It's funny how things work. We grow up, move out, start a career, get married, start a family, all the while getting older, but never really noticing how our parents are aging. For some reason I have just always seen my parents as this age, and to be quite honest have never really thought they wouldn't just keep on doing what they are doing forever. We take it all for granted, never really thinking about how limited they are until something happens and your realize you parents really aren't going to be here forever. This realization has happened for me and my family over the course of the last couple of months.
In September my dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer. It is in his lungs, spine and blood, and because he has had a very compromised heart for the last 20 yrs, they are not offering any treatment. The plan is to make sure he is as comfortable as they can make him, and hope that the doesn't suffer more than necessary.
In the last two months I have watched him go from the dad I have always known, to this frail, weak, defeated man. He is in pain more than he isn't, he now has to use a walker to make it to the bathroom, and he sleeps more of the day away than he is awake. Because the drugs make him not hungry he doesn't eat more than 400 calories a day, and is wasting away. The man I once thought of as superman as a child is now a tiny little man. I look at him and I see the fear in his eyes, and I can see him trembling as he sits and tries to make like he is okay. I see that he knows this is the end, but has not quite got there with the acceptance part. Somewhere deep inside he knows there aren't many more sunsets in his future, but for us, those that he feels he needs to be strong for, he lets on like he will be fine in no time. He is putting on a brave front, and all I want him to do is sit and cry and get all those feelings out. But he just isn't there yet. I can't imagine how it must feel to know you really are going to go. I think there comes a day when you welcome that exit, but until that day, it must be really scary.
No matter what the relationship has been over the years, watching this happen to someone who you love is beyond imaginable, but what is even harder to watch is my mother. She is trying to do it all, to make sure he is looked after well at the end, because that is exactly what that 53 yrs has all been about, making it to death. I look at her and I feel like I should be doing more, but time and distance makes doing more impossible. My concern is that this will age her, but what can I do, she will not hear of putting him in the hospital or in hospice so that some of the load can be taken off. She will do it, and that is all there is to it.
Because he had a very serious heart attack in 1986 and then a triple bi-pass in 1996 I really thought that we would lose him suddenly, in his sleep or as a result of a fatal heart attack but instead, we have been given this time, which gives us the chance to maybe not heal wounds but to acknowledge them and move past them. At the end of ones life, is it really important to rehash things that you couldn't seem to have the time or energy to fix before, is it really the time to list off all the things you feel they failed at, is it really the time to blame them. I don't think so. I think it's a time to ready yourself for the unknown, in my dads case, and for me to morn the things we were unable to fix. I think that it will take me time and effort to move beyond the things that happened between us, but right now I just feel the need for him to know that no matter what I love him, and always will.
I have lost many people in my life. Grandparents, friends, co-workers and family members. Many people whom I have loved very much and who were great influences on my life, but losing a parent feels so different. The thoughts of losing him is in so many ways very scary to me. No matter how well or how poor you got along with them, they are your blood, your history. They knew you before anyone else did. Losing him makes me think that one day I will be without parents on this earth. That is very scary. I fear going threw this again with my mother, knowing that she is the last one and we will be on our own after she is gone. It scares me to think that I will not have that reference, the person to ask when I have questions about raising my son, or the changes I will go through in my life. I am scared to be all on my own, in a way that you never really are until they are gone.
I have a family of my own now, and I know that they are my future, but that does not change the fact that he is my daddy! He is the only one I have ever had, and I am apart of him and he me, and when he goes he will take a piece of my heart with him.
To those of you who have taken the time to read this, will you do me a favor. If there is someone in your life that you have things undone with, or words that need to be said, please take the time this Christmas to say those things. Hug the ones you love like there is no tomorrow, and forget about all the crap that seems to build walls around us. Tell the people dear to you how you really feel about them, and slow down enough to enjoy it!!!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Bullying!
Over the course of the past year or so we have been hearing regularly about one child or another committing suicide as a result of being bullied. What is going wrong with our kids nowadays?? These cases of bullying have been because some kids feel it is okay to hate someone strictly due to their sexuality, or presumed sexuality. The last case involved a young man named Jamey Rodemeyer. Lady Gaga dedicated a song to him, as he was a big fan of hers and had tweeted her before taking his life (you gotta love someone who puts their money where their mouth is. I love Lady Gaga for this reason, and so many others). He was bullied because of his bi sexuality. Again, what is happening to kids nowadays??
I truly feel that this behaviour comes straight from the parents, not like they are telling their kids to go bully fags, but they are teaching them in the home that homo's are evil and should be destroyed. If you don't believe that, than you are naive. There is so much hate taught to our kids, not in school, but at home. It comes from an early age, and is breed into them. It doesn't always come from what the parents have chosen to believe, but comes from the churches they affiliate with. There are churches that teach that homosexuality is the ultimate sin, and all who partake in that act should be dammed. One of the major reason's I no longer go to church, but that is another story, one I will save for another time.
I moved to Houston Texas in 2001. I met Damie online and within months I moved to be with her. When I first lived there we lived in a one room apartment in an area in Houston called the Heights. It was what some would call, "an up and coming area" of Houston. It was mostly run down, low income, and had some pretty shady characters inhabiting it. It was a place where artist, musicians and thespians had started to move into, and make it unique and interesting. But those who are not a musician, thespian or artist living there are mostly low income, low educated people. The rents were cheap and the houses were plentiful.
While living in our small apartment I experienced my very first homophobic act. One night, shortly before Christmas, Damie and I were enjoying the cool of the evening on the front steps of the complex. It was a nice night, and we were enjoying the reprieve from the heat. There was a small girl across the street playing in her side yard. She was about 10 or 11, she was minding her own business and we ours. Suddenly, and without notice we had a Christmas light thrown at us and break into pieces close to us on the sidewalk leading up to the complex, then another, and another all smashing into tiny pieces. If you have never had one of those old fashion, big bulbs break on you, you will be surprised to know that when they hit the sidewalk the break like a small firecracker going off. We were shocked and surprised, but what followed surprised us more. Soon after a few where thrown, the girl across the street came out of the shadows and started throwing light bulbs and yelling, "stupid dykes". Shortly after that she changed up what she was saying to "die dykes". Damie and I were shocked, a little scared, but most of all we were surprised that this was coming from such an innocent child. Where did she come up with such hate, how does this happen?? We moved to another apartment, where we thought it would be better, we were wrong.
We moved into a really nice new apartment in a different section of the Heights. We were both excited, and hoped for a better living environment. The apartment was in a one level home that had been divided into three apartments. Our apartment was a one bedroom at the front of the house, there was a larger two bedroom in the middle and an even larger apartment in the back that had three bedrooms. The middle apartment was occupied with two brothers who worked in construction, they seemed nice and friendly. The back apartment was occupied by a small family, which consisted of a husband and wife and their teen aged daughter. It was a very nice place to live at first. We spoke to all of the people pretty regularly, but mostly to the middle guys who seemed to be a bit more friendly than the back family. They were fun loving, party animals, but never got too out of hand. After a few months one of the brothers had his girlfriend move in, and we really liked her. She was nice and friendly and would often come over and chat when we were outside. She seemed to mix in well with everyone, until one day we found out that she had split with the brother because he found out that she had once had a boyfriend who was black. She was very upset, and just seemed to disappear. A few months after that we started to have trouble with the family at the back. One day I came across the mother going through our mailbox (they were traditional mail boxes at the end of the driveway, one for each apartment). I asked her what she was doing and she said that they thought they were not getting all their mail, and that some of their mail was being put in our mailbox by accident. I explained to her that if that were to ever happen we would make sure she got her mail, but not to go through ours any longer. I thought she understood and that that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. She continued to go through our mail and it got to the point where I had to say that we would be calling the police if she didn't stop going into our mailbox, which of course lead her to calling me a fat dyke, as well as a great deal of other things, and then it was bad from that day on. We soon felt quite uncomfortable living there, and explained this to the landlord, who did nothing. We moved once again.
