Last Saturday my husband, his siblings, his siblings significant others, his Dad and I were all going to see the film Avatar. We all divided ourselves into different cars and my husband, Scott (my husband’s little sister’s husband) and I rode together. As the three of us were walking toward the theater I saw an empty McDonald’s fries container lying right in the middle of the beautiful, still miraculously green grass outside the theater. So, I picked it up.
My husband sighed and said, “What are you doing?”
Scott replied, “She’s being a Good Samaritan.”
That really struck me as odd. See, I didn’t think doing something as simple as picking up a single piece of trash and carrying it 20 or 30 feet to the nearest trash bin warranted the title “Good Samaritan”. To me that’s a pretty grand title.
The term ‘Good Samaritan’ comes from a parable of Jesus Christ. He tells the story of a Jewish man who is attacked by thieves on an isolated mountain road and left for dead. Two people, who are not only his countrymen, but religious leaders, happen along and both find reasons not to stop and help him. Finally a Samaritan, a minority Jewish sect persecuted and severely ostracized for their beliefs, stops and helps the man. He not only tends to the man’s wounds and carries him to the nearest city. Once there, he leaves money to pay for the man’s care AND makes the stipulation that if what he leaves turns out to be insufficient, he’ll be back by at a later date and will pay the difference.
THAT is a Good Samaritan. Actually, that is THE Good Samaritan.
The point of that story wasn’t to shame the predominantly insulated and self-agrandzing Jewish religious leaders of the time or to provide an example for people with regard to how we should treat each other. I’m pretty certain it accomplished both of those tasks and that was intentional but that wasn’t the main purpose of the story.
That story was told to answer a specific question which was the last in a series of questions that, honestly, reminds me of the ‘Why’ game my kids play sometimes.
(If you don’t have kids the game is a contest of wills. They ask why until they either they get bored, are satisfied or you lose your sanity.)
So, this guy comes up to Jesus and says, “You know what? We’ve got a lot of rules. A LOT of rules. Which is the most important?”
Personally, I think that was a pretty stupid question. It’s like. “There are a lot of laws in this country, Officer. Sure, I was breaking one but it wasn’t the most important one.”
Anyway, Jesus goes with it. He says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength…” Then most translations continue it this way “and the second is ‘like it/like unto it’, love your neighbor as yourself.” I hate the way this is translated.
I went to a Preacher’s school. Some people call it seminary. This one was called an ‘International Biblical Institute’. The point is, I studied Greek and that passage is not so simple and the concept is hard to put into words in English. I think the best I can do is ‘the second most important commandment is part of the first’. In my personal opinion and interpretation it wasn’t a ‘do this, and then that’ situation. It was an ‘if you do this then you will, by default, also be doing that’ situation. He wasn’t saying, “Love God first and then love your neighbor.” He was saying, “If you love God, then you automatically will love your neighbor.”
My kids get to take a single toy to day care every day. Today my son wanted to take the ambulance that his sister got him for Christmas. My husband said, ‘That one is extra special.’
Jonathan decided to start playing the Why Game.
“Why, Daddy?”
“Because it’s the one Emmy got you.”
“Why?”
“Because she loves you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re her brother.”
“Oh.”
That stuck in my head. (You may have noticed that happens a lot. What can I say? I have a sticky head.) Why did this particular incident stick in my head? Because the Why Game session was so SHORT. Because the concept of brotherhood was so fundamental, even to my three-year-old, that it severely truncated a Why Game.
The concept of the greatest commandment and its runner up is that God is the father of humanity and that makes each and every human being on the planet siblings; family. The concept of universal brotherhood isn’t limited to a belief in God either. Whatever your beliefs, if you go back far enough we all came from the same place. We are all related to each other. We are all family.
Jesus in that commandment was saying, “If you love God, then you will love your neighbor. Why? Because God does. Why? Because that other person is just as much His child as you are.”
The parable is the answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The main aim of the story of the Good Samaritan was to teach the questioner that shared DNA, skin color, nationality or even religious beliefs do not determine who your neighbor is. We are ALL neighbors. We are all family.
If the holidays teach us anything, they teach us that you don’t necessarily always agree with your family. You don’t necessarily always like all of your family. BUT you do love them. You make a conscious decision to overlook things in family members that you make a conscious decision not to overlook in people who are not family. Petty annoyances, social and economic differences, differences in religious and political beliefs; they all drive us crazy at the holidays but we put up with them.
Why?
Because they’re ‘family’.
Why?
Because our society decided they are.
Why?
Because we needed people looking out for us.
Why?
Because human beings apparently don’t look out for each other unless they feel obligated by the dictates of society.
Why?
Um...
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
The First Day
I work in Cube Land. It’s a magical place of in-between. There are these sort-of-but-not-really walls. People here are sort of friends (but not really) and it’s sort of your home away from home (but not really). The thing is you can’t escape your co-workers. You can try but then you get a black mark on your performance review.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
(No, really, you do. I actually got a black mark saying basically that I worked too hard. I apparently “just sat at my desk and did my work” and I wasn’t “engaging with coworkers or making any attempt to be social”. My supervisor actually asked if I watched Survivor and when I said no suggested I start watching the show. She said that “the team” all watched and it would be a great opportunity for me to join in socially. Really. I’m not making this up.)
There are a few phenomena that are interesting in cube land. One of my favorites is the seemingly endless battle between those with hygiene and those without. The combatants are firmly entrenched in the restrooms but the fight occasionally extends to the communal refrigerators.
One of my favorite phenomena is the First Day After Christmas. The First Day is fun for me. People tend to put on this pretence of being grumpy about going back to work but generally are somewhat relieved to be free of the chaos of holidays that are usually filled with people who don’t know where to put their odds & ends and how the appliances work. Coming back to the quiet order of work is a relief but we can’t really say that so there is this affectation of “I don’t want to be here”.
The real fun though, is the gift display. People go to fetch coffee in new shiny World’s Greatest Dad mugs or wearing ties with a binary pattern that when decoded say, “Ties Suck.” They proudly wear inappropriately ornate but new jewelry or walk about with bulging pockets that conceal this or that new and exciting gadget.
Then there are the stories. I can tell the story of taking the kids to the movies and how Jonathan at one point apparently got tired of actually picking up the popcorn, just stuck his head into the tub and started munching. There will be present stories and burnt Turkey stories and missed flight stories. This year I’m sure there will be a few stranded by flooding stories.
Yes, on the First Day we’ll all whine about work and show off of gifted gadgets and tell tales of Turkey turmoil…oh, and work…sort of.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Importance of Being You.
If you’ve read my blog, you know that I was hit by a car when I was a toddler. I spent some time in the hospital after that little stunt and made a connection. There was this nurse. I remember her being very beautiful, though I can’t see her face in my mind anymore. She had long silky black hair. One day she was adjusting something and it fell over my face. It smelled wonderful and tickled so gently. I absolutely loved it. From that point forward, whenever she came to check on me she would take the time to tickle me a bit with the ends of her hair.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
I had my birthday while in the hospital and she gave me a present; a wire framed, pose-able, plush Tweety Bird. I loved that doll. I kept it for fifteen years before losing it. I packed it away with my things when I left home for Europe and it was somehow lost while I was away. I remember how truly upset I was when I realized that it was gone.
I have a point. It’s in here somewhere, trust me.
The point is this woman had a pretty demeaning job. Doctors don’t have a reputation for being appreciative and respectful of the role nurses play. In fact, nurses tend to be picked on by both the doctors and the patients. Most people don’t enjoy time spent in the hospital and don’t tend to express too much appreciation to nursing staff.
I don’t imagine that woman ever dreamed that I would remember her almost three decades later. I don’t imagine it crossed her mind when she picked up that fuzzy yellow bird that her purchase would make Tweety my mascot, the cartoon character with which I most identify.
There is a disease that has taken hold in the United States and is seen spreading all over the world. It’s a pandemic more disastrous than the much touted H1N1. People in this world have developed the concept of worth that is, in my opinion, dangerously warped. There is this designation of “important” roles and “unimportant” roles.
To try to better explain, I’m going to ask for help from one of my favorite TV shows; Chuck. Chuck is the name of the main character. He’s a computer technician at a large electronics store that is meant to be a parody of the US chain, Best Buy. He fixes people’s computers and cell phones and the show consistently portrays his job as unimportant to the point of being demeaning. Characters constantly ask when he will quit his “dead-end” job and get a “real job”, an important job.
The concept that he appears unimportant in this role but is actually a secret spy and very important, is one of the main themes of the show’s storyline. This is actually one of the only things I don’t like about the show. Chuck the ‘Nerd Herder’ is discussed as an unimportant cover life but he really is important in THAT role.
Example: In the pilot episode, a father comes into the store with his ballerina daughter. He is distressed because the video footage of the dance recital won’t play back. Chuck takes a look and discovers the man didn’t understand that he needed digital tape and has failed to record the recital. The girl is crushed and Chuck comes up with a solution.
The father purchases tape and Chuck sets up the great wall of screens to display the feed from the digital recorder. The little girl dances her part in front of this back drop and the day is saved.
Chuck, the lowly Nerd Herder saved the day! Another example is in a later episode. Lou (a brief love interest) comes into the store distraught because her smart phone is broken. She says something along the lines that her whole life is stored inside. Chuck is her hero, not because he has the knowledge of ‘the intersect computer’ locked in his brain, but because he can repair her phone.
We all need to pay attention to how important we are. A truck driver in the US is absolutely vital. They drive hour after hour alone on dark, slick and icy roads. People look down their noses at them, get annoyed at their large vehicles in traffic or just avoid them but without these men and women, America would come to a staggering and crashing dead stop.
The scary thing about people not valuing themselves or their contribution is we don’t see the consequences of our actions, good or bad. If we really don’t think our jobs matter, we lose opportunities to make other people’s lives better. If we don’t take pride in what we do, how can we really do it to the best of our ability? We’ve been sneering at each other for so long, we’re starting to forget what it’s like when someone really does take pride in their work and provides exceptional goods and services.
The other, even scarier, side of this is if we don’t think what we do matters, we don’t feel as much restraint from being dismissive or neglectful of other people’s needs. We can be cruel and not think much of it because what does it really matter what we do?
I’m sure that nurse didn’t think much of taking a few extra seconds to brighten a three-year-old’s day. That Tweety Bird doll was probably the first thing she came across in the store. Maybe it was an afterthought: Okay, got the eggs, milk & bread. Hmm, that little girl’s birthday is tomorrow. I’ll just grab this Tweety Bird on my way out.”
Yet twenty-eight years later, I remember her and her kindness. She will forever be a part of who I am.
You are important. What you do is important. What you do affects people in ways you cannot possibly imagine.
This Christmas my wish is that we all remember how important we are not only to our friends and family, but to people we will never meet.
Monday, December 21, 2009
She Came Bearing Gifts
Friday the social worker came for a visit and she came bearing gifts, just not for Jonathan. When I was a kid this happened all the time. My parents adopted kids and had foster kids as well. Christmas holidays, some organization or another would donate toys and such to the foster kids but this didn't extend to we biological children. There was also the fact that a couple of my foster siblings got presents from biological parents or extended family like grandparents. So, every year, my siblings got more presents than I did.
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
(One exception was this great Christmas where a church in town not only gave presents to all the kids in the family instead of just foster kids, but asked about our interests first and tailored the gifts to those interests and our ages. I said I was interested in drawing and got an incredible artistic package with pad, pencils, and even a pen and ink set. It was fantastic and still one of my all time favorite Christmas presents.)
But presents shouldn’t matter, right? What does it really matter that my siblings often got more presents than I did? Answer: I was a kid. It matters to kids…a lot. I think kids (in America at least) often see presents as a measure of their own value and worth. I blame Santa. In my opinion, the myth of Santa Clause really enforces this idea. Santa gives gifts to good children and neglects naughty children. Thus, the more presents you receive the more worthy you are of receiving them.
After I had de-boxed Emmy’s very nice gifts (No small feat, btw. Those suckers were practically welded in place), Emmy took them upstairs and started playing with them…in front of Jonathan. As the social worker was leaving, Jonathan came downstairs and in a curious but also clearly hurt 3 year-old voice asked, “Why you didn’t bring me any presents?”
This broke my heart. My husband and I tried to fix the situation as best as we could. Hubby pulled out a couple presents that had yet to be placed under the tree and we gifted them to Jonathan early. Unfortunately, my son is very thoughtful and not easily distracted. After he had opened his presents, which he absolutely adored, he came and sat quietly on my lap for a bit.
He asked, “Mommy. Why do more people love Emmy than me?”
That was how he interpreted the situation and I’ve got to say, from his perspective, it makes sense. All the people in his life who love him; me, my husband, our parents, friends and relatives, they have all opened their hearts and homes to Emmy. They have welcomed her and done their best to make her feel loved and at home.
Conversely, Jonathan was dragged along on monthly trips to Louisiana so that Emmy could visit with my sister, who barely acknowledged Jonathan’s presence, and Emmy’s former foster parents who also made no secret of the fact that they were interested in Emmy and not Jonathan.
Jonathan is three. The people with whom he comes into contact are his entire world. So, part of the world loves both him and Emmy but part of the world loves only Emmy. His little mind is trying to figure it out. So am I...still.
I was much older when my parents adopted but still remember sometimes feeling second place in a lot of people’s esteem, even my parents’. They’re such good people and such worry warts that the very last thing I would want is for them to find out about those feelings. You can’t help but feel strange and irrational things sometimes, especially as a child.
Unfortunately, irrational feelings hurt just as much as the rational ones. As my parents attended special meetings for my new siblings or took them to various visits and appointments there was a feeling that all our lives were built around them and what they needed. Since my biological sister and I needed less attention, we got it. It was hard sometimes to go to these places and visit with these people who cared for my siblings and not at all for us and not feel somehow unworthy.
I see this happening with Emmy and Jonathan. Emmy misbehaves in the strange incomprehensible ways only a child who has been deeply scarred can. She pushes boundaries regularly and creates chaos and disorder that Jonathan often finds baffling.
I try my best to give him attention for the good things he does. I try to reward them equally for good behavior and punish them equally as well. I try to make it so they receive the same amount of attention for good and bad behavior, just different sorts.
I can’t do anything about the fact that Emmy has more people in her life that care about her than Jonathan does. And I can’t do anything about the fact that Jonathan is aware of this. It’s not a thing I can figure out.
That’s one of the most baffling things about our lives. I watch Jonathan struggle with the same things with which I struggled as a child. I’ve had decades to figure it out and yet I still don’t have an answer to that question he asked. I understand now that the perspective of a child is warped and that the feelings of being second rate when compared to your seemingly more special siblings are invalid. However, I've no idea how to stop my child from feeling them or even really what to say. Even so, I have to say something, right?
So, what did I say?
I said, “Jonathan, who loves you?”
