Roller Skating

The Girls’ Club, Highland Heights, Silver City… if you grew up in Taunton, MA in the late 70’s through the 80’s this was the natural progression of roller skating (and the music that went with it—to this day I can’t hear Grand Funk’s “Locomotion” without thinking of The Girls’ Club).

On some of the school bus charters I drive for during the summer, I’m able to take my kids with me. Today, I drove a camp group to a roller rink and took my 9 year old daughter. It was the first time I’d been on roller skates in about 10 years (the last time, I was with my other daughter, who was about that same age, I think). Before that, I hadn’t been on skates since high school.

My daughter hasn’t skated much; we went around the loop twice hugging the wall before I saw that the rink rented those walkers-on-wheels. What a difference that made! She enjoyed herself even more than I thought she would—and it showed on her face! It was great.

And I enjoyed myself, too. I remember how much I enjoyed those skate nights. I remember how good it felt to build up speed and then coast around the corner…and it all came back. The carpet covered spools at Highland Heights that you never sat on—you always ‘landed’ on them…always tripping as you went up the stairs to the booths at Silver City…taffy at the Girls’ Club. Whizzing by a friend and tapping them on the opposite shoulder…laughing at each other if anyone fell. The rough going skating on the rug until you got to the smooth floor and you would just glide, the breeze from your speed on your face and through your hair. Sitting at the snack bar booths and feeling the vibration from all the wheels on the floor and the music. Holding sweaty hands with a boy when you got to skate with him. When your favorite song came on…

It was a teensy bit of a bummer to not get more of the full experience—the wrong music was playing. They did play “YMCA”, though; I got a little bit of a tingle.

…all of it. You put your skates on once, and they didn’t come off until you were done—even if you had a blister. How heavy your feet felt in the skates when you sat down one more time before your last skate. And when you took your skates off that blister was THROBBING, but you could still feel yourself gliding as you walked in your socks to return the skates.

It was almost like it used to be…almost. This time I was not able to skate as freely with my inexperienced daughter on wheels. She begged to go around by herself, and I let her. I got half way around on my own before she fell (we all knew that would happen). But it reminded me that I want to do it more often. And I even still want to get myself some rollerblades and skate on my own outside—I don’t care if it’s not trendy anymore. God knows one day I’m really going to have to start exercising, anyway, and I really do enjoy skating. Besides, all the roller-bladers have the greatest legs, don’t they? It’s been on my not-so-bucket list for about 10 years, anyway (bucket lists are for one-time events; not-so-bucket lists are for things you want to do more than once). I'm going to get some before my 48th birthday--someone please check back with me before October 2, 2015 to make sure I finally did.

Those skating days were fun…so free. And today was fun, too, until I was brought sharply out of my reverie when a little girl fell near us. I ended up on the floor with her trying to console her until her chaperone came over. Afterwards, I’m struggling to my feet (it’s been a while) and my daughter came over to whisper in my ear, “Mom, your butt crack was showing.” 

Jeans were higher back then, weren’t they?

Laughing At Myself Is Progress, Right?

Everything is a process, right? I decided to keep track of my days for one week to see if I’d be able to make any progress. I wasn’t going to write about any more than that. I’ve already shown how pathetic I can be—no need to hammer it home, right? So I started writing out my First Day:

Day 1 (or “The Day After” or “A-”):

Cried immediately upon waking up, knowing today was the first day I wasn’t going to send him a good morning text. I did that as much for me as for him, because he was always my first thought of the day, and I enjoyed being able to do it.

Dealt with the fallout of my previous blog. Some people were horrified and probably more than a little embarrassed for me that I would put my feelings out there like that. As usual, I fought the urge to explain myself. And as usual, didn’t do too well.

Checked. Head still up ass.

Made plans with some friends for later in the week. Lucky to have them. Should remind myself of that a little more.

Spent a good portion of the day with the same thoughts anyone post-breakup would have: Does he think of me at all? Does he miss me even a little? Does he care? Along with the usual, random thought-scenarios revolving around any future contact. Torture. As if I don’t beat myself up enough.

Reminded myself rather harshly that there would be no ‘grand gesture’ to turn things around when they looked their bleakest. Remembered that there are many differences between ‘reel life’ and ‘real life’ and maybe I shouldn’t watch so many movies.