These are the only real instances where I have felt bullied for my sexuality. I know there have been people who have chosen not to be friends with me, and there have been people who have kept their distance from me, but nothing so obvious as these two instances. Where does this attitude come from, where do they learn that it is okay to treat people who are different than them like this? I have to wonder. Maybe they are just ignorant, maybe they were raised to believe this, maybe they are just bullies that have always attracted the weaker, or the ones who are more vulnerable. I don't know.
When I was a kid I can't say I was ever really bullied. I was teased, or at least that's how I saw it. There were things about me that kids would make fun of, sometimes they were the same kids, sometimes it was different kids. There was always teasing to some extent or another with every kid. Maybe you had a funny name, maybe you were a brain, maybe you had red hair, maybe you had different habits. Whatever it was, whoever it was, we were all teased at one time or another. I know there were kids in my school who might have been teased more, maybe they were weaker and didn't ever defend themselves, maybe they had personalities that made them not want to attack back. What ever the case, bullying happened and if happened often. The difference is I don't remember anyone ever killing themselves over it.
There was one time in my life, when I was in my early teens where I came across a bully. She treated me like a friend, and I bought it up hook line and sinker. I wanted to be friends with her, she was popular, had lots of money, and did whatever her heart desired. Everyone seemed to flock to her, and I was one of them. When she gave me the time of day, I was there like a dirty shirt. I felt accepted, wanted and in some small way popular finally. This girl took that friendship, my innocence and my willingness to please and used it to her advantage. She led me to believe we were friends, shared secrets with me, and I with her, just to take it all and turn it back on me. She, and a group of friends that she had, let me in just to turn on me in a way no one had ever turned on me before, or since. She made me feel small, meaningless, but most of all she made me feel embarrassed. She was a true bully.
A few weeks ago this same girl, who is now all grown up with kids of her own, asked for my friendship on facebook. I couldn't believe it. All those feeling from all those years ago came flooding back, and I felt worthless all over again. I was right back to being a teenager. Gosh that's an awful feeling. I sat at my desk pondering, do I accept it or not. Do I let her in, when I felt and remembered what she had done to me all those years ago. Do I give her the satisfaction of knowing me now, when she didn't really want to know me than? I sat at my desk for a long time and thought about it. I decided to ask Damie what she thought and her feeling was to not accept it as there is no need to have someone like that in your life in any capacity. I decided to accept her friendship, mainly because I think we all do things we are not proud of when we are young and stupid, and because we all deserve a second chance. I hope I made the right decision and that I don't live to regret it. Time will tell.
While raising my son I have tried to teach him that you have to attempt to resolve conflicts with others. We talk about the fact that others are different from him, and even though they maybe different those differences are what makes life interesting. I have also tried to teach him boundaries, and that those boundaries are up to his discretion and only he can decide when someone has overstepped those boundaries. I have also shown him, by example, how to deal with people who overstep boundaries and that it can be done without anyone getting hurt. The thing about bullying, in my opinion, is that no one can bully you if you don't let them. People can try to make you feel bad about who you are, but unless you believe them, their attempts don't work. It is my feeling that we need to help our kids have strong self images, and that self esteem is so important. Knowing what is happening to your kid, and talking about what's happening will help them feel empowered to stand up for themselves, and not let a bully get to them. We need to help our kids work through all the crazy things that happen at school, and that if they know we are always going to be on their side they will share what is happening. Bullying will never stop, which is a sad reality, but we can stop our kids from feeling that the only way out is to kill themselves.
I truly feel that this behaviour comes straight from the parents, not like they are telling their kids to go bully fags, but they are teaching them in the home that homo's are evil and should be destroyed. If you don't believe that, than you are naive. There is so much hate taught to our kids, not in school, but at home. It comes from an early age, and is breed into them. It doesn't always come from what the parents have chosen to believe, but comes from the churches they affiliate with. There are churches that teach that homosexuality is the ultimate sin, and all who partake in that act should be dammed. One of the major reason's I no longer go to church, but that is another story, one I will save for another time.
I moved to Houston Texas in 2001. I met Damie online and within months I moved to be with her. When I first lived there we lived in a one room apartment in an area in Houston called the Heights. It was what some would call, "an up and coming area" of Houston. It was mostly run down, low income, and had some pretty shady characters inhabiting it. It was a place where artist, musicians and thespians had started to move into, and make it unique and interesting. But those who are not a musician, thespian or artist living there are mostly low income, low educated people. The rents were cheap and the houses were plentiful.
While living in our small apartment I experienced my very first homophobic act. One night, shortly before Christmas, Damie and I were enjoying the cool of the evening on the front steps of the complex. It was a nice night, and we were enjoying the reprieve from the heat. There was a small girl across the street playing in her side yard. She was about 10 or 11, she was minding her own business and we ours. Suddenly, and without notice we had a Christmas light thrown at us and break into pieces close to us on the sidewalk leading up to the complex, then another, and another all smashing into tiny pieces. If you have never had one of those old fashion, big bulbs break on you, you will be surprised to know that when they hit the sidewalk the break like a small firecracker going off. We were shocked and surprised, but what followed surprised us more. Soon after a few where thrown, the girl across the street came out of the shadows and started throwing light bulbs and yelling, "stupid dykes". Shortly after that she changed up what she was saying to "die dykes". Damie and I were shocked, a little scared, but most of all we were surprised that this was coming from such an innocent child. Where did she come up with such hate, how does this happen?? We moved to another apartment, where we thought it would be better, we were wrong.
We moved into a really nice new apartment in a different section of the Heights. We were both excited, and hoped for a better living environment. The apartment was in a one level home that had been divided into three apartments. Our apartment was a one bedroom at the front of the house, there was a larger two bedroom in the middle and an even larger apartment in the back that had three bedrooms. The middle apartment was occupied with two brothers who worked in construction, they seemed nice and friendly. The back apartment was occupied by a small family, which consisted of a husband and wife and their teen aged daughter. It was a very nice place to live at first. We spoke to all of the people pretty regularly, but mostly to the middle guys who seemed to be a bit more friendly than the back family. They were fun loving, party animals, but never got too out of hand. After a few months one of the brothers had his girlfriend move in, and we really liked her. She was nice and friendly and would often come over and chat when we were outside. She seemed to mix in well with everyone, until one day we found out that she had split with the brother because he found out that she had once had a boyfriend who was black. She was very upset, and just seemed to disappear. A few months after that we started to have trouble with the family at the back. One day I came across the mother going through our mailbox (they were traditional mail boxes at the end of the driveway, one for each apartment). I asked her what she was doing and she said that they thought they were not getting all their mail, and that some of their mail was being put in our mailbox by accident. I explained to her that if that were to ever happen we would make sure she got her mail, but not to go through ours any longer. I thought she understood and that that would be the end of it, but it wasn't. She continued to go through our mail and it got to the point where I had to say that we would be calling the police if she didn't stop going into our mailbox, which of course lead her to calling me a fat dyke, as well as a great deal of other things, and then it was bad from that day on. We soon felt quite uncomfortable living there, and explained this to the landlord, who did nothing. We moved once again.
These are the only real instances where I have felt bullied for my sexuality. I know there have been people who have chosen not to be friends with me, and there have been people who have kept their distance from me, but nothing so obvious as these two instances. Where does this attitude come from, where do they learn that it is okay to treat people who are different than them like this? I have to wonder. Maybe they are just ignorant, maybe they were raised to believe this, maybe they are just bullies that have always attracted the weaker, or the ones who are more vulnerable. I don't know.
When I was a kid I can't say I was ever really bullied. I was teased, or at least that's how I saw it. There were things about me that kids would make fun of, sometimes they were the same kids, sometimes it was different kids. There was always teasing to some extent or another with every kid. Maybe you had a funny name, maybe you were a brain, maybe you had red hair, maybe you had different habits. Whatever it was, whoever it was, we were all teased at one time or another. I know there were kids in my school who might have been teased more, maybe they were weaker and didn't ever defend themselves, maybe they had personalities that made them not want to attack back. What ever the case, bullying happened and if happened often. The difference is I don't remember anyone ever killing themselves over it.
