An Open Letter to Men

WARNING: MEMBERS OF MY FAMILY AND/OR THOSE WITH SENSITIVITIES TOWARD VULGARITY WILL NOT WANT TO READ THIS. IT CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND DEPICTIONS OF SITUATIONS THAT COULD BE UPSETTING TO YOU. 

An Open Letter to Men

Dear Penis Possessors,

I have something to say. I don’t think you’re going to like it, but for my own sanity, it has to be said. And I need some questions answered.

 I have recently found myself the recipient of uncomfortable attention from men.  Within the past several months, four different men have thought nothing of suggesting I have sex with him for no other reason than the pleasure of it. None of those men were my steady boyfriend … and one was my father.  

Last week, as I lay quietly in my bed, reading a book, my father entered my bedroom, slid his hand up my leg and grabbed my genitals. He sometimes gets confused and disoriented, so I asked him, “What are you doing?” He answered by repeating the offense. Shocked, I asked, “Do you know what you are doing?” He then showed me his penis, and then grabbed at my genitals again. I firmly instructed him to return to his bedroom, closed my door and cried. I could not begin to process what had taken place in the supposed safety of my home and began to freak out. I posted a number of cryptic quotes on Facebook and fortunately, my neighbor saw them and called me to talk. Our conversation helped calm me down, then I went to take a shower in an attempt to cleanse myself of the incident. I then vomited while standing in the shower, overcome with disgust and shame.

The day before the unthinkable happened with my father, a man I briefly knew over 10 years ago and had slept with once, spent the day texting me in an attempt to get me to agree to meet him in order to recreate the past. For several weeks, this man hounded me through Facebook messaging and texts for this reason only and I tried to decline in a subtle way, but that seemed to go unnoticed.  I had to state directly that I was not interested in a situation that debased me and lowered my value as a human being to that of a sex toy. It is my hope that he does not contact me again, but I cannot be certain.

A couple of months ago, a new guy friend talked me into coming to his apartment for the sole purpose of performing oral sex. I admit it was a mistake and will only say in my defense that my self-esteem was at a dangerously low level and I desperately needed to feel and be wanted. More requests followed but when I passed on the opportunity, I was verbally abused; I was called names and made to feel less than a person.

Back in November, I was on a date with a man I met in a restaurant. He is the friend of a friend, so I felt comfortable going out to dinner with him. The entire evening, he spoke suggestively, then graphically, about what he wanted from me. I tried to play coy, hoping that a nice first date would evolve into a second date and maybe something more concrete. He took me to a park and while we were there, he forced himself on me. I said “No” several times, but he would not be stopped from getting what he wanted. Afterwards, he dropped me at my car and said he would call me. He did. A week or so of ignoring his calls and texts only made him mad, so I confessed that I didn't want to see him again. He didn't take it well, and again I found myself being verbally abused. I wasn't invested in him much, so I didn't let it bother me. I knew it wasn't about me, it was about him.

This past weekend, I attended my high school reunion with a girl friend. I was having a great time until I caught the attention of a guy who had obviously drunk a lot of alcohol. Thirty years ago, we never exchanged one word, but he was more than happy to share words with me now. Specific, graphic words involving sex acts came tumbling out of his mouth into my ear as I sat trying to watch a slide show of pictures. He cornered me at the food table and began kissing my neck and telling me he wanted us to get together. He suggested we go into the parking lot to get to know each other better. I reminded him that is was a high school reunion….not high school. By mingling with my classmates, I was able to lose him a few times, but at the end of the night he wanted me to have his number so I could call him to hook up.  Oh, I forgot to mention…he’s married.

Now guys, here is what I want to know:

Do I dress or present myself in a way that indicates I am willing to have sex with any guy that comes along? Do I provoke feelings in you that you can only communicate in a sexual manner? Do I seem to acquiesce to your dirty talk when I simply smile and turn away?  Do I hang my tits out for you to ogle at or wear skimpy skirts with no underwear? (That answer is no, by the way) Just what is it about you men that make you think this behavior is okay?  And furthermore...Why me?