“Mommy.”
“How much does Mommy love you?”
“More than any little boy in the whole wide world.”
“Does it make you happy that Mommy loves you so much?”
(nods)
“It doesn’t matter how many people love you, Sweetie. It matters how much the people who love you, love you and the people who love you, love you as much as anybody can love anybody. Okay?”
(sigh)
“Okay. I love you, too, Mommy.”
(hugs)
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Christmas Cookies
Quoted from random e-mail:
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
Christmas Cookie Ingredients
1 cup water
1 tsp baking soda
1 cup sugar
1 tsp salt
1 cup brown sugar
1 lemon juiced
4 large eggs
1 cup nuts
2 cups dried fruit
1 bottle Crown Royal
Instructions:
Sniff the Crown Royal to check quality. Pour 1 level cup and drink it to be sure it is of the highest quality.
Turn on the electric mixer...Beat one cup of butter in a large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar...Beat again. (At this point it's best to make sure the Crown Royal hasn't gone bad. Try another cup...just in case.)
Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck
in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor...Mix on
the turner. If the dried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it
loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Crown Royal to check for
tonsisticity.
Next, sift two cups of salt, or something. Who giveshz a sheet. Check
the Crown Royal. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one
table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash
the oven.
Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to
beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish
the Crown Royal and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.
CHERRY MISTMAS!!!
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Quanah Parker: Born of Two Worlds
The life of Comanche freedom fighter, Quanah Parker could be considered a microcosm of Native American life in the age of the invading European peoples, specifically the Texans. Born to a Comanche father and an Anglo mother, Quanah lived a precarious existence between the two worlds and cultures. His success in initially resisting the armies of the invaders and, later, in not only surviving relocation to allotted lands but prospering, further exemplifies the duality of his existence. His life was seemingly a series of relationships between his upbringing in the native culture and beliefs and those of the European colonists. By observation and study of his life, we have the opportunity to learn from a man born of two warring people who somehow found a path to peace.
The exact date of Quanah Parker’s birth as recorded by modern calendars is not known. However, if we wish to ascribe a date to the creation of his existence, we might consider the date May 19, 1836. It was on this day that a group of various Native American people’s, including Comanche, Kiowa, Caddo and Wichita; attacked Ft. Parker, one of the early Texan settlements in the Comanche territory. The Comanche had successfully maintained their territory in the past despite advances by the Spanish and Mexicans and sought to do the same with these new intruders. This perhaps explains the violence of the raid, which far exceeded that typically used and even included the raping, stabbing and scalping of a woman in her seventies; Sarah “Granny” Parker.
Ironically, the two aspects of Comanche culture which the Spanish, Mexicans and, later, Texans found to be most frightening were their horsemanship and their propensity for taking captives; both of which were actually introduced into Comanche culture by the Spanish invaders. It is also ironic that Anglo officials encouraged their citizens to slaughter buffalo with the motive of depriving the native peoples of food as this left the Comanche with little choice but to increase raiding in order to survive.
During the raid on Ft. Parker five persons were taken captive, including a then nine year old girl, Cynthia Ann Parker. It is recorded that within only four years of her capture a white man, Colonel Williams, visited a Comanche camp. He offered to ransom her, however, the record shows that her “Indian father declared all the goods the colonel had were not enough to make him relinquish the girl.” Three years later, two U.S. officials, Butler and Lewis, also attempted to ransom her with similar results. They later reported, “A large amount of goods and four or five hundred dollars were offered, but the offer was unavailing, as she would run off and hide herself to avoid those who wished to ransom her.”
Unfortunately for the Comanche, the tactics which had been so successful when dealing with the Spanish had disastrous consequences when dealing with the Texans. In large part due to the fact that the Texans desired land while the Spanish were content to trade, these differences in culture and motive culminated in the Massacre at Council House. It began as a ransom of captives, but when the Texans saw the first captive, Matilda Lockhart, the girl’s mutilated face sent them into a rage. The fact that she was the first captive offered for ransom was an act of intervention on the part of the chiefs and indicated disapproval of her mistress’ harsh treatment but the Texans took her condition to be the standard for how the other captives fared and demanded the immediate return of the other 13 captives. The chiefs refused and, offended, began to leave. When a blocked the path of the exiting party, they struck him down and violence ensued. The Texans massacred all the men in the party and held the women and children captive to be exchanged for the white captives.
To kill during a council was an unspeakable trespass to the Comanche whose custom it was to always speak the absolute truth during council. If this lead to hostilities, a time and place for war would be prescribed but never would war break out in council. In retaliation, the Comanche tortured and killed the remaining 13 captives. Two children had been formally adopted and were spared but later described the revenge taken on their less fortunate counterparts, “They were tortured to death. One by one, the children and young women were pegged out naked beside the camp fire. They were skinned, sliced and horribly mutilated, and finally burned alive by vengeful women determined to wring the last shriek and convulsion from their agonized bodies.”
These tragic misunderstandings began a gruesome cycle of revenge raids on both sides. Charles Goodnight, a member of a party raiding the Comanche encampment at Pease River, recounted in horror some of the vicious retaliation, “the Rangers followed them up at full speed, passing through the squaws…The sergeant on seeing this fell in behind and killed all the squaws.” He goes on to tell of how a woman was seen fleeing and “Ross ordered his lieutenant to take charge of her. I had always supposed that he did it to save her life as he must have heard the guns of the sergeant killing the squaws behind” The woman caught fleeing was identified as Cynthia Ann who though assured of kind treatment was described as being “inconsolably grief-stricken at the separation from her sons and husband.” Quanah never saw his mother again.
Within two years of his mother’s capture, his father also died. At the age of eleven Quanah and his younger brother Pecos were left unsupported, a rarity in the Comanche people. Quanah later attributed this to his white heritage. He sought to redeem himself by “being more Comanche than the full-bloods”. Though little is known of the specifics of his life before the recorded Anglo history, it is recorded that as a young man he had “much influence with his people.”
William Hagan states that “as ability to deal with the whites became the overriding qualification for a Comanche leader, Quanah’s stock rose rapidly.” Leadership among the Comanche was based on reputation. During war, the Comanche would choose to follow a man who proved himself in “feats of battle with no formal installation, term or even office.” In times of peace the Comanche tended to follow men “who engaged in public displays of generosity.” At the same time, a leader in times of war was expected to be generous and a man who was not respected in battle was not likely to command respect in times of peace.
Quanah had distinguished himself in battle and used his influence to forward initiatives to create a ranching economy that was better suited to the Comanche culture than the governments plan they become farmers. This acceptance of the fact that the Comanche way of life had to change but recognition of what would and would not be acceptable is what led Quanah to successfully negotiate agreements with Texas cattlemen. One of these cattlemen was Charles Goodnight, a member of the party that captured his mother so long ago. The two men formed an unlikely friendship when Goodman responded to Quanah’s advertised request for information regarding his mother. Goodnight gave Quanah, an experienced horse breeder, a great deal of advice on cattle breeding and ranching and even made a gift to him of a Durham Bull.
Quanah ensured that funds from cattle agreements would be paid directly to the Comanche people instead of to the United States government. He also obtained authority to charge cattle ranchers driving herds over Comanche grasses leasing and other fees. While he was criticized by some Comanche for adopting ‘white’ clothing and building a ‘white’ house, he was also criticized by some officials for refusing to cut short his hair or convert to monogamy. However, by and large his efforts to remain true to his Comanche heritage and yet be progressive enough to ensure his people were provided for earned him the respect of the vast majority in both camps.
Quanah was a generous, fun loving man. He would sometimes dress a Mexican companion and friend in some of his Comanche attire and watch him greet unwitting guests. When President Theodore Roosevelt visited Oklahoma; Quanah, though not a drinker, had large goblets of wine placed at every place setting. When asked why, Quanah explained that the President had served small glasses of wine when entertaining Quanah and he wanted to show that he was even more generous. Quanah had several wives and many children but still adopted a young boy who needed a family. Though he valued and respected the justice system of the United States, in a dispute where he could find no solution in that system, he respected Comanche law and found in favor of the man in the dispute that had the best reputation. He is remembered primarily for his humor, generous spirit and great love of others and of peace. Born of love in the midst of misunderstanding, bitter hatred and conflict; he fought for the freedom and survival of his people throughout his life. He first fought in open combat; later, in trade negotiations and political hearings. Though this secondary contribution may have seemed less glorious, his work in peace was profound.
Even as a young man he said, “I am young…talking for assistance for my people…the white and the red people…I will not do anything bad, but looking for the good road, a suppliant for the red people, so when Washington hears he will help us.” Near his death he said, “Forty years ago my mother died. Love Indian and wild life so well not want to go back to white folks. All same people anyway.” After his death, his adopted son Knox Beal summarized Quanah’s admirable legacy with beautiful simplicity, “Quanah Parker, my father, fed a great many Comanche Indians. He had a great herd of cattle and horses in 1890 and when he died in 1911, he did not have many left because he was so generous. When a person became hungry he fed them. He could not stand to see anyone of his tribe go hungry.”
Quanah Parker lived at the height of hostilities between his two peoples but developed a respect for both that allowed him to find a middle path to peace where others saw only past hurt and old enemies. An examination of his life yields an example for all of mankind and inspires us to not be blinded by outward differences but to remember that we are all human and are all in each other’s care. We are all the same people anyway.
Friday, October 23, 2009
To Beer Or Not To Beer
To beer or not to beer; that is the question.
Whether ‘tis noble in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous anxiety, or to take a deep breath against an at sea feeling, and, by centering, end it.
To drink, to buzz - no more, and by a buzz to say we end the heartburn and the thousand unnatural shocks that testing is heir to - 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!
To drink, to buzz. To buzz perchance to fuzz?
Ay, there's the rub, for in that buzz of drink, what errors may come when we are feeling loosey goosey must give us pause. There's a respect that makes calamity of 24 hour liquor stores,
For who would bear the pressure of time limits, the teachers wrong, the A students contumely, the pangs of indecision, the insolence of admin and the tuition fees that seem unmerited but the unworthy takes, when he could himself oblivious make with a shot of bourbon?
Who would these finals bear, to grunt and swear under a weary study schedule but that the dread of something after school, the unemployment line from whose bourn no prospect returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we (hopefully) know not of.
Thus the economy doth make cowards of us all. And thus the native rosy hue of intoxication is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of being pissed and happy with this regard, their current wines runs dry, and lose their satisfaction.
Whether ‘tis noble in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous anxiety, or to take a deep breath against an at sea feeling, and, by centering, end it.
To drink, to buzz - no more, and by a buzz to say we end the heartburn and the thousand unnatural shocks that testing is heir to - 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished!
To drink, to buzz. To buzz perchance to fuzz?
Ay, there's the rub, for in that buzz of drink, what errors may come when we are feeling loosey goosey must give us pause. There's a respect that makes calamity of 24 hour liquor stores,
For who would bear the pressure of time limits, the teachers wrong, the A students contumely, the pangs of indecision, the insolence of admin and the tuition fees that seem unmerited but the unworthy takes, when he could himself oblivious make with a shot of bourbon?
Who would these finals bear, to grunt and swear under a weary study schedule but that the dread of something after school, the unemployment line from whose bourn no prospect returns, puzzles the will and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others we (hopefully) know not of.
Thus the economy doth make cowards of us all. And thus the native rosy hue of intoxication is sicklied over with the pale cast of thought and enterprises of being pissed and happy with this regard, their current wines runs dry, and lose their satisfaction.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
My Apocalypse
Okay, I've been gone a while. Thing is I have been writing, its just its been really boring school stuff. I mean, I don't find it boring but I'm pretty sure you would. Anyway, in one of my classes (History of Apocalyptic Thought) I had to write out my own apocalyptic prohecy which incorporated all the elements of the genre. I thought maybe you readers might find it interesting.
So, here it is, my own personal end times scenario written in the prophetic style:
In times past when our people were among many and lived in peace and prosperity on the great Earth, the chief Iron Jacket, he who it was said had the power to blow bullets away with his very breath, had a vision. This vision he cherished for many seasons and, when his end drew near, shared with his son Peta Nocona.
Peta Nocona, when he saw his father’s vision of the future come to be, shared it with his sons Quanah and Pecos. In the tradition of our people, they shared this vision with their children and so it has been entrusted to me, the son of their sons. Yet, these are the final days. I see the signs spoken of in the visions of Iron Jacket. The time has come for me to write down in the tradition of the white man.
Be still and attend to me, all who are of noble heart and blood. Seek wisdom and peace that you may be spared the great wrath that is soon to fall upon us. Hear the words of chief Iron Jacket, spoken at the time of his passing. Thus he spoke to his son, the wanderer:
My son, on the day of your birth the night fell before your mother’s struggles ceased. I held you in my arms as she named you, then, as the sun rose and you slept in her arms I was filled with wonder and restlessness. Fearing I would disturb my dear ones, I arose and went out to greet the sun that shone on the first morning of your walk.
I turned to fetch water from the stream and beheld with wonder a great sight. I am not a medicine man, privileged to glimpse the spirit world. Yet as I stood wondering, the medicine man of my childhood, he who had passed into the spirit world long ago, appeared. He smiled and I feared suddenly that I had passed into the spirit world.
My heart was sick within me, for I loved your mother. And you, though you had scarce drawn breath a few short hours, were already precious to me. My heart ached at the thought of being torn from you and I wept bitterly into the dust.
But the spirit spoke and said, “Iron Jacket, why should so great a warrior weep at the sight of an old friend?”
And I told him my fear but he smiled again and said, “You are not passed from this world but there are things that must be known on Earth that are known now only to the spirits. The time is coming when the world will need to hear these words. I bring them to you that you may pass them down. When the time comes, your children’s children will bring these words to a waiting world.”
I marveled at this but the Spirit warned me his time was short and to watch and listen carefully to all I saw and heard.
Then the Spirit cried out: “Behold, a thorn is placed in our side and we have been men of strength and plucked it out. Many there are that have plucked the thorn from their sides but many there are also who have feared the pain and allowed the thorn to take root.
The thorns have taken root in the land. They rise up from the very earth we tread and sink into our flesh spreading poison as they go. They creep along the earth, encircling the trees and choking the good, green life from them. Then fall the trees and the people and the beasts, yeah the very spirits rise up in terror and flee the thorns and their destruction.”
And behold I looked and the tears I had cried that fell on the Earth were multiplied until they flowed into the stream and the stream grew until it was a mighty river that rushed with fierce and crushing speed.
The spirit cried, “The people will run to safe havens. They will hew at the thorns and have victory, yet even in victory they will be defeated. For look you, the thorns will diminish. They will rise up as flowers, coated with tears of soft dew. The people will see the tears of compassion the flowers weep and send the young out to the flowers for their caring. The flowers will care for the young. They will grow fruits, pleasing to the eye that they will offer the starving child. The fruits will look pleasing to the eye and offer peace from the great hunger suffered by the young.
