Silent Screams (and other odd sounds)

This is what I'm thinking RIGHT NOW. It may not be what I'm thinking tomorrow.

Category Archives: Life Lessons


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Chasing the Bi- Scene

free_technology_coursesMore than thirty years ago, I learned about a series of “on” and “off” switches that functioned on a binary number system which was supposed to be the wave of the future.  These series of numbers, ranging from 0 to 1, were going to revolutionize the manner in which we would learn.   I remember having to learn how this intricate numbering system would be able to do things that were only imagined at that time.  I laughed thinking that a binary number system could be more effective that the base 10 system which was so widely accepted at the time; besides, what a person could do with 2 numbers could be done 100 times more efficiently with ten.  I assumed that these tiny switches that would turn things on and off to make learning easier was a scientific fad much like long division.  This ridiculous system would never last!

How little did I realize that this binary number system would, thirty years later, bring me to tears.

Being born in the late 1950’s, my computer usage was very limited.  It wasn’t until I had children in the late 1970’s and early 1980’s that I thought that learning how to use a computer would be “fun.”  Off my husband and I went to the most techno-geek electronic store to purchase the biggest and baddest  computer we could find with the idea that our children could use it when they entered high school in about 10 years or so.  In the meantime, my husband and I could be well versed in the computer world and give our children a distinct advantage.

Needless to say, the computer was in the electronic graveyard in a couple of years along with WordPerfect and all those other wonderful programs that would “last forever.”  The state of the art computer that we had purchased merely a couple of years before was already obsolete.  Words like “upgrades, and external hard drives” were to come years in the future, and when that future did arrive, the average Joe could only dream of doing those amazing upgrades himself.  More than likely, when the computer you had purchased a couple of years earlier for thousands of dollars became useless, off you went to one of many electronic stores, which were popping up all over at alarming rates, to finance another computer for thousands of dollars.

In the thirty years since learning about the revolutionary binary number system, I have made every attempt to keep up with the changes that have been occurring in our cyber world.  I’m sorry to say that most of the time I have always been a step or two behind the latest updates.  Just when I feel marginally competent in the use of a new device or technology, it changes and I become resistant to that change.   Maybe it is not that I am resistant to change but I just want things to slow down long enough for me to catch up.  I have grown weary of chasing the bi-scene.  I have grown weary of watching others pass me by and me being left in their cyber dust.

Recently, I feel that I am no longer in the cyber dust.  I have upgraded to cyber mud that has infiltrated each and every one of my synapses and has made the working of my physical binary brain sluggish at best.  Technology has succeeded.  It has brought me to my knees.  No longer can I be a passive learner of technology only educating myself to what is necessary in the moment;  I must be an active participant in the future that is technology.


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A Heart Still Broken

It has been 3 months and 8 days since my baby girl Faith left me for another world and it has been 1 month and 8 days since my Red King Rory left me to be at her side.

On good days I see them playing together in an open field.  Faith is running with her hair flying around her and the Red King is at her heels protecting her from all sorts of harm.  After a little while, they stop under a big oak tree and Rory stretches out his long body while Faith curls up near his nose, her body almost as big as his head.  They momentarily look at each other and then close their eyes.  My eyes strain not to close just so I can envision them longer, but soon the vision fades and the realization that they have both entered a grander plane floods me.  I should be happy for them but I have to shamefully admit that my heart remains broken.  It seems I can not fully adjust.

Faith’s death was painful but understood.  She had been ill for quite some time and when her final end came, it was not unexpected.  I was able to mourn her loss but still understand that she was made whole after her death.  Rory’s death was untimely, unexpected and much more painful.  He was playing in the yard, collapsed and was gone within seconds.  I didn’t have a chance to hold him like I held Faith during her last few minutes of life with me.  I was not able to sing to him the song I sang to Faith as I rocked her in my arms when she took her last breath.  I was only able to hold Rory close to me after he died and kiss his nose as I so often kissed it when he slept; but this time I knew he would never wake.  I cried out to God, but he wanted Rory for himself or he knew what Rory’s destiny would be if he had not died that day.

After reading all I could about how to “get over” the death of a pet, I took some advice and two weeks after the death of Rory, I bought a puppy.  Wyatt, is the new addition to my house.  He is the same breed as Rory but I have to sadly admit that I do not feel for him what I felt for Rory.  Right now, when I look at Wyatt, I see a beautiful Doberman Pinscher puppy that is so eager to please and be playful; but there are times when I look at him, all I feel a deep feeling of  loss for the companionship that Rory gave to me. If the truth be told, today, I would trade this little eager puppy for one more day with my Red King.

