The stages...

Julia's phone buzzed alerting her a new text message. A quick glance let her know it was from Brad. She sighed and put the phone back down on the table without reading the message.

Her friends Alicia and Michelle both gave her the expectant eyebrow faces waiting for the story.

"Brad and I had an argument as I was leaving tonight. I don't want to keep fighting right now. I sent him a reply to his last message telling him I would talk to him when I got home. But he wants to talk now. So I am ignoring the text, okay?"

"First fight? Sounds like the honeymoon is over."

Julia corrected Alicia, "Actually it's not our first fight. We've been fighting all week. If something doesn't change it might be our last fight though. We went straight from early dating everything is perfect to you wheeze when you breathe and it's making me crazy in three months, it might be a new record!"

Michelle laughed, "Not a record, remember Jimmy?"

Alicia covered her face with her hands, "Oh not Jimmy!"

Jimmy and Alicia had gone on their first date on a Friday night, were living together by Sunday, engaged by Tuesday and throwing things at each other by the next Friday. The evolution and de-evolution of a relationship on fast forward.

"Oh God Jimmy! I had forgotten about him! You were in loooove. And then you were done."

Alicia smiled, "Yeah, we were perfect for each other for about 4 days. It was the best and worst relationship I've ever had and it lasted a week. There should be a name for that."

"I'm not sure anyone else but you has ever had a relationship like that, so we can just call it The Jimmy." Julia signaled for another round of drinks.

Michelle leaned back and said, "But you know what we do need? Words for the phases of a break up. You know? Like you have the honeymoon period in the beginning of a relationship where everything is perfect? You need something like that for a break up so people know where you are."

Julia laughed, "Yes, like Brad and I are about to enter the first stage of break up. The part where you cannot stand a thing about the other person anymore. What should we call it? Haterade? Sad but true?"

Alicia said, "How about The Trenches. You are still fighting but the war has moved on."

"I like it. 'No, I can't go to that party Doug might be there and we are still in The Trenches.' I like it. Next phase?" Michelle asked.

"What is the next phase? It's that little patch of  realistic thought right? Where you still know exactly why you broke up but you don't hate everything about them anymore."

"Pick up your stuff time!" Julia announced. "It needs to be a name like that. You know? It's the time you can go pick up your stuff from their house without fighting again, but you can't wait too long because you will move in to the 'oh my god I'm going to die alone why did we ever break up you were perfect' time."

Michelle started laughing, "Oh you don't want to mix up those times! I thought I was in Real Time so I stopped by his apartment to pick up my Kindle and discovered I had moved to Fairy Tale time and so we slept together. Now I'm back in The Trenches!"

As the girls were laughing Julia's phone buzzed again. Michelle pointed at it, "You know you can't just ignore that right?"

Alicia added, "Go on call him back. Let us know if we are in for a few weeks in The Trenches or if you are working it out and trying for Honeymoon 2: The Sequel."

Julia picked up her phone and started to walk outside, "As long as we never face Return of the Jimmy it will be okay." She ducked the flying pretzel and went to make her call.

I'm sorry...

When I posted my catch up blog yesterday I left out part of the Paula Deen saga. The apology. I told Raquel that was a blog unto itself. So here it is...

When is an apology not an apology? When do you hear someone say they are sorry and take away from it that though they might be sorry they aren't sorry for the right thing? Or at least you don't feel like they have apologized to you, or to who they have wronged? You know it when you hear it. When it just clanks in your ear wrong. When your reaction to the apology isn't one of forgiveness but one of disgust. Or disdain. Or just nothing.

I told you yesterday that I think the racial issues around what Paula Deen said years ago were blown up much bigger than they should have been. That I think she's being scapegoated so we all can feel better about ourselves. And I do believe that. But I also didn't like her apology. Or lack of one. And to be honest, I'm not sure she owed one to anyone. But by starting and stopping and floundering and mucking it up I think she made it worse.

I have to back up a bit. I'm not a Paula Deen fan. It's not that I don't like her, I just don't follow her. She doesn't cook things that I like to make, I think I've seen maybe two episodes of her own show and I just didn't enjoy them. I've seen her guesting on other cooking shows I do watch and I find her to be a bit too much. She's very loud, reminds me of my Aunt Darlene, you could hear that woman clearly from a half mile away. I'm not even kidding. She was loud. And Paula Deen is like that. It's her personality. She's big, she's all of that, all of the time. It's made her a huge star, but it's not my style so though I can appreciate that she is what she is, as she stated, I also don't watch her show so I had no real feeling toward her before all of this started.

So back to non-apology apologies and where Ms. Deen lost me. The first few she put out that were oddly edited and phrased were bad enough but the spectacle on the Today show Tuesday? With the weeping, or almost weeping, she had the facial expression and the choked voice but no actual tears, and the begging for someone to hit her in the head with a stone while at the same time saying she'd like to meet them? It was a mess. Let's start with the no tears weeping. That drives me crazy. Maybe her tear ducts just don't work, but it sure looks like a bad performance to get that worked up without the tears actually falling. Then there is the "he who is without sin" analogy she went for. I get it, you want to point out that you aren't the only one, but it's not one you can do for yourself without sounding like a petulant child. Only someone else can use that on your behalf.