Meanwhile, Look you! The tears of the people will flow like a mighty river. The people will be caught up in a river of their own tears, pulled by its current into strange lands.
The young will take the fruits of the thorns and eat of them until they can eat no more. Only when they have been consumed will the fruits of the thorns reveal themselves. They will devour the young from within, not consuming them but filling them with death.”
As he said this I heard a cry and turned from the river of tears. I saw a small man-child and my heart thought of you, my hours-old son. I went to the child to ask him his name but he did not turn to me. And, behold, I looked and flowers filled his ears and his eyes were shut. I turned him to me and when his eyes were opened they were full of the sickly tears of the flowers. When the child opened his mouth his tongue was a dry and dead thorn speaking the death of our people.
I turned in terror from the fearsome child and beat at my chest and screamed:
“I will fight these thorns when they rise up. They shall not do thus to my child.”
The Spirit wept then and said. “Yea, Iron Jacket, you already fight them. For, look you, the thorns are the strangers from over the land and over the sea and all strange places. You fight them and are strong but many there are in these lands that allow the thorns to take root. You and your seed will fight the thorns for the first of seven seasons marked by seven great wars. The first season has ended and the thorns have made their place. You and your children’s children will fight the thorns for a season. Then, in the second season will your people take a thorn into your tribe and it shall become one of you.”
I scoffed and swore this would not be, but the Spirit rebuked me saying:
“Yea, Iron Jacket, your people will do this. The thorn will be among you and one of you and it will give birth to a child who will be a great leader in the third age. This child shall fight the thorns for a time but, being of the people and of the thorns, he will be the man who will lead the people to a safe haven among the thorns. He will seem to take on their ways but he will never be defeated by them and will keep his heart and the people’s hearts safe from the thorns and the flowers.
For in this 2nd season shall come a great serpent, dry and hard and strong as an old tree. He shall glide among the thorns and whisper to them. The thorns will encircle the people. The people will seek a place to rest and find no relief. They shall wander in search of surcease and find the thorns on every side. The great trees and beasts shall fall to the thorns; yea, even the very mountains shall open up their deep places and be laid bare before them.
And so it shall be, for five seasons the thorns shall take root so deep, they shall grow their flowers, leaves and fruit. They shall multiply ever as before and the people shall live as captives in their own land, surrounded at every side.
The thorns shall grow in beauty and the flowers shall weep their tears of sickly dew. And still the people will suffer grief and hardship; hunger and thirst and the flowers that were once the thorns will weep.
The thorns will be crushed by the flowers. Yet, I say unto you, the flowers will share the roots of the thorns and their roots will never be pulled. The flowers will live on and say in that last age, “We are none of these thorns. Can you not see? We are flowers.” But the people will know the truth and be wary.
The people will be overcome with grief for the fields, and the trees, the great beasts and the mountains. They will despair and cry their tears into the night and the night will not answer.
And so it shall be that near the end of the sixth great war, a girl child will stand like a bright feather before the flowers of the roots and show their thorns to them. Many will say in that day, “We are none of these thorns. We are flowers!” But many will believe and will be struck with sadness at the suffering they have caused and the Earth will be wet with their tears.
Then will the flowers look at their thorns and show them to the people and to the world and many will seek to repent. When the flowers see that they are thorns, then will the ears of the children of the people be emptied and the dew of the flowers be taken from their eyes and the dry thorn be taken from their mouths and they shall begin to be healed.
This is the mark of the end times. The seventh season will be marked by the last great war, a war fought in the parched land. In this last age the children of your children will take these words of mine and spread them to the people and, yea, even unto the flowers. They will warn the people of the judgment to come at the end of the seventh season.
When the judgment comes, the land will be filled with sickness. The young will be taken up first, for they were born of the people and of the flowers in the blessed truth and have nothing to fear. Then the old, those who were brought up in the lies of the thorns and the flowers of the sixth age will face fire and torments and through this tribulation their hearts will be judged whether they are still poisoned by the thorns.
The righteous shall be taken by the sickness in mercy and swiftness to await the end of the judgment. This shall be known by the birth of many suns on the Earth. They will scorch the surface of the Earth and the Earth will open up and devour the unrighteous and they will hide 1000 years in the belly of the Earth.
Then the land will be still and no man, woman or child will tread the Earth for 1000 years. The land will take back the scarred earth. The beasts and vegetation will break down and reclaim the Earth that was poisoned by the thorns.
Then, when the 1000 years have passed, the people will be returned to the Earth and there will be no more thorns and no more flowers. For, look you, all those who return will be the people and there will be peace between the spirits and the people and the land again and this kingdom of peace will last for all of time, yea, even to the end of the Earth.”
I am Iron Jacket of the Comanche people and I speak these words to my son, Peta Nocona as the Spirit so instructed me, that they may pass through generations to the people of the sixth and seventh age.
Hear these words, oh you people of the land and of the thorn that you may be found pure of spirit in the great judgment and live forever in the kingdom of peace.
So, here it is, my own personal end times scenario written in the prophetic style:
In times past when our people were among many and lived in peace and prosperity on the great Earth, the chief Iron Jacket, he who it was said had the power to blow bullets away with his very breath, had a vision. This vision he cherished for many seasons and, when his end drew near, shared with his son Peta Nocona.
Peta Nocona, when he saw his father’s vision of the future come to be, shared it with his sons Quanah and Pecos. In the tradition of our people, they shared this vision with their children and so it has been entrusted to me, the son of their sons. Yet, these are the final days. I see the signs spoken of in the visions of Iron Jacket. The time has come for me to write down in the tradition of the white man.
Be still and attend to me, all who are of noble heart and blood. Seek wisdom and peace that you may be spared the great wrath that is soon to fall upon us. Hear the words of chief Iron Jacket, spoken at the time of his passing. Thus he spoke to his son, the wanderer:
My son, on the day of your birth the night fell before your mother’s struggles ceased. I held you in my arms as she named you, then, as the sun rose and you slept in her arms I was filled with wonder and restlessness. Fearing I would disturb my dear ones, I arose and went out to greet the sun that shone on the first morning of your walk.
I turned to fetch water from the stream and beheld with wonder a great sight. I am not a medicine man, privileged to glimpse the spirit world. Yet as I stood wondering, the medicine man of my childhood, he who had passed into the spirit world long ago, appeared. He smiled and I feared suddenly that I had passed into the spirit world.
My heart was sick within me, for I loved your mother. And you, though you had scarce drawn breath a few short hours, were already precious to me. My heart ached at the thought of being torn from you and I wept bitterly into the dust.
But the spirit spoke and said, “Iron Jacket, why should so great a warrior weep at the sight of an old friend?”
And I told him my fear but he smiled again and said, “You are not passed from this world but there are things that must be known on Earth that are known now only to the spirits. The time is coming when the world will need to hear these words. I bring them to you that you may pass them down. When the time comes, your children’s children will bring these words to a waiting world.”
I marveled at this but the Spirit warned me his time was short and to watch and listen carefully to all I saw and heard.
Then the Spirit cried out: “Behold, a thorn is placed in our side and we have been men of strength and plucked it out. Many there are that have plucked the thorn from their sides but many there are also who have feared the pain and allowed the thorn to take root.
The thorns have taken root in the land. They rise up from the very earth we tread and sink into our flesh spreading poison as they go. They creep along the earth, encircling the trees and choking the good, green life from them. Then fall the trees and the people and the beasts, yeah the very spirits rise up in terror and flee the thorns and their destruction.”
And behold I looked and the tears I had cried that fell on the Earth were multiplied until they flowed into the stream and the stream grew until it was a mighty river that rushed with fierce and crushing speed.
The spirit cried, “The people will run to safe havens. They will hew at the thorns and have victory, yet even in victory they will be defeated. For look you, the thorns will diminish. They will rise up as flowers, coated with tears of soft dew. The people will see the tears of compassion the flowers weep and send the young out to the flowers for their caring. The flowers will care for the young. They will grow fruits, pleasing to the eye that they will offer the starving child. The fruits will look pleasing to the eye and offer peace from the great hunger suffered by the young.
Meanwhile, Look you! The tears of the people will flow like a mighty river. The people will be caught up in a river of their own tears, pulled by its current into strange lands.
The young will take the fruits of the thorns and eat of them until they can eat no more. Only when they have been consumed will the fruits of the thorns reveal themselves. They will devour the young from within, not consuming them but filling them with death.”
As he said this I heard a cry and turned from the river of tears. I saw a small man-child and my heart thought of you, my hours-old son. I went to the child to ask him his name but he did not turn to me. And, behold, I looked and flowers filled his ears and his eyes were shut. I turned him to me and when his eyes were opened they were full of the sickly tears of the flowers. When the child opened his mouth his tongue was a dry and dead thorn speaking the death of our people.
I turned in terror from the fearsome child and beat at my chest and screamed:
“I will fight these thorns when they rise up. They shall not do thus to my child.”
The Spirit wept then and said. “Yea, Iron Jacket, you already fight them. For, look you, the thorns are the strangers from over the land and over the sea and all strange places. You fight them and are strong but many there are in these lands that allow the thorns to take root. You and your seed will fight the thorns for the first of seven seasons marked by seven great wars. The first season has ended and the thorns have made their place. You and your children’s children will fight the thorns for a season. Then, in the second season will your people take a thorn into your tribe and it shall become one of you.”
I scoffed and swore this would not be, but the Spirit rebuked me saying:
“Yea, Iron Jacket, your people will do this. The thorn will be among you and one of you and it will give birth to a child who will be a great leader in the third age. This child shall fight the thorns for a time but, being of the people and of the thorns, he will be the man who will lead the people to a safe haven among the thorns. He will seem to take on their ways but he will never be defeated by them and will keep his heart and the people’s hearts safe from the thorns and the flowers.
For in this 2nd season shall come a great serpent, dry and hard and strong as an old tree. He shall glide among the thorns and whisper to them. The thorns will encircle the people. The people will seek a place to rest and find no relief. They shall wander in search of surcease and find the thorns on every side. The great trees and beasts shall fall to the thorns; yea, even the very mountains shall open up their deep places and be laid bare before them.
And so it shall be, for five seasons the thorns shall take root so deep, they shall grow their flowers, leaves and fruit. They shall multiply ever as before and the people shall live as captives in their own land, surrounded at every side.
The thorns shall grow in beauty and the flowers shall weep their tears of sickly dew. And still the people will suffer grief and hardship; hunger and thirst and the flowers that were once the thorns will weep.
The thorns will be crushed by the flowers. Yet, I say unto you, the flowers will share the roots of the thorns and their roots will never be pulled. The flowers will live on and say in that last age, “We are none of these thorns. Can you not see? We are flowers.” But the people will know the truth and be wary.
The people will be overcome with grief for the fields, and the trees, the great beasts and the mountains. They will despair and cry their tears into the night and the night will not answer.
And so it shall be that near the end of the sixth great war, a girl child will stand like a bright feather before the flowers of the roots and show their thorns to them. Many will say in that day, “We are none of these thorns. We are flowers!” But many will believe and will be struck with sadness at the suffering they have caused and the Earth will be wet with their tears.
Then will the flowers look at their thorns and show them to the people and to the world and many will seek to repent. When the flowers see that they are thorns, then will the ears of the children of the people be emptied and the dew of the flowers be taken from their eyes and the dry thorn be taken from their mouths and they shall begin to be healed.
This is the mark of the end times. The seventh season will be marked by the last great war, a war fought in the parched land. In this last age the children of your children will take these words of mine and spread them to the people and, yea, even unto the flowers. They will warn the people of the judgment to come at the end of the seventh season.
When the judgment comes, the land will be filled with sickness. The young will be taken up first, for they were born of the people and of the flowers in the blessed truth and have nothing to fear. Then the old, those who were brought up in the lies of the thorns and the flowers of the sixth age will face fire and torments and through this tribulation their hearts will be judged whether they are still poisoned by the thorns.
The righteous shall be taken by the sickness in mercy and swiftness to await the end of the judgment. This shall be known by the birth of many suns on the Earth. They will scorch the surface of the Earth and the Earth will open up and devour the unrighteous and they will hide 1000 years in the belly of the Earth.
Then the land will be still and no man, woman or child will tread the Earth for 1000 years. The land will take back the scarred earth. The beasts and vegetation will break down and reclaim the Earth that was poisoned by the thorns.
Then, when the 1000 years have passed, the people will be returned to the Earth and there will be no more thorns and no more flowers. For, look you, all those who return will be the people and there will be peace between the spirits and the people and the land again and this kingdom of peace will last for all of time, yea, even to the end of the Earth.”
I am Iron Jacket of the Comanche people and I speak these words to my son, Peta Nocona as the Spirit so instructed me, that they may pass through generations to the people of the sixth and seventh age.
Hear these words, oh you people of the land and of the thorn that you may be found pure of spirit in the great judgment and live forever in the kingdom of peace.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Not Just Un-Famous Fan Letters
I write fan letters but I've never written one to anyone famous. Does that make sense?
Lemme explain.
I never wrote a fan letter to an actor or singer because I thought, "Well, plenty of people are writing those people. What about everyone else?"
So, I wrote letters to people like the customer service representative who took care of a problem for me, or my insurance agent (which reminds me, I need to send a letter to the adjuster that looked at our car). I even wrote a fan letter to a police officer who gave me a ticket for having a busted headlight.
I think that's a good example of a good un-famous fan letter.
In that letter I wrote something along the lines that she had a pretty thankless job, especially that part of it. That I was sure most people thought along the lines that she was just being a pill issuing the ticket and she might get comments like, "Why are you out here messing with me? Shouldn't you be catching real criminals and actually protecting people like me?" But the truth is she was protecting me. If I have a headlight out, I need to be told about it. Unfortunately, however, loads of people aren't motivated to fix things like that unless there is a penalty for not having done so. The ticket makes us fix the problem right away because we're afraid of getting another ticket. If I didn't fix that headlight and the other failed, I'd be in really big trouble. So, even though it didn't seem like it, she was protecting me and I appreciated her doing her job so well.
I try to send out letters like this on a regular basis, especially to people like that police officer because they really do important work and they really don't get much in the way of recognition for it. Sometimes you have to hunt for a person or team to thank them but I'm sure people have to hunt down addresses to which they send their fan letters for actors, etc. So, it can't be that different.
Now, I love movies. Comedies, dramas, action movies, sci-fi, whatever, I'm just a huge film fan and I get what I call star crushes. I'll find an actor or actress that impresses me and I'll pretty much go through their body of work and also find out quite a bit about their background.
I watch their films and, if I can find them, even episodes of TV series in which they've appeared. I just like watching them play different roles and am generally pleased to see them wearing these different skins so effortlessly.