There was one time in my life, when I was in my early teens where I came across a bully. She treated me like a friend, and I bought it up hook line and sinker. I wanted to be friends with her, she was popular, had lots of money, and did whatever her heart desired. Everyone seemed to flock to her, and I was one of them. When she gave me the time of day, I was there like a dirty shirt. I felt accepted, wanted and in some small way popular finally. This girl took that friendship, my innocence and my willingness to please and used it to her advantage. She led me to believe we were friends, shared secrets with me, and I with her, just to take it all and turn it back on me. She, and a group of friends that she had, let me in just to turn on me in a way no one had ever turned on me before, or since. She made me feel small, meaningless, but most of all she made me feel embarrassed. She was a true bully.
A few weeks ago this same girl, who is now all grown up with kids of her own, asked for my friendship on facebook. I couldn't believe it. All those feeling from all those years ago came flooding back, and I felt worthless all over again. I was right back to being a teenager. Gosh that's an awful feeling. I sat at my desk pondering, do I accept it or not. Do I let her in, when I felt and remembered what she had done to me all those years ago. Do I give her the satisfaction of knowing me now, when she didn't really want to know me than? I sat at my desk for a long time and thought about it. I decided to ask Damie what she thought and her feeling was to not accept it as there is no need to have someone like that in your life in any capacity. I decided to accept her friendship, mainly because I think we all do things we are not proud of when we are young and stupid, and because we all deserve a second chance. I hope I made the right decision and that I don't live to regret it. Time will tell.
While raising my son I have tried to teach him that you have to attempt to resolve conflicts with others. We talk about the fact that others are different from him, and even though they maybe different those differences are what makes life interesting. I have also tried to teach him boundaries, and that those boundaries are up to his discretion and only he can decide when someone has overstepped those boundaries. I have also shown him, by example, how to deal with people who overstep boundaries and that it can be done without anyone getting hurt. The thing about bullying, in my opinion, is that no one can bully you if you don't let them. People can try to make you feel bad about who you are, but unless you believe them, their attempts don't work. It is my feeling that we need to help our kids have strong self images, and that self esteem is so important. Knowing what is happening to your kid, and talking about what's happening will help them feel empowered to stand up for themselves, and not let a bully get to them. We need to help our kids work through all the crazy things that happen at school, and that if they know we are always going to be on their side they will share what is happening. Bullying will never stop, which is a sad reality, but we can stop our kids from feeling that the only way out is to kill themselves.
Friday, September 9, 2011
The summer of 2011 will go down in history....and thank God it's history!
We have had a crazy summer here in the Fulcher house.
July was the hottest on record....so we spent it in the pool in the backyard. Along with trying to keep Zeb busy, and getting a break from the heat, this made the month fly by and also very enjoyable. There was the few days we spent trying to fight our landlord to fix our basement, fighting both face to face as well as in court. I would say that the final outcome was not a win for either. We agreed to move, as he decided it was in his best interest to just demolish the home, and I guess you could say he lost as he ended up having to pay us to go, and as far as I'm concerned lost very good tenants.
We spent so much of our summer looking for a new place to live, fighting with our lawyers to get our landlord to follow the order that was put in place by the tribunal (which by the way he has yet to do, and short of taking him to small claims court and going through all that, we don't have a leg to stand on.....landlords have all the power in this province) , and realizing how little so many landlords in this area care about the product they have out there. After seeing, I can't tell you how many houses, we realized that there are just so few places around here that are actually places anyone decent would live it. Seems to me, and just me by the way, that if you want tenants that don't destroy your home, maybe you should show you are proud of it. I would think that if you are interested in making owning rental property's an income for you, you would take care of said property. I can tell you, not many do. There was one house we went into that had three bedrooms, and linen closet, and several other closets throughout that had not one closet door on any. At the end the owner asked us if we thought he was charging a good price. He explained that this was his only rental property and was unsure if he had set his price right. I said to him, "I personally would never rent this home, as I personally feel that I should have doors on my closets". His reply was that a couple of years ago he had a tenant who he thought was on "social assistance" that totally destroyed the property. He ended up spending 15,000. on the place to fix it and just had to stop when the money ran out. I replied to him that the only tenant he would attract to his home were those that would not care about it. I said that anyone interested in living in a home without any doors on anything is never going to care about the upkeep of your home. His reply was, "well, for the right person I would put on new doors". I walked away thinking, I guess he didn't feel anyone coming to see this house would be the right person to fix what needed to be fixed. What I have learned about this whole experience is, first, don't do anything to a rental home that you wish to be reimbursed for without there being a written agreement. Second, if you make any sort of agreement with your landlord there has to be terms included in that agreement. Eg. If you want to use the repairs and updates you have make to a property to be used in lieu of rent, than you need to have it in writing how much those repairs and updates are worth, and for how long you can go without paying rent that would equal those updates. Third, no matter who it is your rent from, don't trust anything they say. If there is anything that is done that goes against your original lease, there needs to be compensation. And lastly, if you can at any time in your life, become a landlord. This area could use some upstanding people who want to give a good quality home at a good price. I feel that this is one area that needs more regulation. I didn't realize how little landlords have to do to rent people property. There are no licences, or fee's. There is no safety requirements, there is no class they have to take. I can't think of anyone who has any sort of business ( and yes, rental property is in fact a business even if you only have one rental unit) where there are no licences, or required skills, or training involved. Any Tom Dick, or Harry can pawn off their falling down, fire trap to anyone willing to pay the rent. This has to stop. I try not to think about how many safety violations are surrounding me in my rental home, but I do know there are plenty. And I should be afraid. Now, after having to do so much research this summer, I know my rights as a tenant, and I will never allow myself to be put into this position ever again.
The summer was a good one despite all the stress we were under. I am always happy to have Zeb home with me all summer. It gives us a time to bond, talk, and do things together and have fun. The great part was that Damie was home for the whole summer too. She has been between jobs, as she is waiting to start training with Allstate. The process is alot longer than one would think, and so since it has taken until the end of Sept. to actually start she was here with us this summer. All three of us had a good time together. We didn't go anywhere, except to Toronto for a night ( which, if you ask Zeb, was the most amazingly wonderful trip), but other than that, we spent a few days here and there but nothing special. We sure miss going on family trips like we did when Zeb was smaller, and we do hope we will be in that position again, however it has taught us how little our child expects from us to have fun. I think we all get a little caught up in giving our kids things like trips to Disney, or taking them on cruises etc. but what we have learned over the past couple of years is, all he really needs from us is us. I like that, I like that we can have fun and feel like we really lived it up on a shoe string budget. I think, and this is just how I feel, but I think sometimes we feel pressured into doing more than we should. I think there was a day when no one took their kids anywhere, and they still became well rounded, balanced and interesting people. I don't think my father went anywhere in his life, except when his mother moved him to Toronto Island for a year so she could work during war time. Other than that I don't think he left his small town life. I know my mother never went anywhere with her family when she was growing up. The only place she remembers going was to the Detroit Zoo, and to see The Henry Ford Museum on a class trip. This was the norm than, no one did much (unless you had family that you got shipped away to, or your family was rich and you were able to go on a vacation). When I was a kid I had my mom's parents who owned 9 cottages in the Bruce Peninsula at Stokes Bay. They rented out those cottages every year and spent the whole summer up there taking care of the renters. I would go up there for a few weeks every summer. It was amazing. Each cottage was rented to a different family every week (lots of the same families came back every summer, and there was one family that came for the whole summer ever year). I always had someone to play with, whether it be a girl or a boy it didn't much matter to me. We would spend hours swimming in the frigid lake, playing along the shoreline, going canoeing or walking in the bush. There was a small hamlet with a general store one mile from where we were and sometimes my grandmother would give me a quarter to walk down to the store with a friend and buy an ice cream, or black licorice. I loved ever minute of it. I love the nightly campfires, singing songs, or listening to scary stories, or just sitting around starring at the fire. I love the night sounds, the quite one only knows when they are in the middle of no where. I loved listening to the lake hitting the shore as I fell asleep. I loved having to put on a sweatshirt and pants in the evening and feeling that warmth around me. I loved feeling tired and sleeping soundly, in a way only a child can do. Those summers stick in my mind, and I hope one day to give Zeb, even a little taste of what that was like.
