....Because I Couldn't Say it Better

"In general it has been the men who have done the raping and the robbing and the killing and the war-mongering for the last two thousand years... and it's been the men who have done the pillaging and the beheading and subjecating of whole races into slavery. It has been the men who have done the law making and the money making and most of the mischief making! So if the world isn't quite what you had in mind, you have only yourselves to thank!" - Julia Sugarbaker *aka-Dixie Carter*

On a rare occasion I'll succumb to what my husband refers to as my "man hater phase" and nothing Biblical can pull me out of it. It's usually spurned from too much exposure to testosterone, sporting events, Lifetime Movie Network... or all of the above. When this happens I must purge it from my soul by talking smack about the opposite sex - as I pose no great physical threat to men and attempting to beat one up would just get me laughed at.

For the most part, I love men. I am reasonable enough to understand why they exist and what makes them so desirable. A lot of them are really cute, cuddly, they fix things, kill pests and give great back rubs. (Mine even cooks, remodels, buys me fancy shoes and takes care of me when I'm sick :) But what stumps me is the fact that my own sex can be so misguided by men. I see women day in and out who fight tooth and nail for bums, who call each other names and catfight over sleezebags and try to get knocked up by jobless half-wits so they can claim they had "So and So's baby"! We claw one another to bits and turn our backs on each other. We turn a blind eye to domestic violence and sexual abuse and accept that because men are stronger and meaner that we are somehow unable to defend ourselves. Women in the Congo and Darfur have survived war, gang rapes, miscarriages, fistula, beatings, and atrocities so dark the mind can't conceive of the anguish! And yet these surviving women sit idly by in a hut shaped hospital, having their vaginas sewn back together, carrying babies on their backs, picking flowers trying to figure out how to pick up the pieces. It infuriates me that if I had a penis I could make $5 more an hour. I hate knowing that when I go for a run - if someone wanted to stop their vehicle, kidnap, rape, torture and murder me - I'd have damn near no way to stop it from happening. I hate that I'm raising a daughter in a world where more than 50% of it's countries still practice female genital mutilation. I despise the fact that religion touts virtue as a reason to treat women like dogs and keep them cloaked and docile, put to death and stoned for adultery. It's only the sickest and most twisted of man that can dream up something like having her father kill her for having sex before marriage. And yet droves of men have adopted and accepted this mind set and treatment of women.

When I hear a man say that women should "cover up" and not show too much leg or cleavage I automatically wonder what he's hiding. I realize that men are visual creatures and can often be stimulated by just about any amount of exposed female flesh. It's part of their charm... I too believe we as women should be somewhat discreet and help our daughters to understand the differences between sensuality and sexuality (i.e. it's alright to be confident and feminine, to show a little leg and be flirtatious - it's not alright to show everyone everything all the time because no one wants to see that shit). But if as a man, you can't handle seeing a woman in a dress without thinking sinful thoughts, then maybe the problem isn't the woman in the dress, but the man with the sin-filled head.

This rant is going nowhere and will likely offend... everyone. But it's my truth, my thoughts, be they right or wrong. It's what fuels me and makes me want to arm those Congolese women with machettes and watch them hack their brutalizers to death. I want women to pick up their battle axes and demand better treatment for themselves, for each other. By nature we are not violent. We are nurturers. We water flowers, raise babies, smell daisies and bake pies. But every now and then it would be nice if we could all, collectively say "We've had enough and will no longer stand for being made to cover up, keep quiet and take abuse." But until we demand respect for ourselves and show it to one another, how can we ever expect it from men?

Valerie's Mother

Thirteen years ago tomorrow (April 6th) my daughter, Valerie was born. I was 19, jobless, living with my parents and scared to death. I had never even contemplated having children let alone having a real life. It all seems as though it was 100 years ago and yet hardly a day has passed in my heart. I've never thought of myself as the "motherly" type. I didn't come already programmed with a desire for children or any idea what in the world to do with one. But it just so happened that the first child I had was just the one I needed to help me figure it out. The night that Valerie made her entrance into the world was as ordinary as any other run-of-the-mill Wednesday evening. I am as ordinary as any other mother who's ever tiptoed through the halls of BMH.  But the world stopped turning - for a heartbeat of a moment when I laid eyes on Valerie for the first time and then it resumed it's spinning. I'm sure the moment was undetectable to anyone in the world but me... It was our moment, our first meeting. It was the blink in time that rearranged my world.


