I think how we define family certainly helps to define us. I have a heart that expands easily and tends towards including most people that I love in my definition of family. What this means is that I have a HUGE family (in my mind). It means I don’t have to explain the relationship when I say “that’s my uncle” (although with certain people I find I do still add “who’s not really my uncle” just for their own clarity). It means I don’t laugh at my Caribbean friends when they talk about some guy they barely know and say “oh yeah, I know him, he’s my cousin,” I just chuckle to myself and know exactly what they mean. It means I am thrilled to bits when my cousin posts some old photos on facebook. It means that a blogger I’ve never met who lives on the other side of the continent has just as big a place in my heart as the next family member in there. It means that I can’t hardly wait to meet two new little baby boys across the ocean or one newish little baby girl just a couple of hours away!

It also means it hurts when my best friend’s kids tell me they’re doing something “just family” on the weekend .. in their minds I’m not family; in my heart, they are. Our definitions differ at this time but that might change someday.

What does your definition of family look like?

one bad apple CAN spoil the whole bunch

Grade One. Every parent’s dream. BoyGenius’ only concerns about Grade One were 1) “there’s no Lego in the classroom” and B) “they’re going to make me do math.” He wasn’t completely chuffed about full days of school as opposed to half days but still seemed okay with it. Class lists go up, he’s in a split 1 / 2, with a teacher that I didn’t really know. When I asked those parents who did know of her, I didn’t get a very warm feeling. Still, we thought, he’ll be fine.  What could possibly go wrong in Grade One?

What was I thinking? What could possibly go wrong in Grade One? Let me see. Migraines. Inability to sleep through the night. Separation anxiety. Anxiety! Total loss of interest in school. Full on desire for homeschooling … in his words, “right through to university.” Poor academic performance. Personality change from Mr. Social to Wallflower. All in a matter of weeks. HardWorker and I were at our wits’ end. What the heck was going on? My gorgeous son was a wreck. BoyGenius’ Grade One teacher had been off the year before due to health issues. She started his Grade One year teaching part-time; she was back full-time at the end of October.  By the end of November BG’s life was a disaster zone. We asked him if anyone was bothering him at school. Nope. Did he like his teacher? Yup,  she’s “nice enough but she does yell a lot.” We got notes home saying BG was easily distracted and needed help finishing his work; couldn’t come up with story ideas. Every week, the same notes.

I approached our school’s head of Special Education. I didn’t know what else to do. She advised she would observe the class and “see where the difficulty is being generated.” After one visit she advised that she was no longer observing, she was stepping in. My education angel took BoyGenius out every day for weeks and spent time with him in the sensory and gross-motor rooms, settling him into his work upon returning him to class. It was grand. He was, if not exactly happy again, at least less resistant to the idea of school. Report cards came home in February (well, to be honest, BoyGenius’ report card went missing and didn’t come home when everyone else’s did) . BG was sick with worry (again) and didn’t want to go to school anymore. His report was pretty good, but he told me — through tears — that anything under an A was bad.

His report card said he would be “encouraged to write in complete sentences” and to work on his reading. Now I knew that these reports are just forms with drop-down boxes so I sent a note to his teacher asking just how he was going to be encouraged to do these things. After not getting a reply for almost two weeks I spoke with our SERT (special education resources teacher) again and remarkably got a call from the teacher the very next day, setting a meeting for the next day after that. BG’s teacher wanted to give me materials to allow me to work with him at home. I explained that he could read and write just fine at home and wondered what they would be doing for him in class. His teacher asked me how he liked the homework calendar/notebook that came home. I truthfully said “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Apparently this was something that she had instituted a couple of weeks before our meeting .. but also apparently it didn’t matter that my son had never once brought homework back to school during those two weeks. She gave me a notebook and a calendar to take home. She said she had done a running record with him that afternoon; she reluctantly raised his reading level two steps. She said he struggled with comprehension on the lower level but was okay with it on the higher level story. Our SERT asked what the two stories were about and pointed out that he didn’t care what happened in the first one because it was about getting to school on time and BG didn’t even want to be at school. His teacher said he had problems with his “middle sounds” in words and that might be contributing to his reading issues. Our SERT did a running record with him the day after this meeting and amazingly his reading level jumped 4 steps … she wanted to go further but his teacher disagreed. The SERT put him on a computer program that she usually only started in grade two and found he breezed through about twenty levels and said he had no issues whatsoever with reading, pronunciation or comprehension. So what was the problem?