I did what was suggested and bought a puppy; not to replace Rory but to help heal myself from the pain.  I should have waited.  I pray that someday I will be able to give Wyatt the love he so richly deserves.

Rainbow Bridge

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.
There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.
There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.
The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together….

Author unknown…


 


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In a Heartbeat – Man’s Best Friend

When my oldest daughter finished her residency and was able to devote time to a pet, we started to search for the “perfect” pet for her.  Since she was going to live alone, she decided a dog that would afford some protection would be a good idea.  Since I had owned a Doberman Pinscher previously, I suggested that perhaps that type of dog would be a good one to consider.  I knew Doberman’s to be protective as well as loving.  They are often called “velcro” dogs because they tend to stick to the owner like glue.  My daughter said she’d consider one but wanted to see a few first.

We went to a reputable breeder who breeds Doberman’s not for profit but for the love of the breed.  On the premises were 6 adult Dobermans:  2 black, 2 red, 1 blue, and 1 fawn.  All of the dogs ran freely on her property so it wasn’t surprising that they all met us as we pulled in to the driveway.  They barked briefly to alert the owner of the property to our presence but then stood and looked at us warily.  It wasn’t until the owner came out of the house that we made the first move to get out of the car upon the owner’s assurance that the beasts before us would cause us no harm.

The breeder took us into the house where a massive black Doberman met us at the door, sniffed and then turned away.  In a large box in the corner of the room was a red Dobergirl guarding her Doberpuppies.  The breeder quickly let the Doberpuppies loose in the  house but kept the Dobermom in the corner.  As the breeder explained to my daughter exactly what Dobermans are like as a pet, one of the puppies came and sat near my feet.  He had the biggest paws I had ever seen on a Doberman and his legs were lanky and clumsy.  As the other Doberpuppies tried to gather at my feet to see what this visitor was all about, the Doberpuppy with the big paws kept every other puppy at bay.  He would not let any other puppy near me.  The breeder joked about him not letting me go home without him and I just laughed knowing that I didn’t need a big goofy Doberman to chase my two small Yorkies into a frenzy.

Since my daughter didn’t want a puppy for a few months, we looked at the Dobergirl who was due in about 5 months.  She had been breeded to the massive Doberman who met us at the door – so had the goofy, big pawed- red dog that wouldn’t let any other Doberpuppy near me.  We left that day with a lot of information.  My daughter left with the breeders phone number and the due date of the Dobergirl about to give birth.  I left with the goofy red dog who would later look like this:

My husband was not a happy camper when I brought Rory home.  He complained that he cost too much, he was too big for the Yorkies, and he would eat us out of house and home.  He was right, I was wrong.  Rory stayed and moved into our hearts.

As with most Dobermans, Rory quickly became the classic “velcro” dog.  He followed whoever was being the most active at the time.  He especially watched closely his blue ball, which became his constant appendage.  He never went anywhere without it.  He even slept with it.  A trait so endearing, that we couldn’t help but make sure he had two or three blue balls all the time, just in case one met with an untimely demise.

Soon, Rory took over my husband’s heart and the two developed a routine.  The routine was:  What Rory wants, Rory gets.  Rory waited patiently for my husband to get home from work, but the minute he walked into the house Rory would grab his blue ball and demand that my husband play with him.  Of course, my husband would call him a big red ass or say some other un-flattering name but Rory was persistent.  If he didn’t get the attention he wanted right then, he would thump my husband in the leg with his blue ball.  The exchange was a ritual and fun to watch.  Rory demanded attention.  He felt he had to the be center of our world because, after all, we were the center of his.

In a heartbeat, the attachment occurs:  the love between a dog and his master.  If the truth be told, I am unsure in a human/canine relationship who exactly the master is.  I’m pretty sure it is not the human.  Rory was the master of us all.  He played us like a finely tuned violin.  Rory pouted if he didn’t get his way, whined if you didn’t pay attention to him, caused mischief with the Yorkies at times and was the best friend a person could have.  He was more than canine, he was more than human, he was …Rory – The Red King.  Rory was a part of the family and lived in our every heartbeat.

After a long day, Rory felt it was his right to stretch out on the sofa and relax after a long tedious day of playing and protecting the homestead.  Of course, his blue ball was always close at hand.  At 120 lbs, Rory still thought he was a lap dog.  If able, he would cuddle up as close as possible as if to warm his body with ours.  An annoying, but endearing quality all at the same time.