The original story was Jesus pointing out to the crowd that they were all sinners so had no right to punish the woman. Then as they realized he was right he told her to Go, and sin no more. It's a story about judging others, showing grace and second chances. But it changes if you are wailing in a camera about wanting someone to throw a rock at your head and kill you right now if they were perfect and that you'd really like to meet them. It becomes "You did it too! It's not just me!" and that's a totally different story. Can't imagine the crowd would have dispersed if the woman they were going to stone said, "oh yeah? You did it too!"

And then there were the notes of the apology that were basically I'm sorry you were offended by what I said. See there is a subtle turn of phrase here that she was missing. A real apology is I am sorry I offended you by what I said, not I'm sorry you were offended by what I said. See the difference? One puts the onus on you. You said or did something wrong and you are sorry for the offense it caused. The other one is that you are sorry that the people listening to you were such candy asses that they got offended.

Again, I'm not even sure she owed anyone an apology. Maybe a statement, "In the past I have used language that I would like to go back and change, but I can't. As we mature we change and learn and our actions reflect that. I would like to apologize for my use of that particular word in the past and to assure everyone that I do not and would not use it again. I am deeply sorry that my past actions have stirred up so much pain but as we know better we do better and I hope that others are learning from my past mistakes and are going to do better as well." Or something along those lines. But she didn't take this path. Instead she took the victim route. She's the one that has been wronged (and I'm not saying that in a way she hasn't) she is the one that is shell shocked by the reaction. But she is a public figure making money off of an image and she needs to clean that image up a bit. A decent apology, a real apology would go far.

And it's not just Paula Deen who does the fake apology. We all have. We've all used the I'm sorry you got offended line. Or the I'm sorry but... Or the feeling that just because you said you were sorry it should all be fixed and go away. Sometimes, a lot of the time, it doesn't work that way. You can be truly deeply sorry for something you did but it's not going to change the outcome. When I was 6 we were riding the tram in Albuquerque and I broke this fiberglass key thing in the gift shop. Overpriced piece of junk that I knocked off the shelf and it shattered. My parents had to buy it because I broke it. I was really sorry. Deeply sorry. But they still had to pay for it and it was still broken. We took the pieces home and I glued them all together sort of thinking that would make it better. At least we would have the thing we paid for that way. It was still an ugly overpriced piece of junk that they had to buy because I broke it. Being sorry didn't fix that. Trying to glue the pieces back together didn't fix that. It just was. Sometimes sorry doesn't fix things.

But a genuine sorry can help.

My opinion is Paula Deen needs to figure out what she is sorry about and work out from there. And if it's that she said something she wishes she hadn't, not because it's damaged her brand but because it's not a word she would use today, then start there. But if what she is sorry about is that people got offended by what she said, well then she just needs to take a little time away and stop talking.

Catch up blog...

Normally you would expect a blog from me about the DOMA decision from SCOTUS yesterday, but I sort of figure you already know what I would say so why bother?

Also I haven't blogged about Snowden, Rape Culture, Paul Deen, the IRS and any number of other things that have hit my radar recently. Which is sort of weird for me. Normally I write about things to get them out of my head and down on paper. I think a lot of this stuff is very interesting and really gets at a lot of other issues in our world and I like to share my opinion. The trick being to remember that though I find them interesting and I think I have something to say I might find out in an amusing and humbling moment that I am not as interesting as say a memorial service for bees.

So I am going to toss out a few "in a nutshell" summaries on current events. I might come back to some of these later, I might not. But at least they will be here for me to look back on if I choose to.

Snowden. Well I don't think he's a hero at all. I think someone who goes to work for a company with the sole purpose of stealing information from them to release to someone else is a spy, not a hero. Especially when he runs away to another country to avoid the consequences of his actions. I don't think the fact that "people were made aware" of the NSA programs changes that. If you weren't aware before it's your own fault. Did you not understand what the Patriot Act was when it was passed? Have you never read a story about a thwarted terrorist attack or arrest of a terror suspect that came about because of "increased chatter" did you not get how they were tracking that chatter? Snowden spoon feeding you information you couldn't be bothered to learn on your own through basic reading doesn't make him a hero, it makes you uninformed.

I also think people posting on Facebook about a lack of privacy should be punched in the face. I mean come on, really? You think because you have your ad blocker running so you don't see the ads change depending on what you are writing in your status that you aren't giving your information away? You cannot bitch about someone taking something from you that you have freely given. My opinion. But there again, I post to Facebook, I write a blog, I use photo sharing software. I understand the challenges in separating the signal from the noise in big data collection. And I understood what the Patriot Act was when it was passed so maybe I'm just not the target panicked audience for this information. You want to be up in arms about what the NSA is collecting? You want to work towards getting people in office that will limit the government's intrusion in to your life? Fine, but don't make Snowden some sort of hero. He's not. 