I know this about myself: I am not drop dead gorgeous, a hot chick or a knockout. I think I can be reasonably attractive with the right make up and lighting, but I would not consider myself pretty. I am overweight…considerably overweight. I dress well for my size and just try to look nice. I know I am a quick wit and intelligent, but that doesn't seem to come into play in this situation, since all you want to do is shove that ugly piece of meat in one of my bodily orifices!

I completed a counseling treatment program back in May and feel far better about myself than ever before. Is it that new confidence that is drawing you in? Because maybe I need to re calibrate that.

When a woman feels good about herself, wants to look good and seems to be enjoying life, why must you swoop in and piss all over our good thoughts?

Some of the men mentioned in this writing will recognize themselves. Well, men…what do you have to say for yourselves?

Scandalous!

I’m in the mood for a good, juicy scandal. One so outrageous that simply can’t be believed. One that gets round the clock CNN coverage for a solid week. I have only two conditions for said scandal: 1) no one can be harmed or killed and 2) it must involve someone that is almost above reproach.  I wonder why we, as a society, enjoy seeing someone fall from grace. Why do we soak up the humiliation of others and hang on our seats for the next breaking news about it?

For me, I think it comes from a place of envy. Seeing someone who seems to have it all lose face among his or her fans seems to be a sort of comeuppance, a way of reminding the subject that he or she is not impervious to scrutiny. That we are all human. In many instances, a scandal exposes hypocrisy at government level or reduces a pompous ass to a sniveling weasel. The Germans even have a word for that feeling: schadenfreude. 

When thinking about what might shock America to its core, I came up with a few ideas. None of them may turn into stuff of legend or history books, but I figured they might at least give us something to think about … other than our own dull lives.

For example, what if Michelle Obama was discovered scarfing donuts and gulping down Red Bull before delivering a stirring speech about childhood obesity? What if Angelina Jolie turned out to really be a man? Adultery scandals are always good fodder for tabloids…what if someone leaked that Queen Elizabeth II has carried on a love affair with one her palace servants for the last 50 years? Sex tapes are de rigueur, but what if Oprah Winfrey starred in her own and it was exposed on TMZ?  It needs to be something unique and mind-boggling. Any one can send of picture of their genitals on their phone…ho, hum. Boring! Leave hate-filled rants on your child’s voice mail? Seen it. Prostitute your daughter on a stage for the sake of fake-jeweled crowns? It’s a popular television show. Yawn.

So, it’s time for someone America has placed on a ridiculously high pedestal, who has the respect of nearly citizen, to really screw up. News casts are getting pretty boring, so let’s get busy!!

Life of Pie

I didn't want her to be born on April 19. It was the same day of the Waco, TX tragedy and the bombing of the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City.  I didn't want such a celebratory event to be shadowed by such atrocities. This week has been one of terrible tragedy, as well, but ended with a cautious sigh of relief.

It was six years ago today that I lay in a hospital bed waiting to give birth to a little girl I wasn't sure I was ready for. When my water broke at straight up noon, I asked, apropos of nothing, “What color is it?” I think it was the drugs…

My baby turns six today and will soon be “graduating” from kindergarten and moving on to the real nuts and bolts of elementary school. She is succeeding in the Accelerated Reader program and is poised on the brink of being a precocious little girl, not just a precocious preschooler. Her vocabulary is HUGE, her wit is quick and her heart is pure.

As she lay in her crib at the age of 8 days, I could not imagine her any older than she was right then. Every day I look at her, I can’t see past the moment I am in, gazing into her dark blue eyes, framed by her spun gold hair; can’t fathom her being a 6^th grader, entering high school or her leaving for college.  