I started making BoyGenius’ issues general knowledge to any parent who would listen. They didn’t believe what they heard — not BoyGenius, he was “the coolest kid in Kindergarten!” I found that there were indeed a number of other parents who were experiencing challenges with their children in this same class. They all bickered and complained in the yard but only one other mother followed through with the administration. Others said “it’s too late now, it’s already March,” or “I don’t want any backlash from the teacher towards my child” or my personal favourite, “we’re just treating this year as a write-off.” Grade One — a write-off.

I did go to the principal. I did write a letter and have a face to face meeting. I did demand that something be done. I did put in a formal request for BoyGenius’ Grade Two placement. I did point out to the principal that the primary grades are the foundation for students’ educational careers and if they couldn’t be sucked into the culture of learning in those first three years then heaven help their teachers for the next ten. I did put the school on notice for the emotional well-being of my child. I did let them know that while I am definitely my son’s strongest advocate, I was appalled that I had to bring these issues to their attention when they should have been in contact with me since they saw him in this environment every day.

I did bring about a change. While BoyGenius’ Grade One teacher is still there, still teaching a 1 / 2 split, still being unable to exercise much control over what goes on in her classroom, the students she has this year are having a better time of it than those who had her last year. She is being more closely monitored by the administration, has apparently taken some direction. I feel less afraid and more happy for the grade ones she has this year.

What about BoyGenius, you ask? How is Grade Two? Night and day, my friends. He skips or dances to school every morning. He entertains. He is a “joy to have in the classroom” and quite frankly, back to being his brilliant self. He is apparently a natural leader as well as being one of the class clowns. He loves school, brings home one perfect math quiz after another and has the most diverse collection of books in his book box. His February report brought tears to my eyes and warmth to my soul. And he’s still complaining that there’s no Lego in the classroom.

Words

I am a lover of words.

I’m not much of a talker.  I quip, I debate, I defuse potentially explosive situations at school council meetings.  I talk in my head, a lot … but that doesn’t really count for much.

I am a reader.  I read blogs, magazine articles, books, liner notes, movie credits, letters, cereal boxes and the occasional newspaper.

I am a writer.  Now, don’t worry, all you novelists and journalists and bloggers and such can stop shaking in your boots.  I don’t presume to present myself as a Writer; oh no, I am not capitalized.  I am a writer.  I write.  Some.  Sometimes.

My favourite class in school .. in all levels of schooling that I have attended .. was English or English Literature or CanLit.  I could read and write all day back then.  I didn’t.  I read whatever we had to read and finished it within a week and then waited until the night before the essay or assignment was due to start writing.  It worked for me.  I wrote because I had to.  Those other nights, after I had finished the book and should have been outlining my essay and fleshing it out and taking notes for my bibliography, I was more likely to be reading something else:  another novel; a biography; Tiger Beat magazine; the liner notes from “Band on the Run,” while lying on the bedroom floor with a speaker on either side of my head.  I don’t think I ever got less than a B+ on any assignment that involved a piece of writing.

In my “real-world” work the most I would ever write were letters.  They were good.  Letters of intent, complaint letters, replies to complaint letters, contract or agreement letters.  It wasn’t really my job to write letters, I’m just the one that everyone came to for that.  Now, as a sahM, most of my writing is still in the form of letters.  I write grovelling letters because my coupons have expired.  I write complaint letters because the ‘cheese’ in our cheese & crackers snacks is oozing out of the packaging or our peanut butter freshness seals have holes in them.  I write satisfied consumer letters.  I write fundraising request letters for BoyGenius’ school.  These letters don’t get me much … wait, that’s not right … they get me new coupons, free peanut butter, a better cell phone rate and oodles of donations.  That’s some satisfaction, right?

They don’t satisfy what needs satisfying, though.  That writing doesn’t satisfy my soul.  What satisfies my soul, keeps me from exploding is the writing that I do for me.  Poetry, random thoughts, love letters, comments, private blog posts; those are the things that satisfy my soul.  The writing that comes from the vibrating inside of me.  The writing that has to come out, that flows from my core up through my fingertips and onto the keyboard or into the pen and out onto the page.  Those words, those are the words that I love most of all.  Those are the words that soothe me, calm me, move me.  Those are the words that do the same for their recipients, if there are any.  Those are the words that I don’t necessarily want anyone to see but that I need to be read.  Those are the words that can either heal or do the most damage.  Those are the words that sneak back inside your soul and hurt you or make your spirit sing.

Sometimes it sucks being a writer. Sometimes it doesn’t.

Either way, I remain a lover of words.

BoyGenius. Normal? No. Perfect? Yes, he is.