Rape Culture. Let's see this is one that I will probably circle around to again later. The thing that brought it up recently was the little postcard picture going around Facebook that said something to the effect of instead of telling your daughter how to be safe you should be telling your son not to rape. I'm sorry but that's just stupid. One, I have a 20 year old son that I have never specifically told the words "Don't rape people" and if I had to tell him at 20 years old "Don't rape people" I would have failed as a parent on so many levels I wouldn't be able to count them. Yes, he is male but that doesn't mean he would ever consider raping someone. Because he wasn't raised that way. You don't take something that isn't yours. Sex isn't about who is the most powerful. These are lessons he learned in all of the right ways. But that doesn't mean if I had a daughter I wouldn't have taught her to be careful. Because though I raised my son in such a way that telling him "Don't Rape People" wasn't necessary I don't think everyone else did. And I would be failing as a parent if I didn't help teach her how to protect herself.

Very much the same way C and I talked about his 21st birthday this Fall.  He's a responsible kid. He's a safe kid. He's a good kid. But I still told him I would rather he didn't do a Pub Crawl on his birthday. I told him the reasons why I would rather he didn't. Safety being first and foremost on the list. Not just in how much alcohol his body can process over a short amount of time but just in how it's unsafe to be that drunk and wandering around. Now does this mean I think we have a drunk culture that he is automatically a part of? Or that I should have called every bartender in Burlington and lectured them about serving him? Or even sent messages to his roommates saying don't do this? No, it means as a parent my responsibility is to my son and keeping him safe. 

Paula Deen. I think she is being scapegoated. She said something years ago that she didn't have to admit to and she did. And now she is paying the price. Because white guilt is strong. No one wants to stand up and say that she's being treated shabbily because then you are afraid you will be painted by the racism brush as well. I've blogged about using the N-word when I was teenager. My best friend at the time (who is African-American) and I used it and cracker or honky to refer to each other and thought we were cool and shocking and edgy. But there was no malice there. Just kids being stupid. Years later when I lived in another part of the country I heard it used with malice and spite and I fully understood the weight of the word. I haven't used it since. Well except when I am singing along to music and it's in the lyrics and I'm by myself so I don't self censor to make sure you don't think I'm a racist. 

But that's the way racism is in this country still. We don't want to talk about it because it's too difficult still to grasp. When I was in college I went to a predominantly African-American school. There were many many times that in the middle of a discussion I would be told, "It's a black thing, you wouldn't understand" and they were right. I don't know what it's really like to grow up black. But they don't know what it's like to grow up white either. And we don't talk about it, because we are afraid that by pointing out that there sometimes are differences people will think we are racists. And there is a difference in understanding that people of different backgrounds (color, economic, religious, whatever) have different life experiences and thinking that your background is somehow better than. And until we can have an open and honest dialog about differences, good and bad and indifferent, we will continue to shun anyone who even has a tinge of racism about them so we can feel better about ourselves.

The IRS scandal. When the story first broke there was a little blurb on one of the news-stations about the words that were used to target requests for tax-exempt status and one of them was Progressive.  But that fell off the radar as it became a story about Liberals going after Conservatives. And abuse of power and Obama is the devil. And then the report came out this week that yes, it was all sorts of words that triggered further examination, not just Tea Party and Patriot, but Left, Progress, Choice and so many others. So no, it wasn't a witch hunt against Conservatives, though you aren't going to hear a lot of retraction from that stance because it's a better OH NO! story than this one.

But my biggest problem with it is why are these organizations tax-exempt in the first place? They shouldn't be. Don't want to pay taxes, don't make a profit. If you are truly a non-profit then you won't have taxes to pay. That's the way it works. Why do we have so many loopholes and exceptions in our tax code? Pay attention to the bigger picture, people, instead of being drawn in to the petty politics. Why do you need to be tax exempt if you are a non-profit? Ask that question first. Our tax code is out of control. And the reason it won't be simplified is because it's the easiest way for Congress to grant favors to corporations that fund them. Follow the money. Then get outraged. But get outraged about the right things, not the smoke and mirror things.

Oh and repeal of DOMA? I cried. I cried when I heard it on the radio on the drive home. I cried when I read about the ruling. I cried when I watched the reaction on my feed from friends who will be directly impacted by this ruling. I cried when I watched the reaction of people who won't be directly impacted but understood how wrong it was anyway. And I was reminded of a conversation I had with C a few years ago. We were talking about the legalization of gay marriage and I said that I wasn't sure I would see it in my lifetime and he was sure he would see it in his. That his generation already understood what many in mine didn't. And I cried again with relief that my generation is finally wising up. We still have a way to go but man that momentum shift feels good. 