Despite that, watched “The Holiday” again. Tried not to be too cynical. Did not watch the end of “Never Been Kissed.” Stayed away from “Bridget Jones’ Diary” lest I took a cue and began lip-syncing bleeding-heart songs while drunk (while creating the opportunity for more stupidity). I have alcohol in my house now…sigh. It could happen.

Thought about changing my moon (he turned it around). Realized I couldn’t. (Keeping that one small item to myself)

Cried. Wished things could have been different (repeated as necessary. That number will remain private).

Tried to work. Succeeded a little. Prompted more by the fact that I knew I was out of milk and work brings me milk—no milk means no coffee. As if THAT wouldn’t pour salt into a wound.

Cried knowing I wasn’t going to hear from him today. Followed by the small feeling of relief that at least I wasn’t going to have to wait to hear from him. Knowing is always better than waiting, even if what you know sucks….aaaaand back to sad. I have no patience.

RAN to the phone at every notification and ring…just in case. Kicked myself each time.

Reread old messages—only the good ones. Achieved the expected results. Added masochism to list of self-qualities.

Checked. Still pathetic.

Awareness is good.

UH OH...

After reviewing only one day’s (un)productiveness, I had a few thoughts:

•  Writing something down will not make change happen, no matter how desperately I write or how hard I press down with the pen. Fuck.
• Great. A black-and-white blueprint that is going to show me that this could take a long time. Fuck.
•  Methinks this may not be a good idea. Fuck.
•  Me also thinks I have to work on patience some more. Fuck.
• I do not have any kind of superpowers that can make this go away, or whisk me into a future where I am less pathetic. Fuck. I thought I had superpowers.
• FUCK.

I’m sensing a pattern here.

There will not be any more writing about this. At least not directly. You’ve all seen enough (and it can’t be unseen). Tomorrow, I will put my game face on, pull up my big-girl panties and repeat, “Suck it up, Cupcake!” and get through another day. And I will. And I will do that the next day, too. And the next. And I will be fine, because I have everything I need.

N.B. to the Universe: This patience thing could take a while. Just sayin’.

Exposing Myself

Exposing myself. I’m an expert at it, right? Whoa, an ex-stripper saying she was going to expose herself –that must be something big!

--Yes, I did say that. And I know what I said. That’s part of what this is.

There are different levels of exposure. To many people I have no shame or filter. I will openly talk about sex (and liking it), getting my period (praying for menopause), shaving my legs (fucking hate it), and many other things that people don’t feel should be discussed in public. I am loud, obnoxious, and in-your-face with my opinions. What people don’t realize is how intensely private I really am. What people see is what I choose to let them see. It’s easy for me to talk openly about certain things because, to me, they aren’t what really matter. By being loud about certain things and putting the focus on them, I am able to keep hidden what I consider personal or private. It’s all – all of it – smoke and mirrors. Razzle-dazzle. “How can they see with sequins in their eyes?” Like using humor as a defense mechanism, being “open” about uncomfortable or taboo subjects is also another way to keep the focus off of other things. Sleight of hand. Like who I really am and how I really feel, and what is really important to me – which may not be the same as what is important to you.

Not anymore. Or at least not right now. There is a twofold reason for this. First, this is for me; I write because I have to. Whatever I’m feeling, I cannot begin to process it until I write it down. Putting it “out there” is my way of sort of signing a contract with the Universe, which is why when I put something out for display I try to make sure that it is positive. I do not want to encourage the collective negativity. The second reason – and this has to do with what I’m going through right now – is actually now for you. Judgment is a funny thing. I have lived most of my life under it, and have always felt it. A few years ago I was finally able to let it go. What other people thought of me didn’t matter. The only time someone’s judgment of me mattered was when it directly affected the people that I love. When people were judged because of their connection to me, or when my children got treated a different way because they were mine. What you thought of me never mattered, which actually made it fun for me to be a little outrageous. I played with it and then consciously began to set it up that way. It actually allowed me a lot of freedom; if I did something completely ridiculous it would not be questioned, it would just be accepted as “Susie being Susie.” And then the oddest thing happened; people began reading what I was writing and saying these wonderful things. The word “inspiring” was mentioned a few times. And I realized that I was uncomfortable with that. While I do love having my stuff read, I still write it for me. I don’t know; maybe I worry about expectations. I think about all the politicians that gain favor initially only to be shot down when someone comes forth with private information. I feel bad for them when that happens. Right away they rush to denial (“I did not inhale!”).