I don't know what, if anything I've given to Valerie by being her mother, but I know what having Valerie as my daughter has given to me. All that I've ever wanted or dreamed of being is realized because she's here. At the end of my life, if all I ever was was Valerie's mother - then you should know that's all I ever was meant to be.

...Because that's how I was raised

     Recently I've honed in on a topic (as it is in my nature to do) and have paid particular attention to the times, number of ways and sources from which I hear the phrase "because that's how I was raised". And it struck me one day that there might be something more to that simple utterance. It's a blanket statement that seems to smother out any oppositional forces. If someone says they do or believe something because that's how they were raised, then it seems to cease all argument. I bounced this subject off of my best friend a while back and then off of my husband a few days ago. They both seemed to have a different take on the phrase than I did. My friend pointed out that the reason I might feel differently from people about certain subjects is perhaps due to the way I myself was raised. My husband says that it's a very valid form of justification as it may imply that someone's upbringing, despite what the world around them may have tried to teach them, was the only solid form of behavioral or moral code they could imagine implementing in their own lives. Both of these views were very interesting to me and I must say, present a solid position that supports just why "becuase that's how I was raised" is so doggone powerful in solidifying a person's stance on a subject or behavior.

     In some cases quite honestly I've found the statement to be a very limitting one. One that not only provided no solid basis for belief, but one that also made the person saying it seem less capable of forming an opinion based on actual evidence rather than some bologna they were fed in adolescence. From Rhett Butler I quote "Far be it from me to question the teachings of childhood" but by the time we're 30, we should have some idea of why we take the positions that we do. I was speaking to a friend the other day on the subject of gay marriage and she stated that she didn't think it was right for homosexuals to marry. Not stating my opinion one way or the other I asked what made her feel that way? She said "I don't know. That's just how I was raised." And a few months ago I had a discussion with a friend about the difficulty of child rearing and she said "I was raised to believe that you should never spank a child." An acquaintance said a few days ago that "the man is the leader of the household and his word is final". When I asked how that made sense to her she said "because that's how I was raised". I won't delve into some of the political stances people take because of how they were raised. But in each instance I wanted so much to dig deeper into the conversation. I wanted to know why they let themselves off so easily? Why did they not express what they thought? What's wrong with looking at the world and the people around you, withholding judgement and waiting for an actual moment or circumstance before forming an opinion? At least then it would be based in something real, an experience or feeling that was your own.

     I IN NO WAY believe that others should think the same way that I do. I truly love that this world is made up of all kinds of people. I believe there is room for every view, every idea, every body, every principle, discipline, religion, practice, purpose, occupation, education, you get the idea... As someone who has no particular affinity for a religion - I embrace every single one of them. What I dislike is the "tried in court" view some people take when they decide that what they believe is the only way to believe. Because that's how they were raised. But if they had been raised differently then they'd believe something else... A long time ago I heard someone say that "Sometimes what you'll learn will conflict with what you know." It was more than 20 years ago and I've never forgotten it. **I've learned that lying is wrong but I know that sometimes it's necessary. I've learned that murder is a sin but I know that if someone hurt my children I'd likely have no problem in carrying it out. I've learned that staying married is one of the most difficult things I'll ever achieve. But I know I'll never be better than I am when I'm with my husband.**

    
     Perhaps this is all my parent's fault. They took me to church but never forced me to comit to one religion. They discussed politics but never with bias. They took me to see Christmas lights and never one time told me that some of them were tacky. I was 22 years old before I noticed that some outdoor seasonal displays were just plain... wrong! I don't likely share my parent's opinions of things because they never really shared theirs with me. They asked me constantly what I thought of things? And so I was always forced to take a look at things and judge for myself, and sometimes it was especially difficult. Many times, I would rather have been told what to do or think. But instead I decided how I felt about capital punishment and ketchup on eggs. I decided how much water to add to my oatmeal and whether or not I though O.J. was guilty. I'm not really sure why I think it's so important for people to make their own decisions. Perhaps it's because of how I was raised.....................
Maybe I'm putting way to much emphasis on that statement and it doesn't mean nearly half of what I think it does. But I'd find it terribly refreshing if someone could actually express their opinion without using it once in a while. It's not that I don't think a preacher's sermon or a parent's rearing shouldn't have a place in who we become. I just don't think it should account for all of who we become.