For some strange reason, reading about their lives prior to their careers is interesting to me and not creepy so I do it. I have no explanation really.
Maybe I think that before they became professional actors, they were out there living without a script. They weren't pretending, they were doing and I think that the doing part of their lives can sometimes be seen in the way they act later on.
I'm not sure that's logical or makes any sense at all but it's just how I feel about it.
Anyway, I recently developed a star crush on Jonathan Rhys Meyers and it has shifted my world view. I was reading about his past, which is very colorful, but also read a few quotes attributed to him. One of which was:
"It's not about money, fame, people knowing you. It's not even about enjoying yourself and being happy. It's about achieving something that's brilliant, creating something that's brilliant, for other people. For yourself, you're always going to be unsatisfied, but if somebody comes up to me and says, 'That was a brilliant part, and I really, really got it'. That's essentially it."
I thought about that. I also thought about another Jonathan: Jonathan Brandis.
I'm going to seemingly veer off topic right now but, trust me, it's related. Please bear with me.
Ahem.
I have asthma and have had asthma since childhood. Very early on I became disgruntled with how the media portrays asthma. For example: The Goonies. It's a brilliant film and I loved it but I cried at the end and here's why.
Goonies Ending
The end of that movie showed something that made me so angry. I've put a youtube clip here. It's in German and cuts off right as it gets to the part about which I'm speaking but I'm hoping it'll still remind people. Skip to the end of the little clip and you'll see Sean Astin's character fumble for his inhaler. The part that's cut out is him pausing, looking at it for a moment and then throwing it over his shoulder in a sort of, "I don't need this crutch anymore." way.
That's generally the way I saw asthma portrayed in the movies. I remember getting upset once that my asthma was bothering me and deciding that I would just get over it, like the kids in the movies did. It was all in my head, right? I had a very bad day that day because, like an idiot, I threw away my medicine.
Then I watched Sidekicks, starring Chuck Norris and Jonathan Brandis. It was a pretty typical karate kid clone with an asthmatic kid as the main character. However, the main character had asthma the way I had asthma. He didn't wheeze as he was breathing in, he coughed and struggled to expel air. The portrayal of asthma caught me with the first attack as his teacher says something like, "Don't fight it, Barry. Just let it happen." (Which sounds oddly pervy out of context....hmm.) Anyway...
That movie also made me cry but not out of anger and frustration at having someone, once again, show me a caricature of myself. I cried because after watching the scene I plugged in below I felt like someone else understood.
Sidekicks Scene
Just in case you can't view it, it essentially shows the main character going into an attack and throwing away his inhaler in frustration and anger. He yells, "I will beat you!" I'd felt that. Like the movies and shows I'd seen were telling me that I was supposed to be able to overcome my asthma somehow.
Then Barry, the main character, has a daydream/hallucination about being tortured by an evil man who uses twisting chains to crush his lungs. Barry says at one point I think, "I can't breathe!" and the torturer replies, "What do you care, Shrimp? You sound like a bagpipe when you do anyway."
Asthma isn't a joke or a punch line. It's a potentially fatal disease that makes it difficult if not impossible to breathe and these incredibly frightening attacks can occur without notice. I live with the fact that someone could dump some kind of cleaning solution into the vents of my office building (that's happened) or step onto an elevator with a perfume to which I'm allergic (also happened) and send me into an asthmatic attack that will land me in the hospital (um, yeah, the end result of both of those scenarios).
Consistently kids with asthma in movies are portrayed as nerds who really aren't sick but hide behind inhalers rather than get involved in anything too dangerous or scary. The opposite is true.
An asthma attack impairs your ability to breathe. Water boarding is considered torture because the fear of drowning, of not being able to breathe, is so very primal. Kids with asthma face this terrifying situation knowing the best way to get through it is to remain calm and "let it happen". Yet entertainers continue to portray kids with asthma as dorky, nervous, and even cowardly.
Watching Sidekicks, which showed a kid struggling with the disease, and with the isolation and inactivity having the disease had created, was incredible. I loved the fact that in the final scenes, when Barry is at the martial arts competition and Chuck Norris miraculously joins his team (it's a cheese fest of a movie) one of those scenes begins with him sitting on the sidelines and taking a hit off his inhaler. His asthma didn't magically go away. His medicine was treated like a crutch but not one behind which Barry hid, rather one that he had to learn to use properly in order to allow him to accomplish the things his disease made difficult.
I know the acting is dodgy and the storyline cheesy but I still love that movie because it made me feel good about myself. It made me feel like it was okay that I had asthma and that my asthma wasn't just in my head. As long as I believed it was just something in my head, I felt like every time I had trouble breathing or had to use my inhaler or had an attack that I was somehow failing.
I would love to write Jonathan Brandis a letter and tell him that. I would really love to let him know how important a movie he probably only thought of as dodgy and cheesy, was to me as a kid. I can't though.
Jonathan Brandis committed suicide in late 2003 at the age of 27. Thing was, I've seen films he did as an older actor. He was good. I mean, really good.
He had a decent sized role in Ride With The Devil, one of my favorite films of all time. If you watch that movie now you see it's an all around who's who of current 'it' actors and he was incredible in it.
He stood up with then less well-known or completely un-known actors: Tobey Maguire, Jeffrey Wright, Skeet Ulrich, James Caviezel, Simon Baker, Mark Ruffalo, & Tom Wilkinson, all of them being directed by Ang-freaking-Lee (I think that's officially how you're supposed to say his name) and there was Jonathan Brandis being fan-freaking-tastic.
Oh yeah, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (you thought I forgot about him, didn't you?) he was in that movie as well.
Jonathan Brandis was, without question, a talented actor. I knew that but I never told him.
I mean, he has a line in that movie: "Yeah, sounds like real good dirt to me." You'd think that line would be funny but he managed to make it downright poignant.
I don't presume to think that if I'd written Jonathan Brandis a fan letter as a child or later as an adult it would have somehow given him an added incentive to live. I have no idea what might have caused him to make that decision. But after reading what Jonathan Rhys Meyers had to say, I think his one time co-star, Jonathan Brandis, deserved to know how his work affected me. I thought he was a great actor and I now know that I shouldn't have assumed someone else would tell him that.
To that end, I hereby officially remove my fan letter restrictions and will start sending letters to the famous as well as the un-famous (not infamous). I think that I'll start with Mr. Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
Hmmm.
Anyone have an address for the man?
Lemme explain.
I never wrote a fan letter to an actor or singer because I thought, "Well, plenty of people are writing those people. What about everyone else?"
So, I wrote letters to people like the customer service representative who took care of a problem for me, or my insurance agent (which reminds me, I need to send a letter to the adjuster that looked at our car). I even wrote a fan letter to a police officer who gave me a ticket for having a busted headlight.
I think that's a good example of a good un-famous fan letter.
In that letter I wrote something along the lines that she had a pretty thankless job, especially that part of it. That I was sure most people thought along the lines that she was just being a pill issuing the ticket and she might get comments like, "Why are you out here messing with me? Shouldn't you be catching real criminals and actually protecting people like me?" But the truth is she was protecting me. If I have a headlight out, I need to be told about it. Unfortunately, however, loads of people aren't motivated to fix things like that unless there is a penalty for not having done so. The ticket makes us fix the problem right away because we're afraid of getting another ticket. If I didn't fix that headlight and the other failed, I'd be in really big trouble. So, even though it didn't seem like it, she was protecting me and I appreciated her doing her job so well.
I try to send out letters like this on a regular basis, especially to people like that police officer because they really do important work and they really don't get much in the way of recognition for it. Sometimes you have to hunt for a person or team to thank them but I'm sure people have to hunt down addresses to which they send their fan letters for actors, etc. So, it can't be that different.
Now, I love movies. Comedies, dramas, action movies, sci-fi, whatever, I'm just a huge film fan and I get what I call star crushes. I'll find an actor or actress that impresses me and I'll pretty much go through their body of work and also find out quite a bit about their background.
I watch their films and, if I can find them, even episodes of TV series in which they've appeared. I just like watching them play different roles and am generally pleased to see them wearing these different skins so effortlessly.
For some strange reason, reading about their lives prior to their careers is interesting to me and not creepy so I do it. I have no explanation really.
Maybe I think that before they became professional actors, they were out there living without a script. They weren't pretending, they were doing and I think that the doing part of their lives can sometimes be seen in the way they act later on.
I'm not sure that's logical or makes any sense at all but it's just how I feel about it.
Anyway, I recently developed a star crush on Jonathan Rhys Meyers and it has shifted my world view. I was reading about his past, which is very colorful, but also read a few quotes attributed to him. One of which was:
"It's not about money, fame, people knowing you. It's not even about enjoying yourself and being happy. It's about achieving something that's brilliant, creating something that's brilliant, for other people. For yourself, you're always going to be unsatisfied, but if somebody comes up to me and says, 'That was a brilliant part, and I really, really got it'. That's essentially it."
I thought about that. I also thought about another Jonathan: Jonathan Brandis.
I'm going to seemingly veer off topic right now but, trust me, it's related. Please bear with me.
Ahem.
I have asthma and have had asthma since childhood. Very early on I became disgruntled with how the media portrays asthma. For example: The Goonies. It's a brilliant film and I loved it but I cried at the end and here's why.
Goonies Ending
The end of that movie showed something that made me so angry. I've put a youtube clip here. It's in German and cuts off right as it gets to the part about which I'm speaking but I'm hoping it'll still remind people. Skip to the end of the little clip and you'll see Sean Astin's character fumble for his inhaler. The part that's cut out is him pausing, looking at it for a moment and then throwing it over his shoulder in a sort of, "I don't need this crutch anymore." way.
That's generally the way I saw asthma portrayed in the movies. I remember getting upset once that my asthma was bothering me and deciding that I would just get over it, like the kids in the movies did. It was all in my head, right? I had a very bad day that day because, like an idiot, I threw away my medicine.
Then I watched Sidekicks, starring Chuck Norris and Jonathan Brandis. It was a pretty typical karate kid clone with an asthmatic kid as the main character. However, the main character had asthma the way I had asthma. He didn't wheeze as he was breathing in, he coughed and struggled to expel air. The portrayal of asthma caught me with the first attack as his teacher says something like, "Don't fight it, Barry. Just let it happen." (Which sounds oddly pervy out of context....hmm.) Anyway...
That movie also made me cry but not out of anger and frustration at having someone, once again, show me a caricature of myself. I cried because after watching the scene I plugged in below I felt like someone else understood.
Sidekicks Scene
Just in case you can't view it, it essentially shows the main character going into an attack and throwing away his inhaler in frustration and anger. He yells, "I will beat you!" I'd felt that. Like the movies and shows I'd seen were telling me that I was supposed to be able to overcome my asthma somehow.
Then Barry, the main character, has a daydream/hallucination about being tortured by an evil man who uses twisting chains to crush his lungs. Barry says at one point I think, "I can't breathe!" and the torturer replies, "What do you care, Shrimp? You sound like a bagpipe when you do anyway."
Asthma isn't a joke or a punch line. It's a potentially fatal disease that makes it difficult if not impossible to breathe and these incredibly frightening attacks can occur without notice. I live with the fact that someone could dump some kind of cleaning solution into the vents of my office building (that's happened) or step onto an elevator with a perfume to which I'm allergic (also happened) and send me into an asthmatic attack that will land me in the hospital (um, yeah, the end result of both of those scenarios).
Consistently kids with asthma in movies are portrayed as nerds who really aren't sick but hide behind inhalers rather than get involved in anything too dangerous or scary. The opposite is true.
An asthma attack impairs your ability to breathe. Water boarding is considered torture because the fear of drowning, of not being able to breathe, is so very primal. Kids with asthma face this terrifying situation knowing the best way to get through it is to remain calm and "let it happen". Yet entertainers continue to portray kids with asthma as dorky, nervous, and even cowardly.
Watching Sidekicks, which showed a kid struggling with the disease, and with the isolation and inactivity having the disease had created, was incredible. I loved the fact that in the final scenes, when Barry is at the martial arts competition and Chuck Norris miraculously joins his team (it's a cheese fest of a movie) one of those scenes begins with him sitting on the sidelines and taking a hit off his inhaler. His asthma didn't magically go away. His medicine was treated like a crutch but not one behind which Barry hid, rather one that he had to learn to use properly in order to allow him to accomplish the things his disease made difficult.
I know the acting is dodgy and the storyline cheesy but I still love that movie because it made me feel good about myself. It made me feel like it was okay that I had asthma and that my asthma wasn't just in my head. As long as I believed it was just something in my head, I felt like every time I had trouble breathing or had to use my inhaler or had an attack that I was somehow failing.
I would love to write Jonathan Brandis a letter and tell him that. I would really love to let him know how important a movie he probably only thought of as dodgy and cheesy, was to me as a kid. I can't though.
Jonathan Brandis committed suicide in late 2003 at the age of 27. Thing was, I've seen films he did as an older actor. He was good. I mean, really good.
He had a decent sized role in Ride With The Devil, one of my favorite films of all time. If you watch that movie now you see it's an all around who's who of current 'it' actors and he was incredible in it.
He stood up with then less well-known or completely un-known actors: Tobey Maguire, Jeffrey Wright, Skeet Ulrich, James Caviezel, Simon Baker, Mark Ruffalo, & Tom Wilkinson, all of them being directed by Ang-freaking-Lee (I think that's officially how you're supposed to say his name) and there was Jonathan Brandis being fan-freaking-tastic.
Oh yeah, and Jonathan Rhys Meyers (you thought I forgot about him, didn't you?) he was in that movie as well.
Jonathan Brandis was, without question, a talented actor. I knew that but I never told him.
I mean, he has a line in that movie: "Yeah, sounds like real good dirt to me." You'd think that line would be funny but he managed to make it downright poignant.
I don't presume to think that if I'd written Jonathan Brandis a fan letter as a child or later as an adult it would have somehow given him an added incentive to live. I have no idea what might have caused him to make that decision. But after reading what Jonathan Rhys Meyers had to say, I think his one time co-star, Jonathan Brandis, deserved to know how his work affected me. I thought he was a great actor and I now know that I shouldn't have assumed someone else would tell him that.
To that end, I hereby officially remove my fan letter restrictions and will start sending letters to the famous as well as the un-famous (not infamous). I think that I'll start with Mr. Jonathan Rhys Meyers.
Hmmm.
Anyone have an address for the man?
Monday, August 10, 2009
How Hillary Clinton Ruined My Life
When I was 15 I was a finalist in an "oral essay" competition. It was one of the strangest competitions in which I have ever been involved.
It was essentially a speech competition, except you didn't perform the speech. You recorded it on tape and sent it off. The end result was you would get these unexpected phone calls. "Hi. You've won at such-and-such level and are progressing to the next round." It was oddly disconnected and didn't seem real.
