What I Believe

If we happen to meet at some social gathering, here's a tip: 
Do not ask my thoughts about abortion, racial intolerance, bullying, Obama, war or any other incendiary topic. I make a conscious effort to very rarely participate in political or religious discussions. Not because I don't care about the issues, but because I am not informed enough on current topics to be able to speak coherently about them. Plus, I only care about issues that directly affect me and my family. I understand that as an American, a mother, a baby boomer, or any of the other positions or labels that may apply to me, I have a responsibility to be aware of what's happening in our government. 

Ain't nobody got time for that! Seriously, I am way too busy to concern myself over what Senator or Congressman abused their power on any given day, or what some has-been celebrity thinks about gay marriage. I can't concern myself with starving children half a world away, when I often struggle to feed my own! I have absolutely NO reason to comment on Obamacare, because my dad has Medicare and my daughter and I are on Medicaid. I don't care that some muckety-muck told his girlfriend to not bring black people to basketball games. War, what is it good for? Unless some crazy-ass country attacks American soil, I won't be able to talk about wars or military actions or conflicts in other countries. 

What I CAN say is what I believe. In my heart, where it counts. Admittedly, some of my beliefs are diametrically opposed to one another.  But it is I, not you or some politician, that will have to reconcile that. I don't need someone who can't run the country telling me how to run my life. 

I BELIEVE in God. Nuff said. 

I BELIEVE that public education should be a priority to the government. The children we educate today will be the leaders of the future. Further, I BELIEVE that teachers should NEVER have to pay out of their overstretched pockets to purchase supplies for their classrooms. 

I BELIEVE that a woman should have the right to decide what happens to her body. With specific regard to abortion, I think it should be legalized and made safe for women who make the decision, for whatever reason, to terminate their pregnancy. 

I BELIEVE that gay marriage should be legalized across the country. I know a gay couple that has been together nearly 20 years. They should be able to have the same rights as any other couple in love. With the divorce rate at nearly 50% in this country, we need something to lower those odds! 

I BELIEVE that veterans of the military should be treated with respect and dignity and given as many benefits as possible. For as long as they live. 

I BELIEVE that recipients of welfare payments, food stamps (and I am one), and other government subsidies should be subjected to drug tests. I will happily go pee in a cup every 6 months in order to feed my family. 

I BELIEVE that healthcare should be affordable and available to all American citizens. The government should not force people to purchase insurance if they don't want it or can't afford it. 

I BELIEVE that if my child publicly behaves in a way that warrants a swat on the behind, I should not be approached by store managers when I deliver it in the housewares section of their store. 

I BELIEVE that if I choose to drive without a seat belt, the risk I take is my own. Survival of the fittest. 

I BELIEVE that if some kid is truly bullying my daughter at school, she should have the right to protect herself from those assaults - verbal or physical. 

I BELIEVE that society has softened younger generations by formulating "less offensive" phrases. Fat people should be called fat, not "full figured."  Black people should be called black, not "pigmentally enhanced." People with "personality challenges" should just be called assholes. 

I BELIEVE that we should support our active military personnel in their endeavors. We don't have to agree with their missions. But conversely, 

I BELIEVE that "big swinging dick" government types should stay out of other countries' business and focus on the wars already raging here on American soil. 

Finally, 
I BELIEVE that I should be able to state my beliefs without fear of retribution, attempts to sway my thoughts or denigration. It's a free country, right? 

Right? 

Looking for Jesus

Last night, I was explaining an Easter project to my father and mentioned that an object represented Jesus. He said, "Who?" I got a little giggle, but later realized that there probably needs to be a bit more spirituality in our house. For the past several months, my personal quest has been to find a permanent church home for The Pie and me. 

I've researched and visited a number of different churches in our town, but still haven't found one that appeals to me. The Pie staked her claim on a church that has an incredible children's area featuring a computer room, a craft barn and a movie theatre. She declared it "her" church. My experience didn't make me feel as certain. I enjoyed the sermon and the preacher, but was thoroughly nonplussed by everything else. I was not welcomed as a visitor. No one spoke to me or offered assistance. 

My parents raised me in a Southern Baptist church. The preacher I grew up with was a brilliant speaker, a true teacher of the Bible and a good man. An unfortunate scandal rocked his ministry to the core, and our family joined the mass exodus that followed. We decided to work with a number of other families and chartered a new Baptist church in town. My mother passed away before the building could be finished, but I remained loyal, despite the painful memories attending the church evoked. I eventually found my calling in the nursery and for years was the co-director with a beautiful soul named Miss Melba. When it came to my attention that the associate pastor had physically threatened the wife of a deacon during a meeting, I turned in my keys to the church and left. It broke my heart and I have never felt part of a church family since. 