Or maybe I just think too damn much.

Stephen - Greek for Crown, Refined, Amiable, Fearless (with a few annoying habits)

I've contemplated this post for a while, though I haven't really known what direction to take it. I like people so much and find myself so intrigued by people I know that they often become characters to me. And I've thought many times about featuring a "character" that I know in my blog every once in a while. So today, I'm doing it. And I'm starting with my favorite character of all - my husband, Stephen Dwayne McCoy:

I'll spare you the details of how we met and under what circumstances, but suffice-it to say I was immediately taken with him. One look into his bright green eyes and a flash of his big, quick smile and I was done for. I knew immediately he wasn't like anyone I'd ever met and I've yet to be proven wrong.


I've always thought of Stephen as an introspective man. He's always seemed content to go his own way and that's usually the straight and narrow. He's one of the very few people I've ever known who seems to innately know which path to take. When he's at a metaphorical crossroad - his choice of direction is quite often... right. I've learned more from him about who I'd like to be than anyone else in my life.


His laugh is completely obnoxious! It's loud and he chortles. It's so obnoxious in fact that I can't help but laugh myself when I hear it. It comes from his gut and his throat and it's strong enough to register on the Richter Scale. I think his laugh may be directly responsible for the number of potholes on 17A between Cottageville and Dorchester Road in South Carolina. But rest assured, when he laughs it's because he's thoroughly enjoying himself! He's really a very shy man, though you'd never guess it as he is rather loud and boisterous. He likes the sound of his own voice and he could out-noise just about anyone. He's completely incapable of doing anything quietly. He whistles, taps, beats, sings, hums, twittles, bangs, beats, slaps, clinks, clanks and whams his way through life. Except of course when he's hunting. The few times I've been with him I was SHOCKED! He actually can be quiet. Who knew?


Stephen is also quite versatile. I'm still amazed when I find out he can fix something I didn't even know could be broken. He's very multi-fasceted and is quite good at just about anything. Precisely the opposite of myself. I'm not really very good at - anything. He can fix toilets, wiring, plumbing, fans, lawnmowers, houses, mouses, sinks and cell phones. He can play almost any game really well. He loves puzzles and things that he can master and he usually does it quickly. He's great at math - again unlike myself. And he's so level headed sometimes that it pisses me off. He's a bit of a slob as well. At forty years old he's yet to master putting his dirty clothes in a hamper or keeping a semi-organized desk. He drives too fast and goes to bed too late. He claims he doesn't have a terrific fondness for animals and yet they ALL flock to him. Every evening he can be found in his chair with 2 - 4 animals at a time laying all over him. They want to be wherever he is. He's a Mama's boy without being a weenie about it. He's sensitive in ways that don't make him un-manly. He cries over handi-capped children and he buys me Barbie's. But he's no pushover! I can't take advantage of him and he never tries to take advantage of me. He says he loves that I'm a challenge although he'd like it sometimes if I were a little less of one :)


When it comes to ladies, I have to admit that he's a bit of a schmooze. He's had a lot of girlfriends and there are boxes of pictures and letters from girls who simply swooned over him in his younger years. They were entirely right to of course. He's terribly handsome and very gentle and still somehow he manages to maintain an heir of arrogance and comfort. He's one of the safest men I've ever been around. He's the perfect balance of "pig" and "prince".


But the most wonderful, fascinating thing about him is that he has never tired of loving me. He is as loyal, as honest and as stubborn a man as I could ever have hoped for. I never leave my home nor enter it that I don't know I'm loved. And that knowledge more than makes up for all of the ways in which he irritates the hell out of me.

The Lesson Here Is...

"It is perseverence which distinguishes the strong from the weak."


The past several years have been ones of tremendous personal and spiritual growth for me. I am of course, still a work in progress... But with that being said, I've noticed that each year has had a sort of theme. A long and winding lesson has spun from each of the days that has, in some cases nearly driven me insane. Some lessons I simply would rather not have learned. Some hurts, I would rather not have had - although now I'm as contented as I've ever been - reconciling finally that I will forever dwell within my own head. (Insert modest chuckle here.)