So there are nutshells on a few issues that could have all been full on blogs on their own. 

It doesn't fit...

Okay so the past few days have been sort toss days. It's been awhile since I did a major clean out of the house and it made it on my "Things To Do This Summer List" so I got started this week. I needed to suck it up and sort out my shoes due to my toe injury so I figured the bedroom was the place to start. For those of you that are on Facebook with me you know that I got rid of a ton of shoes, leaving me less than 20 pairs. Which sort of blew C's mind. Not that I got rid of so many, but that I still had so many left once I did. But it wasn't just shoes that got the sort toss treatment it was all of the drawers and cabinets and under bed storage.

While I was clearing out the under bed boxes yesterday I found my smaller clothes stash. The things I kept from when I lost so much weight and that I outgrew as I put some back on. I pulled it all out and tried on a few things. My jeans right now are a little loose so I was thinking the jeans I had in the box might be perfect. They aren't. They are a little small. And the few shirts I had in there and the skirts and shorts were as well. So I folded them back up and put them back under the bed thinking maybe later. Then last night as I was lying awake wondering why the hell I ever wanted a cat in the first place I thought about those clothes again. And had to ask myself why I was keeping them. The jeans, well they were fine, they are just a little snug, they might fit fine at the end of the summer when my work outs tone my legs a touch more. Or they might not but the are really just a touch small. But the skirts and the shorts? The shorts were size 4 and the skirts size 2. I'm in a loose 8 right now and have no desire to lose more weight. Just keep what I have toned. So why did I keep those super small things? Knowing that I don't even look good at that size? Knowing that I shouldn't EVER EVER try to be that size again?

Then today as I was cleaning out my jewelry box I realized that my grandmother's crystals were gone. This is also the jewelry I wore on my wedding day. I looked where I thought they should be and nothing. The box I thought they were in held the necklace my in-laws gave me at my high school graduation, but nothing else. The panic was starting to hit and I was getting that sick feeling in my stomach. Had I somehow tossed them out accidentally during another purge? Had they fallen off the shelf and gotten sucked up on the vacuum? Where could they be? Then I thought about it and sort of remembered putting them someplace else last time I cleaned up the closet. I looked and they were there. Whew. I was so relieved. But there was something else in the storage box with my grandmother's crystals.

My Tiffany key chain. Seventeen years ago when I worked for the Garcias Shelly got all of us a key chain like this for Christmas. I can remember getting the little blue box with the white ribbon and the thrill of thinking I would now own something from Tiffanys! Me! Trailer trash perennially poor kid, owning something from Tiffanys! Well as you can tell by looking at it, there it has sat for seventeen years. In the little cloth bag, in the baby blue box. I'm not sure how long the white ribbon traveled with it but in one of the 6(!!) times we've changed houses since receiving the gift I let the ribbon go. But not the key chain. Nor have I ever used it. Why? Well, it's impractical. It's heavy as all get out. And the monogram bugs my OCD nature. I know it's a style and design thing but it looks to me like the D is backwards. And that makes my teeth itch.

But I've kept it. I've lovingly packed it from place to place. I've pulled it out and looked at it, made sure the silver wasn't tarnishing. The put it all back away. Stored with my grandmother's crystals, and her reading glasses and a ring from Brent's father. All things I could have told you yesterday that I had and what they meant. I had forgotten about this. Like I always do when it's not right in my line of site. Never used, but always kept. Why?

Because it's from Tiffany & Co.

Now today as I looked at it I had to shake my head. If I want something from Tiffanys I could go downtown to the store and pick out something I would actually wear. I could buy it for myself or mention to Brent what a lovely Christmas gift it would make and just wait. I'm not that girl anymore. That girl who can't have things if she wanted them. Who has to make due with marking what she would buy if she could in the catalog and calling that good enough.

And obviously I never was the kind of girl who needed something from Tiffany & Co. either. I just thought I should be. Part of me still gets wrapped up in a designer name. In a flashy tag. In that "you can't have this" vibe. Because for a big portion of my life I couldn't. It wasn't a choice, it just wasn't going to happen. Now I can get some of those things if I want them. But when push comes to shove, I'm just not a brand status gal. Sure I drive a BMW, but I drive a BMW because it's a solid car. And I drive a low level BMW.  I drove a Civic until we went down to just one car. And I loved my Civic as much as you can love a car. Brent and I are thinking about getting a new (to us, used new) car soon and will probably get another BMW because they are good cars. Though I am loving the new Audi commercials enough that I might want to at least test drive one and pretend I'm Spock.

So today the shorts, the skirts and the Tiffany key chain all ended up in the Goodwill pile. And there they will sit for the next two weeks while I take the mandatory "Are you sure?" rest period I deemed necessary after the great miscalculated purge of 97. Then they will all go to Goodwill.  Where hopefully someone with the initials DLM can make use of it.

Because just like those shorts and skirts this key chain doesn't fit me.

