Oh, Eunice, you gotta love her.
Tonight at the nursing home, an aide was telling us that she has traveled around the world with her husband and talked about their recent trip to China. At the end of her description, my mother asked her if her husband came home with slanted eyes (from China). I just gasped and said, "Mom..." but she had no clue that what she said was not kosher. The aide, who is from Jamaica, just smiled and continued on her way. She wasn't offended, which I was thankful for. We tend to hold our breath before my mom says anything out loud, because you never know what it's gonna be.
It's really interesting, though, watching her at the nursing home. She talks to the aides and nurses like she's a little girl or pretending to be mad at them or just plain silly. They all seem to like her - it's probably a nice break from the mean, mentally ill ones - but I don't know what to make of it. I know she loves the attention she's getting because she talks to everyone who comes in her room, whether they came in to see her or not (she has a roommate). She knows all their names and all their backgrounds and if I didn't know any better, I would say that she's so comfortable there that she doesn't want to leave. She kept telling my dad and I tonight that her physical therapists don't think she should leave yet because they don't think she's ready. So instead of July 24, we decided for her to come home after I return from Madison, about August 4 or 5. That way she won't be alone with my dad, which is hard enough as it is, without not feeling well.
I know that my mom was "secretly" diagnosed with the beginning of dementia - "secretly" because we haven't told her - so I take what she says with a grain of salt. I don't want her to know this because I think it will make her very depressed and my dad and brothers agree. Her mother, my Nana, died from complications of Alzeimher's Disease, so I don't want to put fear or sadness into my mother's psyche. I just don't think it's necessary.
But my mom has always said things that were inappropriate or weird. I had a boyfriend once that came over to dinner and my mom happened to be there as well and he had a cool, bright-colored shirt on, that I actually gave to him. The first thing that came out of my mother's mouth after meeting him was, "My, your shirt is quite loud." I, of course, cringed and changed the conversation, but she had no clue what she said could be interpreted as offensive. I actually tried to warn my boyfriend before he met her that sometimes she says inappropriate things, but it was still embarrassing to me when she said it.
Once when I was young, probably around 11 or 12, an extremely heavy woman crossed the street in front of our stopped car and my mother looked at me and said, "Now, you need to stop eating so much; you don't want to look like her, do you?" I was too young to talk back to her then, but it embarrassed me nonetheless. SHE was the one who said, "Sticks and stones can break your bones, but names will never hurt you." She really had no clue all the times she hurt me by criticizing me about my weight. But then most parents don't know how they've hurt their children until it's way too late, looking back in retrospect. I know her mother hurt her, she hurt me and I'm sure I've hurt my kids in one way or the other.
Forgiveness is the key. It's what mends relationships and heals hearts. If I can't forgive others, then how can God forgive me? I need His forgiveness every day, and so I try to repent and forgive every day. After all, who am I to hold a grudge against someone who has offended me, when I have also offended others? It's such a simple concept, really. So simple that lots of folks haven't grasped it yet. And the very cool thing about it, is that when I forgive, I unload a lot of pure junk which I carried as a burden on my shoulders, sometimes for years, that feels wonderful when it's lifted. It's like the weightless feeling of floating in the pool. And you know, I really dig that.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Rebellion
Richard and his family left yesterday, driving back to Iowa. Micah and Jasmine left this afternoon and I always hate when my children leave me. I get this icky, empty feeling cause I know that I won't see them in a long time and I just hate that. He lives so far away, but now I live so far away from all my kids and grandkids. I'm just going to have to plan visits more often, that's all.
So everyone has gone and it's back to just me and Bob. I would never call him Bob to his face, of course, but it's kind of funny in writing. Not that he can do anything about it anymore; it would be him chasing me and we both waddle and wouldn't get very far.
But it wasn't always this way. My dad was very formidable when I was young and he scared me to death. And even though I was scared of him, I did some really stupid things during my youth. When I was a teenager, I would come home late at night, stoned or drunk out of my mind and my dad was always sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. He would be doing some kind of paperwork and when I walked in, I tried not to look him in the eyes, thinking he would realize I was stoned. He always looked up and I always looked down and said, "Hi dad," and he would say "Hi sis," and I would head straight to my room. He never did know about my getting high, unless he just didn't let on. I would guess that he didn't know because he wouldn't know what weed smelled like, so he probably thought I was just smoking cigarettes. He no doubt smelled the alcohol though, and it was probably those nights when he gave me the evil eye. He had, and still has, one of the meanest looks known to man. As they say, if looks could kill, well, let's just say I would be dead ten times over.