For the purposes of this blog and my facebook page I call my son BoyGenius.  He would probably get mad at me if I called him this at home.  HardWorker occasionally (very lovingly) calls him Smarty Pants since he’s smarter than us sometimes and he absolutely hates it.  He just turned 8 the other day and I’m still having a hard time believing a) that he’s already been here for eight years and 2) that he’s only been here for eight years.

BoyGenius is NT, which stands for neuro-typical.  If you’ve never heard of this designation it’s probably because your kids are NT, or what people refer to in layman’s terms as “normal.”  Do I think BoyGenius is “normal?”  No.  No, I don’t.  I don’t say this lightly.  I’m not bragging.  I’m not looking for any type of “diagnosis” for my child.  I just have to question what people think of when they say normal.

Truthfully, I would love to think that BoyGenius is “normal.”  I would love if the way he thinks and acts (most of the time for behaviour) could be used as a “normal” example.  I think the world would be a better place if that were the case.  Since the time he was a baby he has been considerate.  He was sensitive.  He was funny and he understood funny.  He was an individual.  He was smart and clever.  BoyGenius still is all of these things.  You’re thinking, “of course that’s normal” and, “she is so bragging.”  Let me give you the breakdown on some of these:

• considerate – as a baby, BoyGenius slept when he was tired.  You’re thinking “so what? so do all babies.”  No, they don’t.  He slept.  In the car.  In the stroller.  In shopping carts.  He didn’t care where he was and if I had to move him from the car to the stroller or a shopping cart he would open his eyes, smile at me and go right back to sleep.  I was never shackled to the house by nap times.  When he was just over two, his best friend got a baby sister.  He admonished his best friend for being too noisy when the baby was sleeping.  He would make sure the baby had toys and would return them to the baby when her big sister/his best friend took them away from her.
• sensitive – BoyGenius has always gotten upset over things being ‘unfair.’  Now lots of kids will say “that’s not fair” when it means they don’t get what they think they should be getting.  BoyGenius thinks in terms of other kids getting what he gets.  He gives his favourite toys (Lego minifigures, Rescue Heroes and their vehicles) to his friends of his own volition.  Don’t get me wrong, he will hold onto his favourites to the death if we try to purge toys but if others don’t have, he will give.  He will stand up for his friends before standing up for himself.
• individual – in junior Kindergarten BoyGenius started mismatching his shoes, on purpose.  Airwalk on the left, Converse on the right.  Three days later, he’d switch to the matching, opposite pair.  When he was three he decided he should start wearing one glove.  And believe me when I tell you he had not yet ever seen Michael Jackson.  In senior Kindergarten he decided that he could also mismatch his socks .. but they would still match:  both be striped; be from the same set but be different colours; be totally different socks but be the same brand.  Also in SK he decided to grow his hair long; he was five and had the long flowing locks of a rock star.  He decided to cut it one summer and he has decided to grow it long again.  He wears leotards (he calls them long socks) because he likes them.

So you’re reading this and you’re still thinking that I’m just bragging on my kid.  Or that I’m not a very good parent.  Or that he sounds perfectly normal.  Or all of those things.

Well let me tell you, I spend a lot of time in BoyGenius’ school and around many other children.  He’s not “normal.”  Apparently “normal” is a brush cut or a faux-hawk, fighting with friends and hitting, looking out for ‘number 1,’ never sharing what you have, grey socks and of course matching shoes.  I have been told that he’s too sensitive and needs to be toughened up.  I have been told that I should take my “perfect baby and go” somewhere else.  I have been asked why we don’t make him wear a real pair of shoes.  I have been told by at least 12 different dads that they’ll cut his hair for him, oh and of course no son of theirs would ever have hair like that.  Those things get my back up.  I shouldn’t let them, but I can’t help it.  I might seem to get a little defensive.  Remarkably, I have also been told (by a dad) that BoyGenius was always “the coolest kid in Kindergarten.”

So, BoyGenius.

Normal?  No.

Perfect?  Yes, he is.

What’s in a friend?

Friends are easy to make but hard to keep.  Everyone says that, right?  Or someone famous said it.  Or someone famous heard everyone saying it and then said it and now everyone thinks that someone famous said it .. or vice versa.  It doesn’t really matter.  Because it’s not necessarily true.  For some people friends are easy to make.  For some people friends are easy to keep.  For me, acquaintances are easy to make; nobody is easy to keep.

I don’t really know how to define friendship.  Is it a relationship with someone for whom I will always be available?  … or is it a relationship with someone who will always be there for me?  I think it’s supposed to be a fine balance between the two but how many times in your life can you actually achieve that?  If you’re lucky, you’ll have at least one person in your life who can balance you while you balance them right back.  It’s amazing when it works.  Truly.