Summer is coming to a close, Zeb has started the first grade, and we are leaving the house we have lived in since Zeb was one. It is all a little melancholy, a little sad. I know we will all be just fine in our new home, but it's hard to walk away from the only home Zeb has ever known. He will make new friends, maybe some in the neighbourhood, which will be a nice change as right now we do not have a neighbourhood. He will do fine in his 300 student school. And Damie and I will stay strong, and optimistic about our future. I hope it all goes as planned, and this is the new beginning we have been looking for.
July was the hottest on record....so we spent it in the pool in the backyard. Along with trying to keep Zeb busy, and getting a break from the heat, this made the month fly by and also very enjoyable. There was the few days we spent trying to fight our landlord to fix our basement, fighting both face to face as well as in court. I would say that the final outcome was not a win for either. We agreed to move, as he decided it was in his best interest to just demolish the home, and I guess you could say he lost as he ended up having to pay us to go, and as far as I'm concerned lost very good tenants.
We spent so much of our summer looking for a new place to live, fighting with our lawyers to get our landlord to follow the order that was put in place by the tribunal (which by the way he has yet to do, and short of taking him to small claims court and going through all that, we don't have a leg to stand on.....landlords have all the power in this province) , and realizing how little so many landlords in this area care about the product they have out there. After seeing, I can't tell you how many houses, we realized that there are just so few places around here that are actually places anyone decent would live it. Seems to me, and just me by the way, that if you want tenants that don't destroy your home, maybe you should show you are proud of it. I would think that if you are interested in making owning rental property's an income for you, you would take care of said property. I can tell you, not many do. There was one house we went into that had three bedrooms, and linen closet, and several other closets throughout that had not one closet door on any. At the end the owner asked us if we thought he was charging a good price. He explained that this was his only rental property and was unsure if he had set his price right. I said to him, "I personally would never rent this home, as I personally feel that I should have doors on my closets". His reply was that a couple of years ago he had a tenant who he thought was on "social assistance" that totally destroyed the property. He ended up spending 15,000. on the place to fix it and just had to stop when the money ran out. I replied to him that the only tenant he would attract to his home were those that would not care about it. I said that anyone interested in living in a home without any doors on anything is never going to care about the upkeep of your home. His reply was, "well, for the right person I would put on new doors". I walked away thinking, I guess he didn't feel anyone coming to see this house would be the right person to fix what needed to be fixed. What I have learned about this whole experience is, first, don't do anything to a rental home that you wish to be reimbursed for without there being a written agreement. Second, if you make any sort of agreement with your landlord there has to be terms included in that agreement. Eg. If you want to use the repairs and updates you have make to a property to be used in lieu of rent, than you need to have it in writing how much those repairs and updates are worth, and for how long you can go without paying rent that would equal those updates. Third, no matter who it is your rent from, don't trust anything they say. If there is anything that is done that goes against your original lease, there needs to be compensation. And lastly, if you can at any time in your life, become a landlord. This area could use some upstanding people who want to give a good quality home at a good price. I feel that this is one area that needs more regulation. I didn't realize how little landlords have to do to rent people property. There are no licences, or fee's. There is no safety requirements, there is no class they have to take. I can't think of anyone who has any sort of business ( and yes, rental property is in fact a business even if you only have one rental unit) where there are no licences, or required skills, or training involved. Any Tom Dick, or Harry can pawn off their falling down, fire trap to anyone willing to pay the rent. This has to stop. I try not to think about how many safety violations are surrounding me in my rental home, but I do know there are plenty. And I should be afraid. Now, after having to do so much research this summer, I know my rights as a tenant, and I will never allow myself to be put into this position ever again.
The summer was a good one despite all the stress we were under. I am always happy to have Zeb home with me all summer. It gives us a time to bond, talk, and do things together and have fun. The great part was that Damie was home for the whole summer too. She has been between jobs, as she is waiting to start training with Allstate. The process is alot longer than one would think, and so since it has taken until the end of Sept. to actually start she was here with us this summer. All three of us had a good time together. We didn't go anywhere, except to Toronto for a night ( which, if you ask Zeb, was the most amazingly wonderful trip), but other than that, we spent a few days here and there but nothing special. We sure miss going on family trips like we did when Zeb was smaller, and we do hope we will be in that position again, however it has taught us how little our child expects from us to have fun. I think we all get a little caught up in giving our kids things like trips to Disney, or taking them on cruises etc. but what we have learned over the past couple of years is, all he really needs from us is us. I like that, I like that we can have fun and feel like we really lived it up on a shoe string budget. I think, and this is just how I feel, but I think sometimes we feel pressured into doing more than we should. I think there was a day when no one took their kids anywhere, and they still became well rounded, balanced and interesting people. I don't think my father went anywhere in his life, except when his mother moved him to Toronto Island for a year so she could work during war time. Other than that I don't think he left his small town life. I know my mother never went anywhere with her family when she was growing up. The only place she remembers going was to the Detroit Zoo, and to see The Henry Ford Museum on a class trip. This was the norm than, no one did much (unless you had family that you got shipped away to, or your family was rich and you were able to go on a vacation). When I was a kid I had my mom's parents who owned 9 cottages in the Bruce Peninsula at Stokes Bay. They rented out those cottages every year and spent the whole summer up there taking care of the renters. I would go up there for a few weeks every summer. It was amazing. Each cottage was rented to a different family every week (lots of the same families came back every summer, and there was one family that came for the whole summer ever year). I always had someone to play with, whether it be a girl or a boy it didn't much matter to me. We would spend hours swimming in the frigid lake, playing along the shoreline, going canoeing or walking in the bush. There was a small hamlet with a general store one mile from where we were and sometimes my grandmother would give me a quarter to walk down to the store with a friend and buy an ice cream, or black licorice. I loved ever minute of it. I love the nightly campfires, singing songs, or listening to scary stories, or just sitting around starring at the fire. I love the night sounds, the quite one only knows when they are in the middle of no where. I loved listening to the lake hitting the shore as I fell asleep. I loved having to put on a sweatshirt and pants in the evening and feeling that warmth around me. I loved feeling tired and sleeping soundly, in a way only a child can do. Those summers stick in my mind, and I hope one day to give Zeb, even a little taste of what that was like.
Summer is coming to a close, Zeb has started the first grade, and we are leaving the house we have lived in since Zeb was one. It is all a little melancholy, a little sad. I know we will all be just fine in our new home, but it's hard to walk away from the only home Zeb has ever known. He will make new friends, maybe some in the neighbourhood, which will be a nice change as right now we do not have a neighbourhood. He will do fine in his 300 student school. And Damie and I will stay strong, and optimistic about our future. I hope it all goes as planned, and this is the new beginning we have been looking for.
Monday, May 30, 2011
The boy with no laces in his shoes.
Over the last few weeks I have had this need to write this story. I haven't ever stopped thinking about the boy with no laces in his shoes, but lately I have felt the need to speak about him, share my feeling about him, and remember him. This is my story about the boy with no laces in his shoes.
I grew up in a small town, one with less than 5000 people. You didn't know everyone, but you knew of most. This can be a blessing and a curse, depending on the situation, and your situation. I personally enjoyed the fact that I knew of most people, it created a feeling of community to me. The knowledge that there was someone on every street that you knew was a good one, in my opinion. Knowing of everyone did not make it safer, or easier, it just made it feel like we were all in it together.
This small town was divided up into four area's. The north, south, west and east wards. It depended on where you lived as to where you went to public school. When I started school there were two public schools, and I attended both.
I started off in kindergarten at Central school. I did not live in the area, but it was the only public school that offered kindergarten. After kindergarten I attended West Ward school, as I lived in the west ward. This school had three grades taught in it. Grades one through three. Grades one and two were in one classroom, and grade three was in it's own room. The two teachers who taught there had taught since the beginning of time I think, they were old grandma types. There were many a day that I would fall asleep at my desk to wake up with my teachers sweater on my shoulders that's what kind of class it was, and that's what kind of teacher she was. I went to first and second grade in this school.
At the end of grade two, the school board decided they no longer needed West Ward school. It had become obsolete, and the classroom sizes had dropped dramatically, so they were moving the students to Central school. There they would offer grades kindergarten thru the forth grade. I was not happy about this move one bit. I liked where I went to school, I liked that I only had to walk less than a block, and I liked how little it was. Central school was big, full of kinds I didn't know, and I wouldn't know any of the teachers. Non the less, I went off the Central for grade three.