--No, I am not a fan of politicians, or politics for that matter. But everyone, everyone, has something worthwhile about them, some positive purpose, some reason to be loved.

To those of you that have said those wonderful things about me; I have trouble accepting them because I feel like a fraud.  I do not have my shit together. I’m not even close, especially not now. If I seem to know anything, or have any special insight on something, it’s only because of my personal experience with it; and I would not necessarily call that a good thing all the time. There are many things that I don’t know about. I have never owned a home, finances are beyond me, and I only just recently learned what the basic difference was between Japanese and Chinese food. I don’t have any experiences with the death of a parent or child. I only know what I’ve been through. And not all of it is worthwhile.

I do realize the connection between judgment and expectations. In some way expectations are a form of judgment. We have expectations other people based on how we perceive them – how we judge them to be. And I know I said I don’t care if you judge me but that I worry about expectations, which doesn’t necessarily make sense. Again, this is part of the changes that I’m going through now.

I’m very aware of the parts of myself that I’ve kept hidden. I know that I am a lot softer than I pretend to be. Only the people close to me know who I really am; as far as I was concerned, they were the only ones who needed to.

The last three years have been amazing for me (keep in mind that the word amazing can have more than one connotation-- one can be amazed at something magical and wondrous and equally amazed at stupidity). I have learned more, experienced more, even suffered more in that one encapsulation of time than I have in all the preceding years. When I sit and think about everything that happened my head still spins. In less than two years’ time I have made two very extreme career changes, I came within an inch of losing everything just last summer, and have lost three people who were very close and very dear to me. I’ve been forced to rely on the people around me more than I’ve ever wanted to.

Having to swallow your pride is bad enough, but it’s even worse when you realize just how much there is to eat.

Right now, I have a job that I call the “first step of the dream.” For the first time in my life I am being paid to write. I can’t tell you how much I smile every time I think of that. I am able to work from home, which is something I’ve always wanted to do. And I’m making enough money to support myself – I have not been able to say that for a long time. Every week is still very tight, because I am digging myself out of a very large hole. But it’s all good and I’m not complaining because I did not think I would have the opportunity to do both – live and pay backwards. Technically speaking, the problems that I have are good problems to have. I am making progress.

And on the flipside I am still struggling with my happiness about my new job because of the events that led up to me getting it. I have the job that was once occupied by one of my dear friends that is no longer here. As much as I love this job, I would let it-- and everything wonderful it has allowed me to do--go in a heartbeat if it meant getting that person back. Another special friend of mine said that it was like “he bequeathed it (the job) to me.” That does make it sound a little special, however I am thrown for a loop every time someone asks me how I got it.

With all these changes happening around me I am beginning to realize that I am a lot softer than I thought. My heart is open and I feel vulnerable… exposed...and that bothers me. Why? There’s a lot tied up in all of this. First of all, I like being a hard-ass. And finding out that I’m not is more than unsettling. I am beginning to feel almost like I don’t know who I am anymore. And I find that I’m actually angry at myself for feeling so vulnerable. I know where that comes from, which only makes me angrier.

I’ve discussed my father a few times here before. We’ve had quite the relationship, to say the least. I call him a male chauvinist regularly; he doesn’t like it. But I grew up being taught that being soft was wrong, that being emotional was wrong, that being dependent was wrong – and I was taught that all of those traits were female. I remember when it was time to start considering driving lessons for me (and my two sisters that are close in age), he began his own form of driving lessons for us, beginning with learning about the inside of a car before we were allowed to get behind the wheel because, “MY daughters will NOT be ‘women drivers’!” I’m sorry, Dad, but I come by my opinions honestly. And I love you.