Then one day, someone calls up and says, "You're a finalist in the State Championship. Please be at such-and-such hotel in Alexandria at such-and-such time on such-and-such date." If you're me, you hang up feeling a bit dazed and shouting, "Ma!"
I also clearly remember the paperwork that arrived later saying to bring "formal attire". I borrowed a dress from a friend that didn't fit well and still turned out to look hopelessly shabby next to the other girls. I also remember telling myself I was kind of like Meg from Little Women and that actually making me feel better.
I had no hope at all of winning. They started reading off the top six places and I remember chanting in my head, "Please let me place. Please." I lost hope when they got to second place and it wasn't me. I started consoling myself. "At least you made it to State. It doesn't matter that you didn't place. You made it to State. Cat never made it to State." (Cat was my older sister who also did Speech & with whom I had a younger sibling's borderline obsessive need to beat.)
They announced the winner and I tried very hard to plaster a genuine smile on my face as I clapped politely for whoever it was. No one moved at the finalists' table. I remember looking up and down the table and wondering why whoever it was didn't get up already. Then District Four grabbed my hands and said, "They're waiting for you. Get up!"
The audience laughed. My Dad said that the surprise on my face made it really obvious that I hadn't known I'd won. I got up and nearly screamed because there was a freaking marine standing behind me to escort me to the stage. I got to the stage and realized I'd forgotten my speech and ran back to get it. When I arrived at the podium the plan had been to give me something and THEN have me give my speech but I marched right up and gave the speech immediately.
I was so nervous my hand was shaking violently. I mean, up and down a few inches each time. The stage was pretty make-shift and my shaking actually set things vibrating along the table but I gave the speech and the longer I spoke the less I shook. My voice, amazingly, didn't shake but came out clear and strong just like I'd rehearsed. That has always amazed me.
As soon as I'd finished the speech I tried to get off the stage and back to my seat. The presenter made a joke about not running away and then gave me a trophy so large; if I still had it I'd probably be using it for a hat wrack. I tried to get down again. Nope. They had a plaque for me.
Then there was some kind of memorial award for my school. Then I finally thought I was going to get to sit down and they handed me the best and most mind blowing award of the night: A trip to the finals in Washington D.C.
Wow.
That night I couldn't sleep. My Dad was preaching the next morning and we had made no plans to stay. That fact alone really hammers in that, not only did I not think it was possible I'd win, but neither did my parents. The winner was supposed to attend an event the next morning but we had no plans for that eventuality. It was decided that I would hitch a ride with a couple there who were also from my home town and Dad left me alone in the hotel room.
I remember that night so clearly. As I said, I couldn't sleep. I'd never been in a hotel room by myself, and I'd never been in one so very nice. The floor I was on was two stories higher than the tallest building in my entire hometown. I had two windows and one had a window seat. I had a coffee maker and a desk and STATIONARY. I turned on VH1 on the TV and I remember that Bang and Blame by REM and Take A Bow by Madonna played extremely often that night. To this day, either of those songs has the ability to transport me back in time to that sleepless night.
I just sat in the window seat, drinking coffee and watching the twinkling lights along the river trying to figure out what had just happened. I had the packet they'd given me at the ceremony with the information about the trip and I kept looking over the tickets and the itinerary wondering when it would hit. I just couldn't believe it.
The trip was a bit of a whirlwind. I felt an instant connection with the guy from Kentucky who, because I was from Louisiana, I was always seated near. We went to dinners, speeches, museums... This is the trip during which I met President Clinton.
The contest was run by the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) and held during some kind of National get-together of theirs. President Clinton was giving a speech at one of the events and was understandably nervous. This was before the intern and the lying and one of his biggest black marks was still the accusation of draft dodging. He wasn't exactly popular with the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I remember we kids, one from each state and territory so 54 of us in all, were sent to this large banquet room area. There were security people everywhere and a secret service agent gave a little speech about what to do and how to act so as not to appear a threat to the President. Nerve wracking.
Kentucky and I were talking when I swear a piece of the wall near the ceiling just opened up. I could see the vague outline of a head and shoulders and was a little freaked out.
I finally decided to approach one of the guys in suits. I think I said something like, "Um, hi. Can I ask you a question real quick?" He said yes, so I continued with, "The guy up there? (I pointed) He's with you right?"
The suit chuckled and said yes. I sighed and went back to the group my mind freed of visions of assassination attempts.
President Clinton arrived.
Tada!
I wasn't exactly a fan of his. It had nothing to do with him running for or being President but something to do with some stuff that went down in his Arkansas administration that adversely affected members of my extended family.
So, when everyone crushed in to shake hands, I didn't fight to get close enough. I didn't walk away or anything but I let myself get sort of bumped back. It didn't matter to me so why struggle. But then he said, "Okay, did I miss anyone."
And there was Kentucky, being all nice. "You missed Louisiana."
Clinton smiled at me. The man really is charming.
"Well, that's not very neighborly of me is it?" He said and stepped over and shook my hand.
He said a few more things and then talked about how kids like us were the future of America. Yada yada yada. We'd heard variations of that speech all week.
I'm sure America is very grateful that I am an analyst for a software company and Kentucky is a rowing coach. I mean, we're happy with our lives but that stuff about us being the future of America seems to have been overkill in my humble opinion. I mean, sheesh. All we did was write a nice speech. Anyway, doesn't matter.
Clinton went off to give his speech.
Mr. Gordon, the guy with the unenviable job of leading us kids around D.C. by the nose, took us to a place where we could watch.
I don't remember what the speech was about. I remember that several members of the audience booed when he took the stage and I remember feeling indignant that they had. I am still a firm believer in showing respect for the elected President of the country, apparently even when I think he cheated my family. It's not about respecting the man so much as respecting the office he holds.
Anyway, I was distracted from the speech by spotting another person standing off in the sidelines listening to it. Hilary Clinton. I didn't meet her. I didn't get within ten feet of her but I watched her all through that speech. People had at that time told me and continue to tell me that she didn't and doesn't care about her husband: That theirs is a marriage that is more akin to a political alliance than anything else. I don't believe it.
She never appeared before that crowd. They never saw her. There was no point in her being there other than to do what she did, lend moral support. She watched from the sidelines with obvious concern for her husband, not her meal ticket.
I think that both of these political figures, "Bill & Hillary", are real people. I saw it. I saw a wife nervous about a husband facing a difficult task. I remember the strained nervous look on her face and then the smile with which she greeted him when it was over. My fifteen year old self had a little epiphany then. I thought, "They're just people." They could have been my parents.
I lost something precious that day: The ability to demonize politicians.
It's really unfair, you know. I should be able to look at some policy or another and just rant and rave about conspiracies and how evil this or that person is. Now, instead, I have to approach politics rationally and with an even temper.
Darn you Hillary Clinton and your obviously genuine affection and concern. You ruined EVERYTHING!!!
It was essentially a speech competition, except you didn't perform the speech. You recorded it on tape and sent it off. The end result was you would get these unexpected phone calls. "Hi. You've won at such-and-such level and are progressing to the next round." It was oddly disconnected and didn't seem real.
Then one day, someone calls up and says, "You're a finalist in the State Championship. Please be at such-and-such hotel in Alexandria at such-and-such time on such-and-such date." If you're me, you hang up feeling a bit dazed and shouting, "Ma!"
I also clearly remember the paperwork that arrived later saying to bring "formal attire". I borrowed a dress from a friend that didn't fit well and still turned out to look hopelessly shabby next to the other girls. I also remember telling myself I was kind of like Meg from Little Women and that actually making me feel better.
I had no hope at all of winning. They started reading off the top six places and I remember chanting in my head, "Please let me place. Please." I lost hope when they got to second place and it wasn't me. I started consoling myself. "At least you made it to State. It doesn't matter that you didn't place. You made it to State. Cat never made it to State." (Cat was my older sister who also did Speech & with whom I had a younger sibling's borderline obsessive need to beat.)
They announced the winner and I tried very hard to plaster a genuine smile on my face as I clapped politely for whoever it was. No one moved at the finalists' table. I remember looking up and down the table and wondering why whoever it was didn't get up already. Then District Four grabbed my hands and said, "They're waiting for you. Get up!"
The audience laughed. My Dad said that the surprise on my face made it really obvious that I hadn't known I'd won. I got up and nearly screamed because there was a freaking marine standing behind me to escort me to the stage. I got to the stage and realized I'd forgotten my speech and ran back to get it. When I arrived at the podium the plan had been to give me something and THEN have me give my speech but I marched right up and gave the speech immediately.
I was so nervous my hand was shaking violently. I mean, up and down a few inches each time. The stage was pretty make-shift and my shaking actually set things vibrating along the table but I gave the speech and the longer I spoke the less I shook. My voice, amazingly, didn't shake but came out clear and strong just like I'd rehearsed. That has always amazed me.
As soon as I'd finished the speech I tried to get off the stage and back to my seat. The presenter made a joke about not running away and then gave me a trophy so large; if I still had it I'd probably be using it for a hat wrack. I tried to get down again. Nope. They had a plaque for me.
Then there was some kind of memorial award for my school. Then I finally thought I was going to get to sit down and they handed me the best and most mind blowing award of the night: A trip to the finals in Washington D.C.
Wow.
That night I couldn't sleep. My Dad was preaching the next morning and we had made no plans to stay. That fact alone really hammers in that, not only did I not think it was possible I'd win, but neither did my parents. The winner was supposed to attend an event the next morning but we had no plans for that eventuality. It was decided that I would hitch a ride with a couple there who were also from my home town and Dad left me alone in the hotel room.
I remember that night so clearly. As I said, I couldn't sleep. I'd never been in a hotel room by myself, and I'd never been in one so very nice. The floor I was on was two stories higher than the tallest building in my entire hometown. I had two windows and one had a window seat. I had a coffee maker and a desk and STATIONARY. I turned on VH1 on the TV and I remember that Bang and Blame by REM and Take A Bow by Madonna played extremely often that night. To this day, either of those songs has the ability to transport me back in time to that sleepless night.
I just sat in the window seat, drinking coffee and watching the twinkling lights along the river trying to figure out what had just happened. I had the packet they'd given me at the ceremony with the information about the trip and I kept looking over the tickets and the itinerary wondering when it would hit. I just couldn't believe it.
The trip was a bit of a whirlwind. I felt an instant connection with the guy from Kentucky who, because I was from Louisiana, I was always seated near. We went to dinners, speeches, museums... This is the trip during which I met President Clinton.
The contest was run by the Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) and held during some kind of National get-together of theirs. President Clinton was giving a speech at one of the events and was understandably nervous. This was before the intern and the lying and one of his biggest black marks was still the accusation of draft dodging. He wasn't exactly popular with the Veterans of Foreign Wars.
I remember we kids, one from each state and territory so 54 of us in all, were sent to this large banquet room area. There were security people everywhere and a secret service agent gave a little speech about what to do and how to act so as not to appear a threat to the President. Nerve wracking.
Kentucky and I were talking when I swear a piece of the wall near the ceiling just opened up. I could see the vague outline of a head and shoulders and was a little freaked out.
I finally decided to approach one of the guys in suits. I think I said something like, "Um, hi. Can I ask you a question real quick?" He said yes, so I continued with, "The guy up there? (I pointed) He's with you right?"
The suit chuckled and said yes. I sighed and went back to the group my mind freed of visions of assassination attempts.
President Clinton arrived.
Tada!
I wasn't exactly a fan of his. It had nothing to do with him running for or being President but something to do with some stuff that went down in his Arkansas administration that adversely affected members of my extended family.
So, when everyone crushed in to shake hands, I didn't fight to get close enough. I didn't walk away or anything but I let myself get sort of bumped back. It didn't matter to me so why struggle. But then he said, "Okay, did I miss anyone."
And there was Kentucky, being all nice. "You missed Louisiana."
Clinton smiled at me. The man really is charming.
"Well, that's not very neighborly of me is it?" He said and stepped over and shook my hand.
He said a few more things and then talked about how kids like us were the future of America. Yada yada yada. We'd heard variations of that speech all week.
I'm sure America is very grateful that I am an analyst for a software company and Kentucky is a rowing coach. I mean, we're happy with our lives but that stuff about us being the future of America seems to have been overkill in my humble opinion. I mean, sheesh. All we did was write a nice speech. Anyway, doesn't matter.
Clinton went off to give his speech.
Mr. Gordon, the guy with the unenviable job of leading us kids around D.C. by the nose, took us to a place where we could watch.
I don't remember what the speech was about. I remember that several members of the audience booed when he took the stage and I remember feeling indignant that they had. I am still a firm believer in showing respect for the elected President of the country, apparently even when I think he cheated my family. It's not about respecting the man so much as respecting the office he holds.
Anyway, I was distracted from the speech by spotting another person standing off in the sidelines listening to it. Hilary Clinton. I didn't meet her. I didn't get within ten feet of her but I watched her all through that speech. People had at that time told me and continue to tell me that she didn't and doesn't care about her husband: That theirs is a marriage that is more akin to a political alliance than anything else. I don't believe it.
She never appeared before that crowd. They never saw her. There was no point in her being there other than to do what she did, lend moral support. She watched from the sidelines with obvious concern for her husband, not her meal ticket.
I think that both of these political figures, "Bill & Hillary", are real people. I saw it. I saw a wife nervous about a husband facing a difficult task. I remember the strained nervous look on her face and then the smile with which she greeted him when it was over. My fifteen year old self had a little epiphany then. I thought, "They're just people." They could have been my parents.
I lost something precious that day: The ability to demonize politicians.
It's really unfair, you know. I should be able to look at some policy or another and just rant and rave about conspiracies and how evil this or that person is. Now, instead, I have to approach politics rationally and with an even temper.
Darn you Hillary Clinton and your obviously genuine affection and concern. You ruined EVERYTHING!!!
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Fight Club
I was tweeting earlier today about fights. Thing is, I've a temper. I'm told that as a person of predominantly Irish decent, this is expected. I think that's stereotyping and in an unflattering way but I can't ever say anything because then I'm just proving their point about having an "Irish temper". Grrr.
Anyway, I've learned to control it.
No, really. I have.
Okay, so a coworker when she saw I was assigned as tester to a certain programmer with whom I'd never worked felt obligated to come over and warn me that he could be a prick because, as she put it, "You've got a temper and he'll push your buttons." Maybe I've said a few choice things here and there but I haven't smacked anybody, not in years.
I haven't been involved in an actual physical altercation in a decade. *pat pat*
However, I'll admit, at one time it was a little easy to goad me to blows, especially on the soccer field. I still have a scar under my left eye from a fight on the soccer field, though it is now so faint that if I wear any make up at all it's pretty much undetectable. I lost that fight. It wasn't my worst though.
The worst fight I ever had has to be the one I had with my sister the night before we went on vacation.