Yesterday, while running and playing outside; something he loved to do, Rory left us in a heartbeat.  He was running and playing and then all of a sudden he looked up, collapsed and his spirit soared into the universe.  He left my world to enter another dimension.

Red Dog had a good life.  Red Dog had a happy life. Red Dog had a short 4 1/2 year life.  Red Dog will be remembered by me always.  I miss him more than words can say.

I love you Red Dog, Red King, Red Drooley…….  I love you Rory.


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Addicted to Instant Gratification

My beloved computer has not been feeling well.Image

Naturally being the wonderful MotherBoard that I am, I rushed her right to the hospital.

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She was in intensive care for what seemed like forever.  I didn’t know what to do.  Fortunately I had learned a previous lesson about making backup files; but even though I learned how, I was remiss in backing up ALL my files.  Sad to say, those are now gone forever.  The files lost were “unimportant” which is probably why I decided they could wait to be backed up; but now they are going to be a pain in the behind to re-do them.  Another life lesson learned.

Since my computer has been ill, I’ve had to relive the days when the US Mail was my friend.

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I don’t really care for the US Mail much anymore.  I have grown accustomed to the instant gratification of electronic bill pay and email.

Of course, while keeping a password keeper is very handy since each and every thing I do involves a password that has specific criteria different from all other passwords; it is best to keep it on more than one computer or at least make a hard copy of the list.  I didn’t do that.  Another valuable life lesson.

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I didn’t realize I was such a huge electronic addict.  I’m depressed to know that I am.  I’m further depressed to know that I actually had to stop and think how I did things in the past.

Life is slowly getting back to normal now.  My computer is feeling much better.  She connects me to the ever-changing world once again.

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I am slowly beginning to re-build my computer life.  I am finding all my favorite places a little at a time, I am making new book marks.  I have decided to enjoy the journey again and leave bread crumbs along the way so I can easily find my way back.


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Teacher….I Hope You Learn

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Yesterday, I read a post at All Access Pass about how teachers leave impressions on their students.  I can’t tell you how much I agree with the post.  Each adult, especially those in positions of authority leave lasting impressions:  some good and some not so good.  I’d like to relate a story of a first grade teacher who left a lasting impression on my youngest daughter.  The impression was such a strong one that my daughter can vividly recall it to this day; twenty one years later.

One day in early February, my daughter jumped off the bus at the end of our driveway, ran past me and quickly took something out of her book bag and threw it away.  Thinking she was acting rather strangely, I went to the trash can and picked out of the trash a paper “groundhog” that she had cut out and colored at school.  I turned and held up the ground hog to her and asked her why she wanted to throw it away.  “It’s ugly,” she said.  “I hate it.”

“Well, I absolutely love it.  I’m hanging it up on the refrigerator,”  I replied as I cut a piece of tape and hung it to the refrigerator.

“No you’re not.  You hate it.  I hate it.  It’s ugly.  Throw it away.”

“Absolutely not!”  I replied firmly.

The conversation was over and she went off to her bedroom to change clothes.  She never mentioned the ground hog again until her friend since birth, Heath, and his mother came over for a visit later that evening.  Since Heath’s mother and I were close friends, the children saw each other frequently.

Heath’s mother and I settled into tea and conversation when my daughter’s young friend ran into the kitchen to tell his mother some exciting news and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the groundhog taped up on my white refrigerator door.  “Ohhhhh…we weren’t suppose to bring our ground hogs home, you’re going to get into trouble” he said to my daughter in a sing-song fashion as he turned around to see if she was following him into the kitchen.  Suddenly his demeanor changed as he said, “Oh, that’s right, you were allowed to bring yours home.”

I stopped talking to Heath’s mother so I could ease drop more clearly on the children.  “What in the heck was the deal with this darn groundhog?  Was it going to come to life and eat us all while we were asleep?”  I stood up and un-taped the groundhog and called both of the children to my side.  “Which one of you is going to tell me the story behind this groundhog?” I asked both of them.  Both of these innocent six year old children stood silently for what seemed to be a long time before until Heath spoke up.  “She was allowed to bring hers home, none of the rest of us were allowed.”  Still confused by the whole situation I asked him why my daughter was allowed to bring her groundhog home and the rest of the class was not.  Waiting for an answer that I thought would involve my daughter acting out at school or doing something terrible with her groundhog that would make her teacher want to send her home with her groundhog in tow, I was heartbroken with the next words I heard Heath speak.