I had falsely begun to believe that after the tumultuous year 2009, I was sort of... home free? So many stresses and challenges, both physically and personally had dominated those 365 days! I could have sworn I'd made it through the worst of it, but it's funny how God reveals himself. So many times I lost sight of him that year. So often I cursed and questioned that I wondered if I was growing or shrinking. But standing here now I'm beginning to see just what was in store for me. Winston Churchill once said "If you're going through hell, keep going." Only a man who had reached the other side could ever have spoken with such simple wisdom... Sometimes if we leave ourselves with no choice but to carry on, we do just that. And later on we find that perhaps we were a bit stronger, a tad tougher and a hair less fragile than at first we believed.


I knew before the dawning of this new year what my lesson was going to be, I simply did not and still do not know all the ways in which I'll be forced to learn it. Toward the end of last year after a lot of preparation and hard work I was forced out of two very important races because of injuries (three stress fractures and an achilles tendon strain). Disappointment is the least of the words I could use to describe my suffering. My pride suffered more than my body and my mind nearly got the better of me as well. Once I managed to heal from the fractures I began training again and a week before another race I strained the tendon in my left leg. That was the preverbial straw that split the camel in half and ground it's bones to dust! But in a truly bizarre sense I was almost prepared for it. My running nearly came to a screetching halt because of the injury but my mind broke down, bent itself over and succumbed to the lesson I knew right then I would be forced to learn... PERSEVERANCE. It's quite a lovely word and quite unpleasant to perform. It's the word I've strayed from my entire life. It's the one thing I've avoided more than blue eye shadow. It's the bone of contempt I cut my teeth on. It's the only thing I've never wanted to correct in myself. My ADHD and my vanity have kept perseverance and me apart for 32 years. I've quit everything I wasn't immediately good at. I've quit drawing, I've quit cross stritching, I've quit camping, I've quit math... the list goes on and on. And my new career requires an awful lot of "try try again" which isn't all that appealing to a gal like myself. I'm quite use to having my own way. In almost every job I've had, I've done very well and almost immediately met with success. This one however, is quite different. Success in this field is based on the number of times you meet rejection - as each "no" will bring you that much closer to the "yes" you're searching for. I've witnessed this first hand or else I'd have no faith in the process. And today I found myself on the verge of mentally "checking out". After a long talk with my manager (and with myself) I knew that this was all part of the plan, the lesson I was doomed to learn. Just like running, I have to keep putting one foot down in front of the other. Each step I take is one less I have to make. One more rejection is one less ahead of me. The injuries whether they be physical or mental are a distraction, something to keep us all from seeing the truth. They're designed to shift our focus and make us believe that we can't, that we're not good enough, not strong enough! I succumb easily to injury. I've been spoiled... and very very lucky. I've been given so much, received so many blessings that I simply do not know how to fail - and so I quit...


And so the lessons of this year have begun. So far I have one professional and one physical challenge to overcome... And I'm afraid that if I do not meet them head on, that I just might miss out on an opportunity later, to be the woman God has in store for me to be. Each new day brings me one step closer, one rejection further, one injury beyond the quitter I use to be.

Why I Still Believe

It's no surprise to those who know me that I'm a big fan of ole' SC, Saint Nicholas, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas, you get the idea. I've believed in Santa for... well, all of my life. By the time I was old enough to understand that my parents actually bought and set out the presents, it no longer mattered to me who Santa was. For a majority of my life, my parents struggled financially. There were times when they both worked two jobs and there were years at a time when my father worked his day job from 8-5 and then taught evening college 3-4 nights a week from 6-10. And there were many months when paying our lunch money seemed like an impossible task for them. But every year, Christmas brought magic to our otherwise unremarkable household. Christmas came bustling and jingling, parading and caroling right through our home each and every year. There was never a December 25th that came and went without the magic of Santa Claus! So it's no suprise that I've always expected my own children to believe in jolly old Saint Nick. Of course they've asked the age old question, "Is Santa really real?" And every year, my answer has been the same, "All of your life people are going to try and tell you what to believe. They'll tell you there's no Santa, no Easter Bunny, no Heaven or Hell. Some will even say there is no God. But it's up to you to decide what you believe." If you want to go to heaven, first you have to know it waits. If you want magic, you have to believe it's there, and you have to be willing to accept it when it appears.
This year has been especially difficult for our family financially. I haven't worked in over a year and we've had to budget every penny that's been spent, leaving very little for holidays or birthdays. It is not unlike many years I knew growing up. And so tonight as I went through a mental check list of my children's gifts, I remembered why I still believed in the magic of Santa. If it weren't for his giving spirit - this Patron Saint of children... my parents might not have been able to bring his magic to our home all those years ago. If it weren't for Sinterklaas, this year my husband and I might not have found that same magic in our home. So it's not the man himself who appears on Christmas morning, but what he stands for that never ceases to appear. The gifts we give afterall, are in remembrance of the gift of Christ. As we received, so may we give. Merry Christmas

Lesson Learned and a Pie in the Face!