I’m changing; I can feel it. And it’s not just my age, it’s the new experiences I’ve been having and new possibilities that I’m seeing. I never denied that I built up walls to protect myself; I just didn’t realize I had so many. Then one person got through without my even realizing it, or that there had even been a wall there. And then I became vulnerable, and unsure, and I began to question who I was all over again. When I realized how vulnerable I felt I could hear my father’s words and his derision coming at me all over again-- the problem is that they are not coming from him now, they are coming from me. Do you know how galling that is to see that in myself? All those battles he and I have had, how many times I have felt the need to defend myself to him, to feel for all these years that I eventually won that battle, that right to be myself only to realize that I’m fighting it all over again, but now with myself? To realize that in some respects he got the son he wanted? That I cannot tolerate myself for being “female”? I can’t count how many times I have stood up in some way, shape or form for women – and all the while I wasn’t truly allowing myself to be one? How arrogant is that of me? To allow that it was okay for others and not myself?

So, here’s the dirt. The low-down. The ugly truth. The real exposure—not my body, not my opinions, but me. The following of the idea behind Tears For Fears’ “Break it Down Again” and the understanding that right now there’s “no more building up; it is time to dissolve” and start over:

I fell in love. If you could only hear the derision I hear when I say that. I must have thought I was above it, at least to this extent. I never went out looking for a relationship and didn’t want one—or didn’t feel one was necessary to be happy. Because I was happy. And he came looking for me. All of it started with him. And I let him in. I invited him into my life, let him meet my kids—I crossed many lines for him, and he didn’t do the same for me in spite of what he said he wanted. And for whatever reason, he decided he didn’t love me enough to make me a priority, or just didn’t love me anymore—no matter, the end result is the same. And now I am a pathetic, useless and depressed female. Imagine that. I’d be much prouder of myself if I let something that was actually serious get me down, like the real issues going on in the world, or concern over the health of my family.

Because I was already happy, I wasn’t looking for anything else. But he changed that. He showed me possibilities I hadn’t considered. Which of course, I am now angry about. Ignorance is truly bliss. You can’t miss what you didn’t see. I am also angry at myself for ignoring the signs—I did see them—of the abrupt lack of attention, the “no time” for me, and then no communication. While I feel legitimately pissed off at his cowardice—that is what it was: avoidance is cowardice (and yes, my knowledge does come from personal experience), He made me feel lonely--and I never got lonely. I am more angry that I let any of this happen; that I’m allowing it to get to me—that I’ve been hurt to a depth I hadn’t thought possible. Right now I feel like my heart is being sucked out of my chest. Over a guy. I really wish I were gay. My best girl friends would never have done this to me; they would have been honest.

Contrary to what some of you may be thinking, this has nothing to do with getting him back. He stopped reading anything I wrote months ago, anyway. And he’s already received more than enough of my attention and my own precious (at least to me) time. What I am telling you is that there is nothing inspiring here. This is a train wreck you should have no problem looking away from. Because my “problem” isn’t based on anything solid. Because I’m having a serious battle with my own ego. I cannot stand myself right now—and I used to be my own favorite company. Because my silly pain is self-inflicted. If any of you find this inspiring, I am truly sorry.

There is a positive side, though, I’m sure of it. It is too deeply ingrained in me that there is ALWAYS a plus side, even if at the moment my head is shoved up my ass too far to see it. But I will find my rose-colored glasses and put on my ‘fucking cheerleader’ outfit…later. Right now I’m going to hide. And grieve. And dissolve. And get past my self-loathing. And heal. And learn. And rebuild.

But I will not rebuild defensive walls. I will embrace the side of me I didn’t know I hated (I guess there were too many others taking center stage) and we will learn to get along…or at least, co-exist peacefully, even if it kills me.

If this is me reaping what I've sown, so be it. And shame on me if I don't learn from it.

So, to the Universe, I’m going to say thank you (no matter what I am feeling right now) for the hidden lesson in this (I will find it) and I will work on my acceptance… and maybe even patience (please consider this a signed contract).

And to the rest of you:

I inhaled.

NEW

New

Sunrise is the beginning of the day

Sunset begins night

Beginnings happen in many ways

With a smile,

On a tear.

Like a wave

-which is both hello and goodbye

A beginning is an ending,

An ending a beginning

They are the same

Both sides of the same coin

Each word, each breath, each thought

Is a beginning

Each starts with you

And is dependent on you

To make it

New

********

For my sister, Kelley-Jo.