“Our teacher said her groundhog is too ugly to hang up with the rest of our groundhogs so she let her bring it home.”  My daughter eyes filled with tears.  I looked at her then at Heath and then at her again.

“Is that true?”

She just nodded her head and began to weep a little bit harder.  I froze.  I hugged her but didn’t know what to say.  I couldn’t take back somebody else’s words.  I couldn’t make right what a teacher had made wrong.

When I regained my voice and the anger and resentment started to build in me I asked Heath to tell me exactly what had happened.  He was reluctant at first to spill his guts about his teacher but the friendship he and my daughter shared won out.  He explained to me that each child was given a picture of a ground hog that they were to color and then cut so that the teacher could hang it on the wall for when the parents came to meet the teachers.  He said that my daughter was having a hard time cutting her ground hog because the scissors she had didn’t work.  (She was using right handed scissors and she is left handed.)  He said the teacher got real mad and grabbed her ground hog and held it up so we could all see how ugly her ground hog was.  He said she kept saying, “Isn’t this the ugliest ground hog?”  Then he said the teacher told her she could take hers home because it was just too ugly to look at.

My hands curled into fists as I listened.  My lips tightened.  I could feel my whole body tense.  I had made my plans. The next morning, the teacher and I were going to have a little face to face and she was going to see things from a whole new perspective.  My husband, being the voice of reason after I explained to him what had transpired, asked me to wait until the end of the week when I had a pre-arranged parent teacher conference scheduled and I would be a little less angry.  (He was hoping I’d be a little less angry.)  Much to my chagrin I complied with his wishes.

That Friday couldn’t arrive soon enough.  I was not less angry.  I was, however; more in control of my emotions.  I walked into my conference with confidence and a smile.  I sat and nodded my head so sweetly as this “teacher” told me how wonderful my child was.  She went on and on about how much of a joy it was to have her in her class room.  Her words ran out of her mouth like Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup over a stack of hot cakes.  It was incredible.

I stood up and walked the short distance to all the beautiful groundhogs that were hanging on the locker doors.  “Did the chidren do these groundhogs?”  I asked just as sweetly as I could.

“Why yes, aren’t they adorable?”  the teacher replied.

I nodded my head looking at each and every one until I came to the last groundhog.  I turned to her and said, “I don’t see my daughter’s groundhog.  Where is hers?”

“Oh, she was sick the day we did those.  She wasn’t in class.”

“Really?” I replied.  “I don’t recall her missing any school this nine weeks.”

“Yes, she missed this day.  I asked her if she wanted to do one but she said no.”

“Really?”  I once again replied.  “Hmm, funny.”  I turned and looked her square in the eye.  “Wait, I know where her ground hog is.  It’s on my refrigerator at home.”

“Oh, that’s right.  She brought it home but she wasn’t suppose to,” explained the teacher.

I shook my head.  “No, that isn’t what happened.  She was allowed to bring it home because you told her it was too ugly to hang up with the groundhogs the other children did.”

“She’s not telling you the truth.  She’s lying.”

I smirked at the teacher and said, “You know, I might have believed that but she wasn’t the one who told me about her ugly groundhog.”  I had her.  Busted!  Get out of this one you fine specimen of a teacher.

The teacher, in all her babbling glory, attempted every explanation to ease her discomfort.  I looked at her and didn’t say a word as she babbled on and on.  She knew I wasn’t buying a thing she said, and I didn’t have to tell her.  The truth was out there in the form of an innocent boy’s words.

After her attempt at explanations I folded my arms across my chest and said to her, “Care to try again because I’m afraid I just don’t find you credible at this point.”

Was this teacher done?  No.  She went on to tell me how many times my daughter did NOT wear a dress to school.  She told me that my daughter lets her friend Heath carry her books for her; and what is worse, SHE carries HIS books at times too.  She went on to tell me how she gets Heath’s coat for him if he is running behind at the end of the day and he does the same for her.  She explained that she’s a tom-boy and likes boy things.  She hinted that her playing basketball, baseball, football, and tag with the boys would probably lead her down the road to (gasp) homosexuality.

She was in deep.  The more she rambled the more I couldn’t believe that she was molding young minds.  The thought sickened me.  It still does.

Years later how does this affect my daughter?  Every time I asked her to cut things using a scissors she tells me she can’t because she has “cutting” issues.  We smile at each other because we both know what that means but the reality is…after 21 years she really does avoid cutting things out with scissors.

So, what kind of grade do I give this teacher?

