Face the Musicals

My dad was a big theater dude. He moved out to California from Virginia to become an actor in 1950. He had a beautiful singing voice and was in numerous plays and musicals for much of his life. It never turned into a career as far as being able to live off it, but it remained his passion until the day he left.  When I was growing up, my dad had the Broadway versions of the most popular musicals of the 60's and 70's on constant rotation at his house, all on vinyl. All musicals all the time. I've seen a quite a few, but there are many more that I have never seen, despite knowing the entire soundtrack by heart. It's funny how these memories get so solidified in our subconscious. Dad has been gone for over 9 years, but there will never be a time when these musical soundtracks do not remind me of him, and the lines from these songs pop into my mind ALL the time. 

Since my dad died, I've been pretty successful at dodging the musicals. How can I explain how touching these songs are, and how quickly I'm 8 years old again in my father's living room, dancing around to them? I can't. I actually had the idea for this blog post almost 5 years ago, and I stopped writing it, so that shows you guys the power of avoidance. 

A Chorus Line is one of my favorite shows of all time, I've seen it twice (and the crappy movie), and know every line of every song. At The Ballet kills me, KILLS ME, every time I hear it, and I am realizing there are so many reasons why it does and the lyrics that go along with it.

"Mother always said I'd be very attractive, when I grew up, when I grew up. 'Different" she said, with a special something and a very very personal flair. And though I was 8 or 9, though I was 8 or 9, though I was 8 or 9...I hated her. Now 'different' is nice, but it sure isn't pretty, pretty is what it's about. I never met anyone who was 'different', who couldn't figure that out? So beautiful, I'd never live to see. But it was clear, if not to her, well then to me."

Uggggg. Well, shit...this is a true story. When I really WAS 8 or 9, Charlie's Angels was super popular and we would play it at school all the time. I always got stuck playing Kate Jackson, who was the smart, plain one. I always wanted to be Jaclyn Smith, who was just totally gorgeous. Once I was talking to my dad about this and he said, "Well, when you grow up, you'll be cute, but you'll never be beautiful." I remember just accepting this as a fact. Not making excuses, but my dad was a full blown active alcoholic at that time, and he was never flat out mean, but he would say stupid shit sometimes. Years later after he got sober, I talked to him about this exchange. He was beyond mortified and he cried. He said, "I don't remember saying that, but I believe you. And I'm so sorry, and you ARE beautiful!" He felt so awful, and I totally forgave him and knew very well how he felt about me, but I am glad I talked about it before he died. Is this one of the reasons I remain fairly vain and self-conscious??  Perhaps...

"I don't know that they were for or against, really, except each other. I mean, I was born to save their marriage but when my father came to pick my mother up at the hospital he said 'well, I thought this was going to help, but I guess it's not."

The jury is still out as far as I'm concerned, and half the jury is dead. My mother has told me that I was very much planned, and intended to be a celebration of the fact that my dad had stopped drinking (unsuccessfully, as it turned out). I have also heard tell that I was an "ooops" baby. My sister is almost 9 years older than me and my brother is almost 6 years older. That's a big gap. My parents started their divorce when I was 3.  Was I supposed to fix it? I'll never truly know, and my parents had no business being together anyway, so things turned out the way they should have. At the end of the day, I'm glad I'm here!

"Up a steep and very narrow stairway, to the voice like a metronome. Up a steep and very narrow stairway, it wasn't paradise, it wasn't paradise, it wasn't paradise, but it was home."

I love dance, I always have. I record So You Think You Can Dance every year, and every year it confounds my husband. When I was a little person, I took ballet lessons and I loved it so very much, but I missed a lot of lessons and ended up kind of giving up on it. I regret that. However, although my mom and I didn't get along very well when I was growing up, one of the things we would do together was go to the ballet. One night we had really good seats, I don't remember why. I think it was a last minute upgrade thing. It was the American Ballet Theater's rendition of Giselle. The loudspeaker came on and said there had been a change and the lead would be played by...Mikhail Baryshnikov. HOLY CRAP.  That was an experience I will remember for the rest of my life, EASY. Every time that man jumped in the air, the entire theater gasped. And he made NO sound when he landed. NONE. I think I was around 15 then.

Soooo....that is one song, from one show. My word. The rest of them aren't that deep, I assure you. 

I never saw Pippin. The plot, from what I can remember was pretty confusing and it had to do with Charlemagne? But man, my father wore this album OUT. Ben Vereen was in his prime, and him singing "Magic To Do" still makes me teary. "Corner of the Sky" is still one of my favorites to sing along to.

"Cats fit on the windowsill, children fit in the snow. Why do I feel I don't fit in anywhere I go? Rivers belong where they can ramble, eagles belong where they can fly. I've got to be where my spirit can run free, gotta find my corner of the sky."

MAN. It's so hard to articulate. My siblings will understand. I have all these songs on my playlist and when I shuffle "songs" in my car, I need to be careful that I don't weep my makeup off, depending on where I'm going.

Ohhh,West Side Story! Easily my favorite by a large margin. If it's on, I will drop everything and watch. It was so brilliantly done, and I know the line of EVERY song in that one. They could have, oh I don't know, found an ACTUAL Hispanic woman to play Maria instead of darkening Natalie Wood, but that was a long time ago. The choreography of that show is impeccable. Gang activity with dancing? I'm there for it. And seriously, has anyone since Rita Moreno been able to dance like that? It was like she didn't have a spine, she was a boneless Puerto Rican lady in that movie. 

"I like the isle of Manhattan. Smoke on your pipe and put that in!" 