I'm so proud of you for following your heart. May this new beginning bring many new and wonderful things your way. I love you.

Your Feelings Matter

Two years ago, I had a very intense relationship with someone very special just before he died. By intense, I’m talking about the quality and level of our conversations. He knew he was going to die; he had been dealing with terminal cancer for a few years already and had already outlived the doctor’s predictions (the end still came sooner than we had expected, though). I learned a lot from him; even now I find myself remembering something he had said that at the time I may not have fully understood all the way through. I guess we were both aware that we were watching the clock, and this changed the dynamics of the things we spoke about. When you have a relationship with someone (any kind of relationship, romantic or friendship) you learn little details about the other person like favorite type of music, favorite color, personal hero, how they take their coffee, how they like their eggs, etc. Our conversations went beyond the little details; they were not going to matter because there wasn’t time. There are many things about him that I don’t know, because what we talked about surpassed all that. I did learn his favorite color, even though his favorite color was different for a car, or walls, or anything. And he did finally tell me what his middle name was, after much pushing (he hated it)!

--I just realized that I was smiling as I typed that. I’m glad for that. It was a long time before I could think about him without hurting. To be able to smile at a memory of him is a good thing.

As one can imagine, because of what he was going through and because the doctors gave his life an expiration date, he had a lot of time to think. This influenced all of our conversations. Every subject we talked about usually had a serious depth to it.

One of our conversations had to do with façades, the faces we show to other people. He asked me what was behind mine, and my answer was immediate: complete and utter insecurity. I grew up believing that I was worthless, stupid, fat, and a girl. I say it like that, “a girl,” because I grew up surrounded by chauvinism. Being a girl took away almost any credibility I had – or had left after all of my other failings. I believed that I wasn’t good enough for anyone or anything. I believed that if I ever managed to get into a romantic relationship, that it wasn’t going to last because I did not have enough to keep anyone’s attention for long. I felt that I always had to be “on,” and keep people entertained, because they would lose interest if they realized how boring and inconsequential I really was. So I hid who I was, and tried to be on all the time. I decided to teach my self confidence with a “fake it till you make it” attitude. I look back now and laugh at myself then, because I’m fairly certain I appeared quite arrogant, and I know for sure that I was very loud.

I’ve actually talked about that with a few people recently, about my being insecure, and found myself pleasantly surprised that they were surprised by that-- either my façade was that good, or I had actually dealt with that issue. I like to think that I dealt with it and got over it. For the most part, I had actually worked through it. I do still have moments, though, where some of the old insecurities come through. I get surprised by them, and hate them. Anyway, I do not consider myself now to be that person.

One of the things that that that type of insecurity can do to a person when they’re in a relationship is—obviously—make that person feel second-place in the relationship; that they, their hopes, their dreams, their thoughts, their job, their time, and their feelings take a backseat to the other person, the other person’s hopes, the other person’s dreams, the other person’s thoughts, the other person’s job, the other person's time, and of course the other person’s feelings. It means that you will walk on egg shells around a person, being very careful with how you approach anything, especially if the other person is not in a good mood. Even when their bad mood gets taken out on you, and even when their bad mood had nothing to do with you to begin with. Standing up for yourself and how you felt would always end up in an argument of some kind. And, if you did manage for one brief moment to get the other person to acknowledge how you felt, you weren’t allowed to bring it up again later, because you would be accused of trying to punish the other person or “holding something over their head.” I know this firsthand, because that is how I grew up and that was the pattern of my bigger relationships.

This is why it is very important to be happy with who you are first. I am not in any way saying that you deserve to be treated like shit, or that you cause it, if you are in a relationship like the one I just described. But if you are not happy with who you are, and if you are insecure like that, it will definitely set certain patterns in the relationship, and it could mean that you will put up with the situation you are unhappy in for a long period of time. And if you are aware of certain traits about yourself that you want to change, you will not only be fighting your own demons but you will be fighting the other person as well.