As a s-a-h-mother it’s actually trickier than you might think.  You meet a lot of people in the school yard; on the school/parent council; at the playground; at gymnastics.  You laugh with them, you discuss your kids, your kid’s/kids’ teachers, even exchange a recipe or two.  Does that mean you’ll be friends?  No.  Your children are in the same class.  Your children have the same birthday.  Your children get kicked out of take swimming lessons together.  Friends?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Your children are best friends and want to see each other all day, every day.  Friends with those parents?  It could happen.  Quite often it does not.  Here’s the other side of the scenario:  you get along great with so-and-so’s mom.  You have lots in common, lots to talk about but not a lot of time to get together.  Let’s set up some playdates!!  Fabulous idea.  Except for the fact that your son likes playing army and blowing things up and my son likes building with Lego.  OR you have a daughter and my son doesn’t want to be a prince every. single. time.  Even better, your kid bites my kid and then storms off slamming her bedroom door because my son doesn’t want to be a prince.  Sigh.  Oh well, on to the next parent.

I know what you’re thinking.  Didn’t I have friends before I had a baby?  Some.  Don’t they have kids that could concievably be friends with BoyGenius?  Some.  But you know what?  Where did those friends come from?  Work.  School.  Hometown.  Let’s take a look at these groups and see what happens.

• Work.  I have in past, made some good friends at work or through work.  I say good friends because they are people who have been through things with me and with whom I have shared good times and bad.  However, we met at work, an artificial community.  We all came in from various corners of the city or from outside of the city in which our office was located and worked together.  We had work in common.  We had hatred of work in common.  I no longer ‘work.’  Some of them do, some of them don’t.  Some have children, some don’t.  Most of them don’t live in my little corner outside of the city.  I am still in touch with many of them, thanks to e-mail, facebook and cell phones.  I still get together with some of them, we have wonderful dinners and evenings out.  It’s not the same as when you all go for a drink at the end of a hellish day.  It’s good, but it’s sporadic.
• School.  I went to school.  I made some friends.  Post-secondary education is another artificial community.  You meet people from all over the world who happen to be studying the same thing as you or living in the same complex as you are.  You study, you party, you make friends, you go on trips, you take people home with you, etc., etc.  Once you’re done your education (or leave to go to another post-secondary institution … or none at all) you hope that the connections you have made with these people will last.  They might.  They might not.  Thanks to the aforementioned technologies, I am in touch with a number of people I met at university.  Not many.  Come on, you’ve only got four years or so in this particular artificial community.  Grade school and secondary school are another story.  For many of us, those communities are far more real simply because those are the communities we grow up in, those are the people we grow up with.  So I’ll leave my thoughts on those people to the “hometown” category.
• Hometown.  Well.  As already mentioned, for many of us our hometown(s), our public/grade school, our highschool communities are our true communities.  That’s how it is/was for me.  I’m from a small town.  I went to school with the same classmates from Kindergarten to grade 13.  That’s a lot of years.  I consider those people to be my friends.  Good friends.  Close friends.  Lifetime friends.  I hardly see any of them.  They are all over the world.  They are still at home.  They work or they don’t.  We keep in touch or we don’t.  With many of them, it doesn’t matter.  I can get together with them and talk for hours about what we’ve all been doing, what our siblings are doing, who’s parents are still alive, remember that time in grade 8 geography?, whatever happened to..?, and isn’t it funny that you’re a grandparent already and my kid is only 7!  It’s really nice to get together with a group or with a couple of individuals.  Some of these people I have known for over 40 years.  As hard as that is to believe, it gives me a warm feeling inside whenever I think of it.  These are the people who knew me “when.”

So again, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking if I’ve got all these friends, how can I possibly be lonely?  I don’t know.  All I know is that the friends in those three categories are mainly not here.  The friends that are here, now, are those people in the schoolyard.  And while that community may be BoyGenius’ main community, it doesn’t seem to be mine.  When I walk through the yard, or to the park, or into the school I am greeted by at least 100 children who know me and 20+ parents/caregivers and almost all of the teachers and staff … (I feel like The King of Kensington) and my child is only in grade 2.  There are only a few I would actually call friends and perhaps two that I would call good friends.  There are only a few who are also s-a-h-parents.  We don’t always have time to get together.  The time that you do have, the time when your kids are in school, is the time that you’re supposed be doing laundry or vacuuming or getting groceries or painting the bathroom.  Once school is out, your “free time” is up because then it’s time for snack, homework, dinner and bed.

Friends are easy to make but hard to keep?  I think I’ve found that they’re hard to make but not quite as hard to keep.