Shine and I shared a room and the age eleven at the time and absolutely no one could get on our respective nerves like each other. I had done something that had angered her. I can't remember what it was but I remember that she'd been nursing the grudge for days.
Shine had a smoldering temper. I had a hot temper. I'd get mad about something; scream, punch or rant and then be over it. Shine would just sit there and stew; ignoring me or giving me smoldering glares, or both.
I was a flash bang grenade. She was a crock pot.
I don't remember what I'd done to piss her off but pissed she was. She tried to get me with her psychological warfare that night. I was trying to sleep and she started making these clicking noises with her tongue. I tried to ignore her. I did.
I stuffed my pillow over my head and as far into my ears as I could manage but she just amped up the volume. She was driving me CRAZY!
I just lost it. I leaped directly from my bed on one side of the room to hers. I landed on top of her, grabbed her night shirt in my fists, pulled up her shoulders and screamed, "Just STOP IT!" directly in her face.
Shine's eyebrows went up for a second, then they went down. I went down too.
She socked me on the side of the head, mainly in the ear: her knuckles pinching the cartilage between them and the thick stony hardness of my skull. I fell off the bed and onto the floor and she was on me in seconds.
She straddled me and started punching at my face. I managed to block her pretty effectively but she got a few low velocity hits in, nothing too terrible. I hit her in the side with as much force as I could manage from flat on my back and then hit the bottom of her jaw with the heel of my palm. She bit her tongue and jerked back in reaction. It gave me just enough wiggle room to plant my right foot and roll us over with me on top.
I chose to place one knee in her gut rather than straddle. It left me more open to being rolled again but Shine had about 20 pounds on me and I was trying to inflict as much damage as fast as possible. I knew from experience that the only way I'd win was through a quick submission and retreat to mutual corners.
I tried a few blows to the face but knew her guard would be up. It was more for effect to keep her busy. Then I punched her in the breast. Shine already had small ones and though I was still flat chested, I knew they were a sensitive area. Her defenses lowered to her chest and I got a great punch into her face aiming at her nose but landing more alongside it.
Shine grabbed my long hair (always a key weakness) in a great handfull and used it in much the same way a bit is used on a horse, to pull back my head and blind me. I reached out a hand blindly toward her face hoping to aim my left fist by feel and got my right middle finger in her mouth somehow.
She bit.
HARD.
I shouted in pain which was the first noise we'd really made besides grunting after my initial eruption. Shine kept my finger locked firmly in her teeth and rolled over. She now had two hands to my one but I was still able to keep her from doing much damage. So, she grabbed my left hand with hers, sort of twisted above my head and started pounding on me with her free right. Thankfully, just having my right hand in her mouth diffused some of her momentum and the blows weren't as hard as they could have been.
That's when our Dad walked in. My poor Dad. He so very much wanted little girls with ribbons in their hair who wore pretty dresses and, I don't know, played with Barbies? Whatever it is that girly girls do, that's what he wanted.
I imagine what we must have looked like to him. Shine on top of me with my finger locked between her teeth. I had a busted lip and was bleeding slightly but she had dripped quite a bit of my and her blood onto me. Two bloody faced little girls trying to beat the ever loving crap out of each other.
My poor Dad.
He was horrified. I still remember that blank stare of utter confusion on his face when he opened the door. We had frozen in place much like cartoon characters when the open door spilled light from the hallway onto our shenanigans.
Dad yelled, "What are you DOING!?!"
We didn't have an answer. In fact, Shine hadn't even stopped biting my finger at that time.
"Get. Up!" Dad yelled in that strange 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble' punctuated way.
And she finally let go. I could feel her teeth pulling out of my skin and couldn't hold back a little yelp.
Dad took us to the bathroom and cleaned us up, threatening the whole time to find a way to leave us behind when the family left on our trip the next day.
He super glued my finger, something he and Mom had done before with small but deep cuts, and also cleaned up our mutual split lips.
I think that still ranks as my worst fight. No one, absolutely no one, has ever gone for the kill like Shine and I also found that in every other fight I've shown more restraint. For some reason, you just go for the cheap shots with siblings.
Funny thing is, years later I found a picture from that trip. It's the very next day, Shine and I have matching scabs on our lower lips, and you can see the bandage on my finger but, here's the thing, the only reason you can see it is because I've got my arm slug over her shoulder in a mutual half hug.
My Mom and Dad talk about us as kids and our crazy fights but we always got over it. Without exception, the next day it was all forgotten. Fighting never solved a problem, but somehow it still made us feel better, which makes no sense whatsoever but is absolutely 100% true.
Sometimes I think that if we could all just land a few restrained blows every once in a while we might feel a little better about losing. You know? You lost the fight but you still walked away saying, "At least I landed that sweet shot to her boob."
Anyway, I've learned to control it.
No, really. I have.
Okay, so a coworker when she saw I was assigned as tester to a certain programmer with whom I'd never worked felt obligated to come over and warn me that he could be a prick because, as she put it, "You've got a temper and he'll push your buttons." Maybe I've said a few choice things here and there but I haven't smacked anybody, not in years.
I haven't been involved in an actual physical altercation in a decade. *pat pat*
However, I'll admit, at one time it was a little easy to goad me to blows, especially on the soccer field. I still have a scar under my left eye from a fight on the soccer field, though it is now so faint that if I wear any make up at all it's pretty much undetectable. I lost that fight. It wasn't my worst though.
The worst fight I ever had has to be the one I had with my sister the night before we went on vacation.
Shine and I shared a room and the age eleven at the time and absolutely no one could get on our respective nerves like each other. I had done something that had angered her. I can't remember what it was but I remember that she'd been nursing the grudge for days.
Shine had a smoldering temper. I had a hot temper. I'd get mad about something; scream, punch or rant and then be over it. Shine would just sit there and stew; ignoring me or giving me smoldering glares, or both.
I was a flash bang grenade. She was a crock pot.
I don't remember what I'd done to piss her off but pissed she was. She tried to get me with her psychological warfare that night. I was trying to sleep and she started making these clicking noises with her tongue. I tried to ignore her. I did.
I stuffed my pillow over my head and as far into my ears as I could manage but she just amped up the volume. She was driving me CRAZY!
I just lost it. I leaped directly from my bed on one side of the room to hers. I landed on top of her, grabbed her night shirt in my fists, pulled up her shoulders and screamed, "Just STOP IT!" directly in her face.
Shine's eyebrows went up for a second, then they went down. I went down too.
She socked me on the side of the head, mainly in the ear: her knuckles pinching the cartilage between them and the thick stony hardness of my skull. I fell off the bed and onto the floor and she was on me in seconds.
She straddled me and started punching at my face. I managed to block her pretty effectively but she got a few low velocity hits in, nothing too terrible. I hit her in the side with as much force as I could manage from flat on my back and then hit the bottom of her jaw with the heel of my palm. She bit her tongue and jerked back in reaction. It gave me just enough wiggle room to plant my right foot and roll us over with me on top.
I chose to place one knee in her gut rather than straddle. It left me more open to being rolled again but Shine had about 20 pounds on me and I was trying to inflict as much damage as fast as possible. I knew from experience that the only way I'd win was through a quick submission and retreat to mutual corners.
I tried a few blows to the face but knew her guard would be up. It was more for effect to keep her busy. Then I punched her in the breast. Shine already had small ones and though I was still flat chested, I knew they were a sensitive area. Her defenses lowered to her chest and I got a great punch into her face aiming at her nose but landing more alongside it.
Shine grabbed my long hair (always a key weakness) in a great handfull and used it in much the same way a bit is used on a horse, to pull back my head and blind me. I reached out a hand blindly toward her face hoping to aim my left fist by feel and got my right middle finger in her mouth somehow.
She bit.
HARD.
I shouted in pain which was the first noise we'd really made besides grunting after my initial eruption. Shine kept my finger locked firmly in her teeth and rolled over. She now had two hands to my one but I was still able to keep her from doing much damage. So, she grabbed my left hand with hers, sort of twisted above my head and started pounding on me with her free right. Thankfully, just having my right hand in her mouth diffused some of her momentum and the blows weren't as hard as they could have been.
That's when our Dad walked in. My poor Dad. He so very much wanted little girls with ribbons in their hair who wore pretty dresses and, I don't know, played with Barbies? Whatever it is that girly girls do, that's what he wanted.
I imagine what we must have looked like to him. Shine on top of me with my finger locked between her teeth. I had a busted lip and was bleeding slightly but she had dripped quite a bit of my and her blood onto me. Two bloody faced little girls trying to beat the ever loving crap out of each other.
My poor Dad.
He was horrified. I still remember that blank stare of utter confusion on his face when he opened the door. We had frozen in place much like cartoon characters when the open door spilled light from the hallway onto our shenanigans.
Dad yelled, "What are you DOING!?!"
We didn't have an answer. In fact, Shine hadn't even stopped biting my finger at that time.
"Get. Up!" Dad yelled in that strange 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble' punctuated way.
And she finally let go. I could feel her teeth pulling out of my skin and couldn't hold back a little yelp.
Dad took us to the bathroom and cleaned us up, threatening the whole time to find a way to leave us behind when the family left on our trip the next day.
He super glued my finger, something he and Mom had done before with small but deep cuts, and also cleaned up our mutual split lips.
I think that still ranks as my worst fight. No one, absolutely no one, has ever gone for the kill like Shine and I also found that in every other fight I've shown more restraint. For some reason, you just go for the cheap shots with siblings.
Funny thing is, years later I found a picture from that trip. It's the very next day, Shine and I have matching scabs on our lower lips, and you can see the bandage on my finger but, here's the thing, the only reason you can see it is because I've got my arm slug over her shoulder in a mutual half hug.
My Mom and Dad talk about us as kids and our crazy fights but we always got over it. Without exception, the next day it was all forgotten. Fighting never solved a problem, but somehow it still made us feel better, which makes no sense whatsoever but is absolutely 100% true.
Sometimes I think that if we could all just land a few restrained blows every once in a while we might feel a little better about losing. You know? You lost the fight but you still walked away saying, "At least I landed that sweet shot to her boob."
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Your Real Sister
Yesterday was Emmy's first day at daycare. No, I didn't cry when I dropped her off.
I was a bit concerned and nervous that she might be scared or upset, though I tried not to show it.
I tried to be very animated and excited. I made my eyes get big as I talked about the playground equipment and all the cool kids she was going to meet. I even tried to make nap time sound exciting. Epic fail, by the way.
Emmy seemed a little apprehensive as we dropped her off but Jonathan grabbed her hand and immediately began running through the building with her securely in tow yelling about this, that and the other Emmy needed to go see.
Emmy actually turned her head to me and shook her head at me as if to say, "Kids." or "Can you believe this?"
I left feeling pretty confident that things would go well. After all, Emmy had her brother with her.
When we got the kids home, they were running around talking a mile a minute about this, that and the other and I was so relieved that things seemed to have gone well.
As I was cooking dinner however, I noticed both the kids standing near the short stairs leading into the kitchen. They were whispering and eyeing me in what I'm sure they thought was a surreptitious manner.
I finally turned around and asked them what was up.
Jonathan nudged Emmy forward and she began speaking though she was looking at just about anything in the kitchen but my face.
"Mommy. Um. This boy, um, there was this boy at school and he, um, he told me, he said that, um...he said that Jonathan wasn't my brother."
Now the Monkey chimed in:
"Yeah, Mommy. He said Emmy's not my sister."
And both sets of big eyes, one a deep creamy brown and one a crackling blue are staring intently at me.
It was time to put down the spoon and just pray the food survived a few minutes pause.
I sat down on the stairs for easy eye contact and explained.
"Well, that boy was wrong. You know how sometimes you really think something? Like you see a toy and you think it's going to be really fun but it turns out it isn't? Or you see a food and you think it's going to be sweet and yummy and it isn't?"
Sage nods in reply.
"Well, I'm sure that boy might think Jonathan's not your brother and Emmy's not your sister, but he's wrong. I don't think you should fight with him about it though. One day, he might get the chance to understand that he's wrong but that doesn't matter, does it? You know that Jonathan's your brother, Emmy. Jonathan, you know that Emmy's your sister. That's all that matters, right?"
Two little faces filled with relieved smiles and Emmy immediately turned with the typical elder sibling reaction:
Emmy: See, I TOLD you.
Jonathan: Nu, uh! I told YOU.
I gave them hugs. They ran to the living room to play and dinner miraculously survived its temporary abandonment.
I haven't been able to shake a tugging brought on by the situation and the obviously deep reaction it evoked in the kids. They asked their Daddy about it at dinner, seemingly looking for more reassurance.
My hubby was surprised by how deeply the accusation seemed to have affected them. We talked about it after the munchkins were abed.
Hubby: Why does it matter what one kid thinks? Why does that little thing make them doubt they're brother and sister?
I could feel the answer but had trouble expressing it. I'm still not sure what I said made sense.
See, I've been there. I've been hanging out with my sisters and had some kid or group of kids state with utter conviction that we weren't sisters, at least, not REAL sisters.
That word real always made me so mad. Kids weren't the only ones to use it either.
Adults would often ask the hated question:
"Which are your real kids?"
Okay, ow. Sorry, sibs, you're not real.
My Dad always made a joke out of it. He'd say something like, "Well, they're all real. None of them are plastic."
Mom would just quietly fume, which is her being on her best behavior. I can still see Mom's special smile. It was more like a closed lip grimace and it's the expression she always had when someone asked that question.
Sometimes, Dad's gentle attempt to point out the hurtful nature of the inquiry would fall on deaf ears.
"No, I mean, which ones are really yours and which ones did you adopt?"
Um, Mr. Sensitivity, we're all 'really' theirs. Eventually, Dad adopted the policy of answering the question after tactfully pointing out that we were all real.
Something like this: "They're all real. None of them are plastic but (pointing) that one and that one are our only biological children."
Dad told us he was going to start saying this because he was afraid that Mom might hit someone if they kept asking the even less tactful and more hurtful follow up questions.
We had all sort of learned to smile and nod at the seemingly inevitable question but it never really lost its sting.
So, why does it bother my kids and why did it bother me and my sibs when people would imply or flatly state that adopted siblings aren't "real" siblings?
I'm not really sure, to be honest.
I've been trying to figure it out. I guess you could try to imagine what it would be like if someone said that you weren't really married. Or why most people go through the ceremony and paperwork involved in becoming married. I mean, why do gay people want the right to be married? Because that title makes you family and being family is important. Having someone threaten that relationship or the legitimacy of that relationship is hurtful.
The simple statement is an attack, really. It's attacking your relationship or the legitimacy of the relationship. It's attacking the love you have for each other.
It might have something to do with the nature of foster care and adoption. When we were in the process of adopting we attended functions and met kids. I remember at one summer picnic I met a "potential".