Every year, I plan an outrageous celebration in honor of her birthday. Let’s face it, the girl is here against incredible odds. She was destined to grace this earth, so what not celebrate in style? This year, we chose a medieval princess and knight theme. Planning has been in full swing since January and I am ready to throw a royal bash the likes of which no one (in the neighborhood, at least) has seen! I have built a castle out of toilet paper and paper towel rolls, baked cupcakes and cookies, arranged a feast fit for royalty, purchased games and favors and costumes. Pictures of this grand event will come later, so check back in a few days. 

Today, we celebrate the life of The Pie. 

Bathroom Business

Tonight, I experienced a potential tragedy; one that most likely would have broken the hearts of my friends and family and then would be exploited in the local media for a week or two. It’s been over three hours since it happened and I am still shaking. This forum is the best way for me to process it.

For a while, The Pie has taken baths by herself, only needing my help when it comes to shampooing. She likes to loll around in the warm water, wash herself, then call me in. This evening I thought she had been in the tub long enough – a few minutes past her bedtime, actually – so I went to check her progress. I said her name three times and she did not respond.

I gently shook her and she turned to me, startled. She had fallen asleep in the tub. Her angelic face mere inches from the water line that could, at any time, have slipped beneath the surface and stolen her breath. In the seconds it took me to get her awake and out of the tub, my mind flashed myriad scenarios of an undesired outcome. My heart banged in my chest so loudly I thought even my mostly deaf father could hear it. I heard blood rushing in my ears, beginning to prepare my brain for what I might find.  

Of course, The Pie is fine. Today was her tumbling class and it always wears her out. She had also taken an early dose of her nighttime Melatonin dissolvable pill, and the warm water must have relaxed her to the point of succumbing to her fatigue.

As I dried her off with her favorite monkey towel, I looked into her sapphire eyes and thought about how close I had come to losing her.  A sob choked in my throat and my heart dropped. I cannot imagine not having that child in my life. 

Six years ago this week, I was moving into a new place, enormously pregnant, and wondering how I could possibly have a kid. My life wasn’t set up to accommodate a baby or anything that even smelled remotely of maternal instincts.  How was I going to make room in my life for this little needy person?

What happened was that little needy person not only found room in my life, she became my life. Suffice it to say that if I lost her, I would lose my life…figuratively and literally. Her sweet hugs and kisses feed my soul, her delighted giggles pump through my heart, her curious questions exercise my brain to keep it in shape. She keeps me alive.

So, for her to continue in her current valuable position, I believe showers will now be in order. And we do have a hose in the back yard…

Every Mother's Nightmare

There are bound to be hundreds of things that parents dread as they raise children. Your son decides that the only acceptable undergarment he will wear (at the age of 17) is festooned with  images of Spider Man.   Your daughter’s prom date is a guy named “Snake” who looks like he fell down face first in the bolt section of Home Depot. Those things are mere blips on the radar of parental nightmares. Last weekend, I reached the pinnacle: The Pie had lice.

I don’t mean one or a few little buggies…I mean a head full of the wee parasites. I found myself shocked, embarrassed and horrified all at once. I never imagined I would experience the humiliation of pulling insects from my daughter’s hair, much less writing about it, but it happened. And I’m okay with it. Sort of.  Here’s what happened:

We had traveled to my cousin’s home in Kansas for spring break and discovered that the weather was much colder and unpleasant than I planned for. We had been there only a couple of hours before I decided to go in search of warmer clothes. During my solo shopping trip, my cousin called and stated simply, The Pie “has lice.” In the middle of the store, I shouted, “WHAT?” which drew the attention of all the other shoppers. I was instructed to get mayonnaise and come on back for treatment.  I looked around, wondering if everyone could see the neon light of shame blinking over my head: “MY KID HAS LICE!”  I skulked around Wal Mart with my head down, paid for my two giant jars of mayonnaise and drove back to my cousin’s house in tears. I scrolled through my mental Rolodex, trying to determine how this could have happened. I wanted to blame someone and I wanted to be mad. I knew that I must advise all of the children The Pie played with, as well as the mother of the children I babysit. It was most humbling to send texts to four mothers, explaining that my child may have infested theirs.