In the same vein of parents not knowing what their children are doing, my mother was a prime example of that. She worked as the secretary in my junior high school, Lincoln Junior High, which was a real drag for me because I began going behind her back by wearing make-up and jewelry (which she prohibited me from doing), and I had to be very careful as to not letting her see my face during the day. I would put this stuff on before school and take it off after school, and she never was aware of what I was doing. When I had to walk by her office, I would open my eyes up real wide so she couldn't see the eye liner that was so obviously on my eyes. Black, thick eyeliner and sometimes black mascara too. How can you not see that? I even bleached my hair with peroxide in the summer and she never noticed. I would take the peroxide bottle she kept in the bathroom cupboard and with a tissue, simply swipe it through my hair, then sit in the sun. It made my hair stink real bad, but she simply thought the sun was lightening it up, even though one year it was actually blonde when I was naturally a brunette!
It was during Christmas break the year that I was 16 years old that my parents decided to take a trip to Florida. I didn’t want to go with them, and so they took Danny (Richard was in the service) and foolishly left me at home alone for 2 weeks! I really couldn’t believe they did that, but they did, and so I took advantage of the situation. They also left me their car, which was very convenient, as I drove down to the south side of Chicago to pick up my boyfriend, Michael, so he could stay with me. As it turned out, I had a party in my parents’ home for the entire 2 weeks, with people coming in and out, some of whom I didn’t even know. We smoked, drank the liquor in my parents’ liquor cabinet (filling the near-empty bottles with water afterward), used drugs and just sat around listening to music all day and night. I tried to air the house out before my parents came home, as they didn’t smoke at all, but that was impossible and they smelled it as soon as they walked in the front door. Apparently my dad had written down the mileage on the car before he left (which I didn’t know about) and wanted to know where I had driven to put so many miles on the car. He was furious of course. It was not a good situation when they came home, but I deserved every bit of their wrath, if not more.
Someone told me this week that they read that it's usually the wayward or rebellious child who ends up taking care of the parents in their old age. I thought that was interesting and just smiled, because in my situation, it's true. My brothers never put my parents through all the grief that I did. Now, which one of my kids....
So everyone has gone and it's back to just me and Bob. I would never call him Bob to his face, of course, but it's kind of funny in writing. Not that he can do anything about it anymore; it would be him chasing me and we both waddle and wouldn't get very far.
But it wasn't always this way. My dad was very formidable when I was young and he scared me to death. And even though I was scared of him, I did some really stupid things during my youth. When I was a teenager, I would come home late at night, stoned or drunk out of my mind and my dad was always sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. He would be doing some kind of paperwork and when I walked in, I tried not to look him in the eyes, thinking he would realize I was stoned. He always looked up and I always looked down and said, "Hi dad," and he would say "Hi sis," and I would head straight to my room. He never did know about my getting high, unless he just didn't let on. I would guess that he didn't know because he wouldn't know what weed smelled like, so he probably thought I was just smoking cigarettes. He no doubt smelled the alcohol though, and it was probably those nights when he gave me the evil eye. He had, and still has, one of the meanest looks known to man. As they say, if looks could kill, well, let's just say I would be dead ten times over.
In the same vein of parents not knowing what their children are doing, my mother was a prime example of that. She worked as the secretary in my junior high school, Lincoln Junior High, which was a real drag for me because I began going behind her back by wearing make-up and jewelry (which she prohibited me from doing), and I had to be very careful as to not letting her see my face during the day. I would put this stuff on before school and take it off after school, and she never was aware of what I was doing. When I had to walk by her office, I would open my eyes up real wide so she couldn't see the eye liner that was so obviously on my eyes. Black, thick eyeliner and sometimes black mascara too. How can you not see that? I even bleached my hair with peroxide in the summer and she never noticed. I would take the peroxide bottle she kept in the bathroom cupboard and with a tissue, simply swipe it through my hair, then sit in the sun. It made my hair stink real bad, but she simply thought the sun was lightening it up, even though one year it was actually blonde when I was naturally a brunette!