The romance in that film does me in as well. The performance and the lyrics of Somewhere always touch me and always make me cry when I watch it.

"There's a place for us. A time and a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air, wait for us somewhere. There's a time for us. Someday there'll be a time for us.Time together with time to spare, time to learn, time to care."

It's just so damn wistful and hopeful, and they pretty much know it isn't going to happen. It's one of those songs that also makes me really grateful for my life and the way things have turned out for me and my family. 

I never saw The Fantasticks, and honestly have no clue what it's about. I don't even know how often dad played this album, although I definitely recognize the album cover. It was older, in the 60's before I was around. But what I do remember and love about this show is the memory of my dad singing "Try to Remember" in his house. I downloaded Jerry Orbach's version recently and my dad had a better voice, so I was a little disappointed. 

"Try to remember when life was so tender that no one wept, except the willow. Try to remember when life was so tender that dreams were kept beside your pillow. Try to remember when life was so tender that love was an ember about to billow. Try to remember and if you remember, then follow, follow, follow, follow..."


When I got older, my dad and I would actually head out and see musicals. We saw Cats...good costumes, some good songs? Altogether weird. We also saw Les Mis and Phantom, which were amazing. You can always spot a theater dork by whether or not they abbreviate the names of the shows. I miss going to plays and musicals with my dad, but I am so thankful they were a part of my youth.

Since he died, I haven't seen any. Mike and I were in Disneyland without our kids in early February 2010. We went to see the live Aladdin show just for fun, and it was super entertaining and well done, and yet I was weeping the whole time and I had no idea why. Probably because it had been such a long time since I'd been to something like that, and because it reminded me of him. On the way out of town to head home, we stopped by to see my dad in Altadena. He looked good, but as we left I was crying again...I think I knew it was the last time I would see him, and it was. He passed about 2-3 weeks later. 

I've got to get back into indulging in these things I love. I haven't seen Wicked, or Hamilton. I tell myself that it's because you now have to be independently wealthy to see musicals now, but that's only part of the reason. They remind me of my dad and the fact that I can't see them with him anymore, although I know it would make him happy if I did. I never acted, I didn't ever try. I never truly danced and stuck to it, which is too bad because I really did love it. I can't sing, that is just an objective fact. I still do it, but only when alone and when the music is so loud I can't hear myself. But this old art is in my veins, and it will remain there. I am so thankful to my dad and my mom for exposing me to these things! For my kids, it's all music. This weekend I am taking Stephen to SF to see Victor Wooten, a famous jazz bassist. This will be the 3rd show I have seen with him, and I've probably been to 5 or so with Maddie. I'm glad they'll have those memories, and I hope they hold them close when I'm gone. 

Time to Face The Musicals. 

Happy New Year.

So it's New Year's Eve again. I am in my very festive outfit of jeans, sweatshirt and Converse. I don't really know how to sum up 2018...it's been trippy. Educational. Revealing. Here are some things that I've learned and taken away from the last year...

• I don't have to be nice to anyone who is a dick. If this is at work, I will maintain and behave myself within reason. But if you are mean or cruel to a child, heartless and demanding to people I care about, and mostly think about yourself instead of the children we are ALL working for, don't expect anything extra from me. I don't smile, hug, or wave to people I don't like. If it's in my personal life, it's a little easier to pare them away. Boundaries are necessary and wonderful and BRILLIANT, but guess what? People who have gotten used to you always wanting to please don't much care for boundaries. Guess what else? It doesn't matter.

• The friendships I have managed to maintain over 10, 28, 36 years are priceless. The feelings that I get when I am around these people are hard to describe, but are so incredibly reassuring and comfortable. Sadly, none of these folks are local, but they're also not horribly far away. I resolve to make more of an effort to spend time with ALL of you people. Renee, Lesli, Beth, Lisa, Mona, Cara, and Adam...let's just make it happen. It doesn't always have to be because of a reunion, or a funeral, or a convention. You guys mean the actual world to me and you know what? Life is fucking short. Spend the time and the money required to be with people who feed your soul.

• We went through some tough stuff this year. It's all too personal for a blog post, but you know what I learned? No one is immune to a goddamn thing. Think "that" can't happen to you? You're wrong. Don't ever wrap yourself in that deceptive warm blanket of denial, because reality will end up kicking your ass. You get up, dust yourself off and take care of your business. I learned that I am able to deal with a WHOLE LOT of difficult shit, whilst working, washing dishes, and continuing to live life. Did I always deal with all of it with patience and grace? Ha, NOPE. I am a human being with intense emotions and a bad temper. But I do feel like we all dealt with things effectively and didn't ignore hard things. And HOLY HUMILITY. Humility is a good thing. We all go through awful stuff, and it's stupid to think that you won't. I'm not above anyone, and certainly not above any of the families I work with who are struggling. 

• I care entirely too much about getting and looking old. It's fucking stupid and I need to get over it. Yep, I am a vain person and I own that, but I think it's time to start accepting some of this with grace. I'm not going to stop coloring my hair (TOTALLY white...my hair is white), or stop wearing makeup, or gain a lot of weight (I hope). But I am going to try to not obsess over every little thing that is changing as I age. I'll try to stop looking at my 10x magnifying mirror and being so tough on myself. I will be 49 in April. I'm not that bad. And honestly, NO ONE CARES. Just me. My husband is more interested in me now than he was when I was younger, shouldn't that be enough? Get over yourself, Jane. Move along. And go get your bifocals because you need them. 

