So here’s how we’re going to do it.
When he reads the dog tag, we’ll tell him to close his eyes, and then we’ll bring the puppy to him. Hopefully, joy will abound. And no one will pee on the floor in excitement.
Revealing the Reveal
Category: Uncategorized
What I Told my Son
Thor is a very smart boy, who lives with parents who listen to talk radio, watch the news, and are fairly plugged in. It would be hard for him to miss out on a story like the one coming out of Newtown, CT today. It was also going to be hard for him to miss that I’d been crying before I picked him up from school. So, when he got in the car today, after he’d told me all his news, I told him what had happened.
Me: So, something very sad happened today, Bud.
Thor: Oh…then I don’t want to know.
Me: Normally, I wouldn’t tell you, but this is very sad, and important, and you’re going to hear it on the news and maybe from other children at school, so I’d rather tell you about it first, okay?
Thor: Okay.
He sat frowning with consternation as I explained, “A very sick man went into a school in the state of Connecticut today, and he shot a lot of people. He killed several people, including some children. It is important that you know it happened, but I want you to know that your school sent me an email earlier (and they had) telling me what security they have in place so that something like that doesn’t happen in your school. I believe you are very safe, and I know [your teacher] will always take very good care of you. Okay? I believe you are completely safe.”
He said okay.
Me: It’s okay to be upset about this. It’s also okay if you aren’t upset. It made me cry. Daddy didn’t cry. It’s okay if you want to cry, and okay if you don’t.
Thor: Was Daddy sad?
Me: Yes. It made Daddy sad. It is a very sad thing.
Thor: Okay.
Me: Do you want to talk about anything else about it?
Thor: No!
He was emphatic. I told him we would talk about something happy, and reminded him that if he decided he did want to ask questions, he could. He said great and we talked about football.
All the while, I was thinking of 20 sets of parents who would give anything to be talking about football. 20 sets of parents who have to go home to houses that are far too quiet, look at presents under the tree that won’t be opened, who are waiting for an investigation to be completed so that they can get their children’s bodies out of that school. I said to my mom that they would have to sedate me, and probably with a tranquilizer in a scene that resembled something from Wild Kingdom–I couldn’t stand thinking my child’s little body was being left as part of a crime scene. I would lose my mind. I would absolutely lose my mind.
I am so sorry for those families. So very, very sorry.
Newton, CT School Shooting
News reports are coming out about the shooting at Sandy Hook Elementary school in Newton, Connecticut. As I type, there are 27 believed dead, and 10 of those are believed to be children. I know it is half a country away, but what I want to do right now is go get my child and duct tape him to my back. Then, anyone would literally have to come through me to get to him.
My heart goes out to the families of all involved in this tragedy. My heart goes out to the students, the teachers, and the staff. To the law enforcement agents who will have to deal with the scene and aftermath. To the personnel who will be working with those little bodies. To the community at large.
Columbine was horrific. This is an elementary school, so the tragedy seems heightened.
No matter how appealing it sounds to me right now, I won’t cut holes in a duffle bag and wear Thor like a backpack for the rest of his childhood because you can neither understand, nor prepare for crazy. All you can do is squeeze the best out of every day, tell your kids EVERY DAY how much you love them, how proud of them you are, and how privileged you are to know them, and back it up with your actions. Then, no matter what happens to whom, their little hearts are sure and solid.
There is a peace that passes understanding, and I pray that for everyone involved.
That Nasty Honeybadger
In what should have been my senior year in college, I was standing in line to get a replacement Student ID. I’d had a miserable couple of months and not a good day. My parents had recently split up, I’d had a huge personal trauma, the uni had just cancelled the two classes I needed to graduate (lack of interest?!), and I had just left the Student Aid office, where I had been told that my financial aid was being cut off because I had to add another year to my plan in order to graduate and I would have accumulated too many semester hours without graduating for aid to continue. It was a frustrating, bad day, and by the time I got up to the point in line to have my picture taken, I had turned into a Honeybadger.
I don’t remember what set me off, but something the beleaguered student worker did was just exactly the wrong thing to do to me right then, and I popped off at her pretty rudely. My anger carried me out to my car, and off to work, but by the time I was in my office, I was feeling terrible about it. It was Service Industry Worker guilt.
So, I called the Registrar’s office at the uni, got the number to the room where they did IDs, called them and narrowed down the employees to the worker I felt I had insulted. When she was on the phone, I apologized profusely. I was absolutely ashamed of myself, and I would have loved to have a redo. Fortunately, she was gracious and accepted my apology. She probably forgot about it a day later. I’m 21 years down the road (the age I was when it happened, actually), and I still cringe when I think of it.
I started working in the service industry when I was 16 and had a job at Six Flags Over Texas, first in a burger stand, then in catering. You learn pretty quickly how nasty a creature the Human Being can be. Honeybadger’s got nothing on an angry mother of four, who is wrangling her kids and their friends in 103 degree heat. You want to lose some hide? Accidentally give her the wrong amount of change back.
Through high school, I worked either as a waitress or in retail sales. I went into banking in college, and did a stint in telemarketing for the university alumni association as a second job. I naively believed that if I were calling university alumni, I would be better received than that time (in high school) when I did telemarketing for a political campaign. Ha!
By the time I was halfway through college, I was a Dealing with the Public veteran. But you know what? You never get used to being used as a punching bag.
I still work in a retail service industry. I still get yelled at for things that are beyond my control. I still have people threaten to have me fired because I can’t satisfy their desires. I get called names, have the legitimacy of my paternity, and my virtue questioned–the best, most recent one of those was a man, who loudly proclaimed, “Just look at the color of her hair! A blonde like that? You know she gets around. SHE GETS AROUND!” And, I still get phone calls from people later saying, “I am so sorry. It wasn’t you. I had a bad day, and–I am just so sorry.”*
The apologies are appreciated, but it would be so much nicer if people would think before attacking. I’m a lot likelier to confront someone being ugly to a worker, than to confront a worker. That’s what turns me into a Honeybadger in Line these days.
*The man who thought I got around never called to apologize.
12.12.12
It has to be an auspicious date, given that it is the last repetitive calendar date we’ll see for a while. Likely, it is the last repetitive calendar date I will see.. How will the world have changed when 12/12/2112 rolls around? What will maps look like? How will people get around? What forms of communication will people use?
Auspicious is what you make of it. I’m not superstitious. I believe luck is made through lifestyle, so I don’t expect good or ill to befall me because of cats, ladders, or salt–although, there was that one time when a black cat not only crossed my path as I pulled into a parking space, but then walked around the side of my car and GOT INTO IT WITH ME. It was my first day on a new job, and I probably should have taken that for the omen it turned out to be.
I do believe in backwoods magic, though. If only because I’m sure it can all be explained by science, just no one can get the Fire or Wart Talker to talk to them, so no one can study how their voodoo works. At the most general, we can explain it through the placebo effect. You can be a skeptic (like me) and still acknowledge that things happen. You don’t need to know the why to know the has.
Those are my deep thoughts for the day.
If I live to see 2/2/2102, I’ll update you on Fire Talkers.
The Outside Lane 