It was during Christmas break the year that I was 16 years old that my parents decided to take a trip to Florida. I didn’t want to go with them, and so they took Danny (Richard was in the service) and foolishly left me at home alone for 2 weeks! I really couldn’t believe they did that, but they did, and so I took advantage of the situation. They also left me their car, which was very convenient, as I drove down to the south side of Chicago to pick up my boyfriend, Michael, so he could stay with me. As it turned out, I had a party in my parents’ home for the entire 2 weeks, with people coming in and out, some of whom I didn’t even know. We smoked, drank the liquor in my parents’ liquor cabinet (filling the near-empty bottles with water afterward), used drugs and just sat around listening to music all day and night. I tried to air the house out before my parents came home, as they didn’t smoke at all, but that was impossible and they smelled it as soon as they walked in the front door. Apparently my dad had written down the mileage on the car before he left (which I didn’t know about) and wanted to know where I had driven to put so many miles on the car. He was furious of course. It was not a good situation when they came home, but I deserved every bit of their wrath, if not more.
Someone told me this week that they read that it's usually the wayward or rebellious child who ends up taking care of the parents in their old age. I thought that was interesting and just smiled, because in my situation, it's true. My brothers never put my parents through all the grief that I did. Now, which one of my kids....
Friday, July 15, 2011
I Don't Understand
I don't understand why people wait until they're dying or very ill or in a terrible situation before they turn to God for help. I really don't understand this, and even wrote a poem a long time ago, which is below. God wants us to come to Him as our Father and He longs to fellowship with us. It's not about religion - it's about relationship - our relationship with Jesus. Relationship is so important. It's actually the most important relationship we can ever have in our lives. And if that is true, then I believe we should pursue it wholeheartedly, with honest desire long before we are old or dying or up against a spiritual wall.
God wants us to choose to love and seek Him - He would never force us. Just like our children - we long for them to love us but we would never try to force them to do so. That would not only be ridiculous, but it would not be real love. And so it is with God.
I hope I don't sound like an annoying know-it-all. I'm really just expressing something I have never understood. Because I have depended on God most of my adult life, I don't know how people can function without Him. I have joy, I have peace and most of all, I have hope. If my hope was in this life only, how shallow and disappointing that would be. I'm definitely not perfect - not even near - but like the bumper sticker says, I am forgiven. Thank God for His mercy and grace.
What I have said to my friends who claim to be athiests or just follks who don't think God is important, is that if I am wrong and there is no God, I really won't have anything to lose. I lived a good life and I am at peace. But, if there is a God as I believe, then you have everything to lose. I choose not to gamble my eternity - it's far too important.
I have some questions I must ask
to understand your mind;
is it your pride or foolishness
or just from being blind?
His blood and pain was for your soul,
and yet you never knew.
How can you live your life as though
yet though, not knowing, you decide
where you'll spend eternity.
What do you think about at night
does fear or emptiness appear
or do you simply weep?
Do memories invade your thoughts
and have you ever wondered
why your happiness won't last?
of life and love and peace within
the kind your soul does seek.
turn to the One Who loved you first
then love, for once, you'll see.
God wants us to choose to love and seek Him - He would never force us. Just like our children - we long for them to love us but we would never try to force them to do so. That would not only be ridiculous, but it would not be real love. And so it is with God.
I hope I don't sound like an annoying know-it-all. I'm really just expressing something I have never understood. Because I have depended on God most of my adult life, I don't know how people can function without Him. I have joy, I have peace and most of all, I have hope. If my hope was in this life only, how shallow and disappointing that would be. I'm definitely not perfect - not even near - but like the bumper sticker says, I am forgiven. Thank God for His mercy and grace.
What I have said to my friends who claim to be athiests or just follks who don't think God is important, is that if I am wrong and there is no God, I really won't have anything to lose. I lived a good life and I am at peace. But, if there is a God as I believe, then you have everything to lose. I choose not to gamble my eternity - it's far too important.
I have some questions I must ask
to understand your mind;
is it your pride or foolishness
or just from being blind?
How can you just ignore the fact
He gave His life for you?His blood and pain was for your soul,
and yet you never knew.
yet though, not knowing, you decide
where you'll spend eternity.
does fear or emptiness appear
or do you simply weep?
and have you ever wondered
why your happiness won't last?