• As a mom, letting go is about 127 times harder than I thought it would be. I have an 18 year old senior now, with her own car, with her own job, who will be attending college in August. She's already been accepted to four, and is pretty sure the Bay Area is her destiny. She is an intelligent, funny, capable, and insanely talented kid. And now, I am working so incredibly hard at backing off. I still need to know where she is (roughly), and know what time she'll be home. But what I don't need to do is try to navigate every single difficult situation for her. She can do it. Soon enough we will be dropping her off at school and driving away. I know NOW that this will feel as uncomfortable and abnormal as when we left her as a baby for the first time. I remember saying it was like leaving the house without my arm. I will have to learn to live my life without my arm now. I won't say the cord is totally cut, but I have been diligently sawing away at it. I couldn't be more proud of the person she is becoming, now she gets to do it without me. She's always going to be my baby, but she's NOT me. Me feeling like I had to help her with every single aspect of her life is about me, not her. She will be fine. And now I will have four years to do the same thing to her brother. 🙄

• My faith has been shaky for awhile, and what has been nice about this year is that I'm okay with it being shaky. I'm disillusioned by faith way more often than uplifted by it. At the end of the day, it's not God's problem, it's the people who proclaim their faith the loudest. Some people are just full of shit, and that's their problem. I honestly don't believe that God loves me less for being disgruntled and questioning everything. I am lucky enough to have many people in my life who routinely question and debate issues regarding faith, and that we can all do it with love and acceptance. Questioning is how you grow. I've known this intellectually for years, but I don't think I really felt it until this year. When we were regularly going to church, I felt like I never fit in. I'm weird. I don't fit a mold. I curse a LOT. My marriage isn't "traditional"...ug, it feels weird even writing that! Our marriage WORKS, it's just that I work longer hours, Mike is the cook, and we really are partners. Neither of us is the "head of the household", we both are. So as far as the stuff we were fed about submission and honor, yada yada yada...it doesn't matter. I talk to God all the time, and I know He's still there. I just never managed to check all the boxes. Oh well. 

• I've been dealing with some anxiety the last few years, and I haven't really faced it or talked about it before. I think the first time I really recognized it was when Sandy Hook happened in 2012, because I truly freaked the hell out. After that, some very close friends experienced close calls in life. Since those incidents, I know to take note of things when I start feeling really anxious. I can usually rein it in, it's not debilitating. However, I routinely worry about ridiculous crap. It can be day to day stuff, feeling like I am responsible for the state of everyone else's relationships, or imagining the worst possible thing happening all day long. Mindfulness and learning to ground myself helps. Learning to meditate helps, even though I am a major beginner. I'm also learning that my humor being a defense mechanism has it's place, but sometimes it exhausts even me. I don't have to make a joke out of absolutely everything, although I do see humor when others don't. Basically, while I won't be this way around everyone (nor should I), it's okay to cut the crap and be vulnerable sometimes. I'm always telling everyone else that it's okay!

Basically, anything can happen to any of us. Shootings, lockdowns, cancer, horrible accidents. I'd be lying if I said that the future doesn't scare me, because we are all in for pain and heartache. But going into this new year, I am going to do the very best I can to focus on the good, all the many things that make everything worth it. Music remains my constant companion, and well-written books ("Becoming" is awesome). My family is my life. I adore and lean on so many of my incredible co-workers, whose support and love have been invaluable. There is an amazing amount of good and beauty out there, people. Everyone can see it, but sometimes you have to take the time to look for it. It's worth it.

Happy 2019, folks!

Sub-Par Summer Mom

I'm lucky enough to have summers off with my children, who are now 13 and 17. Social media can be counted upon to make me feel lazy, uninspired, and inadequate. Sooo many of my friends and coworkers went to Hawaii, Mexico, Alaska, Europe...we did not. This has been the case for a long time. Mike's pool business is such that taking time off during the summer is just too hard, it's his busiest time. 

In addition, our kids have their lives rolling...Maddie retook a math class during summer school (and did waaaay better this time, yay!), so for the entire month of June, I drove her to school at 8am and picked her up at 3:30. It was a big sacrifice for her, but I think she will have a much more enjoyable senior year now. I hope! She also has a steady job and is the lead guitarist in a band that is getting steady gigs in Sacramento. Said child has a license, but no car, so I was either driving her places or she had my car. Here she is with Munechild...how adorable is this? These young people are TALENTED with a capital T. 

Stephen participated in Stairway to Stardom this summer for the first time, which just ended yesterday. He had stuff to attend almost every Saturday for 8 weeks, in addition to weekly rehearsals and practises. The in-store practises were at Skips Music in Sacramento, which isn't too far. The out of store practises took place at the guitarist's home, for which I am grateful to their family. What I was fairly cranky and bitter about was the fact that this home was in Orangevale and practice was 3-5 on Fridays. 45 minutes to get there and about an hour to get home. I shopped. A lot. I walked around and shopped aimlessly so much this summer that I am sick of shopping. For anyone who knows me well, this is no easy feat. The music program culminated in a final concert yesterday at noon at the Quarry Amphitheater in Rocklin.  There is no way to predict weather and the fact that California is currently ON FIRE, so it was super hot and smoky. But overall it went great, and HE did great. Did he discover his life's passion? We aren't sure, but he followed through and never missed a single practice or clinic. We are super proud of him.

So although I did not take any exotic vacations, do day trips (because no one's schedule EVER permitted this), did crafts, cooked super healthy, exercised, or had any significant adventures with my family, I did do stuff.