Many moons ago I joined a group called Freecycle. The idea behind this online community is that "one man's trash is another's treasure" and so on and so forth. If you have something you probably want or need to throw away, list it and see if anyone in your freecycle community can come pick it up and use it. That way things like old furniture, computer monitors, vacuum cleaners, dining chairs, etc... don't wind up in landfills. Great concept right? So, I joined and have always secretly hoped for a fantastic set of book ends. But that's neither here nor there.

A few months ago the emails sent out through the freecycling group in my community got to be a bit extravagant in regard to requests for luxury items. Instead of people offering things, aside from the occasional kitten (because apparently the world needs more cats) people started begging for all sorts of things. One woman asked for a GPS, a window unit A/C, a laptop and some living room furniture. Not long after that another lady wanted a laptop and a car. Being the "set 'em straight and tell it like it is" bandit that I fancy myself to be, I decided to put a stop to it by sending a snarky email to the group telling them where they might find a map, access to a computer and a Goodwill. This of course prompted several other members of the group to jump on my bandwagon and send their own "hell yeah", "that's telling 'em" emails. Then... there were a couple of members (mainly the ones who asked for all the free shit) that didn't really like my approach. They thought I should quit being so judgemental because "you never know why someone is asking for the things they do or what kind of things go on in their life that make them ask for stuff". Several weeks passed and the "gimme" emails decreased significanly. YES!!! Errp... Not so fast... Before long we had more requests or rather, demands for things like bedroom furniture and a DSI with games and a charger and carrying case, "that are in good condition & not messed up". So! I sent another snipey email prompting yet another uproar from the group. And of course a few snippety reactions from the beggars. A few days later the moderator says enough, and life goes back to normal and the beggars return to begging and sure enough, another email goes out, only this time the woman wants living room furniture and toys for her daughter. I decided to get off my hump and go through my daughter's toys. I contacted the beggar the next day letting her know that I had several unopened dolls, Barbie doll houses and other toys in excellent condition and that I'd be happy to meet her to give them to her. She says ok and from that point on it was like wrestling an alligator to get her to confirm a time and place to meet. The next day I loaded up the back seat of my car with all of the toys I'd gathered and prepared to meet the woman we'll dub as "Carol". Carol called me 10 minutes before we were supposed to meet and says she's still at her doctor's appointment and can't make it. I suggested we meet at another time and again, we stall... I finally tell her that I can meet her at our designated spot the following day at 1:00 pm sharp. I arrive the next day a few minutes early. After waiting for twenty minutes I finally sent her a text asking if she still wanted the toys. She responded and said she was on her way. I waited an additional 25 minutes before giving up and telling her I couldn't wait any longer. I had many errands to run that day and had waited for over 45 minutes. A while later she started bombarding me with texts saying that her daughter was crying because she wanted the toys and that I needed to come back. I told her I was sorry but that I couldn't return because I had other obligations that day. She continued to try and lay the blame at my feet without a single apology for being late. Carol was ungrateful but still I considered setting another time to meet with her... But I thought better of it and just cancelled my freecylce membership. 

I suppose in the end, I got what I deserved. I decided to be the gun wielding sheriff of freecycle and wound up with a pie in my face. Sometimes it's better to keep silent and be thought a fool than to open your mouth and tell everyone you're a giant shit eating dumbass. I thought I could reason with and talk sense to people who have no sense. I thought I knew best and could set them straight. But my arrogance just got my blood pressure elavated and my Blackberry dinging! I didn't need the hassle or the drama of what I created and I sure as hell didn't need the guilt trip to Giver's World where Carol was a no-show!

My daddy always said "You can't REhabilitate someone who's never been habilitated to begin with." Wise words Don. Maybe next time before I open my big mouth (or email) I'll remember that.

But don't forget to Recycle!