Why do you look beyond the One
Who holds the very key?of life and love and peace within
the kind your soul does seek.
It's really not as difficult
as you make it out to be;turn to the One Who loved you first
then love, for once, you'll see.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
My Mom
The backyard of my dad's house sounds like a rainforest. There are species of every bird imaginable, ducks, crickets and some insect or animal that makes a really loud, high-pitched cricket-like sound. The birds are all chirping, beeping, sqwalling, wooing and cawing. It's a menagerie of sounds quite like the jungle, not that I've ever been there, but what I would imagine a jungle would be like. And then there are the alligators.
Jason and I saw a huge alligator just last week in the canal in back of the house. His head was out of the water and we were all excited but he just ignored us and kept floating along while Jas took a short video of it. It was bizarre that he was so close with no barriers. Kind of scarey too. I've read that they can run up to 30 mph for short stints, however they only run straight. That's supposed to be comforting, because all you have to do is run zig-zag and he won't get you. However, I don't know any human being who can run 30 mph, even for a short stint, much less in a zig-zag fashion.
So all the sounds of the backyard makes it feel very exotic when I'm in the pool. I watch the canal carefully, because I don't want an alligator crawling up to the screen and pushing his way through to me. My kids laugh at me and say that would never happen, but just in case... We swam at night a few times, which is very cool with the light on in the pool. It all looks very eerie, but every loud sound we heard, made me feel a little alarmed inside. You can't see out into the canal when it's dark, so all you have is your imagination, and mine is quite vivid. I stayed on the opposite side of the pool, so just in case he came crashing through the screen, I could make a fast, or rather as fast as my feet would go with hopefully adrenalin pushing them, getaway up the stairs and into the house. That hasn't happened yet, which is a good thing because I would probably end up having an asthma attack and collapsing in the kitchen.
Richard picked up my mom today and took her for a drive and then we all met for lunch. She's doing really well. I took her back to the nursing home, but we made a pit stop at the house first to surprise my dad. We decided that Sunday, July 24th, she will be coming home. I'm going to have to have a "talk" with her that I really don't want to do. She talks and treats my dad so mean that it's getting ridiculous. I know she has a lot of resentment toward him, but enough already. It's really ugly and I don't like it. I mean, my dad isn't the easiest person in the world to live with, but neither is she! At least I don't have to hide my Butterfingers with my dad. I'm not sure if she realizes how mean she is being toward him and I plan on laying it out for her. I don't like to see or hear it and I feel sorry for my dad. All he wants is to help her and she barks at him like a dog. He doesn't deserve that.
What a weird position to be in. I'll talk to her alone when I go to the nursing home this upcoming week. Hopefully she will "hear" me. You would never know this about my mom. She does it very quietly and if there are people around, not at all. To my mom's friends, her sky is always blue, the grass is always green and she is always "just fine." Unfortunately, my mom doesn't look life square in the face and confront it for what it is. Her motto always was, and still is, "Ignore it and it will go away." She used to say that about my dad too. I think the reason I tend to be too bold or too honest or too confrontational, is because she was just the opposite. She is very passive-aggressive and I hate that characteristic. But in some ways, being the martyr that she is, has perhaps helped her survive all these years. She has, for as long as I can remember, been extremely depressed, but would never admit it. Just recently, while in the nursing home, I finally talked her into taking an anti-depressant. Hopefully that will kick in soon and her disposition will change; because I really don't want to be a referee. I'd much rather be just their daughter.
Jason and I saw a huge alligator just last week in the canal in back of the house. His head was out of the water and we were all excited but he just ignored us and kept floating along while Jas took a short video of it. It was bizarre that he was so close with no barriers. Kind of scarey too. I've read that they can run up to 30 mph for short stints, however they only run straight. That's supposed to be comforting, because all you have to do is run zig-zag and he won't get you. However, I don't know any human being who can run 30 mph, even for a short stint, much less in a zig-zag fashion.