Here's what I did:

• I read books. BOOKS, plural.  This lovely little pile on my nightstand is somewhat completed. I read The Handmaids Tale for the first time this summer, and Holy mother of God. Really chilling, especially in the current climate in our country. I have not had the stomach to watch the miniseries. I know it's brilliant, I know I would appreciate it, but sometimes fiction that is too close to reality just upsets me. I would rather watch insanely ridiculous things, like "reality" that is total fiction, like the stupid Housewives. Sue me. I watch all of them. I also read Lisa See's most recent one...it was okay, not my fav. I just finished The Girl with Seven Names that is a memoir about escaping from North Korea, and it was RIVETING. It was different from other stories about the same thing...this young lady defected somewhat by accident. For anyone who is interested in learning about this kind of thing, I highly recommend it. I'm currently reading Girls Burn Brighter, which has started well! The bottom three on the pile are still to be tackled.

• I planted flowers and then I NURTURED THEM. 
  

This may not seem like a big deal to other people, for whom this stuff comes naturally. I'm somewhat known to have a black thumb. I love plants and flowers, but often have bad luck. This summer, my potted flowers just worked out and I'm so excited! I chose these plants so carefully, loving the brighter colors as opposed to the pastels. My favorite color combo is yellow and purple. Just looking at them makes me feel calm and happy. Turns out you have to do more than just water them. I learned about organic bug spray and dead-heading, and so far everything is still blooming. There are more around the pool, snapdragons, more pansies, vinca, and ones I don't remember the names of. Mike built me the plant stand out of scrap wood that he had left over from another project.

• I watched my cat relax. Yes, that is indeed an activity. This animal has got relaxing down to an art form, and just being in the presence of it is a joy. I don't think she's normal, but she brings our family a great deal of happiness, and I swear to god she lowers my blood pressure. 

• I parented. I parented HARD. I don't have any cute pictures of this, as there wasn't a lot about it that was cute. I remember the old saying of "this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you" and I understand it now. Disclaimer...not physical pain, no one was struck! Here's the truth...normal teenagers screw up. They lie, they omit important information, and they take advantage of certain scenarios to see how far they can go. A lot of that happened this summer, and a lot of it was unearthed. It sucks disciplining a kid! It truly does...when they're grounded, you are too. When you take the car away, you have to drive them everywhere again. And then when you're in a position where you have NO other option than to take away an opportunity that the kid has looked forward to and planned for months, it HURTS! I honestly had no idea, because we have never really had to do this before. Lots and lots of tears in our home this past month, and they did not all come from the punished teenager. Their brains, man. They are so far from being fully cooked, and this is our JOB, to teach them that their decisions and actions have consequences. It's a very hard job. But we did it, and we all lived through it, at least as of today. Shortly after The Big Consequence, there was The Big Heartbreak. I won't go into details here, but it was about 250 different kinds of fucked up. The only thing that hurts a mom more than having to majorly discipline their kid is to see them emotionally destroyed and not being able to fix it. This too shall pass, but DAMN!!!

• I worked extra. I am currently working extra, actually. Why would I do such a thing? Am I insane? Am I a glutton for punishment and can't think of anything better to do? Maybe? But I wanted to do this...partially because I can get a lot done within a very short amount of time and appear superhuman. To my folks that I am currently working with, I appreciate the kudos, but I DO NOT work at this pace all of the time. Trust me on that one. Also, I desperately need my kid to acquire a car. She has to save a set amount, and we will kick in the rest. She is about halfway there, and I'm already looking at used beaters online. Let's all join hands and look forward to the day I will no longer have to drive my children to school, at least for a year. This will be my emancipation. Getting up and just going to work will be like a vacation unto itself. 

• I didn't kill my teenagers. At least as of 7:56pm on July 30th, I have not. I didn't take them on numerous adventures. But I did go to the movies with them, helped the girl color her hair, helped them get their rooms together, did endless laundry, drove them approximately 5,000 miles all over the greater Sacramento area and replied to ten thousand texts. 

The comparisons are what kills us, moms. I see all the adorable, sun-drenched photos and I feel lame and inadequate. I feel like I am missing out on opportunities to "make memories". I feel like I am not trying hard enough. But then I have memories of being at my father's house with my brother and his now wife, watching MTV when it first premiered. I remember being at my mom's house, both of us studying while fresh bread was baking. None of this was exciting, or took place on a beach in Greece. Despite this, the memories are sweet, and I am grateful for them. We might not be the most exciting parents in the world, we're probably in the running for the most boring. We're pretty much always on our couch, desperately looking for something decent to watch on television. But we are ACCESSIBLE. Our kids know where to find us. There was not a single moment this summer during which they needed me and I wasn't available.

Maybe I don't suck as much as I think I do. Maybe most moms are just plugging along, being available to their children and doing the best they can. Wouldn't it be amazing if there was a way we could capture such a thing on Instagram? 

Leave Them Alone.

What is striking me at this moment is that it's disheartening that I've already written about this, I wrote about school shootings in 2012 when Sandy Hook happened and my heart f'ing shattered. But here we are, and it keeps happening. Being redundant makes me cranky because I do it a lot, so I am going to attempt to make the focus of this entry focused in a different direction. Let's see how that goes!