When I became a parent, it was important to me that The Pie knew God in some way. We didn't regularly attend church, but we talked about Heaven and God. She knows her grandma lives in Heaven with God and that someday she will meet her. I've shared Bible stories with her and she is inquisitive about many related topics. We've become one of those families that only attends church on Christmas and Easter ... and I hate that. 

My problem is this: I don't care for the current trend of "consumer-driven" churches. Every one I visit features rock bands and Power Point presentations. No hymns are sung, only repetitive choruses of songs whose lyrics are shown in the aforementioned Power Points. In the church I most recently visited, I was the only person carrying a Bible. It was quite disconcerting. Even the services that are touted as "traditional" have allowed the 21st century to infiltrate them. To me, worship is quiet, dignified and a learning experience, not a pep rally or rock concert. I get the feeling in many situations that churches have allowed themselves to become businesses rather than temples. The churches in my town are not small; they build giant monoliths of buildings with amusement park quality play areas and coffee bars and appeal to the the young upwardly mobile families with sizable bank accounts and vehicles. Kind of a "hipster Christian." I don't fit in there. 

Interesting side note: the church I helped to charter over 20 years ago has no recognizable community service assistance program in place. Every other church in town offers help with food, utility payment, gift baskets and other ministries to help those less fortunate. That one has no real community presence. 

I'm looking for a place to fit in; a place where my daughter can grow up with a solid, traditional foundation of God's word. A place where I can find instruction, comfort and fellowship. It's difficult for me to believe that in a town with 37 churches and no bars I can't find what I seek.  

God's Waiting Room

Recently, I returned home from an overnight trip out of town to find my father lying on his bedroom floor, covered in blood and his own feces. In hindsight, I should have recognized the clues ...his shoes were haphazardly abandoned in the garage, the kitchen trash can was overturned, dark smears in a path on the carpet and an offending smell that threatened to peel the paint from the walls. Upon discovering him, I gave a quick once-over to determine the origin of the blood and found a nasty scrape on his head. He eventually admitted that he ventured outside into his shed and upon returning to the house, he tripped and fell, hitting his head on the brick exterior of the house. He spent nearly 18 hours crawling into the house. He was a mess! Rather than attempt to handle this situation on my own, I called an ambulance. A lovely bonus to the whole scene was a half dozen firefighters/paramedics parading into my house to soothe me and help my dad. A trip to the emergency room and a laundry list of tests later, Dad was released without even being cleaned up or having his head wound bandaged. I brought him home, gave him a shower, covered his boo boo with Neosporin and fed him. 

Crisis handled.  So, now what?

I've threatened to put him into a nursing home if he places himself in a dangerous situation again. I have support from members of my family to begin the process of relocating him. But the truth is, I don't think I can do it. I watched both of my parents make the heart wrenching decision to place their mothers into full-time nursing facilities; I then watched my grandmothers decline quickly and simply exist until they left this Earth. For years, I've referred to nursing homes as "God's Waiting Room" because that's the impression I get when I walk into one. First, there's the smell. That dominant bouquet of urine and Lysol, with the underlying aroma of Band-Aids, latex gloves, sweat and something very similar to tapioca, smells like someone just washed a dog that's been dead for a couple of months. Secondly, I can't stand the idea of imprisoning my father in a place that treats him merely as a means to making money. Nursing homes strip residents of their personality, their essence, their lives. And ALL their money! It's all disguised behind planned crafts or bingo games, but no one on staff looks at the patients as human beings. And that hurts my heart. I discussed the situation with a physician friend of mine, who begged me not to consider placing him in a home. She likened it to taking a dog to the pound. 

I want my father to live the rest of his time here with as much dignity as possible. That is why I moved in - to give him the best care available. Admittedly, I feel a sense of obligation. I'm not his biological child. He and my mother adopted me as an infant. They cared for someone else's child as their own. He took care of me, so now it's my turn to take care of him. Simple as that. It would feel like giving up on him...and I just can't do that. He never gave up on me, when there were plenty of times that he could have. 

In the recent past, he and I have had our disagreements and issues. He swung his cane at me in his frustration and anger. I allowed him to go without meals and meds following his inappropriate groping of me. I tolerate the way he speaks to me because I feel I owe him something...I just don't know what. I know my father to be coarse, quick tempered and physically aggressive. But I'd like to know the man he used to be - the man my mother fell in love with, the man who sang and read to me as a child - I know he's in there...somewhere. 