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Sticks, Stones, Words, Bones

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I’ve been told, “One of the things I like about you is that I always know where you are coming from, you don’t sugar coat much.”  I like that about me.  I like the fact that most people know if they ask me a question or want my opinion, they will get the truth from me as I see it at that moment.  While I like that about myself, I also know that others may not.  Some people are perfectly content to have superficial relationships with others who only tell them what they want to hear; these people collect other people who only want superficial relationships and the “friendships” they form are based upon what everyone want to hear.  Everybody is happy in that kind of relationship but nobody is real.  I like reality.

Most of the time, if not directly asked, I keep my opinions to myself but there are times when keeping my mouth shut would be worse than not saying what has swelled up inside of me. How can I keep my mouth shut when someone is spewing hatred with the words “faggot, nigger, kike” or one of the other many anti-people titles?  I was standing in the midst of a conversation when the group was talking about “gay” people.  I tried very hard to hold my tongue until one of the group said, “What could be worse than to find out your kid is gay?”  I couldn’t stop myself.  It blurted out.  “Well, let me see.  I think having a child who is a murderer, a rapist, a thief, a spouse abuser or hell, even a child who is a liar would be worse than having a gay child.”  The conversation ended because I made them feel uncomfortable.

If you have to start your sentence in a whispered tone with, “let me see if there are any black people around…” it probably means you should shut up before your ignorance spills onto the floor.  If your conversation can not be the same all the time without having to “watch what you say” perhaps you need to check inside yourself to see why your conversations have to be censored.

“Sticks and stones may break my bones but words can never hurt me.”  As adults, do we still believe this nursery rhyme?  Did we ever really believe it?  I have been physically hurt before but the pain I remember most are the things that others have said about when I was listening and when they thought I didn’t hear.  The damage that endures through time is generally not the physical pain but the emotional pain brought on by words.

Once words are spoken, they can never be erased.

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Shampoo, Lather, Rinse, Repeat

Amazingly, the directions on a shampoo bottle, no matter how expensive that shampoo may be, have changed very little.  “Wet hair, apply shampoo, lather, rinse and repeat” has been the mainstay of many a shampoo product.  I like those directions.  They are simple and too the point; as all directions should be.

In years past, television equipment came with the same basic instructions.  “Plug television into a grounded receptacle, locate the on/off switch (which came with a picture) and turn the television on.  Later, television instructions became a little more complicated as the advent of cable became a stable in many homes.  Once again, the instructions were basic and for the most part easy to follow but you might have had to follow instructions in two booklets not one:  the cable booklet and the television booklet.  The instructions still came in the same box that the television or cable box came in and it had pictures and diagrams for all to follow.

Of course, if you were a music enthusiast, the instructions to connect tuners, amplifies, cassette tape decks, reel-to-reels, turntables and speakers put you far above those lowly consumers who only assembled their television and cable boxes.  Diagrams, speaker wires and channels were a part of the common vocabulary when it came to assembling the perfect in-house stereo systems.  “Real” stereo geeks laughed at the purchase of the all in one stereo systems that doubled as a piece of furniture.  Even after the stereo/furniture became a thing of the past and progress was made to put all the components of a stereo in one, the geeks still turned up their nose to the advancement.  Good thing these geeks had a firm foundation in components because the worst was yet to come.

Oh no they didn’t.  They combined television and music!  Say it isn’t so!  As technology evolved the television combined with surround sound.  Stereophonic TV.  The idea appealed not only to the television enthusiast but the stereo snob as well.  “Live” sound emanating from a visual source was more than anyone could refuse.  The connection war was on for all to enjoy – or not enjoy – as the case may be.

The instruction pamphlets turned into instruction booklets.  Each component:  television, receiver, tuner, CD player, DVD player, Nintendo, speakers each had their own booklet and each had their own idea on how things had to be connected.  Getting a new component meant a weekend project; complete with assemble, test the new component, disassemble, re-assemble, test the new component with a whole lot of swearing in the mix.  God forbid if you bought an entire new system complete with the latest and greatest gaming system.  Assembly of such proportions may have taken a couple of weekends and a few week night which gave you about  2 weeks to learn how to use the remote (which, by the way, comes with its own instruction booklet).

Surround sound gave way to 5 way surround sound which eventually was ousted by 7 way surround sound; each upgrade giving more and more of a live experience until eventually one could fantasize that they were at the premiere of the show they were watching or maybe even at the theater itself.  Life couldn’t get much better.  What more could the consumer want?  Why wouldn’t anyone want to convert their weekends and a few of their week nights into assembling one of the most prime entertainment systems ever?  Of course, after the assembly was perfected a new, much better, product hit the market and only left you wanting.