Today I went downtown with my 17 year old daughter to participate in March for our Lives. It was an uplifting, positive, and hopeful experience. We made it all the way to the steps and were feet away from the speakers, many of them students. We were close enough that I could see their notes shaking in their hands, and hear their nervousness in speaking in front of so many people. I listened as some of the crowd was rude, screaming that they couldn't hear them. The PA system left a lot to be desired, but what can you do in the moment? But we heard them. We heard the kids from my daughter's school talk about how scary it was a couple weeks ago when their school was on lockdown for almost two hours due to a rumor of a kid being on campus with a gun. I know how scary that was for me. I know how scary it was for my daughter. However, somehow hearing it from other kids struck me hard. I hate hate HATE thinking about kids being scared. It's the main thing that just puts me over the edge in almost every possible scenario. Footage from war zones, kids who have been abused or experienced other trauma, kids put into adult situations that they don't understand, so the product is just pure confusion and fear...it WRECKS ME.

I know that my colleagues understand the following perspective, but I don't know if a lot of other people do. I've been an educational psychologist for 21 years, a good fat chunk of my life. Schools are my world. When you spend enough time in a certain environment, it seeps into your blood. I've always loved school culture. The routines, the traditions, the disciplinary challenges, the assemblies, the joys, the bad band concerts, ALL of it. I feel like I've gotten to intimately know so many elements of it and the people who dwell within it. Everyone has their own perspective, the admin, custodians, teachers, librarians, office staff, it's all unique. What isn't unique is all of these people's total dedication to keeping kids safe. One issue with having empathy (which honestly I often wish I didn't have) is that it hurts. Sandy Hook killed me. I could NOT get the images out of my mind, I couldn't stop thinking about all the staff that made it, and how I know for a fact that every single person at that school wishes they'd done more. I couldn't stop thinking about the parents waiting for their baby to show up at the meeting spot, and knowing some never did. My own kids were in elementary school at the time. Now, my children are in middle and high school, and this shit keeps happening. And when it does, it spins me right the hell out. I think of it from a parent's perspective, I hated with a passion that my daughter was so scared, stuck under her desk for two hours wondering what the hell was happening and texting me. I hated trying to reassure her when I honestly wasn't sure that it was nothing. I think of it from an employee's perspective, knowing that all the teachers and staff at her high school were just as scared as the kids were, and they were thinking about their own families. And I think about it from another perspective, with the knowledge that if that ever happened at one of my schools, I might not come home. If I saw a little person in imminent danger, I don't think I could keep myself from diving in front of them. And if somehow I was able to keep myself from doing that and kids died that I could have helped, I would never forgive myself. No matter the outcome, I would never be the same.

These kids from Parkland will never be the same. Over the past few weeks I have foolishly allowed myself to see how some are treating these kids. It has honestly blown my mind how many "adults" have attacked, denigrated, and condescended to these kids. I saw one lawmaker of some sort, claiming that the incredibly brave young people on the cover of Time weren't REALLY victims of the shooting because they weren't in the same building that the shooting took place. I've seen people claim that they're actors. I personally encountered people online (big mistake) who claimed that every kid who walked out recently just did it to get out of school, that their parents are losers, that they all need to get the shit smacked out of them.  This makes me CRAZY. I can't speak to the hearts of every single kid at Parkland, or the kids at CO who walked out with my daughter. What they do all have in common though, is that THEY ARE STILL KIDS.  They didn't ask for any of this shit, they just wanted to slog through the hell that is high school for so many and get on with their lives. I honestly don't understand the public and their disdain for this generation. One minute they're ridiculing them for eating Tide Pods (which is indeed beyond ridiculous) and then they're telling them that they can't vote, they can't change laws, so they should shut up and stay in their place. What the hell do they want from them? Let's say, for the sake of argument, that everything that these kids are trying to do will be useless. Let's say nothing will actually change...why the hell would people still want to ridicule and fault them for TRYING???  Isn't this better than getting drunk and eating Tide Pods? Isn't it amazing that they're attempting to affect change and make things better, even if it doesn't work? Why is it that the adults in this country can't afford them a teeny sliver of grace, even if they don't agree? It is heartbreaking to me.

These kids are traumatized, and are still marching, still speaking, still standing up for what they believe in. They aren't getting ready to graduate, to go to prom, to choose a college. That's what a lot of them thought they'd be doing two months ago, but it's not how it turned out for them. Those incredible young people are in PAIN. They're having nightmares, and flashbacks, and aren't eating, sleeping, thinking. PTSD is a real thing, and all the kids in Parkland have experienced trauma in varying degrees. Seeing Emma Gonzalez speak today in Washington killed  me. She is strong, amazing, brave, articulate, courageous, and incredibly intelligent. You know what else she is? She's 18, she's a KID. She lives with her parents, and probably fights with them sometimes, she's gotten into trouble, and cried about someone she's dated. She probably stressed out about her SAT's and her GPA. And now she and her classmates are in the public eye, something they didn't plan on, but something that they are going to follow through with because they believe in it.

People don't have to agree with these kids. They can disagree with every single word that comes out of their mouths, that's fine. Everyone is entitled to their opinion and perspective, and they usually have valid reasons for them. But for the love of God, LEAVE THEM ALONE. If you don't agree, don't attack them, don't send their families death threats. Let them heal. They have been through something so life-changing, most people can't even conceive of it. To me, they are heroes, trailblazers, world changers, and KIDS. The protective mama bear in me comes out every time I see an attack against one of these precious souls. Please, just leave them alone. They could be my kid, and THEY COULD BE YOURS.

42 kids

Today we went to a celebration of life for Charlie Treas, or Poppa Charlie at the VFW hall on Stockton Blvd. How am I connected to this person? My husband's sister's husband grew up in foster care, and Pat and Charlie were his foster parents. This sounds like a remote connection, doesn't it? But it isn't, and it never was.