So all the sounds of the backyard makes it feel very exotic when I'm in the pool. I watch the canal carefully, because I don't want an alligator crawling up to the screen and pushing his way through to me. My kids laugh at me and say that would never happen, but just in case... We swam at night a few times, which is very cool with the light on in the pool. It all looks very eerie, but every loud sound we heard, made me feel a little alarmed inside. You can't see out into the canal when it's dark, so all you have is your imagination, and mine is quite vivid. I stayed on the opposite side of the pool, so just in case he came crashing through the screen, I could make a fast, or rather as fast as my feet would go with hopefully adrenalin pushing them, getaway up the stairs and into the house. That hasn't happened yet, which is a good thing because I would probably end up having an asthma attack and collapsing in the kitchen.
Richard picked up my mom today and took her for a drive and then we all met for lunch. She's doing really well. I took her back to the nursing home, but we made a pit stop at the house first to surprise my dad. We decided that Sunday, July 24th, she will be coming home. I'm going to have to have a "talk" with her that I really don't want to do. She talks and treats my dad so mean that it's getting ridiculous. I know she has a lot of resentment toward him, but enough already. It's really ugly and I don't like it. I mean, my dad isn't the easiest person in the world to live with, but neither is she! At least I don't have to hide my Butterfingers with my dad. I'm not sure if she realizes how mean she is being toward him and I plan on laying it out for her. I don't like to see or hear it and I feel sorry for my dad. All he wants is to help her and she barks at him like a dog. He doesn't deserve that.
What a weird position to be in. I'll talk to her alone when I go to the nursing home this upcoming week. Hopefully she will "hear" me. You would never know this about my mom. She does it very quietly and if there are people around, not at all. To my mom's friends, her sky is always blue, the grass is always green and she is always "just fine." Unfortunately, my mom doesn't look life square in the face and confront it for what it is. Her motto always was, and still is, "Ignore it and it will go away." She used to say that about my dad too. I think the reason I tend to be too bold or too honest or too confrontational, is because she was just the opposite. She is very passive-aggressive and I hate that characteristic. But in some ways, being the martyr that she is, has perhaps helped her survive all these years. She has, for as long as I can remember, been extremely depressed, but would never admit it. Just recently, while in the nursing home, I finally talked her into taking an anti-depressant. Hopefully that will kick in soon and her disposition will change; because I really don't want to be a referee. I'd much rather be just their daughter.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Fish
I'm watching how octupus mate tonight with my father. How awkward. It's on the Public Broadcasting Channel and supposed to be educational. All I feel is embarrassed. I mean, it's the most natural thing in the world, but somehow watching it with my father, loses the educational part and all I can think of is that they're having sex. I act like it's an interesting show to watch when he points certain things out to me, but trying to paying little attention to it. But my father is becoming hard of hearing and the TV is blaring. It's hard to simply ignore. But the question is, who cares how octupus mate?? Some of these shows are so bizarre. These researchers probably get paid huge salaries to watch and record how octupus mate.
Earlier in the evening, my father watches one show after another about stocks, bonds and the market in which I know nothing about and I find very boring. I don't have a clue what they're talking about and my father sits glued to them with intense interest. I need to pull my paints out and start painting during this time; I don't know why I haven't yet. I keep putting it off and I don't know why. It's probably some deep psychological issue; or maybe I'm just lazy.
My mother is feeling much better. Her infection is gone and the doctor has given her permission to come home. But she doesn't want to just yet. She told Danny that she's scared. I'm not sure what she's scared about, so I need to talk to her to find out what's going on. I guess it's understandable to be scared, leaving the security of the nursing home, but that's the whole point for me being here - to help my mom and dad both.
She went to the doctor yesterday morning and I was planning to go with her and my dad. She told my dad that she wanted my older brother, Richard, to go with her instead. Why? Because he had some kind of medical experience in the Air Force some 40 years ago. I just shook my head and laughed. Richard has always been, and still is, my mother's favorite. So I said no problem, because I wanted to sleep in anyway.
My brother and his wife and granddaughter came down to visit my parents two days ago. They drove down because they have a lot of stuff here that they want to take back up north with them, and to see about my parents. They came over today and we swam in the pool and just hung out. Micah and Jasmine left for the other coast this afternoon. They are preaching in a church in Palm Beach and will be staying there for a few days before coming back to Venice. They plan on driving down to Key West and then on Sunday, they have another preaching engagement at a different church.
Now we're watching a program about white whales. No, I didn't know there were white whales, but I think it's time to go to bed. I REALLY don't want to see how these huge fish mate...