Back to my special friend. He hurt my feelings once, it was unintentional, but my feelings did get hurt. I told him about it, and we discussed it quite well (which I was surprised at, because I wasn’t used to that). A few days later something got brought up which made me realize that I was still hurt, and that I was not satisfied with how our previous conversation had resolved it, even though I was still happy that we had been able to talk about it. I think he saw the expression cross my face at that moment, and he had asked me what was wrong. I was hesitant to tell him. Previous experience had taught me that I was not allowed to bring things up more than once, especially if my feelings had already been acknowledged. But he pushed, and I told him that I was still hurt. And then he surprised me and asked why I didn’t want to tell him. I will never forget what he said to me after I told him why. He said:

“There may be times when I hurt you. If I step on your foot and hurt you, I want you to tell me. If you are still limping from it three days later, I want you to tell me, and we’ll talk about it.”

I have to be honest, that blew me away. I had never encountered such a welcoming and accepting attitude toward my feelings from any man--patriarchal, romantic, or otherwise.

(Two weeks after he passed, I remember telling my sister about it, and I remember seeing the tears in her eyes because I know that that was something she was not used to, either.)

The first thing I did was to ask him if he had always felt that way, if he had always been that fair. And he admitted that he hadn’t; that by not being given a lot of time to live, he ended up with a lot of time to think about how he lived.

That was one of those moments that hit home with me. At that point in my life, I was a much more secure-in-myself person. I had no problems—or so I thought—immediately standing up for myself. What that conversation showed me first was that even though I had come so far, I still had things to work on if I was hesitant to stand up for myself in certain situations. 

What it also showed me was that I was allowed to. At that point in time I was standing up for my feelings, but not always feeling like I was allowed to. He showed me that my feelings matter, just as much as the other person’s.

My feelings matter, just as much as the other person’s.

I should’ve known that already; I thought I did.

Your feelings matter. And they should matter to whoever you’re with, even if they think your feelings might be a little irrational or ridiculous (and even if they are!), because they are your feelings. And if you matter to someone, your feelings should, too. And you should always, always, be able to talk about them.

Since then, I have made a point to make sure to validate my own feelings. I don’t need anyone else to do it for me—although it is nice when they do! This does not always make me popular. But I will be forever grateful to my friend for that lesson. Because even though standing up for my feelings may not guarantee acceptance, friendship, or even love, standing up for my feelings—and showing myself some love, validation and respect—means that there is one less thing that I will be angry at myself for later. Because my feelings matter.

Everyone matters. How they feel matters. But we are all equal. Don’t put yourself above anyone else, but don’t put yourself below anyone else, either. Your feelings matter. Always stand up for how you feel, even if you are worried you may lose something by doing so—even if you do lose, and even if it hurts. Because what you lose inside yourself, when you don’t validate your own feelings and deny your own worth, hurts more and hurts longer.

An Abomination to God

A friend of mine posted an article on Facebook about a family with a transgender child. His comment regarding this family who is loving their young child in the best way they see fit was, "How disgusting. An abomination to God."

That makes me sad for so many reasons. The first is because those are uncharitable, ugly words of hate and judgment; the second is because those ugly words are cast on a family doing what they feel is best out of love for their child. Even if you disagree and think they are grossly misguided, you cannot fault the point of view they are coming from. Nor do you have the right to cast stones. None of us have that right, do we? "Let those without sin cast the first stone." Right? Sin is sin, and whatever your definition of sin is, you are still a sinner--and so am I--and you still expect people to love you and treat you with respect, yet you choose not to treat others the same way. What happened to the rule of treating others as you would have them treat you? Try to look at it this way: we all sin; some of us just do it differently. Besides, weren't we taught not to worry about the splinter in someone else's eye?

The terrorists who attack our country do so out of their religious beliefs. You get angry at them for attacking "us" (in the only circumstance you consider us all one unit), yet aren't you doing the same to others in your religious judgment of them? No, you may not be physically killing people, but you are persecuting them, attempting to kill their choices, their freedoms, their spirits (which is ultimately the same thing). Yet you deny that you are doing the same thing the terrorists are doing. And in more irony, their reasoning is the same as yours: "for their God." And you find that unacceptable.