Misconceptions

When I first came onto the scene with Mike and his family in 1994, he told me they were a little unconventional. I don't remember exactly when the first time was that I went with the family up to Pat and Charlie's house in South Sacramento, I'm guessing it was Thanksgiving or Christmas. What I am sure about is I was pretty self-conscious  and had no idea what to expect. There were what felt like 60+ people crammed into a small house, lots of folding chairs, people sitting in the freezing garage, and a velvet painting of an 18 wheeler semi truck that LIT UP. Not just the lights on the truck itself, but the streetlights in the painting also lit up. Where the fuck was I?? There was food everywhere, and as the years progressed, I knew to look for the standards. Banana pudding with Nilla wafers, deviled eggs in the special Tupperware deviled egg container, and what I believe is officially called Ambrosia but our family refers to as Pink Stuff. In the front yard, there was a boat that they would fill with water for people to sit in on the 4th of July, which we called the redneck swimming pool. Even though this wasn't a scene I was used to, these people could not have been warmer or friendlier. I became more comfortable with it over time and I remember when I felt like I was 100% accepted and liked because Pat started making fun of me. I don't remember what she said, but I do remember thinking, "Man, she's a smart ass. And I like it."  Here's the thing that I know for sure...if I had stumbled upon this scene with no connection, I probably would have determined that these were not my people. It hurts to even admit that, but it's true. I would have walked into that house and instantly thought I had nothing in common with them. What a gift I would have been deprived of! What a jackass I was when I was younger...

The years went on and stuff happened, as it does in a family that big. When my niece became pregnant as a teen, she said that her Poppa Charlie said, "Shit happens, how can we help?" We had our kids, and at some point Pat decided to refer to my son Stephen as "Maynard". No one has an explanation for this, no one knows why or where the hell that came from. I can still hear her voice, loud and shrill, yelling, "Hey, Maynard!!" and my son mostly just looking confused. Pat and Charlie loved our kids, they loved ALL kids. But they had a way of showing love and interest in a very sincere, selfless way, no matter who you were. So to Maddie and Stephen, they seemed like another set of grandparents. It did not at all seem to them that these older folks were their dad's sister's husband's foster parents. They were just Pat and Charlie. One year, my dad visited for Christmas and we took him along to their house. I wondered what he would think of the whole scene with crowded rooms, lots of noise, and a varied assortment of people. Oh my God, my dad was in HOG HEAVEN. There were kids everywhere, and he played with them. There were people there who were passionate about drama, as he was. He ate it up, every second. How many situations can you think of where the warmth is overflowing, but so is the entertainment? Just the pieces of conversation overheard could easily have been turned into a screenplay. 

Foster Care

In my career, I encounter the foster system frequently. Most of them suck. I have had foster parents say the most horrible, heartless things about the children they are being paid to raise. I've dealt with foster agencies who are no shows to meetings, have lied to my face about things they've done to support these children, and who never return phone calls. Pat and Charlie were ANGELS. They raised 42 kids over 25 years. FORTY TWO CHILDREN. Let that sink in for a second. These were not wealthy people,and they didn't do this for the money, as so many do. They didn't send their foster kids to school, dirty and unkempt and then wrap their spiky, manicured nails around the steering wheel of their Escalade and drive away, like some others I've known. They didn't have fancy stuff, they actually poured themselves into parenting, and they did it well. They were tough, they devoted the time and effort that it takes to discipline kids, which is not easy for anyone. Once all those kids aged out, they kept coming back. This is why the holiday scene over there was so nuts, so many of these foster kids would come back, then start families of their own and come back with them, and then with their grandchildren. Seriously, how often does that happen?

The stories that some of the foster kids (now adults) shared today were unbelievable. Pat and Charlie saved these kids. They saved them from neglect and abuse, from crime and addiction. Did every single kid turn out okay? Probably not, but the magnitude of their positive influence can't be measured. They knew the secrets to parenthood, money isn't ultimately that important. Designer clothes and exotic family vacations are nice, but they don't matter very much. What makes the difference is consistency, availability, and attention. Kids know when you give a shit and when you're faking it. Kids aren't able to progress and grow until they know that they can trust and rely on their caregivers. Trust had already been jacked up in the kids who came to their home, but they managed to repair it. So many of those kids had experienced significant trauma, and yet grew up to be awesome parents, and contributing members of society. As a psychologist, that blows my MIND. 

Pat passed away several years ago, and that loss was tremendous. Charlie immediately picked up referring to my son as Maynard. Now with him gone, it feels like the end of an era. I pray the extended family will continue with tradition as much as they are able to, although the hole will always be there. 

Family

I remember my sister in law Michelle teasing me that it would take years to remember who was who and what the family connection was. But the thing is, it didn't matter. Everyone turned into an auntie or a cousin at their house, and it didn't matter if there was an actual family connection or not. There were blood relatives, foster connections, neighbors, in-laws, friends, and the offspring of all these people. Everyone was family, and not in the diluted, shallow way that some people express the same thing. This was true welcoming, this was loving acceptance of every person who entered that kitchen through the garage. I consider myself so incredibly lucky to have been in the presence of this type of love, truly unconditional. They considered me family too, not just one of their foster kid's wife's brother's wife.  Just from fostering Chris, all these people were blessed with their love: Michelle, Heather, Eric, Christian, Mateo, Dominic, Nikki, Sypheria, Killian, Jamie, Olivia, Elias, Brenden, Jane, Mike, Stephen, and Maddie. That is precious, and something I will never forget.