Parents don't go to an orphanage or group home and pick out a kid to take home. The state somehow decides what kids might be appropriate for potential parents. Then they arrange for those parents to spend time with those kids at events. I'd heard that Wanda was a potential and she had somehow heard that we were a potential family for her as well.
We met each other, as I said, at the summer picnic. I think we were six at the time. It was odd. I mean, we were almost literally circling each other, sizing each other up and asking questions. Then, click! We decided we liked each other and spent every second of the rest of the picnic together. We made plans that remind me of the parent trap on how we were going to make sure that Wanda would be my new sister.
It didn't happen. Wanda and her brother were adopted by another couple before my family made our first adoption. I cried into my pillow for days after I found out. I doubt Wanda suffered the same dejection because, of course, she had a new family to think about. Her family and mine ran in the same 'adopt older kids' (A-OK) circles, so we remained friends for a few years until we got older and developed very different interests.
On the other side of it my siblings, of course, had been placed in many foster homes before being placed with us. They had developed attachments and had them severed by the system. It was a painful thing and, even though you know the adoption is final and no one is coming to take them away, it's scary. Somewhere in the dark recesses of your brain is the idea that at one time this person you love wasn't here and maybe at one time they won't be here again.
So, when some mindless adult asks a tactless question, that little fear sends a little jolt through your system, usually resulting in a bit of a stomach ache and some compensatory brash behavior: Laughing a little too loud at something that honestly wasn't that funny, that kind of thing.
It's scary to be a kid and love someone so absolutely but at the same time have this lingering fear, no matter how tiny, that you'll lose that person. Kids shouldn't have to deal with that kind of apprehension and fear. They shouldn't go to bed at night and feel the need to ask their new Mommy, "Will you and Daddy be here when I wake up?" It breaks my heart that Emmy feels the need to ask that.
It breaks my heart that still, the first thing out of Jonathan's mouth in the morning is, "Where's Emmy?" or "Emmy's in her room?"
They love each other so much. They love being brother and sister.
So, I guess that's why someone telling them they're not "real" siblings had such an affect on them....and on me.
I was a bit concerned and nervous that she might be scared or upset, though I tried not to show it.
I tried to be very animated and excited. I made my eyes get big as I talked about the playground equipment and all the cool kids she was going to meet. I even tried to make nap time sound exciting. Epic fail, by the way.
Emmy seemed a little apprehensive as we dropped her off but Jonathan grabbed her hand and immediately began running through the building with her securely in tow yelling about this, that and the other Emmy needed to go see.
Emmy actually turned her head to me and shook her head at me as if to say, "Kids." or "Can you believe this?"
I left feeling pretty confident that things would go well. After all, Emmy had her brother with her.
When we got the kids home, they were running around talking a mile a minute about this, that and the other and I was so relieved that things seemed to have gone well.
As I was cooking dinner however, I noticed both the kids standing near the short stairs leading into the kitchen. They were whispering and eyeing me in what I'm sure they thought was a surreptitious manner.
I finally turned around and asked them what was up.
Jonathan nudged Emmy forward and she began speaking though she was looking at just about anything in the kitchen but my face.
"Mommy. Um. This boy, um, there was this boy at school and he, um, he told me, he said that, um...he said that Jonathan wasn't my brother."
Now the Monkey chimed in:
"Yeah, Mommy. He said Emmy's not my sister."
And both sets of big eyes, one a deep creamy brown and one a crackling blue are staring intently at me.
It was time to put down the spoon and just pray the food survived a few minutes pause.
I sat down on the stairs for easy eye contact and explained.
"Well, that boy was wrong. You know how sometimes you really think something? Like you see a toy and you think it's going to be really fun but it turns out it isn't? Or you see a food and you think it's going to be sweet and yummy and it isn't?"
Sage nods in reply.
"Well, I'm sure that boy might think Jonathan's not your brother and Emmy's not your sister, but he's wrong. I don't think you should fight with him about it though. One day, he might get the chance to understand that he's wrong but that doesn't matter, does it? You know that Jonathan's your brother, Emmy. Jonathan, you know that Emmy's your sister. That's all that matters, right?"
Two little faces filled with relieved smiles and Emmy immediately turned with the typical elder sibling reaction:
Emmy: See, I TOLD you.
Jonathan: Nu, uh! I told YOU.
I gave them hugs. They ran to the living room to play and dinner miraculously survived its temporary abandonment.
I haven't been able to shake a tugging brought on by the situation and the obviously deep reaction it evoked in the kids. They asked their Daddy about it at dinner, seemingly looking for more reassurance.
My hubby was surprised by how deeply the accusation seemed to have affected them. We talked about it after the munchkins were abed.
Hubby: Why does it matter what one kid thinks? Why does that little thing make them doubt they're brother and sister?
I could feel the answer but had trouble expressing it. I'm still not sure what I said made sense.
See, I've been there. I've been hanging out with my sisters and had some kid or group of kids state with utter conviction that we weren't sisters, at least, not REAL sisters.
That word real always made me so mad. Kids weren't the only ones to use it either.
Adults would often ask the hated question:
"Which are your real kids?"
Okay, ow. Sorry, sibs, you're not real.
My Dad always made a joke out of it. He'd say something like, "Well, they're all real. None of them are plastic."
Mom would just quietly fume, which is her being on her best behavior. I can still see Mom's special smile. It was more like a closed lip grimace and it's the expression she always had when someone asked that question.
Sometimes, Dad's gentle attempt to point out the hurtful nature of the inquiry would fall on deaf ears.
"No, I mean, which ones are really yours and which ones did you adopt?"
Um, Mr. Sensitivity, we're all 'really' theirs. Eventually, Dad adopted the policy of answering the question after tactfully pointing out that we were all real.
Something like this: "They're all real. None of them are plastic but (pointing) that one and that one are our only biological children."
Dad told us he was going to start saying this because he was afraid that Mom might hit someone if they kept asking the even less tactful and more hurtful follow up questions.
We had all sort of learned to smile and nod at the seemingly inevitable question but it never really lost its sting.
So, why does it bother my kids and why did it bother me and my sibs when people would imply or flatly state that adopted siblings aren't "real" siblings?
I'm not really sure, to be honest.
I've been trying to figure it out. I guess you could try to imagine what it would be like if someone said that you weren't really married. Or why most people go through the ceremony and paperwork involved in becoming married. I mean, why do gay people want the right to be married? Because that title makes you family and being family is important. Having someone threaten that relationship or the legitimacy of that relationship is hurtful.
The simple statement is an attack, really. It's attacking your relationship or the legitimacy of the relationship. It's attacking the love you have for each other.
It might have something to do with the nature of foster care and adoption. When we were in the process of adopting we attended functions and met kids. I remember at one summer picnic I met a "potential".
Parents don't go to an orphanage or group home and pick out a kid to take home. The state somehow decides what kids might be appropriate for potential parents. Then they arrange for those parents to spend time with those kids at events. I'd heard that Wanda was a potential and she had somehow heard that we were a potential family for her as well.
We met each other, as I said, at the summer picnic. I think we were six at the time. It was odd. I mean, we were almost literally circling each other, sizing each other up and asking questions. Then, click! We decided we liked each other and spent every second of the rest of the picnic together. We made plans that remind me of the parent trap on how we were going to make sure that Wanda would be my new sister.
It didn't happen. Wanda and her brother were adopted by another couple before my family made our first adoption. I cried into my pillow for days after I found out. I doubt Wanda suffered the same dejection because, of course, she had a new family to think about. Her family and mine ran in the same 'adopt older kids' (A-OK) circles, so we remained friends for a few years until we got older and developed very different interests.
On the other side of it my siblings, of course, had been placed in many foster homes before being placed with us. They had developed attachments and had them severed by the system. It was a painful thing and, even though you know the adoption is final and no one is coming to take them away, it's scary. Somewhere in the dark recesses of your brain is the idea that at one time this person you love wasn't here and maybe at one time they won't be here again.
So, when some mindless adult asks a tactless question, that little fear sends a little jolt through your system, usually resulting in a bit of a stomach ache and some compensatory brash behavior: Laughing a little too loud at something that honestly wasn't that funny, that kind of thing.
It's scary to be a kid and love someone so absolutely but at the same time have this lingering fear, no matter how tiny, that you'll lose that person. Kids shouldn't have to deal with that kind of apprehension and fear. They shouldn't go to bed at night and feel the need to ask their new Mommy, "Will you and Daddy be here when I wake up?" It breaks my heart that Emmy feels the need to ask that.
It breaks my heart that still, the first thing out of Jonathan's mouth in the morning is, "Where's Emmy?" or "Emmy's in her room?"
They love each other so much. They love being brother and sister.
So, I guess that's why someone telling them they're not "real" siblings had such an affect on them....and on me.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Culture Shock, Journal Letters & SPAM
Journal Letters
Some people who read this know I have lived many places. I seem to have finally landed in Arkansas. I've lived here seven years, a record bested only by my childhood stay in South Louisiana (14 years).
There are definite perks to being a bouncy ball type person. For one, more often than not, you're flying! You also get to meet new and interesting people and get to know new and interesting things about new and interesting places.
There are down sides to the bouncing bit and that's the rebound. Culture shock sucks. Counter culture shock sucks even more because you don't allow yourself any rope.
When I first got back from Europe I had loads of counter culture shock.
For example, I'm riding in a car with some friends down a street in Lubbock, Texas. I see a street sign that says Utica St. and I start laughing and saying, "Utica Ulica!" I think it hilarious. No one else is laughing. So, I start trying to explain why it's funny.
Never a good sign.
See, I was pronouncing the name Utica in Slovak like this, "Ooo-tea-tsuh". Utica pronounced like that sounds very, very similar to the Slovak word for street, "Ooo-lee-tsuh", which is funny, or was to me anyway.
My friends blinked in that "you're not funny" way and one of them said, "It's pronounced 'You-ti-kuh".
Oh.
So, not that funny after all.
Then we're still driving and the Backstreet Boys song "Quit Playing Games With My Heart" comes on. I groan and say something along the lines of why are they playing that old song? It's been played to death.
Again with the blinking.
Friend: "What are you talking about? This song is brand new."
That's right folks. I changed continents with the just the right timing to get a double dose of backstreet boys. It's not that they're bad. They can sing and they're music really isn't awful but both in Europe and in the States they were played to death and I got a double dose of overexposure. What is that? Double over exposure or is it over over exposure?
Over exposure. Northern exposure. Who cares? Blah! The point is, it was just too much Backstreet Boys.
Then there were the doors.
No, not The Doors (how old do you think I am?).
I guess I should say, door handles.
In Europe there are a lot of lever like door handles. In fact, where I lived in Kosice, Slovakia that was pretty much all they had.
I developed this habit of slapping the handle down and then pushing the door open with my shoulder.
Slap. Slam.
It worked quite well.
Now imagine me returning to the United States, or as I like to call it, The Land of Doorknobs.
When you slap a doorknob, nothing happens. It does not magically retract the spring-loaded latch. It just gets slapped.
So, when you slam your shoulder into the door the only thing that happens is you bruise your shoulder...again...and again...and again.
It took me f-o-r-e-v-e-r to break that habit despite the painful incentive to cut it out. It had somehow been burned into my brain.
Slap. Slam. Slap. Slam
So, yeah. Culture shock is a definite downside and it's not limited to different countries either.
Moving from South Louisiana to West Texas is a pretty huge adjustment as well.
Cajuns are very friendly, touchy feely, huggy people. We went for a visit recently and, I'm not kidding, our waitress gave me a hug at the end of our meal. My hubby was confused.
Hubby: Do you know her?
Me: Well, sort of. She's Jessie, our waitress.
Hubby: But you don't know her from somewhere else?
Me: No, why?
Hubby: She hugged you.
Me: So?
Hubby: (rolling eyes) Cajuns.
Texans aren't huggy people. I guess with all those wide open spaces, they adopted very wide open personal spaces as well. You hug them and they get all stiff. It was a HUGE adjustment for me. Then there was the water.
If you poured water from the tap the first thing it did was get all cloudy and fizzy. I'm serious. There was some distinct fizzing going on. Then, once everything settled down, this filmy stuff formed on the top not unlike the stuff that forms on the top of warm milk when it's been left out to cool.
Ew.
You did not drink from the tap. Everyone kept these huge five gallon bottles of water in their houses or those water coolers you usually only see in offices. There were little kiosks everywhere that sold water. You'd put in your money, pick the number of gallons and then hold your bottles underneath while it spewed drinking water.
For someone raised in a place where you could practically drink the air, moving to a desert involved serious adjustments. Dust storms. Ugh. Don't get me started on dust storms. I'd come home, open the door to my apartment and there would be a line of dusty dirt that the wind had managed to blow through even the miniscule spaces left by the weather proofing.
The horizon was also just way too big. I was used to the sky being hugged by giant trees strung with Spanish moss like freaking Christmas tensile and I got huge, gigantic, down-right intimidating horizons and these poor tiny wind stunted trees that look like overgrown bushes.
Everything hugs you in SoLa (South Louisiana). The air is heavy with humidity that seems to hold you there in an ever-present hug, for crying out loud.
Texas was space, space and more space. You know why the cowboy is always riding toward the sunset in Westerns? Because it's the only freaking thing there he CAN ride toward! There is nothing else!
Like Red Skelton said. "In Texas they got miles and miles of nothing but miles and miles."
Now, don't get me wrong, once I got used to Texas I loved it. The prairie dogs were cute. The stars, oh my freaking goodness me, the STARS! You've never seen stars until you've seen them from the middle of a West Texas field.
Okay, rattlesnakes? You can keep 'em. Not a fan.
And Texans are friendly in their own special way. The friendliness is different and harder to understand when you're an outsider but it's there.
Cajuns are a touchy friendly. Texans are a wordy friendly.
The affection and friendliness is there in the y'alls and yes'ems. These almost coded messages of not just love but respect for each other. The gesture of the tipped hat (even when they're not actually wearing a hat) and "Y'all come back now, y'hear?" is the Texas version of a hug. Once you figure it out, it's just amazing.
Why am I writing about this? Because I was thinking about it. I was writing in my journal letter to a friend from Slovakia and thinking about friendships and the past and culture shock.
BTW, a journal letter is when you take a small notebook or journal and write a little bit in it everyday. You send one of these little journals once a month to a friend who is very far away and for whom mailing a daily letter or even weekly letter is cumbersome.
This is something I came up with back in the days when email wasn't quite as commonplace as it is nowadays. I, actually, only exchange journal letters with one person at this point. It can't be beat for long distance relationships and, if you have a long distance friend, I highly recommend journal letters. They take a certain amount of discipline but are totally worth it, in my humble opinion.
There is no real conclusion to this blog. Its just a blog of random reminiscing and so I will end it with random trivia.
Spam was invented by Hormel because he was tired of throwing shoulder pork away after packaging his hams. Because it had to be pulled in small pieces from the bone, no one wanted to buy it and he just thought it was wasteful.