And it never will.

The more they change...

So another thing that drives me crazy (and you thought we were through with the mashed up part and ready to get to the main story didn't you?) is mandatory sentencing. Set in stone punishment. Zero tolerance policies. I've written before that the greatest disservice we are doing with our kids in school is not teaching them how to think anymore. We don't teach them how to reason, how to figure things out for themselves, how to reach a conclusion. We teach them the right answer. And zero tolerance polices, mandatory sentencing and three strikes you're out all fall right in to this vein. It's standardized testing for adults. You don't have to think about what someone has done or why, you just plug it in the slot and out pops your answer.

And the flip side of this is when you get a child who has been punished under a zero tolerance policy and instead of going to the administration, the powers that be, the people who can actually change the decision; the parents run to the media. That makes me nuts as well. I get it, it was ridiculous that little Johnny was expelled for bringing a water gun to school. He's 6 and 6 year olds do dumb things. The toy should have been confiscated, put in "the drawer" and a note sent home saying we don't allow toys like this or toys at all or whatever at school. But instead of going to the principal and saying, don't you think this is ridiculous and let's work it out and teaching Little Johnny how to resolve something, you went to the media and said, My angel, my darling, my perfection! And taught Little Johnny that breaking the rules was fine if it got you on the news.

A few years ago my conservative batch of friends were up in arms about a group of kids who had been sent home for wearing "patriotic clothing", specifically flag do-rags during a Cinco de Mayo celebration at their school. It was all over my news feed. "How dare they!" "It's disrespectful!" "You can celebrate Mexican stuff but not AMERICAN!" And since this was before my "Don't just don't" phase of commenting I actually waded in to the discussion. Now me being me, I first did a few Google searches to see what the rest of the story was, if it was out there. And of course there was another side.  Seems these upstanding patriots had clashed with the Mexican/American students before. The administration, trying to head off trouble, had specifically asked them to be respectful on this day. And they responded by wearing the do-rags and taking the "America, love it or leave it!" stance by shouting at the kids during their celebration.

So when I pointed out that they were really troublemaker kids hiding behind the flag I was told how awful I was. When I also pointed out that technically it's against flag code to wear the flag as clothing in the first place so they weren't being good citizens I was told I was wrong. Um, no, I'm not. It was my grandmother's biggest pet peeve. Seeing people wear the flag as a t-shirt or the worst in her eyes, a bathing suit. The Flag Code, for those of you who still think I'm wrong. Section 8. (d). And don't even get me started on "patriotic paper plates".  But basically nobody knows that there were/are rules around the flag so they ignore them. And since the good patriot kids defending our country against other cultures fit their narrative they ran with it.

Instead of Johnny and his buddies learning the importance of appropriate time and place and respect for other people they learned that if you drape your ignorance in the flag you will get support. I see bright futures for them in talk radio.

So yes, I blame the schools for being too rigid in their rules. Zero tolerance means zero thought. But I also blame the parents for not taking a hard look at their kids and saying, "Hey, you broke the rules, face the punishment." We are raising a batch of kids who have always gotten a trophy, who have always been told they are wonderful, who know if you break the rules you can spin it in the media and come out the hero and we should all be really worried about what that means for the future. It's a subject I've ranted about before. Maybe a few times. Teach your kids to think, to work and to strive. And stop bitching about the nanny state if your first instinct is to tattle to the media if life treats little Suzi unfairly. You can't have it both ways.

Okay, so back to why all of this sticks with me. I'm a sociopath. Or psychotic. Or mentally disturbed. Or something. Now some of you just laughed, some of you nodded like you have always known (hey!) and some of you are waiting for the rest of the story...

When I was in middle school I did my first tries at writing. And one of the things I wrote was a super disturbing revenge fantasy piece of crap story. Now, I say it was a piece of crap only because I've read some of the other things I wrote around that time so I know it had to be awful. I also had stolen shamelessly been inspired by such brilliant pieces as Flowers in the Attic, Blue Lagoon and The War Between the Pitiful Teachers and the Splendid Kids. But I can't tell you exactly why it was a piece of crap or post any piece of it because I don't have it anymore. It was taken from me. 

I went to a small  private conservative Southern Baptist school from 5-8th grade. The core group of kids had known each other for years, some since kindergarten. But by 8th grade we were in rebellion. Something about our class, our group just jelled into something they hadn't ever faced before. Open dissent. Looking back I can tell you it was too much change foisted on us after years of no change at all. They hired a teacher for the 7/8 class that shouldn't have been teaching at a religious school, and honestly shouldn't have been teaching young girls at all. Now, don't get me wrong, he never did anything inappropriate, but it didn't take long to figure out we flustered him. And by flustering the teacher you could get a class to descend in chaos pretty quickly. He didn't make it through the year. 