Earlier in the evening, my father watches one show after another about stocks, bonds and the market in which I know nothing about and I find very boring. I don't have a clue what they're talking about and my father sits glued to them with intense interest. I need to pull my paints out and start painting during this time; I don't know why I haven't yet. I keep putting it off and I don't know why. It's probably some deep psychological issue; or maybe I'm just lazy.
My mother is feeling much better. Her infection is gone and the doctor has given her permission to come home. But she doesn't want to just yet. She told Danny that she's scared. I'm not sure what she's scared about, so I need to talk to her to find out what's going on. I guess it's understandable to be scared, leaving the security of the nursing home, but that's the whole point for me being here - to help my mom and dad both.
She went to the doctor yesterday morning and I was planning to go with her and my dad. She told my dad that she wanted my older brother, Richard, to go with her instead. Why? Because he had some kind of medical experience in the Air Force some 40 years ago. I just shook my head and laughed. Richard has always been, and still is, my mother's favorite. So I said no problem, because I wanted to sleep in anyway.
My brother and his wife and granddaughter came down to visit my parents two days ago. They drove down because they have a lot of stuff here that they want to take back up north with them, and to see about my parents. They came over today and we swam in the pool and just hung out. Micah and Jasmine left for the other coast this afternoon. They are preaching in a church in Palm Beach and will be staying there for a few days before coming back to Venice. They plan on driving down to Key West and then on Sunday, they have another preaching engagement at a different church.
Now we're watching a program about white whales. No, I didn't know there were white whales, but I think it's time to go to bed. I REALLY don't want to see how these huge fish mate...
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Life as I Know It
I thought my head was going to explode today. Micah, Jasmine and I went to the beach and the sun was so hot burning down on me, that I got real red and HOT. After awhile, I went to sit in the car to get out of the sun, turned the a/c on high and just laid back. When we got back to the house, we all jumped into the pool and it felt like my sizzling skin was immediately relieved in the cool pool. It was bizarre! I felt like a chicken roasting on the hot sand and when we jumped into the pool, I could visualize steam rising up from the cool connecting with the hot. Ahhhhhhh....
When I was young, I always sweat under my arms, where most people sweat. When I went through menopause, it seemed I sweat from every gland in my body. Now, after menopause, I sweat only from my head! It's the weirdest thing. A lot of the time, my hair is soaking wet like I just washed it, simply from sweat. It's very embarrassing and inconvenient. Do I have to wear a bandanna every day to catch the little droplets of water emitting from my scalp? I mean, when I was young, all you had to do was to keep your arms down at your side and no one would have a clue what was going on down there. During menopause, everyone expects you to sweat from all areas of your body and so others look pitifully at you with a "I'm so sorry for you dear, but I know how you feel -- I went through it too." But now, why in the world is my head playing tricks on me and spitting out so much water?? How could my head have so much water in it - there's really no room with all the other stuff in there.
And then my hair. Well, it used to fall down to my waist. So much hair comes off on my brush that at this rate, I could be bald before I'm 60. It's thinned out and somehow gotten shorter over time, that eventually I may have to buy a babushka (scarf) and wear that. I can envision myself waddling around with my cane and babushka - just like my great-grandma. Except she only spoke Yiddish and no English. She was a short little woman who wore a wig or a babushka, because back in those days, when an orthodox Jew got married, they shaved their heads and wore a wig the rest of their lives. I have no idea why - that's just what they did. I can imagine how that must have itched - I would have hated it. But I guess when that's all you know, that's what you do without question.
It would have been very strange to live in that era. In my family, the girls stayed home to help in the house and the boys went to school till about 5th grade, then they helped in the fields. My descendants were farmers, blacksmiths and factory workers when they came to the United States. They all entered through Ellis Island, which is a place I want to visit one of these days. My grandmother on my father's side could not read or write and my other grandparents had limited English skills - but they all knew Yiddish. Yiddish is a mixture of languages from several countries, that Jewish people created to connect to one another. It's a funny and very descriptive language that I love to hear and repeat.