I know that you were taught that every person before they die will have had the opportunity to hear the Word of the God that you believe in; you were also taught that some may choose not to follow it. I also know that you've been taught that the loving God that you worship has allowed every single person to make their own choices, and that He will be the one to judge them on their last day. You were also taught to live by the example Jesus had set--Jesus, who befriended the outcasts and the dregs of society, treating all of them with love; Jesus, who did not attack, spit on, curse, or defame in any way that man who betrayed him directly. If the man you were taught to emulate did not judge and persecute people then, why do you feel the need to do it now, in His name? Are you not putting yourself above him by doing so?

On Mother's Day of this year, a woman in Michigan decided to stand out in a busy intersection holding a sign that said, "Thank Your Mom Today For Not Being Gay" and was assaulted by another woman who threw a Slushie at her.

--Technically speaking, her sign was incorrect; many people have Mothers who are not their birth mothers through adoption, which means their Mothers could be gay--but that's another tangent.

I do not condone the actions of the woman who threw the drink at her; hate as an answer to hate is never effective. What bothered me is that the woman with the sign told reporters she was doing it "out of love."

Public judgment--shaming, anyone?--never comes from a place of love. Isn't love supposed to be kind?

Isn't everything supposed to be about love? What about 1st Corinthians 13?

1 Corinthians 13 - New International Version (NIV)
13 If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. ¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

Where is the love in persecution? Where is the love in dishonoring others? In keeping record of wrongs? In the lack of tolerance? In not treating others with kindness? In not allowing others the same freedom of choice that your own God gave them?

I have one more question for you to consider: What if--what if--the people with different beliefs and lifestyles were put here to test you and your own faith? Job was tested. Did he lash out at others? He suffered immense personal loss--as in, directly affecting him--and he attacked no one. Yet some of you feel obligated to persecute people that have no direct effect on your lives other than the fact that they live differently than you and you are forced to share the same oxygen source with them? God made them, too; and God doesn't make mistakes, right?

And "those people"--as you call them--treat you and your beliefs with more love and tolerance than you show them. Think about it. You are very vocal about your judgment of them at the mention of them. I have yet to see a gay person go off on a tirade about how wrong or "gross" heterosexuals are when they see pictures of them. Some of you regularly post bible verses on your Facebook page. And people leave those posts alone, don't they? I've never seen anyone's post of a bible verse attacked by an atheist or homosexual. Why is it that the ones who are being attacked can show more of a "Christian" attitude of tolerance, love and kindness?

Think about that. Where is your love? Where is your kindness?

How about this radical idea: why not practice the "Random Act of Kindness" towards someone living a lifestyle you don't agree with? Unconditional kindness. The Christian way. Wouldn't that be quite a testament to your faith?

I'm not angry at anyone. I am sad. Why can't we just love each other? Why do we have to draw all these lines between each other? How can anyone ever be truly happy and loving if they harbor hate or anger towards anyone?

I am by no means perfect. But I believe in love. And I love you.

*At the time I wrote this I had 703 friends on FaceBook. I may have less after people read it. But it will not change my feelings about any of you.

Rest in Peace, Helvio, and May the Rest of Us Live in Peace With Each Other

Helvio "Al" Silveira
1967-2014

I went to the funeral service of a classmate today. Even though we are in our 40s, that is and always will be how I think about him, as a classmate, because that is the main circle that I traveled in with him. We each have many circles of friends; they are not separate circles apart from each other, but instead are like the ripples in a pond beginning with a small circle in the center, a larger circle surrounding that first circle, an even larger circle surrounding that second circle, with an unending amount of ever widening circles spreading outward continuing on into infinity. And each of our own circles connect with everyone we know.

Our feelings about the death of someone we know can vary greatly depending on our perspective, on which circle we shared with that person. We all know what it’s like to hear about the passing of celebrity that we never knew personally, that we may have enjoyed on television for most of our childhood. We may think, “What a shame,” and spend a little while enjoying fond memories that they were part of. We may feel that we’ve lost a part of our childhood, yet accepting the fact that life goes on is still fairly easy on that level. Of course, that person would have been a part of one of the very outer-lying circles around us. It is easier to accept and deal with.