Godspeed, Charlie. I'm so glad we got to see you this last birthday, and I will forever picture you in your chair in the garage with a game on, drinking your Corona. Thank you for accepting that somewhat pampered 25 year old white chick, and showing me that initial impressions can be misleading. Thank you for gifting that light up velvet painting to Michelle, so we can still see it. Thanks for sending your family that unbelievable rainbow and sunset today, we all know you're up there. Please tell Pat that Maynard sends his best, we love you both. 

Damn Immigrants....???

*I had been thinking about this post on and off for a couple of weeks, and when I returned from Safeway today, I thought now would be a good time to write it. Then I turned on the television and unwittingly tuned in to Trump's rally, just in time to hear him read a poem that compared immigrants to snakes and generous Americans to stupid naive victims who should have known that snakes can't change their nature. I had every intention of keeping politics out of this post and I will muster ALL MY STRENGTH to do so still. I will refocus now...but it's not going to be easy. Here goes.*

I think that no matter what direction people lean politically, most could agree that right now is a crappy time to be an immigrant. Legal or illegal isn't the point, nor is the faith they live by.  If you are an immigrant, and you didn't immigrate from say, Ireland, it's a tough time to be in America.  There's so much negative press, public suspicion, and just overall ugliness towards these people. It's heartbreaking. There are bad people in every part of every society, but I truly believe that most of the people who have come here have done so because they don't want to starve, or be killed, or be brutalized.  The perspective that I have is purely derived from my own experience.

I work in one of the most diverse school districts in the country, a fact I'm proud of. I have worked with immigrant families frequently at my elementary schools. The majority of my job is meeting with families to express that there may be an issue with their child and their education. Then I meet with them again to tell them what the issue is. I don't do this on my own, I have amazing teams at both of my schools and we are all in this together, but the burden of telling the parents what the issue is falls on me. This is a difficult thing to do with all parents, but over the last few years, I've thought it would be harder with immigrant families. I assumed they would be distrustful of our rules, our system, and our way of educating our young people. What I discovered was the exact opposite.

The countries some of these families have come from are Mexico, Ecuador, Iran, Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Vietnam, Laos, Ethiopia, and Eritrea. Let me tell you the kinds of experiences I've had with these people.

• We met with a father from a Middle Eastern country who is commuting almost two hours away to provide for his wife and children who speak almost no English at all. He apologized to US for not being more available to help his children at home since he is the only one who speaks English. He said he is working very hard to find a job closer to home so he can see more of his children and help them learn. He promised us all he would try harder and thanked us for taking the time to be invested in his child.
• We met with another family from the Middle East whose child suffered complications during birth that resulted in them having limited cognitive ability. They explained (through an interpreter) that in their country, not only were they not able to get their child the help they needed shortly after they was born, but the education available to this child mainly consisted of sitting in a room. They explained to us that they assumed the child wouldn't be able to learn anything so they didn't try to teach them. When I had to tell this family how low their child was, it killed me. It was hard for them as well and the mother cried. While she was crying, she thanked us for helping. This little one is now picking up English like you wouldn't believe, and IS learning, even though it's at a slower pace.
• We assessed and qualified another youngster whose family was from Central America. We didn't know that the dad was here illegally until we were contacted by an immigration attorney who asked myself and a special education teacher to testify on behalf of the father. We both agreed to do so, planning on saying that the father's absence would have put undue stress on the child, making it even more difficult to learn. The day we were to testify, the attorney called to tell us that we no longer needed to, and that they had won their case and he could stay. This occurred about 6 weeks before the election.
• A teacher I work with had been trying to convince a parent from a country in Africa to allow us to screen her son for a particular disorder. She had been resistant, but after meeting with us she agreed. She couldn't have been lovelier about it either, and afterwards I learned she brought our principal food from her country she had prepared for him.
• Parents from another Middle Eastern country came in to discuss their child, who is suffering from severe hearing loss. They've only recently arrived here, and they shared that they had attempted to take their child to a different country for treatment, but with the economy the way it was in their country, they couldn't afford the treatment that was necessary. Could we possibly help them figure that out now that they're here? 
• A family from Africa came in to discuss their child who we suspected could have Autism. This usually isn't an easy thing for families to consider, and even harder to accept. When we told them the child qualified, they said they were relieved. They said that they were glad there was an answer and that we didn't just punish their kid for their behaviors like they did at the last school. The mother told our principal that she knew the moment they arrived at our school, that he truly cared about their child.
• After telling one father from South East Asia that his child had a pretty pronounced learning disability, he said "I'm just so glad there's help like this for him. Back in my country if you had a hard time learning, they just hit you with a stick!"

Sooooo, yeah.  What a bunch of freeloading, lazy leeches who are just sitting around on our dime, plotting our demise! Not all of my experiences have been this positive, but the vast majority of them have been, and they all have one big thing in common. They thank us.  We tell them that there is something wrong with their babies, and they are grateful. 

Lately when I encounter these families, I want to apologize. I want to tell them to not watch the news, that we don't hate them, that we don't look at the moms wearing hijabs and think negative thoughts. When I see these ladies on my campuses, I look around on guard, but on their BEHALF, not because of them. I don't want anyone to say anything negative, to look at them wrong, to make them feel unwelcome. But they don't need me, they are doing just fine, they are happy to be here and they are thankful for our education system, even though their kiddos are struggling. It is absolutely beyond humbling. I thank GOD that they all came here when they did, because I have no doubt whatsoever that there are thousands of families exactly like theirs who can't come here now.