Fear not.  The makers of all our components heard the pleas of the common man and decided to thin those thick instruction manuals down to a pamphlet once again.  Of course, the pamphlet only contains the website one needs to assess in order to download the manual that contains 3,652 pages of words and diagrams each separated into its own unique topic that refers you to a later page or an earlier page that you didn’t understand anyway.

There are other options to the instruction manual nightmare.  Hire someone.  Hiring someone only takes one weekend-day (but you may have to wait for months for an appointment) or take a vacation day from work  and spend the morning watching someone install your easy-to-assemble entertainment system and spend the afternoon in class while he teaches you how to use it.

Technology has made my life much more simple.  I am so glad we have advanced beyond those silly instructions of shampoo, lather, rinse, repeat.


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Bully Buck Stops Here

As long as I can remember and probably longer than I’ve been alive, bullying has existed.  I’m pretty sure that bullying has touched each and every one of us whether we were the ones bullied or the ones doing the bullying.  Why now, after all these years, is it trendy to jump on the anti-bullying bandwagon?  Anti-bullying should have been a life lesson that parents taught their children by example.  We shouldn’t have to have an “anti-bullying” agenda now.

Recently I read a post called “The Continuing Tragedy of Dear Sweet Old Karen Klein” and while I may not agree 100% with the entire post (I agree with most of it however), I do agree with the underlying message that children will basically do what they see.  Children are blank slates waiting to be filled with all the wonders of the world, and the first wonder of the world  a child learns from is the parents.  If a child grows up with prejudice, hatred, anger, sarcasm and bullying; he will learn the same and see it as natural.  A child who grows up learning by example the life of a bully, will bully, and then we as adults cry out that “This bullying must stop!”  I agree, this bullying must stop but it doesn’t stop with the children, it stops with the parent first.

Growing up, I was the person who was bullied.  I was also the person who bullied.  Yes, I admit, I did some bullying back in the day – until my parents found out.  When I entered elementary school I never knew what it meant to be bullied until I was picked on for not having the right shoes, or the right hairstyle, or the trendiest dresses.  I learned from my some of my classmates that bullying was acceptable and even popular if you were doing it to the less fortunate than yourself; and so, I  picked on people who didn’t live up to my norm.  It wasn’t until my mother caught on to my bullying that she did a little bullying of her own.  What was her bullying?  Punishment pure and simple.  She didn’t like what I was doing.  She told me that “picking on other people” was wrong.  I was probably sent to my room (after a little swat to my behind)  to “think” about what I had said and how I would feel if someone said the same thing to me.  I know, a barbaric form of punishment!  I thought the same thing.  It  must have worked because I learned quickly that bullying just didn’t cut the mustard.  More importantly, bullying didn’t make me feel any better about me.

You see, in some ways, that’s the more important lesson.  The underlying cause of bullying is to make one feel better about oneself by lowering another.  Once I got that lesson, I realized that bullying was only a temporary gratification  but it never really changed how I thought about me.   I was still the same, and in some ways worse for how I treated others.  When it comes right down to it, it is all about me and how I can live with the things I do and don’t do. That is a parental lesson that should be taught to each and every child.  Each time I break someone else down, I break off a piece of myself; I am too valuable to lose all sorts of pieces.  If I keep chipping away at others misfortune or lack of beauty or lack of intelligence or lack of…..whatever, I have no time to look inside of myself to see exactly who I am and who I want to become.

There are no guarantees in life so I’m all about increasing the odds; and parents can increase or decrease the odds of what their children will or will not do.  If you want to increase the odds that your child won’t steal, don’t steal; if you want to increase the odds that your child won’t lie, don’t lie; if you want to increase the odds that your child won’t be verbally abusive, don’t be verbally abusive; and, you guessed it, if you don’t want your child to be a bully, don’t bully.  Let your adult actions influence your child and the children around you.

It was my responsibility to teach my children the life lessons I wanted them to know.  MY responsibility.  I could not count on the television to provide them with sound morals so there were times I had to turn off the TV and explain to them why I objected to a particular program.  I couldn’t trust the radio to teach them what was right and wrong so I listened to the music they listened to so I could discuss with them intelligently what I thought about the lyrics.  Part of my job as a parent was to be in tune with their likes and dislikes.  I think it’s called “active listening” now.