When I returned to the house, my daughter sat in the bathroom with a head full of mayonnaise and my cousin slowly drew a flea comb through her hair. I was grateful that I wasn't forced to struggle with The Pie for that activity…she will do anything for my cousin, so that eased the situation a little. After we all dumped a tub of Hellman’s on our heads, we sat for two hours, playing Monopoly, while the little parasites slowly suffocated within our follicles. We washed EVERYTHING we brought with us and tossed stuffed animals in the dryer to fluff them on the high heat setting for an hour. Very late into the night, we finally washed the salad dressing from our hair and went to bed.

 It is every mother’s nightmare to have their adorable little cherub scratching her head like a stray pup with fleas. I may be misremembering, but I don’t recall having to deal with a head lice infestation of my own in childhood, but I am familiar with the social stigma attached to it. I spent hours trolling the Internet, looking for some measure of clarity regarding head lice.  What calmed me most was the website of the Centers for Disease Control (yes, I went there!). It explained that head lice are not an indication of poor hygiene or filthy conditions; in fact, they prefer clean, healthy scalps for their encampment.

We did a follow-up treatment and I have placed cotton balls soaked with tea tree oil all around our beds. I still check The Pie’s head every time she scratches, and I am gladdened every time I find nothing. I would like to think that this crisis is over, but I am fairly certain I will see it again. Kids, especially younger ones like The Pie, play in such close proximity of each other – like a litter of puppies – that there is bound to be a sequel to this horror show.  I’ll just make sure to stock up on the mayo!    

That's What I Said...

I am one of those annoying “tell-it-like-it-is” kind of people.  I typically try to be as diplomatic as possible if it’s a sensitive situation, but occasionally, I just blurt out what comes to my mind. It’s served me well for many years. In some instances, it has caused some bad blood or hurt feelings. I dealt with those consequences as they came, but recently I noticed that when other people tell ME like it is, I don’t much care for it. Yeah, I see the irony, there.

Facebook is not a place to be if you are feeling the least bit vulnerable. The disconnect of an interpersonal relationship allows people to say (in this case, type) whatever they feel, regardless of how it might affect another person…or how they might take the comment. In recent weeks, I've been called a “bitch” for one of my comments, had my parenting called into question, and insulted a friend of 30 years with what I thought would be a funny comment about a picture she posted.  When the whole issue of Internet bullying first surfaced, I thought that it was just another way to limit free speech, but when I find myself on the other side of the line, I realize it can be hurtful when people say things about you that might be either untrue or quite personal. 

I offended my friend when I posted the comment: “Gotta love Photoshop!” to a picture she posted of she and her stepdaughters, husband and grandson. The shot had obviously been altered and those who know her best should have been immediately shocked by the difference in her appearance, as well as that of one of her stepdaughters.  I’m not talking about lines or wrinkles…I’m talking about pounds…the addition of some and the removal of some. For making the aforementioned comment, I was called a “bitch” by a total stranger who felt the need to take up for my “friend” because she thought my comment was uncalled for.  Ugly words ensued via Facebook and text messaging and finally ended with my friend instructing me to “not contact (her) again.” 

I have had family members chastise my sense of humor to me in the Facebook forum. After posting a joke about my dad, the backlash began to fly. Part of the problem I see with the site is that people you barely know (or don’t necessarily want in your business) are free to comment on your life and how you live it.

People question my decisions regarding The Pie and the things I teach her. So which is it? Do I spoil her or am I too strict? Is she stunted in her development because I let her watch Spongebob Squarepants?  Or is she advanced because she uses words typically found on a third grade reading level?

Why are we such a judgmental society?

Why is it only “my way or the highway?”