The first day was a little scary, I remember taking my time getting ready in the morning. I did not like this at all, I was sure I wouldn't know anyone and I would have to play alone at recess. There was one good thing, and that was that I was going to be able to eat lunch with my Grandmother, as she lived right across the street. I remember thinking while I walked in that first day, if I don't like it I can just tell my Grandmother at lunch and she wont send me back.
That first day went fine. I knew lots of the kids, at least the ones that were with me at West Ward, and my teacher seemed nice. Her name was Mrs. Dolhanyk. I was a little afraid of the teacher, she was a little louder than I was used to, and she seemed pretty crazy. She had lots of energy, and seemed to run from one side of the room to the other all day long. I loved having my lunch with my Grandmother. She made yummy things and I like the time with her. I thought this year was going to be pretty good.
It wasn't too long until I felt differently about school. Soon after the first day I started to have trouble with everything. It all seemed so confusing, at least to me. I couldn't understand what the teacher was teaching, and I seemed to get yelled at alot. I also seemed to have a hard time concentrating and getting my work done, this would be something that followed me the rest of my school career. I was embarrassed by the fact that I was always being talked to, and after a few weeks I started playing away from the other kids in my class.
One day, after I was done eating lunch with my Grandmother I headed off back to school. This day was different, as on this day I decided to discover what was behind the school. This was one place I had never gone, and thought I will see if there are any interesting things back there. I walked back, and saw a couple of green garbage dumpsters, but nothing much else except there was a little boy playing by himself.
At first he and I played back there separately. I would glance over his way, and he mine but we never spoke or got too close. I was shy, and I think he was too. But this didn't last long. I decided to play back there during the afternoon recess and when I got back there he was there. This time we both looked at each other and then I walked over to him. I knew who he was, but I had never spoke to him at least not that I could remember. When I reached him I said "hi, do you want to play?" and he said "yes'. We played together that day, and everyday after that.
I liked my new friend. That friendship started to become so important to me. School got harder, home wasn't much better, but playing with him made me feel better. We didn't do anything exciting, we hardly ever talked, but I felt like I belonged with him and that as long as we were playing together nothing else much mattered.
One weekend that all shattered.
In a small town not only did you know of everyone, but you also heard everything about everyone. Information spread like wildfire in our town, and this day was no exception. I heard my mom and dad talking one afternoon about an car accident. I heard them say my friends name and my heart stopped beating....it was as if I was no longer taking any air into my lungs. My feet were planted and my body froze. I needed to hear what they were saying, but I couldn't bring myself to get close enough to hear very well. I heard them say that my friend and his sister were in a car accident and it was serious. How serious I had no idea, until the evening news. The story started the top of the news that night.
"Today a family in St. Marys is morning the loss of two young souls. While driving down county road" something or other, "the car which was driven by" someone, but I knew it was my friends dad, "swerved off the road and hit the side of a bridge. The car was quickly engulfed in flames and the two young children, who were in the back seat of the vehicle were unable to escape." It went on to say that the other passenger in the car was the wife of the driver and was seriously burned on the arms and face. Then the news moved onto something else.
I went down into the basement where no one else would be and I cried. I hit the cement walls with my hands, I stomped my feet, but most of all I asked why. Why did this have to happen to my only friend, why couldn't it have happened to someone else. I was down there a long time, I cried for a long time, then I came upstairs and went about the night as normal.
This back in the 70's. No one did anything to help the kids back then, there were no grief counselors waiting to help. The school mentioned the passing of my friend, but that was the end of it.
I was so sad, so shaken up by it, so alone. School just wasn't the same after that. I missed him day after day after day. I wished he would come back, I prayed to God to send him back. He was never very far from my thoughts. It was such a sad time for me, and no one seemed to care about me, about the fact that a little boy died, that I was lonely, hurting, crying. That something bad happened that day and we all needed to talk about it, to understand it, to turn to each other for support. All of that just didn't happen back then.
A few weeks later we discovered that not only had these two children died in that car accident that day, but they actually died at the hands of their father. What had happened that Sunday afternoon is that my friends Dad gave his wife and kids medicine that would slowly put them to sleep. He then took both my friend and his little sister out to the car and placed them in the back seat, where he tied the seat belts together instead of using the latches. He then told his wife they were going for a country drive. After driving a bit, and the kids falling asleep he did what he had planned all along. He drove their car full force into the side of a cement bridge. He drove that car so that the bridge would hit the center of the car, and at a force to start a fire. He had soaked the back seat with gasoline. It took no time for the car to be entirely engulfed in flames. His wife tried to release her babies from the back seat, but she was groggy from the drugs and couldn't undo the knots. She burned her arms and face trying to save them, but she just couldn't. He did all of this for the insurance money!!
My friend has stayed with me all of my life. I can't say I think of him daily, but I think of him often. I still feel the pain when I think of his last day, I still have a hard time with why, but what I do know is that he is in a far better place now then he ever was on earth!! This was when I learned how serious child abuse is, how much it can cost someone, how much it hurts everyone involved. I learned that every life is precious, and they deserve to be talked about, remembered and honored for who they were, and what they brought to us still living.
My friends name was Ralph Droste, and he was my best friend in the third grade. He came to school everyday without laces in his shoes. He made me feel important!! I wonder what he would have become, what things he would have done, if we would still be friends today.
I grew up in a small town, one with less than 5000 people. You didn't know everyone, but you knew of most. This can be a blessing and a curse, depending on the situation, and your situation. I personally enjoyed the fact that I knew of most people, it created a feeling of community to me. The knowledge that there was someone on every street that you knew was a good one, in my opinion. Knowing of everyone did not make it safer, or easier, it just made it feel like we were all in it together.
This small town was divided up into four area's. The north, south, west and east wards. It depended on where you lived as to where you went to public school. When I started school there were two public schools, and I attended both.
I started off in kindergarten at Central school. I did not live in the area, but it was the only public school that offered kindergarten. After kindergarten I attended West Ward school, as I lived in the west ward. This school had three grades taught in it. Grades one through three. Grades one and two were in one classroom, and grade three was in it's own room. The two teachers who taught there had taught since the beginning of time I think, they were old grandma types. There were many a day that I would fall asleep at my desk to wake up with my teachers sweater on my shoulders that's what kind of class it was, and that's what kind of teacher she was. I went to first and second grade in this school.
At the end of grade two, the school board decided they no longer needed West Ward school. It had become obsolete, and the classroom sizes had dropped dramatically, so they were moving the students to Central school. There they would offer grades kindergarten thru the forth grade. I was not happy about this move one bit. I liked where I went to school, I liked that I only had to walk less than a block, and I liked how little it was. Central school was big, full of kinds I didn't know, and I wouldn't know any of the teachers. Non the less, I went off the Central for grade three.
The first day was a little scary, I remember taking my time getting ready in the morning. I did not like this at all, I was sure I wouldn't know anyone and I would have to play alone at recess. There was one good thing, and that was that I was going to be able to eat lunch with my Grandmother, as she lived right across the street. I remember thinking while I walked in that first day, if I don't like it I can just tell my Grandmother at lunch and she wont send me back.
That first day went fine. I knew lots of the kids, at least the ones that were with me at West Ward, and my teacher seemed nice. Her name was Mrs. Dolhanyk. I was a little afraid of the teacher, she was a little louder than I was used to, and she seemed pretty crazy. She had lots of energy, and seemed to run from one side of the room to the other all day long. I loved having my lunch with my Grandmother. She made yummy things and I like the time with her. I thought this year was going to be pretty good.
It wasn't too long until I felt differently about school. Soon after the first day I started to have trouble with everything. It all seemed so confusing, at least to me. I couldn't understand what the teacher was teaching, and I seemed to get yelled at alot. I also seemed to have a hard time concentrating and getting my work done, this would be something that followed me the rest of my school career. I was embarrassed by the fact that I was always being talked to, and after a few weeks I started playing away from the other kids in my class.