So, he had the meat cooked pulled, ground like beef and then canned.
When it came to naming this new product though, Hormel was stumped. So, he didn't name it.
It was actually named by a friend at a party he threw to introduce it. He had a chef prepare several dishes from the ground shoulder pork product and asked his friends to come over, sample it and help him name it.
One of his friends finally said, "It's a shoulder pork ham, right? What about SPAM?"
And that is how SPAM got it's name.
Hey, I said it was random trivia.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Eat THIS, Morgan Spurlock!!!
Eating Good at the Drive Thru.
What? Good fast food? Isn’t that an oxymoron? I mean, we all know that fast food can taste good, but can it actually be good for you?
Um, in a word, yes.
Here are four different fast food restaurants other than Subway (because, let's face it, you don't need help eating healthy there) and at least one complete, yummy, but balanced meal from each.
So, the next time you’re running late, or maybe just feel tired and don’t want to cook. Pick up one of these diet friendly and nutritious (yes, I said nutritious) meals at the drive thru.
1. Burger King
Burger King has some real gut busters on their menu. I mean, those stackers will sure stack on the pounds, but our favorite monarch still has a nice gut friendly meal to offer.
1 Whopper Jr. (hold the mayo)
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (305 Calories, 12g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is not only low in calories and fat but provides 16g of protein, 29% DV of Vitamin A, 16% Vitamin C, 10% Calcium and 20% Iron.
It’s a good idea to specifically ask for ketchup and mustard when you have them hold the mayo. Otherwise you can end up with a completely dry burger.
Maybe the best thing about this meal is that if you get the water from a fountain or faucet the entire meal will only cost you $2 plus tax!
2. McDonald’s
I know what you’re thinking, “Didn’t they make an entire documentary about how eating at Mickey D’s could kill you?” Yeah, but Mr. Spurlock was intentionally eating only the mainstream meals. If you eat pretty much any meal with a number assigned to it, you’re not doing yourself any favors; even most of their signature salads are loaded with fat and calories. However, a regular hamburger and a side salad with one of the many low fat Newman’s Own dressings can be surprisingly good for you.
1 Hamburger
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (330 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is low in calories and fat like the BK version. While it offers a bit less protein (only 14 grams as apposed to 16) it provides more in the way of vitamins:
Vitamin A 45% (!), Vitamin C 27%, Calcium 12%, Iron 19%.
The difference in vitamin value is most likely because the Burger King salad is almost entirely ice berg lettuce with only a skimpy two baby carrots and usually a single halved tomato slice. The McDonald’s version actually resembles something that might be related to a true salad.
3. Wendy’s
Wendy’s actually offers several different mix and match options that can result in a well balanced meal. So, I’m going to list four meals for them.
First is the Chicken Caesar meal. You are generally given two packets of dressing and croutons but we are going to only use one dressing packet and skip the croutons.
First Meal:
1 Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad
1 package of dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Points. (300 Calories, 17g Fat, 3g of Dietary Fiber)
Get this, the above meal gives you 29 grams of protein (!) and the vitamin breakdown is incredible:
190% Vitamin A, 90% Vitamin C, 20% Calcium and 10% Iron.
Second Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
5 Weight Watcher’s Points! (225 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
This meal also provides a generous portion of protein (15g) as well as an impressive amount of vitamins.
94% Vitamin A, 31% Vitamin C, 12% Calcium, 21% Iron.
Third Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Caesar Salad with ½ a package of Caesar dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Point. (320 Calories, 16.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
The creamy Caesar dressing adds 2 points to the total value but adds 6g of protein and raises the vitamin values as well.
104% Vitamin A (up 10%), 41% Vitamin C (up 10%), 20% Calcium (up 8%)
21% Iron (no change).
The Fourth and final meal will be a burger, because most of the time when you’re wanting fast food what you’re really wanting is a burger.
1 Jr. Hamburger
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher’s Points (385 Calories, 15g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
Wendy’s appears to be the worst place to get a hamburger. However, though Wendy’s (like Burger King) serves it’s hamburgers with mayo, they don’t offer nutritional information for the burger without mayo. If you take the basic nutritional info that a serving size of mayo is 1 tbsp and that tbsp contains 110 calories and 12 grams of fat (yeah, that is how much a tbsp of mayo will cost you) and then you suppose that Wendy’s puts about half a tbsp on a burger (being conservative here). Then ordering the burger without mayo would reduce the total calories by 55 and the total fat by 6 grams. (330 Calories, 9g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber) =7 WW Pts.
I am inclined to accept this estimation as it matches up to the nutritional value of other fast food burgers that do not have mayo on them.
Vitamin Time!
Protein 16g, 90% Vitamin A, 25% Vitamin C, 8% Calcium, 26% Iron.
4. Taco Bell
Taco Bell isn’t doing us any favors by encouraging late night feasting with their fourth meal campaign but they are doing us the favor of offering the fresco menu. Now, you can get a slimmer version of old favorites without having to give them a customized do’s and don’t’s list. Because of this, and their extremely varied menu, I’m presenting four different Taco Bell meals ranging from 5 to 8 weight watcher’s points.
Remember all of these meals are the fresco versions!
First Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
Water to drink
5 Weight Watchers points! (248 Calories, 8g Fat, 9g Dietary Fiber)
Compared to some of the other meals mentioned the protein and vitamins offered seem a bit skimpy but it has the second highest Iron value thus far. This is also the only vegetarian fast food meal that doesn't require me to eat several side salads. So, you can guess where I go for fast food, =).
13g Protein, 6% Vitamin A, 10% Vitamin C, 15% Calcium, 25% Iron.
A single 7 layer burrito is plenty for me but I know that some others want a bit more. And by more, I mean meat. =)
Second Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
1 Spicy Chicken Soft Taco
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher points. (383 Calories, 14g Fat, 11g Dietary Fiber)
Ouch! An extra 3 points for a chicken taco? However, did you see that dietary fiber go off the charts! Unfortunately, the burrito maxes out the dietary fiber values and it doesn’t do much good in the points arena, but Taco Bell looks like a good place to be a regular.
Vitamins and protein go up!
Protein 23g (!), Vitamin A 15%, Vitamin C 20%, Calcium 25%, Iron 35% (!).
Third Meal:
1 Grilled Stuffed Burrito (Chicken)
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers Points. (318 Calories, 13g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
I know that there are some carnivores out there scoffing at the vegetarian 7 layer burrito. Well, this one’s for you! The fresco version of this very large burrito is filling and fit.
Vitamins!
Protein 30g (!), Vitamin A 10%, Vitamin C 10%, Calcium 20%, Iron 35% (!)
Fourth Meal:
2 Spicy Chicken Soft Tacos
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers points. (360 Calories, 12g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
The highest Iron value we’d seen prior to visiting the Bell was 21% and this fourth and final meal is the only one to not exceed that benchmark. Taco Bell definitely seems to be one of the best drive thrus for Iron and Protein.
This meal has 20% Iron, 20% Calcium, 15% Vitamin C, 20% Vitamin A and 21g of Protein.
Conclusion:
It looks like if you’re feeling a bit scurvy-ish (I know that’s not a word) then you’re better off getting a salad at one of the burger joints. But if you’re low on fiber, iron or protein and need to pick up some fast food, Taco Bell is your one stop shopping super center.
So, you see? You can grab some fast food on the way home without going off your diet or breaking the calorie piggy bank! More importantly, you can go to a fast food restaurant and get a well balanced and nutritious meal for yourself just by making a few informed choices.
Take that, Morgan Spurlock!
What? Good fast food? Isn’t that an oxymoron? I mean, we all know that fast food can taste good, but can it actually be good for you?
Um, in a word, yes.
Here are four different fast food restaurants other than Subway (because, let's face it, you don't need help eating healthy there) and at least one complete, yummy, but balanced meal from each.
So, the next time you’re running late, or maybe just feel tired and don’t want to cook. Pick up one of these diet friendly and nutritious (yes, I said nutritious) meals at the drive thru.
1. Burger King
Burger King has some real gut busters on their menu. I mean, those stackers will sure stack on the pounds, but our favorite monarch still has a nice gut friendly meal to offer.
1 Whopper Jr. (hold the mayo)
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (305 Calories, 12g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is not only low in calories and fat but provides 16g of protein, 29% DV of Vitamin A, 16% Vitamin C, 10% Calcium and 20% Iron.
It’s a good idea to specifically ask for ketchup and mustard when you have them hold the mayo. Otherwise you can end up with a completely dry burger.
Maybe the best thing about this meal is that if you get the water from a fountain or faucet the entire meal will only cost you $2 plus tax!
2. McDonald’s
I know what you’re thinking, “Didn’t they make an entire documentary about how eating at Mickey D’s could kill you?” Yeah, but Mr. Spurlock was intentionally eating only the mainstream meals. If you eat pretty much any meal with a number assigned to it, you’re not doing yourself any favors; even most of their signature salads are loaded with fat and calories. However, a regular hamburger and a side salad with one of the many low fat Newman’s Own dressings can be surprisingly good for you.
1 Hamburger
1 Side Salad w/light Italian dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher points. (330 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
This meal is low in calories and fat like the BK version. While it offers a bit less protein (only 14 grams as apposed to 16) it provides more in the way of vitamins:
Vitamin A 45% (!), Vitamin C 27%, Calcium 12%, Iron 19%.
The difference in vitamin value is most likely because the Burger King salad is almost entirely ice berg lettuce with only a skimpy two baby carrots and usually a single halved tomato slice. The McDonald’s version actually resembles something that might be related to a true salad.
3. Wendy’s
Wendy’s actually offers several different mix and match options that can result in a well balanced meal. So, I’m going to list four meals for them.
First is the Chicken Caesar meal. You are generally given two packets of dressing and croutons but we are going to only use one dressing packet and skip the croutons.
First Meal:
1 Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad
1 package of dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Points. (300 Calories, 17g Fat, 3g of Dietary Fiber)
Get this, the above meal gives you 29 grams of protein (!) and the vitamin breakdown is incredible:
190% Vitamin A, 90% Vitamin C, 20% Calcium and 10% Iron.
Second Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
5 Weight Watcher’s Points! (225 Calories, 11.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
This meal also provides a generous portion of protein (15g) as well as an impressive amount of vitamins.
94% Vitamin A, 31% Vitamin C, 12% Calcium, 21% Iron.
Third Meal:
1 Small Chili
1 Side Caesar Salad with ½ a package of Caesar dressing
Water to drink
7 Weight Watcher’s Point. (320 Calories, 16.5g Fat, 7g Dietary Fiber)
The creamy Caesar dressing adds 2 points to the total value but adds 6g of protein and raises the vitamin values as well.
104% Vitamin A (up 10%), 41% Vitamin C (up 10%), 20% Calcium (up 8%)
21% Iron (no change).
The Fourth and final meal will be a burger, because most of the time when you’re wanting fast food what you’re really wanting is a burger.
1 Jr. Hamburger
1 Side Salad with ½ a package of Italian dressing
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher’s Points (385 Calories, 15g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber)
Wendy’s appears to be the worst place to get a hamburger. However, though Wendy’s (like Burger King) serves it’s hamburgers with mayo, they don’t offer nutritional information for the burger without mayo. If you take the basic nutritional info that a serving size of mayo is 1 tbsp and that tbsp contains 110 calories and 12 grams of fat (yeah, that is how much a tbsp of mayo will cost you) and then you suppose that Wendy’s puts about half a tbsp on a burger (being conservative here). Then ordering the burger without mayo would reduce the total calories by 55 and the total fat by 6 grams. (330 Calories, 9g Fat, 3g Dietary Fiber) =7 WW Pts.
I am inclined to accept this estimation as it matches up to the nutritional value of other fast food burgers that do not have mayo on them.
Vitamin Time!
Protein 16g, 90% Vitamin A, 25% Vitamin C, 8% Calcium, 26% Iron.
4. Taco Bell
Taco Bell isn’t doing us any favors by encouraging late night feasting with their fourth meal campaign but they are doing us the favor of offering the fresco menu. Now, you can get a slimmer version of old favorites without having to give them a customized do’s and don’t’s list. Because of this, and their extremely varied menu, I’m presenting four different Taco Bell meals ranging from 5 to 8 weight watcher’s points.
Remember all of these meals are the fresco versions!
First Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
Water to drink
5 Weight Watchers points! (248 Calories, 8g Fat, 9g Dietary Fiber)
Compared to some of the other meals mentioned the protein and vitamins offered seem a bit skimpy but it has the second highest Iron value thus far. This is also the only vegetarian fast food meal that doesn't require me to eat several side salads. So, you can guess where I go for fast food, =).
13g Protein, 6% Vitamin A, 10% Vitamin C, 15% Calcium, 25% Iron.
A single 7 layer burrito is plenty for me but I know that some others want a bit more. And by more, I mean meat. =)
Second Meal:
1 7 Layer Burrito
1 Spicy Chicken Soft Taco
Water to drink
8 Weight Watcher points. (383 Calories, 14g Fat, 11g Dietary Fiber)
Ouch! An extra 3 points for a chicken taco? However, did you see that dietary fiber go off the charts! Unfortunately, the burrito maxes out the dietary fiber values and it doesn’t do much good in the points arena, but Taco Bell looks like a good place to be a regular.
Vitamins and protein go up!
Protein 23g (!), Vitamin A 15%, Vitamin C 20%, Calcium 25%, Iron 35% (!).
Third Meal:
1 Grilled Stuffed Burrito (Chicken)
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers Points. (318 Calories, 13g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
I know that there are some carnivores out there scoffing at the vegetarian 7 layer burrito. Well, this one’s for you! The fresco version of this very large burrito is filling and fit.
Vitamins!
Protein 30g (!), Vitamin A 10%, Vitamin C 10%, Calcium 20%, Iron 35% (!)
Fourth Meal:
2 Spicy Chicken Soft Tacos
Water to drink
7 Weight Watchers points. (360 Calories, 12g Fat, 8g Dietary Fiber)
The highest Iron value we’d seen prior to visiting the Bell was 21% and this fourth and final meal is the only one to not exceed that benchmark. Taco Bell definitely seems to be one of the best drive thrus for Iron and Protein.
This meal has 20% Iron, 20% Calcium, 15% Vitamin C, 20% Vitamin A and 21g of Protein.
Conclusion:
It looks like if you’re feeling a bit scurvy-ish (I know that’s not a word) then you’re better off getting a salad at one of the burger joints. But if you’re low on fiber, iron or protein and need to pick up some fast food, Taco Bell is your one stop shopping super center.
So, you see? You can grab some fast food on the way home without going off your diet or breaking the calorie piggy bank! More importantly, you can go to a fast food restaurant and get a well balanced and nutritious meal for yourself just by making a few informed choices.
Take that, Morgan Spurlock!
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