Thursday, February 7, 2013

Forgotten and Found


Forgotten

No evidence exists to understand why they forgot. It is unknown if he or she briefly remembered and intentionally forgot. Or, if sadness, apathy, anger, or hatred ran so deep that the mind simply refused to remember.

So when it was reported to her via email around 8 p.m. on a Thursday evening, “Mom called today to say Happy Anniversary,” she continued with her work at a nearby library. Champagne corks remained unpopped, celebratory kisses remained trapped behind depressed lips. There was no mention that this was the anniversary of when they promised themselves to each other ten years ago. They slept side by side like two half-moons whose arcs nearly collide but remain separated by the vacuousness of loneliness.

There was nothing left to do but to divide belongings, decide the least detrimental way to let the house slide from their grip and determine the fate of their children. They were falling down a snow-covered hill, no longer fresh and beautiful, but now filled pebbles, dirt, and dead weeds that cut into their unprotected skins as they tumbled. The free-fall could not be stopped. When they hit the bottom, nothing would remain.

Found

But, they did not die. Only material goods were lost. So like nomads, they left in middle of the night with the children and very few belongings. They headed West like so many restless wanderers before them in hopes of something better.  He told her she was beautiful. She cooked his favorite meals. There were flowers, walks, and holding hands until they fell asleep. They lived in house with no furniture but slowly piece by piece, the house became full again.  
 
Happy 15th Anniversary to my loving, steadfast husband.

Friday, December 7, 2012

Open Letter to Santa: You Failed Me!


Dear Santa:

I am writing today to say, “You screwed me over.”  You screwed me over big time. Look to the left, Santa. What do you see?   A smiling boy and you.

I see a missed opportunity.  I see Santa Clause slacking off and depriving me of a treasured moment as a parent – the screaming child picture.  What is wrong with you? Do you not know how to give a little pinch? Can you not whisper, “My reindeer love to eat two-year-olds.”?

There is nothing more horrific but yet oddly amusing about young children screaming like they are watching the stuffing being pulled out of their favorite teddy bears.  Tears make great photographs. Childhood smiles are a First World indulgence.
So Santa, you owe me.  I would like to you to scour the Earth and steal every Elf on the Shelf cleverly hanging from chandeliers and sticking out of silverware drawers. All stockings should be filled with broccoli and carrots.  Toys should be replaced with unwanted clothes, and wanted clothes should be replaced with canned goods.

All I want for Christmas this year are a few million crying children. If you follow my conditions, I will forgive you for not giving me this:


 Sincerely,

Garbageman’s Daughter

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

When Politics are Too Personal to Keep Private: Why I Am No Longer a Closeted Democrat

Author's Note: This originally appeared as a guest blog post on Growing Up Fort Collins (http://growingupfortcollins.com) on November 6, 2012.

Politics are personal, too private to share. You should never tell anyone who you supported with your vote. This is the lesson I learned in a tenth grade political science class. Good advice and a recommendation that I intended to follow my entire life. I planned to never share my political leanings with extended family, friends, or co-workers for three reasons. First, I did not want to give my kids something to rebel against. As a daughter of a lifelong Democrat as soon as I got the right to vote, I registered Republican. Second, my parents and in-laws already have a long list of my wrong doings. Political affiliation did not need to be added to the list. Third, it’s fun to make them guess.
There’s plenty in my profile that would make me difficult to politically brand. I grew up in rural Central Pennsylvania with a dad, grandfather, and brother who hunted regularly. So, I must be an antigun control Republican. I am the daughter, granddaughter, and sister of garbage men, so I must be a blue-collar supporting Democrat. I married a Texan, so certainly I am a diehard Republican. I am a public librarian, which means I am a Socialist, right? I was raised Catholic, which would make me a pro-life Republican. I have been a Feminist since I learned the definition of the word, which probably makes me a pro-choice Democrat (and maybe even a secret lesbian). I am a mother of four who clearly isn’t a big proponent of birth control, so probably a Republican? Also, I have disabled child who was born healthy and was stricken with a rare neurological disease that resulted in him having half of his brain disconnected from his body, leaving him with mild paralysis on the left side of his body. Does this mean I am a pro-welfare state Democrat who wants the government to take care of my handicapped kid for the rest of his life?

Because there are many ways to judge and pigeonhole who I am; I concluded it was best to keep mum during the political season. My plan was I would remain unbiased and unaffiliated in the public arena (also known as Facebook). So when the opportunity arrived to see President Obama at Colorado State University, I decided to approach the experience as a non-partisan trip for my kids to have the chance to hear the first African-American President speak; a way to be a part of the political process. We were there to make memories, learn about politics and be part of history.
After a hot bus ride from the transit center to the university, long lines to get through airport style security, my children’s endless pointing at and gushing over how the United States Secret Service looked they came straight out of a movie (personally reminded me of Agent Cobra Bubbles from Lilo and Stitch), and long-winded speeches by every Democratic politician in Colorado, President Obama took the stage.

 
As I listened to President Obama recount a charming story about his last trip to Fort Collins in 2008 and his desire to take a nap in the brisk Fall weather back then, my seven-year-old son said, “Mom, I am hot. I am hungry. Let’s go now.”

“Just a few minutes, I promise. We can go eat anywhere you want when we are done. Do want pizza, ice cream, chili cheese fries, hummus with naan? How about a new Mario Brother’s game for your Gameboy if you are quiet for just a few more minutes?” My efforts at bribery were failing fast. I wanted to blame his restlessness on his brain injury, but he was just being a typical bored second-grade boy.

Suddenly, my floundering negotiations were halted by my thirteen-year-old son grabbing his little brother’s arm. “Stop it. Do you know who that is? That is the man who is responsible for you having insurance. You will not disrespect him. Go sit down and be quiet.”

“Leave me alone” he yelled and then ran off to the nearest tree to pout.

That was it. That was the moment when I realized I did not have the option to be unbiased, bi-partisan when it came to politics and my kids. Tragedy has shaped our political choices. We know who we are politically and now we bear a political responsibility to openly support the courageous president who accomplished what other political leaders before him could not, passing a national healthcare plan.

No more private politics for us. Sometimes politics become so personal they must become public. My family and families like us are the faces of Obamacare. We are committed to the belief that access to affordable healthcare should be an inalienable right for all Americans. Holding this belief means developing a tough skin and accepting the fact that we have friends and family who do not agree with us and will never agree us. I wanted my kids to know that some people believe that paying for other people to have healthcare will hurt their own families’ finances and access to their current physicians and pharmaceutical plans. So, I try to tell my kids that both views come from a position of love for their families.

My thirteen-year-old never buys that the Republican stand on healthcare comes from a position of concern; especially since he was told by other eight-graders that if his little brother couldn’t take care of himself when he grew-up than he deserved to die. Tough not to internalize. Every ugly statement against Obamacare feels like a personal attack on my son. Every vote against Obama feels like a vote against my son, especially hard-hitting knowing that family members voted for the other guy. But politics are not about the “I”, it is about the “we.” So, our family has made a commitment of money and time to the Obama campaign. Closeted Democrats, we are no more.

Being open about our support of Obama and his plans to move the country forward has made us beleaguered, worn and nervous with so many battleground states up for grabs on this Election Day. But no matter what way it shakes out, my children know that we do not need the government to take care of their brother. We will take care of our own and continue to advocate for those who need a hand-up. This cause is our cause. We are the face of Obamacare and that is a family secret that we will not keep private.