One day, after I was done eating lunch with my Grandmother I headed off back to school. This day was different, as on this day I decided to discover what was behind the school. This was one place I had never gone, and thought I will see if there are any interesting things back there. I walked back, and saw a couple of green garbage dumpsters, but nothing much else except there was a little boy playing by himself.
At first he and I played back there separately. I would glance over his way, and he mine but we never spoke or got too close. I was shy, and I think he was too. But this didn't last long. I decided to play back there during the afternoon recess and when I got back there he was there. This time we both looked at each other and then I walked over to him. I knew who he was, but I had never spoke to him at least not that I could remember. When I reached him I said "hi, do you want to play?" and he said "yes'. We played together that day, and everyday after that.
I liked my new friend. That friendship started to become so important to me. School got harder, home wasn't much better, but playing with him made me feel better. We didn't do anything exciting, we hardly ever talked, but I felt like I belonged with him and that as long as we were playing together nothing else much mattered.
One weekend that all shattered.
In a small town not only did you know of everyone, but you also heard everything about everyone. Information spread like wildfire in our town, and this day was no exception. I heard my mom and dad talking one afternoon about an car accident. I heard them say my friends name and my heart stopped beating....it was as if I was no longer taking any air into my lungs. My feet were planted and my body froze. I needed to hear what they were saying, but I couldn't bring myself to get close enough to hear very well. I heard them say that my friend and his sister were in a car accident and it was serious. How serious I had no idea, until the evening news. The story started the top of the news that night.
"Today a family in St. Marys is morning the loss of two young souls. While driving down county road" something or other, "the car which was driven by" someone, but I knew it was my friends dad, "swerved off the road and hit the side of a bridge. The car was quickly engulfed in flames and the two young children, who were in the back seat of the vehicle were unable to escape." It went on to say that the other passenger in the car was the wife of the driver and was seriously burned on the arms and face. Then the news moved onto something else.
I went down into the basement where no one else would be and I cried. I hit the cement walls with my hands, I stomped my feet, but most of all I asked why. Why did this have to happen to my only friend, why couldn't it have happened to someone else. I was down there a long time, I cried for a long time, then I came upstairs and went about the night as normal.
This back in the 70's. No one did anything to help the kids back then, there were no grief counselors waiting to help. The school mentioned the passing of my friend, but that was the end of it.
I was so sad, so shaken up by it, so alone. School just wasn't the same after that. I missed him day after day after day. I wished he would come back, I prayed to God to send him back. He was never very far from my thoughts. It was such a sad time for me, and no one seemed to care about me, about the fact that a little boy died, that I was lonely, hurting, crying. That something bad happened that day and we all needed to talk about it, to understand it, to turn to each other for support. All of that just didn't happen back then.
A few weeks later we discovered that not only had these two children died in that car accident that day, but they actually died at the hands of their father. What had happened that Sunday afternoon is that my friends Dad gave his wife and kids medicine that would slowly put them to sleep. He then took both my friend and his little sister out to the car and placed them in the back seat, where he tied the seat belts together instead of using the latches. He then told his wife they were going for a country drive. After driving a bit, and the kids falling asleep he did what he had planned all along. He drove their car full force into the side of a cement bridge. He drove that car so that the bridge would hit the center of the car, and at a force to start a fire. He had soaked the back seat with gasoline. It took no time for the car to be entirely engulfed in flames. His wife tried to release her babies from the back seat, but she was groggy from the drugs and couldn't undo the knots. She burned her arms and face trying to save them, but she just couldn't. He did all of this for the insurance money!!
My friend has stayed with me all of my life. I can't say I think of him daily, but I think of him often. I still feel the pain when I think of his last day, I still have a hard time with why, but what I do know is that he is in a far better place now then he ever was on earth!! This was when I learned how serious child abuse is, how much it can cost someone, how much it hurts everyone involved. I learned that every life is precious, and they deserve to be talked about, remembered and honored for who they were, and what they brought to us still living.
Friday, April 29, 2011
We've come a long way baby!!!
Holding a kid back in school is a very curious thing. It may have helped academically, however I find that hard to believe. I lost my friends, mainly because in the third grade you are really only starting to make solid friendships. I lost my focus as instead of focusing on what was happening in the class I focused on trying to fit into the class. I felt stupid, and was reminded of just how stupid I was on a regular basis. Kids don't understand all the complexities of life, and think it's just because you are dumb that they held you back and you can't argue anything different because that's exactly how you feel as well. I lost the little pride I had when my desk was moved from the classroom and into the cloakroom. This was done so that I could do all my assignments using a cassette recorder, and they did not want to distract from the rest of the class.....certainly not considering my dignity or what that might mean for me. The education system in the 70 sure had a lot to be desired.
At home my world was miserable. Daily I was reminded of how stupid I was, in fact my brother started using stupid as my name. If a friend called me on the phone and he answered he would yell up the stairs for me by saying "hay Stup....phone's for you" or if my mom wanted me, he would yell, "hey stup, mom wants you." This went on for as long as he lived in the house. My parents would tell me whenever I would have difficulty, or was struggling with something that I was lazy, I didn't work hard enough, I didn't pay attention etc etc. I felt very alone !
The stigma follows you forever, even when you are doing better with grades and attention. Not one teacher treated me right, almost all of them felt I was less than and I felt it. I did run into a teacher from time to time who found good things about me. The second year of grade 3 I was lucky to have one of those teachers. I was placed in a class where the teacher was expecting a baby and left the class to have that baby at Christmas break. For the second half I had a teacher who made me feel special, who spent more time with me, and encouraged me to be the best I could be. I remember how she would let me sit beside her at the side of the room while she marked papers and graded work books. Sometimes she would make funny comments about this students work or that students work, which made me feel like we were close. I finally felt like I mattered to someone, and that she saw the best in me. This was a very kind woman, and I have never forgotten her. I have never told her how she influenced me, and how much she meant to me. I should do that.
I was never a good student, even though I felt like I tried it never really showed in the marks. By the time I entered high school I had just resolved to get through this the best way I knew how. I did just that. No one looked at me as anything special, no one really cared about the burden on my shoulders, just that they felt I didn't care. I am sure that is exactly how I came across, that I didn't really have a vested interest in success in school. I do wish someone had taken notice and gave me a little push in the right direction or saw in me what I could not see, but no one did.
I am sure I am not the only one that endured this experience, I am not unique in this. Education was not what it is today, teachers didn't understand the types of difficulties faced by students then that they do now. Educators were new with the conditions of ADHD, most learning difficulties as well as other conditions like dyslexia and alike. I am grateful that education has changed since then, for my son's benefit. I am grateful everyday that his difficulties in school are recognized and they know so much more about how to deal with ADHD and alike.
As a parent I work very hard to learn as much as I can about ADHD and how to help my son succeed. I work very hard at helping him recognized his various difficulties and how to work with them, and also at educating his educators on how to deal with him as an individual, keeping his gifts and strengths in mind and keeping his self esteem intact. I am very mindful of what types of things that I do not want to have happen with him, as I never want him to feel that because he has ADHD that he in not intelligent, as he is one of the most intelligent persons I have ever met. His strengths far outweigh his difficulties, and his attitude towards others and life itself is just amazing. There are times I find myself looking at him interact with others and think, this boy sure has a way with people. I am so proud of him, and I so look forward to who he will become. This little boy has such a way with people that he could truly change the world. I can't wait to see how he will do that!!
At home my world was miserable. Daily I was reminded of how stupid I was, in fact my brother started using stupid as my name. If a friend called me on the phone and he answered he would yell up the stairs for me by saying "hay Stup....phone's for you" or if my mom wanted me, he would yell, "hey stup, mom wants you." This went on for as long as he lived in the house. My parents would tell me whenever I would have difficulty, or was struggling with something that I was lazy, I didn't work hard enough, I didn't pay attention etc etc. I felt very alone !
The stigma follows you forever, even when you are doing better with grades and attention. Not one teacher treated me right, almost all of them felt I was less than and I felt it. I did run into a teacher from time to time who found good things about me. The second year of grade 3 I was lucky to have one of those teachers. I was placed in a class where the teacher was expecting a baby and left the class to have that baby at Christmas break. For the second half I had a teacher who made me feel special, who spent more time with me, and encouraged me to be the best I could be. I remember how she would let me sit beside her at the side of the room while she marked papers and graded work books. Sometimes she would make funny comments about this students work or that students work, which made me feel like we were close. I finally felt like I mattered to someone, and that she saw the best in me. This was a very kind woman, and I have never forgotten her. I have never told her how she influenced me, and how much she meant to me. I should do that.