My great-grandfather on my father's side had a son who married a gentile (non-Jew) and my great-grandfather disowned him. He actually held shiva (a funeral service) for him and considered him dead. That's really harsh, but the old school tradition was meant to preserve Jewish identity and his son marrying outside of the religious faith meant certain "death" on the "offender's" part. I'm sure that's what my parents were thinking when I came home pregnant, not married and to a black gentile. Except by that time, traditions had changed and my parents weren't orthodox. They raised us in Reform Judaism, which is the most liberal branch of Judaism.
My brothers and I were forced to go to "religious school" which was on the weekends. I hated it so much that I was very disruptive in class and when we had to be in the sanctuary with the rabbi talking/preaching, other kids and I would flip "birdies" to the kids in front of us - just to be disrespectful and obnoxious. My poor mom never could understand why I was so rebellious and angry. I think my dad understood, because I was (and am) much like him, but he never acknowledged it. In fact, I never heard about my dad's colorful past until I was an adult. I guess he didn't want to encourage me any more than I was already acting.
I love history and I love learning about the past. It explains so much about the present and gives us hope for the future. The kind of hope where if you've made a mistake in the past, you can correct it in the future. Tomorrow is always a clean slate that we can change what we want to change, keep what we want to keep and create new paths and pictures of what we want to become or go or be. That's awesome when you think about it. You are the author of your life, and where you choose to go or become is totally up to you. God gives us free will to choose our paths and make our own decisions. But it's the wise person who gives their life back to God and says, "Lead me Lord, for I will follow." Yeah. I'd rather follow the One Who knows, than to wander around aimlessly myself.
When I was young, I always sweat under my arms, where most people sweat. When I went through menopause, it seemed I sweat from every gland in my body. Now, after menopause, I sweat only from my head! It's the weirdest thing. A lot of the time, my hair is soaking wet like I just washed it, simply from sweat. It's very embarrassing and inconvenient. Do I have to wear a bandanna every day to catch the little droplets of water emitting from my scalp? I mean, when I was young, all you had to do was to keep your arms down at your side and no one would have a clue what was going on down there. During menopause, everyone expects you to sweat from all areas of your body and so others look pitifully at you with a "I'm so sorry for you dear, but I know how you feel -- I went through it too." But now, why in the world is my head playing tricks on me and spitting out so much water?? How could my head have so much water in it - there's really no room with all the other stuff in there.
And then my hair. Well, it used to fall down to my waist. So much hair comes off on my brush that at this rate, I could be bald before I'm 60. It's thinned out and somehow gotten shorter over time, that eventually I may have to buy a babushka (scarf) and wear that. I can envision myself waddling around with my cane and babushka - just like my great-grandma. Except she only spoke Yiddish and no English. She was a short little woman who wore a wig or a babushka, because back in those days, when an orthodox Jew got married, they shaved their heads and wore a wig the rest of their lives. I have no idea why - that's just what they did. I can imagine how that must have itched - I would have hated it. But I guess when that's all you know, that's what you do without question.
It would have been very strange to live in that era. In my family, the girls stayed home to help in the house and the boys went to school till about 5th grade, then they helped in the fields. My descendants were farmers, blacksmiths and factory workers when they came to the United States. They all entered through Ellis Island, which is a place I want to visit one of these days. My grandmother on my father's side could not read or write and my other grandparents had limited English skills - but they all knew Yiddish. Yiddish is a mixture of languages from several countries, that Jewish people created to connect to one another. It's a funny and very descriptive language that I love to hear and repeat.
My great-grandfather on my father's side had a son who married a gentile (non-Jew) and my great-grandfather disowned him. He actually held shiva (a funeral service) for him and considered him dead. That's really harsh, but the old school tradition was meant to preserve Jewish identity and his son marrying outside of the religious faith meant certain "death" on the "offender's" part. I'm sure that's what my parents were thinking when I came home pregnant, not married and to a black gentile. Except by that time, traditions had changed and my parents weren't orthodox. They raised us in Reform Judaism, which is the most liberal branch of Judaism.
My brothers and I were forced to go to "religious school" which was on the weekends. I hated it so much that I was very disruptive in class and when we had to be in the sanctuary with the rabbi talking/preaching, other kids and I would flip "birdies" to the kids in front of us - just to be disrespectful and obnoxious. My poor mom never could understand why I was so rebellious and angry. I think my dad understood, because I was (and am) much like him, but he never acknowledged it. In fact, I never heard about my dad's colorful past until I was an adult. I guess he didn't want to encourage me any more than I was already acting.