When my children were young, the “popular” thing to do was to go “hang out at the mall.”  I didn’t allow my kids to hang out at the mall and soon discovered from other parents what I was missing.  “I can’t believe you won’t let the kids go to the mall.  Just think, 6 whole hours to yourself!”  I would have loved 6 hours to myself to get my hair and nails done along with a pedicure and waxing but the cost was too great.  My children left alone in a mall with no real money to speak of and idle time?  No thank you.  To me, that was trouble just waiting to happen.  “But you let your children watch ‘R’ rated movies.  I don’t let my kids do that.”  Well darlin’, I’m there when they watch the movies and I can actually tell them the difference between reality and fantasy.  I wanted my children to grow up with the morals I thought they needed to have a happy, healthy life.  I didn’t want the television, the movies, the radio or other children teaching them things without letting me have an input; and for me to have an input I had to listen.

Back to topic.  Bullying is wrong.  I don’t like it.  I wish it would stop.  I don’t think television commercials will stop bullying.  I don’t think parents paying hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines because their children are bullies will help either.  In my humble opinion, you have to be an open book that you want your children to read.  They will learn more effectively by watching.  Children emulate their parents.  They play house, they play work, they play church, they play bully.  They play and eventually do what they see.

Both my children are adults now.  I have given them what I hope are the best life lessons that I could teach them.  It is up to them now.


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Living Without Faith

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This is Xander.

Xander is 10 years old. Xander has been Faith’s “brother” since we brought him home.  He and Faith were born a year apart.

Initially, Faith didn’t really care too much for Xander.  He was an intrusion into the household and to her lifestyle.  She was used to being the only “child” and now she had to share attention with this other canine.  Xander’s manly charms eventually won her over and they became best buddies.

Even though Xander was the man of the house, Faith was the boss.  Xander may have had the louder bark, but Faith was the dog that always set things in motion.  Xander wouldn’t think to bark unless Faith allowed him to do so.  It was Faith that did the commanding in the household; not only did she command Xander but the rest of us as well.  If Faith did not get her way she would refuse to “speak” or look at any of us.  Faith was the only animal I had ever encountered that could not be bribed by food.  No amount of her favorite food could coax her into becoming your friend again once she was ticked off.  If she were particularly mad, she would walk close enough to you to make you think you might be able to touch her only to dart away quickly leaving you looking rather foolish for even trying to pet her.

As Faith grew weaker over the years, Xander took up his pseudo role as boss dog.  The role seemed to be reversing and any stranger entering the house might have thought Xander was the dominant dog but if that same stranger stayed just a little while in our home they soon learned that Faith was still in command.  The smallest dog in the household was the largest life force.  Faith was the queen and all bowed down before her; even our Doberman when he finally became a part of the family.

The only time Xander didn’t listen to Faith was grooming day.  Faith didn’t really care for the groomers but Xander loved to get bathed, brushed and smelling good.  Xander thought he was so handsome on grooming day often strutting back and forth in front of the mirror to look at himself.  Faith, on the other hand, would rub her body against anything she could to get that nasty grooming smell of of her but before she could do that she had to escape Xander.    The groomer use to say she could put both dogs in one cage before grooming but she had to separate them afterwards because Xander would not leave Faith alone.  Once home from the groomers the torment was one.  Xander would chase Faith around the house just to ….  well, you know…and Faith wanted no part of that.  She’d eventually have to hide under a dresser where he was just a little too big to follow her.  The scene in my mind still makes me smile.

The bond between siblings is strong; even if those siblings are canine.  Xander now sits at one door or another waiting vigilantly for Faith to return.  He sits by the either door most of the day and night.  He sits, he doesn’t lay, and he cries.  He cries softly but he still cries.  Sometimes, I catch my father and Xander crying together.  Xander doesn’t know that his and my father’s beloved Faith is buried just beneath my father’s window, very close to the place she used slept under my father’s desk.

She is so close.  Her presence fills each and every room.  I can almost reach out and pet her….almost.

 


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Faith is Dead

It was the year 2000; the dawning of a new century, when my mother died in May.  It wasn’t a good time for any of us as we watched our matriarch take her last breath and our patriarch fall into a deep depression at our mother’s death.  It seemed that only gloom and doom was on the horizon.  In the year following my mother’s death, my family and I moved in with my father and the push was on to bring a puppy into the family.

My father didn’t want any part of a dog so resistance was high; but the push and tug of my youngest daughter at her grandfather’s heart string brought a new puppy to home.  Faith was born in 2001 to a 2 1/2 pound father and a 5 pound mother; both blue-blooded Yorkshire Terriers.  It didn’t really matter to us that Faith was born of royalty.  She was our puppy and we loved her at first site.