Then they brought back a teacher we had  had before, Mrs. Cyzack. She was our second favorite teacher. How must that have made her feel? To know we loved her but she was our second favorite and we let her know it. The things you think of as an adult. Anyway our favorite teacher Mrs. Penney had moved when her husband was transferred. But we had all had her for 6th grade and had all loved her. The kids who had come after 6th heard stories about her and wished they had had her as a teacher. Two favorite Mrs. Penney stories:

Our PE teacher had a rough year our sixth grade year, I found out later when he and I talked when he wasn't my teacher anymore, anyway, he was having a particularly bad stretch and just couldn't deal with things well. So one of the things he did was get lazy about his teaching. So for PE that meant we ran. For the entire period. Fifty minutes of circles around the playground. We would come back to class just gassed. Good for nothing for a long stretch. Exhausted, thirsty, spent. So one day after a particularly warm run Mrs. Penney looked out at a sea of red faced sixth graders, excused herself,  went across the hall and laid in to Mr. Rex. She had had enough. This was never to happen again. We heard it all. I'm not saying he was scared of her but the next week we "started a new fitness chapter".

The second one was strictly personal. At the end of my 7th grade year when we passed around our autograph books I went back to Mrs. Penney and had her sign. She wrote in part, "I hope one day you start dating boys as smart as you are." This is a teacher that was paying attention. She saw who my boyfriend choices were and did not think they were the best. Instead of sitting me down and lecturing me she gave me that simple note. Now I eventually did just that. Ended up marrying one and had a kid who I realized was much smarter than I am when he was in elementary school! I wish I could tell her, or blame her, or something like that. 

Anyway, that was Mrs. Penney but she was gone. Mr. Otero was gone as well, we had chased him out. Mrs. Cyzack was back, putting our class back together when she had to quit. She had cancer and was too sick to teach anymore. It had been the reason she left in the first place. We hadn't realized that. So we lost her. And we were all devastated. So then they started the parade of teachers to come in and try and push us along. Mrs. Thompson who should have never tried to teach, let alone a group of unruly 7th and 8th graders. And finally the woman whose name I can never remember, Ortega maybe? But she was a giant of a woman. Red hair, mini skirts, too much make up. I swear we all thought she was a man dressed as a woman! And she was mean. Just flat out mean. Discipline for her meant liberal use of the paddle and extra homework assignments. Writing sentences. I will not chew gum in class 500 times by tomorrow.

Ugh.

So I wrote. It was a tiny rebellion. Putting down on paper that story. Basically in the story we all rebelled. We took over the school. We found out Mrs. Penney hadn't been transferred, they had killed her, and I believe poisoned Mrs. Cyzack and that the rest teachers were planning on killing us to make the rest of the school behave and so we struck first. We killed them all, we hid out in the school, we took care of the younger kids, and at some point in the future Larry got Debbie pregnant. I didn't write specifics about any of it, that I can remember, because I had no frame of reference. I know at least the sex part wasn't detailed. What could I have written at that point? That they kissed..WITH TONGUE!  

Anyway, it was a silly little story. But violent. And sexual (in a glossed over sort of way) and hit among my friends. It was passed around from person to person and poured over. It was contraband. We all knew it was "bad" which made it awesome! Then Tanya took it home. And she read it and then gave it to her mother to read. And that was that.

I was livid! How dare you give it to your mother! It wasn't yours to give, it was mine! And how dare she keep it, it's not hers, it's mine! And I was terrified. If her mother called the school I would get called in to the principal's office for sure. I had never been paddled in my years at Parkview but I knew Mrs. Robertson would administer the beating for sure. And what if my parents were called? I was doomed....

But that's not what happened. Tanya's mother told her it was a disgusting piece of trash and I should be ashamed for writing it and we should all be ashamed for reading it, and then she threw it away. I never got the story back.

Now fast forward that to today. To a "typical" situation now. What would have happened?

Tanya's mother would have turned the story over to the school. They would have taken one look at it and realized that I was planning on doing something horrible and called the authorities. I would have been expelled. Arrested. Questioned. Possibly committed. My parents would have gone to the media to say, "It was a story! She's creative! There was nothing real in that! And we are suing for destruction of personal property!"

What had been a silly little revenge fantasy story written strictly for the shock value and kicks of a group of kids who felt powerless in their situation would have been turned in to something much bigger. Something it didn't mean at all. And what would we have learned? Fear? Never to write anything again? That thoughts are the bad things, not deeds, but thoughts?

What did I learn instead? Well, let's see, I learned that not all fiction is for everyone. I learned not to trust Tanya with my things. I learned to back up my writing before letting anyone see it. And I learned that maybe you shouldn't write revenge fantasies using real names.

And I learned that when I read a story about some disturbed kid that I need to look to see how disturbed really. Is it they built a bomb or brought a loaded gun to school disturbed or they wrote something down that they would never do but they wrote it down anyway disturbed? Are they the next Kip Kinkel or the next Stephen King? Because there is a difference. And we need to be able to see that. 

To think.

To reason.

But I'm still a little bent she threw my story away. 