Listen, I am just as guilty when I see someone that doesn't fit into my tunnel-vision idea of what is normal. When I encounter someone who has a different life experience than mine, it is sometimes jarring, sometimes enlightening, sometimes inspirational, and sometimes just plain scary. I have corrected The Pie for making assumptions about people she doesn't know, but I participate in the same type of behavior. Why? What is my motivation? I know that I model that behavior to her, but I can’t figure out how to change that process. (I will bring that up at the next counseling session.)

I consider myself tolerant, accepting and even supportive of alternative lifestyles, artists, and quirky folks. Some of my good friends fit into those categories! I think I’m an enigma when it comes to certain human rights, as well as responsibilities. I am liberal, but somewhat conservative, also. It depends on the situation.

What I really wonder is: why can’t we all just get a long?

The School Drama

My daughter is a sensitive, emotional and dramatic child who expresses her feelings easily and surprisingly succinctly. I attribute this to my encouraging her to share what she thinks and for teaching her to believe that she has a right to be heard. But I think I made a mistake somewhere along the way.

Every day last week, as we prepared to leave the house for school, The Pie began to claim an upset stomach and didn't want to go. The first day our little power struggle ended up in her coming back home and eating a bowl of cereal. Within an hour, she said she was ready to go to school.

The next day, as she put on her shoes, she told me that she wanted to stay home and her tummy was upset. When I advised her that she still had to go to school, the tears and accusations came in torrents.

“You never believe me, Mama!”

“Mama, I really don’t feel good!”

“Why don’t you trust me?”

As I loaded her and the other kids into the car, she still claimed she was sick. When we arrived in the drop off line, she dug in her heels and cried some more. Then she saw one of her friends, and she was magically cured. Off she skipped to school with her friend.

The following day, same thing happened. As we sat in the drop off line, cars backing up with every moment that passed, she cried, screamed and protested. She didn’t want to go to school. She was going to be sick. So, I knelt before her and cupped my hands.

“Okay,” I said. “This is how much I love you. Go ahead and throw up in my hands. Be sick.”

“MAMA!” she screamed at me. “How could you do this to me?”

The teacher on drop off duty wandered over to us and was able to intercede with The Pie. She convinced her that going to class was good and that if she did get sick, the office staff would call me and I would come pick her up. With a sad little, “okay” The Pie agreed to being led to her classroom. It was on this day, that I asked her teacher if there was a problem with anyone or anything in class. Mrs. X-Box said that everything was great and The Pie is an outstanding student. My confusion deepened.

Day number 4: As if she were starring in a well-rehearsed play, she delivered her lines at precisely the same time. This time, however, were accompanied by panicked screaming and I literally had to pull her from the car during drop off. The teacher had to call the school guidance counselor out to talk The Pie down from her little ledge and convinced my daughter to enter the school. I was embarrassed and concerned but when I asked the child why she didn’t want to go, she simply responded that she was sick. I would threaten to take her to the doctor, but she loves her doctor and doesn’t mind going to the office.

On Friday, I attempted to garner enthusiasm for school by chanting that it was the last day of the week and even made a special lunch for The Pie to take. Everything was fine until we got in the car and buckled up. She began to whine and cry, saying her tummy hurt and she needed to stay home from school. The behavior made me furious, but I remained calm and spoke to her gently, explaining that Mama would get in trouble if she missed school and her friends would miss her. Just then, one of her friends walked up and offered to walk The Pie to class. She would not budge. Shortly, another friend arrived and said she would walk, too. A third friend, our next door neighbor’s daughter, walked up to the scene taking place and said, “Let’s go to class.” And The Pie said…”OK!” with a smile. And off they skipped with barely a minute to spare before final bell.

I was dumbfounded! Gobsmacked! Stunned, shocked and awed. I cannot figure out what my daughter is up to. Is it a ploy for attention? Is it a need to spend time alone with me? Could she be having trouble with a classmate?

 Further investigation is clearly required…any insight from you mamas out there?