As Faith began to grow, my father’s depression lessened.  Faith had picked my father to be her “owner.”  She was his constant companion often times punishing him if he was gone too long or didn’t say hello to her first.  She had a cocky attitude and he loved it.  In my humble opinion, Faith was the sole reason my father came out of his depression and started to enjoy life.  My father cherished Faith.  She was his girl.  In fact, he called her “big girl” more than he called her Faith even though she was so tiny.

When Faith was three years old, she was out on our deck sunning herself as she liked to do.  She jumped up suddenly into my father’s arms and started to rub her head against his chest.  My father, sensing something was wrong called for me immediately.  It wasn’t but a few minutes later that Faith was in complete anaphylatic shock.  I scooped her up in my arms and raced to the vet’s office making it there in less than 9 minutes.  The vet cleared the office and took care of her; essentially bringing her back to life.  Faith had escaped death.

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Faith was a spitfire.  She didn’t like visitors and didn’t want anyone near my father.  Her little 5 pound body would attack anyone who entered his domain.  Slowly, the spitfire began to fizzle out and she started to lose weight.  She dropped down to 3 pounds but was still my father’s constant companion.  I took her to specialist after specialist and started her on all sorts of treatments but eventually I made the decision to stop those treatments that were painful to her and let her live a happy life.

She dropped to 2 1/2 pounds and then stabilized.  When I say stabilized I mean that she didn’t lose any more weight but she never gained any either.  If you picked her up to cuddle her every bone in her body could be felt.  She still followed my father everywhere.  Her head would always be craned upward to look at him so adoringly.  I often commented that the look she gave my father was one of complete love and devotion; a look only a hero is worthy to receive.

Faith ultimately took up residence under my father’s desk in his room.  She would bark at him when it was time to eat and she would bark at him when it was time to go to bed. My father would put Faith to bed and then wait until she was asleep to sneak back out of his room.  My father was completely devoted to his sweet companion.  In my father’s eyes, nothing was too good for Faith.  He fed her from his plate before he ate to make sure she got enough; dog food was way beneath her and my father catered to her every whim.

Recently, my family has been talking about taking a trip to see my father’s family in Puerto Rico.  I told my father I would not go without him.  He told me he would not leave Faith at a kennel because she is too fragile and he would just rather stay at home with her.  I agreed with him that Faith couldn’t go to a kennel because the vet had quit giving her her immunizations because of her weakened condition so kennels wouldn’t accept her so I told him that I could probably find someone to watch her.  He didn’t like the idea but when I told him my friend (who knows exactly how he feels about Faith) would watch her he said he’d entertain the idea.

Today, while my father was home alone with the dogs, Faith made, what my father said, was an odd sound and then quit moving.  He called my daughter and told her that he thought Faith was dead.  My daughter called me and I rushed home to see what was happening.  Faith had not died, but she was in the processes of doing so.  As I did after the bee sting, I scooped her up and rushed to the vet’s office; but this time my vet was closed and I had to hurry to another office.  They whisked Faith out of my arms only to return a few minutes later telling me she had “passed out.”  I saw how she was breathing.  I saw that she couldn’t lift her head or stand on her own feet.  She did not “pass out” she was actively dying.

They left Faith with me and I held her close.  My father left the exam room.  He couldn’t stay.  Faith and I were alone.   I sang to her.  I told her I loved her.  I thanked her for sharing her life with us and I thanked her for loving my father and bringing him out of his deep depression.  The vet, whom I had not seen before, came into the room and told me it was time for me to stop crying and do what was right.  He told me that it was time.  He said Faith was suffering and it wasn’t about me it was about the dog.

I wanted to punch him in the throat but he was right.  As much as I didn’t like his attitude, the situation was about Faith.  I understood that more than he did.  I told him I would not let her suffer.  I had promised Faith long ago that I would not let her suffer and I wasn’t about to go back on my promise to her now.  Her breathing was so labored and she couldn’t even hold her head up to look at me; I had to hold her head in my direction.

“Are you going to stay with her when we do this or are you going to leave?” the vet questioned.

“I’m not leaving her alone.”

He attempted several times to get the needle into her vein without success until he finally just delivered the deadly drug to her under her skin and told me it would take a little longer than the IV route.

I held her.  I sang to her.  I told her I loved her over and over again until she was gone.  My Faith is dead; but her memory will last a lifetime.  I love you Faith.