The more things change...

This is probably going to be a bit of a mash up blog. I know there is a story I want to tell about my childhood, and there are a few notes I want to hit about "these kids today", or I guess more importantly "these parents today" so it's going to get a bit wandery at times. Like that's never happened before...

On Saturday I was talking to a friend (who also is my hairstylist) about growing up and how different things are now. How when we were kids we had a ton more freedom. I walked myself to and from school from first-fourth grade for instance. And it wasn't a short around the corner walk, it was a we lived right on the edge of the bus boundary walk. But both of my parents worked and my brother and sister were in school or at work themselves by the time I needed to leave for school so I walked myself. And I walked home. Key on a piece of yarn tied around my neck. And I wasn't the only one. We were the latch key generation after all. And she said the thing that most people my age say, "It's a wonder we made it out alive."

Thinking back on the things I did as a kid, I rode my bike or was out on my roller skates for hours. No exaggeration, hours and hours. No cell phone, not within earshot, sometimes without an adult even having a clue I was out. They weren't home, how would they know? I lived in the South Valley for part of that time and anyone growing up in Albuquerque would tell you that nobody should wander the South Valley alone. But I did. And my friends did. And we got in to scrapes, and played with things we shouldn't have, and saw things we probably shouldn't have, and had what was a normal childhood at the time. Totally normal.

Contrast that with C and when he was 11 or so he would walk the neighbor's dog.  He and Candy would take off, with my cell phone in his pocket, with strict rules on where he could go and when he should be back. The boundary increased as he got older and more experienced.  Or I should say as I calmed down and realized it was fine. But he had a pretty wide range within our "no busy streets" border. He also started walking the mile down to Bethany for lunch or a snack at around 12. He had money of his own and he chose to spend it that way. When there was a Godfather's in the square he would head down there a few times during the summer for lunch. One of the women that worked there was impressed with two things, one how polite he was and two that we let him go on his own. Now I was/am(?) an overprotective parent. I will admit that. I screened his movies, his video games, his computer files; kept tabs on how he was doing in school and what issues he might be having academically or socially. The whole bit. But not letting a 12 year old walk to the local shopping area? That was a step too far for even me.

But it wasn't normal. I know of high school age kids that aren't allowed out on their own. Not because the parents are afraid of the teenage behavior trouble they will get in to but because the parents are afraid they might be abducted. Snatched right off the street! A parent's big fear. What if? But the reality is that the what if rarely happens. It happens. And I wish it never happened, but most childhood abductions aren't by strangers, they are by the non-custodial parent. And since both Brent and I were under the complete agreement that we made him together so we both had to take care of him together we weren't worried about that. I will also say reading the book The Culture of Fear when he was 8 or 9 helped as well. It's the first time I started to really pay attention to the cycle of news stories. It's not that there are more instances of child abductions now than when we were kids it's that they report on them more. And they tend to like to report in groups. Oh no! Look what happened! And then we all panic and keep our kids locked up and they never learn important things like how to leave a proper tip.

Okay, next bit. So remember when we were growing up and words actually meant something? Like bullying. If a kid was a bully or a kid was bullied we all knew pretty much what that meant. Systematic and continual punishment. Usually the bully was stronger (either physically or socially) than the kid being picked on. I say usually but I mean always. That was the point of calling it bullying. The strong picking on the weak. But now? Well now bully means someone was mean to you. It's not the same. And people who try to retrofit their childhood into the "I was bullied" model make me shake my head. I've mentioned before a guy I knew during my high school years who I saw posting on a forum about how he was bullied as a teen. He wasn't bullied, he was an asshole. People were mean to him because he was a jerk. Now maybe he would say he was a jerk because people were mean to him, but now we are talking chicken and egg. When I met him he was a jerk to me from the start. So I was a bitch to him right back.

I did go to school with a guy I would say was bullied. We were all mean to him. On an almost daily basis someone was mean to him. Not all of us at once, but all of us at one time or another. It was middle school and he got hit by the puberty bus hard. He was taller than all of us, greasier, ganglier, more awkward. And we never let him forget it. He called me out on it one time after school. We were almost the last ones there, as was normal and we were talking about something (don't remember) and he said, "Why are you only nice to me when no one else is around? You ignore me otherwise. It's not nice." And being sweet and kind I thought about it and saw the error of my ways and changed. Okay, I totally didn't. I told him "Why don't you act normal when everyone else is around? You act like a big dork so no wonder I ignore you." Ouch. But it did stick with me. And I did have to think about it. And I know I at least had the good graces to be embarrassed that he called me out.

Years later I became friends with a woman who had been his little sister's best friend. We went to the same very small private school. I had no idea who she was, she was younger than me so was just "one of the little kids" but she knew who I was because I was "one of the big kids" and she knew me because she knew this boy. And she ADORED him. Because he was kind to his little sister. Because he was kind to her. Because he was always nice. Because, because, because... Now at this point I was older and closer to sweet and kind and I felt awful for how we had all treated this poor boy. Especially looking at it from the point of view of a little sister who had adored her geeky, awkward, older brother. I asked my friend if they were still in contact and if they were would she pass along a message from me to him. They weren't. So I missed my chance to apologize for the pre-teen me.