I was never a good student, even though I felt like I tried it never really showed in the marks. By the time I entered high school I had just resolved to get through this the best way I knew how. I did just that. No one looked at me as anything special, no one really cared about the burden on my shoulders, just that they felt I didn't care. I am sure that is exactly how I came across, that I didn't really have a vested interest in success in school. I do wish someone had taken notice and gave me a little push in the right direction or saw in me what I could not see, but no one did.
I am sure I am not the only one that endured this experience, I am not unique in this. Education was not what it is today, teachers didn't understand the types of difficulties faced by students then that they do now. Educators were new with the conditions of ADHD, most learning difficulties as well as other conditions like dyslexia and alike. I am grateful that education has changed since then, for my son's benefit. I am grateful everyday that his difficulties in school are recognized and they know so much more about how to deal with ADHD and alike.
As a parent I work very hard to learn as much as I can about ADHD and how to help my son succeed. I work very hard at helping him recognized his various difficulties and how to work with them, and also at educating his educators on how to deal with him as an individual, keeping his gifts and strengths in mind and keeping his self esteem intact. I am very mindful of what types of things that I do not want to have happen with him, as I never want him to feel that because he has ADHD that he in not intelligent, as he is one of the most intelligent persons I have ever met. His strengths far outweigh his difficulties, and his attitude towards others and life itself is just amazing. There are times I find myself looking at him interact with others and think, this boy sure has a way with people. I am so proud of him, and I so look forward to who he will become. This little boy has such a way with people that he could truly change the world. I can't wait to see how he will do that!!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Rain, televisions and smells!!
When I was a little girl I spent a lot of time with my Grandmother Fulcher. She was my favourite
person, and I hers. She was never afraid to let me know how she felt about me.
person, and I hers. She was never afraid to let me know how she felt about me.
I would go to her house in the morning and she and I would sit out in her covered porch and talk while she ate her breakfast. That was always a nice time for me, as I loved hearing her stories and laughing about all the silly things she had done. I also enjoyed watching her eat her breakfast. It always consisted of a cup of coffee and one shredded wheat. She would take her shredded wheat and dunk it in her coffee and take a bit. I loved that.
On that porch she told me stories about how her life was when she was younger. She drew
pictures in my mind with those stories. I felt like I knew the people she talked about, or was there when the tornado ripped through town and twisted the old oak in her front yard. I loved those laze days of summer, and loved spending time with her.
pictures in my mind with those stories. I felt like I knew the people she talked about, or was there when the tornado ripped through town and twisted the old oak in her front yard. I loved those laze days of summer, and loved spending time with her.
Usually she had some errands to do each morning, so we would travel all over St. Marys doing this or that. Lots of times those errands included one or more friends. She had an assortment of friends that ran the gamut. St. Marys is a town where the filthy rich live next door to the not so filthy rich, where the poor man picks up his mail right next to his boss, and no one seems to notice the differences. I find it funny when professionals, like medical professionals say to me, if I should see you out in public I will not let on we know each other. I came from a town where you can see your doctor in the morning and babysit for him in the evening. There just wasn’t that distance where I grew up.
We would go pick up parcels for this friend or that friend, or we would drop into Dorothy’s donut shop and visit with Mrs. Eddy. On these visits I would get to pick out a donut and take it to the back room and eat it while my grandmother talked with her friend. I loved going there. I always picked out the 10 cent strawberry filled powdered donut, it was my favourite. I am sure it was not my grandmother’s favourite as it would make a big mess, but no matter she let me have it ever time. I loved sitting there eating my donut listening to these two lifelong friends catching up on the gossip and checking in with each other. For a long time now these two women no longer had husbands at home. Mrs. Eddy had been widowed for several years, and my grandmother had long since lost her estranged husband. These women took care of each other, watched out for each other in a way that I am not sure exist now. We never spent much time there, just long enough for me to eat my donut and then off we went to do another job that needed doing.
Not all of our days were filled doing errand and alike, most afternoons were spent at the museum.
My grandmother along with her closest friend Mrs.Ball started the St. Marys museum. They
both worked hard filling an old home that was donated to the town for this very purpose, with treasures from the past. There were rooms filled with WW1 and WW2 items such as bayonets and
helmets and canteens. I didn’t much like that room, mainly because there was a mask in it that looked very scary. It was one of those gas masks from WW1. It had orange glass and this hose that come out of the center of it with what looked like an elephant trunk. Boy did that scare me to death. There was also a room that was just like an old school house. I loved this room. My grandmother would let me sit in the seats and pretend to do school work. The desks were made of real wood and iron connecting it all together. The desk tops lifted up, revealing a large space to put your books and other materials. Also in that room was an original blackboard out of a school that had long since disappeared. I was not allowed to write on it, but I would sit in my desk for hours it seemed imagining what it must have been like to go to school back then.
both worked hard filling an old home that was donated to the town for this very purpose, with treasures from the past. There were rooms filled with WW1 and WW2 items such as bayonets and
helmets and canteens. I didn’t much like that room, mainly because there was a mask in it that looked very scary. It was one of those gas masks from WW1. It had orange glass and this hose that come out of the center of it with what looked like an elephant trunk. Boy did that scare me to death. There was also a room that was just like an old school house. I loved this room. My grandmother would let me sit in the seats and pretend to do school work. The desks were made of real wood and iron connecting it all together. The desk tops lifted up, revealing a large space to put your books and other materials. Also in that room was an original blackboard out of a school that had long since disappeared. I was not allowed to write on it, but I would sit in my desk for hours it seemed imagining what it must have been like to go to school back then.
My grandmother usually brought our lunch with us to the museum and we would sit in the old kitchen at the back of the building and eat it. Just before lunch my grandmother would make a big pitcher of really cold lemonade, and put out two glasses for us. This was not just for our enjoyment
but was also there for the visitors that might come later that afternoon. Then shortly after lunch I would go get changed into my swimming suit and head down the hill to the cadzow swimming pool. My grandmother could sit on the porch of the museum and watch me if she wanted to, but often she would get busy putting new old stuff into the inventory or dealing with a visitor. Usually I would swim the rest of the afternoon away, unless it started to rain.
but was also there for the visitors that might come later that afternoon. Then shortly after lunch I would go get changed into my swimming suit and head down the hill to the cadzow swimming pool. My grandmother could sit on the porch of the museum and watch me if she wanted to, but often she would get busy putting new old stuff into the inventory or dealing with a visitor. Usually I would swim the rest of the afternoon away, unless it started to rain.
One of those rainy days took us from the museum and back to her house. It was a pretty bad
storm and there was going to be no swimming and no visitors to the museum. I was sort of excited about the storm, but most importantly I was excited about watching it from the comfort of my
grandmothers covered porch.
storm and there was going to be no swimming and no visitors to the museum. I was sort of excited about the storm, but most importantly I was excited about watching it from the comfort of my
grandmothers covered porch.
The afternoon grew darker as time passed, and the two of us sat patiently waiting the rain. While we waited my grandmother has a nice cup of tea and sat in her favourite comfy chair, while I sat with my elbow and the sill watching and waiting. We talked to pass the time, and of course I listened but maybe not as closely as usual as I was excited. Finally there was a very loud clap and down came the water, running all over the hot streets. The smell of rain on a hot summer day, when it hits the pavement and starts to evaporate has been etched into my memory since childhood. There really isn’t anything like it. We watched as the sky lit up here and there, and listened to loud rumbles and cracks shaking the house and all its contents. I loved it, we were both electric with excitement. We were both enjoying the light show so much that we weren’t paying attention to anything but what was happening outside. All of a sudden I smelled smoke!! I said to my grandma, “there’s smoke coming from somewhere” at which point she jumped from her chair and hurried into the house, me right on her heals. We both ended up at the living room doorway at the same time and watched smoke come out from the back of the television set. She quickly went to the phone and called the fire department and within a couple of minutes the house was surrounded by countless volunteer firemen. They searched the house and discovered that the meter on the outside of the house had been hit by lightning and that led to the television catching fire. It was small, thankfully, but very exciting. To this day I still smell the fumes coming from that old black and white set, along with the smell of hot summer rain. It’s funny how those things stay with you forever.