I may never know that man. Twenty-one years ago, the day my mother died, I realized that I didn't really know my father. I've spent all this time trying to know him as an adult, but I don't think he ever prepared himself to see me as an adult. He especially didn't plan on seeing me as a mother! His vision of me is clouded, lost in his mind amid all his memories. It's not his fault, so I can't very well blame him for his inability to connect. 

I'll continue to care for him to the absolute best of my physical and emotional ability. So, when God wants him, He will have to look a little bit farther than His waiting room. 

One of These is Not Like the Others...I Hope

I admit it. I take my daughter for granted. I sometimes complain that she is spoiled (I accept my responsibility in that), needy (ditto) and too dependent upon me. But here's the truth...The Pie is a good kid. She has lots of friends, from school and the neighborhood, and I've gotten to know most of them quite well. Some of them spend hours at my house and if I thought my daughter behaved the way some of these kids do, I would be horrified. 

From possessing no voice modulation to relying on me for their entire nutritional daily intake, those kids...I'll call them the "others"...drive me batshit crazy! There are a couple of them that I truly love in spite of those little quirks, don't misunderstand. Hell, there are times when the actual fruit of my loins drives me nearly certifiable! The "others" make no attempt to comply with the rules of the house and repeated requests to lower their voices fall on deaf ears - probably ruined their hearing with all their loudness! 

I try - I really, do - to be patient, understanding that their home life is most likely vastly different from that of The Pie. Perhaps the parental dynamic, number of siblings or a custody issue affects their behavior...or maybe they're just brats. I can't say with any clinical certainty on that one. What I can say, with the caveat that the statement is to the best of my knowledge, is that The Pie is one of the best behaved kids I know. I make the statement with full acceptance that it may appear biased, but I speak the truth. She's a great kid. 

She doesn't walk into a friend's home and announce, "I'm hungry. I want a snack!" Nor does she just help herself to whatever happens to be available in the kitchen. In our home, our snacks are displayed for easy access, and she even asks my permission before she takes a snack from the basket. In her own home! She doesn't drain her friend's parents of juice, milk soda or other beverages; she saves that honor just for me! She follows the lead of the friend whose home she is visiting, she doesn't arrive and demand to play Barbies or Littlest Pet Shop. Admittedly, she pretty much takes over the activities when she is hosting kids at our house. I cannot, in good conscience, proclaim that my girl  is not a...shall we say...strong personality. She does like to be in charge...it's a genetic flaw. 

Generally, The Pie isn't too awfully loud, but she is susceptible to the loudness of others. One of her favorite books is "The Loudness of Sam," the story of a young boy who lives his life at the highest decibel he can.  She thinks it funny that just because Sam talks loudly, so does everyone else in his life. The irony escapes her little 6 year old brain, but not mine. When her little girlfriends scream, so does she. When the "others" yell at the top of their lungs for no apparent reason, after my admonishments to keep it down, she follows suit. Why is loudness so contagious? The other children holler my name to get my attention, burst out random phrases; apropos of nothing, one girl will blurt "skooch bus" at a level that only neighborhood dogs can hear! Then everyone else in the car apes her and before I know, I am seriously considering purchasing a Taser! The Pie does have a friend who can come over and play quietly and nicely...so much so that I hardly even know they are in the house. I often have to check to see if they haven't succumbed to carbon monoxide poisoning! 

My daughter acts honestly like I am the best thing since chocolate that ever happened to her. She never hesitates to tell me that she loves me,  she always offers kisses and hugs to me, whether we're at home or in public. She draws pictures for me in her free time at school. I love the smile that slowly creeps across her face into a beaming beacon when I pick her up at school. The "others" seem to simply tolerate their parents and don't seem to want to be around them, accept in cases of injury or fear. Or the need for money, there's that.  

One the most disconcerting issues I face with entertaining The Pie's friends is that of peer pressure. So early in her life, I believe she has been forced to do things that she wouldn't otherwise do. when left to her own devices. She will bend to the will of a girl that warns she will no longer be The Pie's friend if she doesn't play the game her way. or won't play with/tear up something they found in the garage. Losing a friend is pretty high on The Pie's list of fears, so without thought to consequences, she will often do the bidding of another kid, just to be accepted. I know further conversation on this topic is in our future. 

For the past six years, I have worried often, daily...sometimes hourly..., if I am a good parent. Have I taught my child good manners, kindness, compassion, respect? Were the words spoken in a moment of anger too harsh for her innocent psyche? Has she learned how to properly treat the people she loves? Does the absence of a father figure affect her in a negative manner? Followed by myriad questions that can only be answered in the future, when she is an adult woman. Then the result of my work will be evident. But in the meantime, I'm glad she's different from her friends. I don't want to consign her to a being "just like everybody else."  As long as she's happy with her life and herself, that's fine with me.