Don't get near these families. Support them or leave them alone and be quiet. I don't care where they're from, what god they believe in, or what their customs are. I care that I'm a mom, and I'm talking to another mom. At the end of the day, parenting is the same everywhere. We want our children happy and healthy and probably 80% of our lives is spent worrying about them or thinking that we've screwed them up somehow. While I worry about my children and their relationships, decisions, and grades, they have some different concerns.  These moms are just trying to get their babies away from being sold into slavery, or being raped, or gassed, or bombed. We have no idea what this is like. NONE.

To our current leader...I say this. They are not snakes. They are NOT snakes. THEY ARE NOT SNAKES!! They're just human beings...are you one?

"Tell the truth in love." Ummm, thanks I'll pass.

Over the years, I have been able to swallow, although not completely digest the whole idea of "hate the sin, love the sinner" and "tell the truth in love."  Today, for reasons that are not entirely clear to me, that idea has risen in my throat and made me feel literally sick. You know why? It's utter bullshit.

This philosophy is usually liberally applied by Christian people in situations when they have to interact with LGBTQ people and they don't agree with their "lifestyle". It's interesting, really. I have been on the receiving end of this idea and I've been able to deal with it. Recently a friend was the recipient of this notion and now I'm livid. Here is the problem: These folks equate being LGBTQ as being sinful in the same way as other sins are, you know, like murder, adultery, child abuse and the like. But here is where that argument falls apart. I do not know ANYONE who would approach someone who harmed children, or committed a major violent crime, or someone who steals from their family to purchase heroin, and gather around them and collectively say, "Well, we need to tell you the truth in love. We love YOU, but we don't love what you're doing."  If it were a parishioner, let's say, in a big church who had embezzled thousands of dollars from a non-profit organization, would the treatment be the same? Would the other fellow church goers get together and talk about the importance of rallying around this person, loving them, and trying to get them to see the error of their ways? Highly unlikely. You know why? Because everyone knows that this behavior is wrong and it harms other people, that's pretty clear. It's a horrible decision that they've made, and they'll have to deal with the consequences. What a shame.

And yet...these same people do not appear to be capable of understanding that being LGBTQ is not the result of a bad decision, or a desire to harm other people, or selfish desires. Being gay is NOT a decision. It's NOT a lifestyle. This notion is so outdated and stupid and illogical and it totally amazes me that people still believe it. I suppose it's their right, everyone can think what they want. However, coming forth and expressing love and "understanding" towards these people is a thinly veiled insult. You know what it reminds me of? You know that scene in The Color Purple where Miss Milly approaches Sofia (Oprah) and compliments her children?  "Your children are so clean! Would you like work for me and be my maid?"  That is how it feels to me...it's condescending as hell. It's demeaning. It's insulting. And in the immortal words of Sofia (Oprah), may I just say....

"HELL NAW!"

I don't need strokes on having a clean child. I don't need anyone to tell me that my daughter is wonderful, but...  To be clear, this hasn't happened to me lately, it just hit me like a ton of bricks today. Maybe I'M tired of being politically correct for a change. Maybe seeing all the madness in the world right now has made me wake up and realize that I no longer care about making people upset. My daughter is freaking amazing. She is intelligent and witty and talented. If ANYONE in my life feels that they can have a conditional relationship with my kid, that they can "love" her without supporting who she is as a human being, get ready for a rude awakening. You may NOT. I would have more respect for people if they would tell me the truth, that they don't understand, they don't accept her. They think she is sinful and is putting her soul in jeopardy. Alright, sweet, good to know. Silence is also acceptable to me. But please don't express "love" as a means of absolving your own conscience, and don't think I am going to help you do it. The mere idea that anyone could express this to her, or to me, under the umbrella of it being a loving Christian action completely confounds me. It isn't. It is a total and complete cop-out. It is a way of saying, "We don't agree with who you are at all, we believe it's a sin but we don't want to look like dicks, sooooo....we love you. We just hate what you're doing." NO THANK YOU. We're good. She isn't doing anything, she is BEING.

You know who else is BEING?  My cousin, my dear friends, a man I consider to be my second brother, our God-family, my colleagues, my neighbors, and my late father. I hope that his BEING in Heaven right now is kicking ass and having the best time ever. The only "sin" any of these people are/were guilty of is being themselves. The God I believe in would never, ever turn them away. Jesus would never reject them. I do think the tides are turning a bit, and I think that there are popular Christian folks like Jen Hatmaker that are taking incredibly brave steps and admitting that maybe their earlier beliefs were wrong. I love them, and they give me hope. The other folks I know, and many of them are good people, will be on the wrong side of history and that makes me sad.

I am fortunate. Other than being female, I really don't know what it's like to be blatantly discriminated against, but my child does. The things that people at school say to her would make your heads spin, but out of respect for her, I will not share what they are. She doesn't even share them all with me because she knows I will get riled up. She is not interested in a spiritual life right now, and it's her walk and honestly, I understand. The idea that in the future, if she does decide that it's something she would like to investigate and pursue and she might be turned away because of who she is makes me want to scream and never stop. This is NOT love. This is NOT looking out for ones soul and trying to save them from themselves. It's discrimination. It's short-sighted. It's incredibly stupid. It's simply not Christian behavior. 

So to my LGBTQ friends, family, and coworkers, I say this:  I love you. I accept you. And contrary to popular notion oftentimes, GOD loves you too. I know this. 

To my Christian friends and acquaintances who express love towards me and my family while choosing to make it conditional due to our child's "lifestyle", let me be clear...do I want or need this kind of conditional love? Does she? Do I believe this illustrates the love of Jesus?

HELL NAW!

Thanks, Sofia!