When it happens in one of the circles closer to home, our perspective and emotions change, getting more intense the closer we get to the center. With Helvio, we were not in each other’s innermost circles; but our circles were close enough that they connected through the circles of some of our own closer friends. We shared some of the same people in our innermost circles. It is in this that I am reminded of the phrase “six degrees of separation.” When I think about that, I realize it is not degrees of separation but degrees of connection. We are connected through the shared experiences of many years ago, and now by the special people that we shared. While we may have lost touch since high school, we have been still close enough through our connections to “touch” each other – maybe not in the direct sense, but in that ripple effect that every person’s life has on everybody else around them, and further. The butterfly effect, where even the smallest event or action can have a large effect in other places. We learned about that on a small scale in the movie, “It’s A Wonderful Life.” Like his parents to him, Helvio passes on himself to his children, and they are taking him and his spirit further, affecting every person they come into contact with. Al was a police officer. Like all police officers, he shares a connection directly with every member of the community he serves in, whether they are aware of it or not. Think about that on the small scale, when he was on traffic duty and stopped someone for speeding. That may not seem like much, and to some it may seem like an aggravation. However, think about the possibilities if that person had not been stopped and had continued on and hurt or killed another person. That person, as well as all of their circles would have been directly affected by that. Everyone who serves the public in any way directly impacts all of the lives around them. We are all connected, whether we see the ties or not.

I am sad about Helvio’s passing; he was a good man. But I know so many others who are and will be feeling his absence in a much greater way. I saw my friend, Richie (who overlaps in a few circles of mine, going back to when we were 13), who is one of Helvio’s “Brothers in Blue” (another circle-bond) this morning at the funeral service. He was in full uniform and one of the pallbearers. I don’t even know if he saw me or knows I was there. But I saw him. And I saw his face. He was looking directly ahead at all times, going through the ceremonial traditions. And I saw his pain. And my heart wept with him.

As an aside, regarding the ceremonious traditions certain groups have when a member passes--whether it be policemen, firemen, military, religious groups, or any other kinds of group-- they are important because they highlight the bond of the circle—the unbroken, continuous circle around that person. If a funeral procession interferes with your commute, or blocks a road or roads in your path, remember that whether or not you see it you have a connection with that person in some way, and in that moment you are touching each other. Take a moment to be aware of that.

During the mass I saw many familiar faces, people in different circles of mine and Helvio’s. Separate circles yet connecting. I saw his love, Lisa, who I don’t know, and I can only imagine the grief she must be feeling, and I feel so very deeply for her. I listened to his son talk about him, his love for his father was so very evident, and it was obvious that Helvio will still be around for a long time. Another one of his ‘brothers’ shared some wonderful little details with all of us, giving us a small look inside the circle he shared with his fellow police officers. I listened to the stories the priest shared about his conversations with Helvio. And then I realized that I felt very fortunate to be let in on parts of his life that I didn’t know, and to have been at least a part of one circle of this man who was loved by so many.

I myself have not said much, or posted on Facebook, too much about Helvio. I do not want people saying to me that they are sorry for my loss, when there are so many others who have lost so much more. Besides, it is not just one person’s loss – it is our loss. Beginning with his family, moving outward into his close band of brothers and friends, his community, and moving further outward.

To be able to see the invisible connections between all of us, is to be able to see how we impact the lives of others. In some cases, like in Helvio’s case, the impact is obvious. I grieve alongside of his family and loved ones, with and for them. And I am proud to say that I knew him, however distant my circle was.

I have to add this: I am a firm believer in signs. Before I went to the funeral service I had posted on Facebook a complaint about the hair from my cats being all over my clothing. My close friends are very aware that the majority of time I leave the house without any concern for my appearance, only making sure that I am is covered as I have to be. Yet the cat hair on my pants bothered me enough for me to say something publicly about. I found my daughter’s lint roller – I don’t own one myself – and made the effort to remove the cat hair. I went even further to take the lint roller with me, and before I got into my car made a careful effort to remove the hair from my pants. I never do that; if—and I mean if—I even bother with a lint roller, it is only once before I leave the house. I don’t even consider taking it with me, yet I did today. And then during the mass I heard a story about Helvio’s obsession with keeping his uniform pristine and his many lint rollers. I firmly believe that I was given a nudge this morning to make sure that I did not go to the church with cat hair all over me. Helvio—Al—may be gone from us in the way that we are used to, but he is still here.