So I will cop to bullying when bullying was done. But if you try and tell me you were bullied because someone was mean to you? Not systematically repeatedly mean, but one time? Or because you didn't get along with someone who you were mean to and they were mean to you right back? Sorry, not bullying.  And parents I am looking at you right now, you have to let kids figure this stuff out and learn how to get along. If there is real and true bullying going on then yes, someone needs to step in and explain why it's not okay, what is wrong with the behavior, how it must feel, all of that. And if it's dangerous, physical bullying then yes, step in. But if it's two kids who don't like each other? Stay out of it. Let them work it out. It is a valuable life skill to have. Either learning how to deal with people who don't like you, or learning how to solve conflict so you can like each other.  Either way if we keep stepping in and "fixing" things we are going to end up with generations of broken adults.

So now this leads to the story I had set out to tell about the difference between today and back then. But I've gone long so I will write that tomorrow.

No I didn't just bully you.  I teased you.  There is a difference.

The Perfect Words....

Aubrey was one of those people who was blessed with always knowing the exact right thing to say. She knew what to say to comfort someone who was grieving. To make someone laugh. The quick, sharp comeback to someone who was rude. Always just exactly the perfect turn of phrase. The only thing she was missing was timing. Inevitably those words would come to her hours or even days after she had needed them.

She remembered once in high school when she had dropped her purse and the contents had spilled out. Every time she picked up one thing another would drop. Sue Ann, the snotty little bitch, had laughed at her and said it was no wonder she was such a butterfingers since she was so fat. At that moment all Aubrey could do was hang her head and hope nobody saw her blush. Later that night as she replayed the whole miserable scene in her head she thought, Well it's because I don't have the experience being on my knees that you do.

And it was always this way. When she had asked for a raise last year her boss had sat her down and explained that times were tough and they should all be grateful to have jobs. Now was not the time to ask for a raise. Even though Aubrey knew that Carl had gotten a raise just the week before. Later she realized she should have mentioned that she knew times were tough and this led her to no other option but to look for work that would pay her what she was worth. They wouldn't let her go. She was their best worker. She did half of his work, for goodness sake, but to actually get the words out? To even find the words while she was sitting in his office? Just didn't happen. Though she composed a well thought out letter in response to their meeting including her resignation and delivered it to him the next week. She got the raise she deserved.

She had tried everything to make it better. She had taken classes on public speaking to try and get over her fear of crowds. She had taken to practicing any major conversation she knew she would have. Which worked out brilliantly. In her bathroom as she practiced in the mirror she always ended up with what she wanted. The problem she soon discovered is that people seldom follow the script you have for them. You think they are going to say one thing and invariably they say something else. So she would be left scrambling again, not sure what to say until the next day when the brilliant response would come to her.

When email started becoming more prevalent she thought she might be saved. At least at work. You could take the time to craft a response to a question, to really think about what you wanted to say. She had loved it. Then came instant messaging. The Ding! letting her know she had a conversation waiting filled her with dread. There was no time to finesse an answer, the conversations moved too quickly. And then the company fell out of love with that technology and moved back to face to face meetings. To restore company unity. So Aubrey was left again fumbling for an answer or sitting silently while every one else talked.

A few years ago she had made friends with another woman at work who never seemed to suffer from knowing what to say. She always had a response, a quip. She never seemed uneasy even when things might turn a bit contentious. She stood her ground and never let anyone push her around. Aubrey wanted to be just like her. Then one day leaving a particularly rough meeting Ellen had whispered to Aubrey, "Why did I say that? I should learn to keep my mouth shut! Why can't I be more like you?" Aubrey, of course, didn't know what to say to this.

It took her a week to finally get the nerve to ask Ellen what she had meant, why would she want to be like her? Ellen told her all about how she always felt she needed to get the last word. To say something. Anything. She said her mother had been a mousy little woman, pushed around by her bully of a father so she had sworn she would never be like that. She would always be the one in charge. And then she said that the problem was that in trying so hard to not be her mother at times she turned in to her father.

She told Aubrey that the reason she admired her so much is that she kept her own counsel. She didn't seem to need everyone's constant approval. That when she spoke in a meeting it was always something important. She never let herself get drug in to the petty bickering. She was always the calm face waiting out the storm of egos before they could move on to the important matters.

After that conversation Aubrey started to feel a little differently about what she had always thought was a problem. Maybe it really was a positive personality trait after all. Listening more, talking less. Thinking and rethinking about conversations and problems to find the best possible answer. She could see that this might be the reason she was such a good worker and a good friend.

Though she still wished she had told off that nasty piece of work Sue Ann...