That day will always be in my memory, not just because of the excitement, but because it represents what I had with my grandmother. She cared for me in a way that I just totally trusted her, anything could happen on her watch and I knew she would always keep me safe. I am so lucky to have had such a wonderful woman in my court back then. She moulded me in a way that no one other person has, until Zeb.
In 1979 a month after returning from a 6 week trip to England and the Isle of Man my grandmother was crossing the main street of St. Marys doing some more of those errands I had mentioned earlier, only this bright sunny Oct. day was different than any other day had been or would ever be again. On this sunny day, while hurrying across the street a cube truck came down the street and struck my grandmother, knocking her off her feet and into the air landing 8 feet away. Three weeks later, after her brain swelled and she lay in a hospital bed with tubes and breathing machines, my grandmother walked from this world into the arms of God and physically left me forever. I miss her as much today as I did than, and will always have an empty spot in my heart.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
2011 is going to be Heaven (compared to the last two years!!)
So we are now into 2011, and so far so good.
I have been thinking about my blog, and if it is turning out to be what I intended it to be. I originally decided to start a blog so that I could write down some thoughts and feelings I was having, and also to keep a sort of record of what is happening in my life, where I am, and where I end up. I never anticipated that it would really go in the direction it has gone, but life changed that. I never really wanted the blog to be a forum in which to share all the negative things that have happened to me, I actually thought it would be an excellent way to watch the progression of my life and that of my families. I also have realized that things don’t always turn out the way you think they will. I have blogged when I felt the need, and when I had something I needed to get off my chest. I cannot question the direction if I am open to whatever, and where ever I let it take me.
Over the course of the last few weeks several things have come to my attention, which makes me feel the need to share a bit more of my story. I feel that I need to share this, as it is just as important to who I am as anything else, even more so in some respects. I wish this book was closed in my life, but until all the pages are turned it will never be finished. I have some more pages to turn.
When I was a child I was abused. You name the abuse, and I had it done to me. When I was very young I suffered physical abuse. As I got older it was not only physical but mental, and sexual. Most of it happened in my own home, or in homes of family friends. I suffered things that no child should have to suffer through, and those memories are as clear to me as they would be if they were yesterday.
Okay, so now it is out there. You know my secret. When I was in my twenties I began the road to recovery. I took the steps to find help with all my demons, after being coached by a dear friend whom had just gone through a terrible attack on a train. With her help and support I entered the scary world of therapy. During the following two years I learned a great deal about myself, and about what had happened to me. The overwhelming message was that none of it was my fault, I did nothing wrong, and I had no one to blame but the abusers. This helped me with the guilt and shame that I felt. It also allowed me to take back part of my life. I stopped therapy when I felt I had achieved all the goals I had set, and that that was as far as I could go at the time. During this time I spent so much of my time dealing with how others felt about my abuse. Everyone in my life discovered what had happened to me for the first time early on in my therapy, and then I used up so much of my energy dealing with how they felt about it. I was constantly trying to get people to see what I was going through and that it had nothing to do with them, but for some reason that is not how they saw it. For the past 20 yrs I have continued to deal with how they feel, leaving my feeling on the shelf. I tried so hard to explain my position, and how this all affected me, but they wanted nothing to do with that part of it. This has lead to trying to please others, when I should have been keeping myself safe. Now that I have my own child I see things differently.
Since having Zeb I have realized things about my abuse that I would never have realized before. When I look at my innocent child, with endless love and affection to give, I see myself at that age. I look at him and wonder how anyone could want to knowingly hurt him? How could anyone want to hit him, call him names and make him suffer daily? I look at Zeb and I see this spirit that soars into the sky. He sees the world in wonderment, thinking everyone he meets is his friend, afraid of no one and nothing. I see him dreaming big dreams, feeling safe from morning to night, and knowing that he is loved and is secure in that. In so many ways I am jealous of him, he has everything I wanted when I was his age. He has unconditional love and adoration. He has a safe place to fall when he has had a difficult day. He has two very adamant champions that would walk on water to defend him. He knows he is wanted! He wakes up in the morning to two people who will be there no matter what, and will make sure he knows it. He goes to bed feeling safe and secure and with the knowledge that he will be watched out for during his sleep. He is a lucky boy, a very lucky boy.
There is another side to what I have experienced since having Zeb. I have come to realize I am not finished with what I have to learn. I feel afraid for Zeb, everyday! Things that most parents are comfortable with, I worry endlessly about. Can I let Zeb go to friend’s homes without going with him? Can I let Zeb join the cubs, knowing that I will not be there to watch his every move or being one of those mom’s who won’t let him do anything without her doing it to? When I first put him in daycare I worried endlessly about feeling comfortable leaving him with others for such a long period, so I found one that had one way glass so that I could go and watch what was happening in the room without anyone knowing that I was there. Sending him off to school was amazingly difficult. He would be out of my sight for 6 hours and in a school where he would be walking the halls with 8th graders. Could I trust strangers to watch him the way I do. Can I go to a friend’s home and let Zeb play in an area where I am not? Will someone come into his life, which in a split second can change who he is forever? These are the things that challenge me daily. These are the remnants of childhood abuse. These are the demons that haunt me today.
The other thing that I have learned over the past 20 yrs is that I have a very difficult time making friends and keeping them. My entire childhood was spent trying to find a safe place to go, where I could spend a lot of time, and not share my secret or have anyone guess. I had friends mom’s say to my friends, out of what they thought was my ear shot, “why is she here all the time”? Or “why is no one ever home at her house”? I was a clingy friend. I needed to be somewhere all the time, and needed that to feel safe. That was my security. I never truly trusted anyone, because so many I had turned out to be abusers. I kept my distance, not always physically, but definitely emotionally. Later I found that gaining weight kept unwanted people away. I could go into most places and not be noticed. I kept myself out of the spotlight as much as I could, and if there was going to be a time when that was not possible I would decline the opportunity. I loved going to camp every summer. I went to Forest Cliff camp. This was a wonderful Baptist camp that through the love of God and good fellowship brought a peace to my life, at least for those two weeks. Going away for two weeks became my salvation. I loved every minute I spent there. The counsellors loved you from the day you arrived, and became your closest ally during those two weeks. I felt supported, cared for, and truly accepted. I cried when I had to leave. The other thing that happened when I was a kid was that I was always looking for a mother. I would try to find one in every friend’s mothers. I tried to find one in my pathfinder leader. I still look for one today. These were all coping mechanisms; however none of them work when you are 43. Adults don’t want clingy friends; however I have no idea how to be close friends without smothering. Adults have their own children; they are not looking for anymore.
So now the journey begins again. This year is turning out to be a turning point in my life. I am going to make some significant changes in my life that may make me feel insecure a bit as it will take me out of my comfort zone, but none the less I must do. I am going to go back into therapy and learn new coping skills where it pertains to Zeb, so that I don’t pass on my fears to him, but also so that I can cope with what he needs to do to be a well rounded person. I am going to alter my body, and see what if feels like to not have this physical barrier to keep me safe. I am going to learn new ways to accept myself and love myself, and how to be a good friend. I am going to learn what it’s like to be independent of people who enjoy bringing me down, rather than lifting me up. And I am going to learn that I don’t have to be afraid and worried so much.
I want to make this the beginning point. In 6 months or 12 months from now I want to look back at this and see where I started. I will need this reminder so that when I think that I haven’t changed I can see that I have. I want to be all that I can be; I want to be who I was intended to be the day I was created.
This journey is not going to be easy, and I am afraid of it, but not enough to not do it. I know I will have to work really hard to achieve my goals, and to see a difference. I know that I am going to need all the support I can get. I know that there may be times when I will need the strength of others when I can’t find it in myself. But most of all I know I can do it, and that I am worth it, and that Zeb needs his whole mom!
I welcome you to join me on the ride.
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