I love history and I love learning about the past. It explains so much about the present and gives us hope for the future. The kind of hope where if you've made a mistake in the past, you can correct it in the future. Tomorrow is always a clean slate that we can change what we want to change, keep what we want to keep and create new paths and pictures of what we want to become or go or be. That's awesome when you think about it. You are the author of your life, and where you choose to go or become is totally up to you. God gives us free will to choose our paths and make our own decisions. But it's the wise person who gives their life back to God and says, "Lead me Lord, for I will follow." Yeah. I'd rather follow the One Who knows, than to wander around aimlessly myself.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
The Other Biggest Regret
I sat and listened to Micah preach this morning and I realized how proud I am of him, and how proud I am of all three of my children. They grew up to be successful, loving and driven people who live for God - the most important thing. Of all the qualities I could have impressed upon them, the most important is a life that is committed to Jesus Christ. Everything else pales in its sight. And then I noticed a young mom with her children and I smiled because I remember and miss those days. It was then that I realized that the other biggest regret I have is how I raised my kids.
I've made a lot of poor choices in my life, but having my three children was not one of them. And because their father wasn't willing or able to be a father, I was forced to raise my children alone. I was both mom and dad to them, which I believe is one of the hardest jobs in the world. It's nearly impossible to be both mom and dad to children - that is, if you want to do a good job. I always wanted to do a good job; I wanted to be a good and loving mom, and yet I feel that I fell short. My regret is that I wasn't loving and nurturing enough; that I was too harsh and used discipline far too often. You have to discipline your children or they turn out to be obnoxious and unruly people, but the key is to do it with love. I did it most of the time out of frustration and anger. I regret that. I wish I would have been more patient and loving.
There is no doubt that I love my children with all my heart. But there are a great deal of ways I could have raised them differently and shown my love more. I blame myself only for that. I always second-guessed my decisions and wondered if what I was doing was right. There are no books or manuals that can tell you how to raise children. You just have to do it, pray and hope you did the right thing. And trust God. God is the definitive factor. Without Him, my children and I would not be where we are today.
And so I want to publicly apologize to my children for all the mistakes I made while raising them. I wish I could go back in time and re-do everything I feel I did wrong, but obviously, I can't. At the time, I felt I did the best I could with what I had, but hindsight tells me differently. But then I wonder if other parents feel the same way I do, and my guess would be that there are plenty who do. If we really examine ourselves truthfully, we find that we have many regrets in our lives and wish we could have done things differently in one way or the other.
Regrets are okay, though. They're not great, but they're okay. They show us that we're not perfect, nor will we ever be. And that's, well, okay.
I've made a lot of poor choices in my life, but having my three children was not one of them. And because their father wasn't willing or able to be a father, I was forced to raise my children alone. I was both mom and dad to them, which I believe is one of the hardest jobs in the world. It's nearly impossible to be both mom and dad to children - that is, if you want to do a good job. I always wanted to do a good job; I wanted to be a good and loving mom, and yet I feel that I fell short. My regret is that I wasn't loving and nurturing enough; that I was too harsh and used discipline far too often. You have to discipline your children or they turn out to be obnoxious and unruly people, but the key is to do it with love. I did it most of the time out of frustration and anger. I regret that. I wish I would have been more patient and loving.
There is no doubt that I love my children with all my heart. But there are a great deal of ways I could have raised them differently and shown my love more. I blame myself only for that. I always second-guessed my decisions and wondered if what I was doing was right. There are no books or manuals that can tell you how to raise children. You just have to do it, pray and hope you did the right thing. And trust God. God is the definitive factor. Without Him, my children and I would not be where we are today.
And so I want to publicly apologize to my children for all the mistakes I made while raising them. I wish I could go back in time and re-do everything I feel I did wrong, but obviously, I can't. At the time, I felt I did the best I could with what I had, but hindsight tells me differently. But then I wonder if other parents feel the same way I do, and my guess would be that there are plenty who do. If we really examine ourselves truthfully, we find that we have many regrets in our lives and wish we could have done things differently in one way or the other.
Regrets are okay, though. They're not great, but they're okay. They show us that we're not perfect, nor will we ever be. And that's, well, okay.
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