swim beyond the imagery

Grossing out the home folk

There always seems to be something stirring in the springtime.

High schoolers are prom and graduation bound, and all too predictably, virtually every year there is an lgbt story associated with one or both of these annual rituals.

Usually we have stories of taking a same sex date to the prom, or a student having the audacity to cast off the gender society has assigned to them. This time around, the catalyst is in the photos - yearbook photos.

It seems students in Clovis NM decided to take pics of various couples for inclusion in their yearbook. Some parents in the community, out to demonstrate that parents can indeed be more immature than students, called the photographs of same sex couples 'disgusting.'

You can see a couple of the pictures by following links within that article.

I'm tired of ignorant ass holes making a big deal about something so damn innocent - and actually life affirming. Thank goodness younger folk grasp what these folk seem incapable of - that love between consenting adults is a desirable, not undesirable thing. It is hate we need to cast away.

I'm not sure what I'd say to that parent. I'd hope if such a moment came that anger would not manifest, that reason would trump shouting down. Time is on our side. It may not move as fast as we like, but the future looks promising.

I miss you

Last Friday evening was typical for the once biweekly deposit of my biweekly salary. I sat around here toying with the computer, about to make the short drive to my old home, this in order to drop off child support. I deliver. :) And the reason is simple: it is needed. It gets there immediately.

Last Friday night, in that time prior to leaving, proved anything but typical. A message flashed at the bottom of my screen. Hmmmm, is from K. I click to open... now the font she uses does not jive with the background I use, so in order to read the message, I have to highlight it... there are five short words.

"Dad, I really miss you."

You can stop a truck with those words. A breath. A heart. Mine.

Another line forms. "Would it be ok if I spend every other weekend at your house?"

You don't have to ask me twice.

Now for the record, my daughters are the only two people out of 6 plus billion on this planet who can call me 'dad' and have me totally kewl with that usage. They have the right. I don't give a shit what anyone else thinks, don't care if they use the term in a restaurant (they have) they are my daughters. I love them unconditionally, they can call me what they wish.

This is a big step.  This is a big hurdle to overcome.  It won't be easy, because a week is a long time. A week after 5 years is a longer time. It takes readjustment to new circumstance to just make that first step. I have no idea if we do this this weekend, the weekend after, or a month from now. I've even been pondering wearing one of my iVillage hats with my hair tied back if that will ease the reconnection.

Sunday was spent cleaning up a room for her, moving furniture around, having it functional... and when she comes on over, we'll set to her putting a personal touch on things.

Is funny... I've really found a good place to help me move forward with life with reiki, and as I work with that (right now, I'm doing a session each night, and part of me could delve into it all day, such is the pull) along comes my daughter's request. Both have left me smiling, both have me smiling.

And funny... I miss her too. Does anyone have any idea what it will be like when I get out of my car seat, go to the passenger side and set, whilst she takes the wheel? I'm going to lose it, will lose my ability to guide to the liquefying of my vision, so she had better have good driving skills. :)

16 for the road

As I've mentioned, our youngun is now in the midst of driving lessons.

A new development is afoot, that of an automobile. I've been contacted to seek out my opinion on what I might fund towards this endeavour. The request is for me to cover insurance costs, whilst the actual car cost will be handled there. The reason cited is the need for mobility for sports, volunteer work, school, and the fact we both happen to work a good distance from home.

I'm somewhat amenable to this, however with limits. I really cannot blindly agree to such a cost; my budget is limited, and so too must my contribution to this cause be. If need be, that is if this proves unaffordable overall, I have given my usual arrival time back into this area at night, and am available at any point for parental taxi service.

We shall see where this might go. My work puts significant miles on my car, so it was my intent to pass the car off to her in two years as I moved to a new one... I like the idea of a couple of years car-free.

Mobility approaching

Of course I knew it was coming. How does one fail to know where the calendar lies in relation to the life of one's child?

I've been well aware of the approaching date - well aware over the last few years, anticipating its arrival, offering my services in the training.

16 is coming. Drivers ed. Children with greater freedom. Mobility. Responsibility.

Every parent both relishes their next step to adulthood; every parent fears making it through this time. I'm no different.

I'd love to be involved in teaching K to drive. I taught her older sis, and relished the trust developed, even as she was occasionally frustrated over driving a manual. Ultimately, license in hand, the cars she has purchased to date are manuals. :)

With K, there is an added element of worry. With diabetes as a complication, with a history of severe reactions, I worry over low blood glucose. It is essential she carry something she can ingest that will quickly raise blood sugar. K is a very happy soul, always a smile, always go with the flow, and sometimes I worry this can impact knowing she has to eat regularly.

It is kewl we are here, but I'd feel a whole lot more confident if directly involved in the education of our young driver.

Training starts in 3 weeks. I've agreed to pay for training, gladly. Everything else is not up to me.

Ostracising teen moms

As usual, there was nothing grabbing my attention, so the television was scrolling from channel to channel. 43. CNN Prime. I've come to the discussion midstream, and take in bits and pieces, enough to get the general idea.

Janice Crouse of Concerned Women Of America was the guest 'expert,' her solicited opinion being rendered quite disapprovingly upon teen moms and preggers teens.

Janice rambled on, talking on how she has witnessed other young women congregating around a visiting friend with her newborn, exhibiting all this supportive and encouraging behaviour. Her take? They (the young moms) are a bad influence... and should be in their own schools.

Ah, now you've gone and annoyed, but she wasn't yet ready to stop. She had to close out by pronouncing single motherhood one of the major concerns of our time. Ah, but there are positives. Janet goes on to cite the diminishing teen birth rate and abortions, pronouncing this the result of abstinence only (and in the process, ignoring the latest info that has shown an end to the downward trend.)

Ostracising young moms accomplishes nothing. Taking them away from their friends accomplishes nothing. Attaching stigma to these young women accomplishes nothing. Well, one thing is accomplished: it plays into the archaic and patriarchal societal vision those like Janice love to hope will once again be our lot.

NORAD watch

It first came to our attention in the 1990's, not long after we had our first full time internet connection.

I'm uncertain whether it was a television news report, magazine story, or article in a newspaper (most probably the latter) but I set out in search of NORAD Tracks Santa. Beaming with achievement at finding a functioning site, my daughters and partner were quickly and excitedly called into the room.

Everyone thought this was kewl (and truth be told, I loved the more basic versions of that time) but watching the expressions on K's face... priceless. More than once I had to hide away tears as she excitedly watched the monitor, asking more questions than her mouth could keep up with. This child was into it.

The updates then were on the hour, what you would have in between were clips of the various hourly updates. And when Santa had cleared Europe, on his way west towards the North American coast, well... the real show was watching a child believe heart and soul, in that so precious innocence that leave us all too soon, imagine something mysterious and wonderful was unfolding in front of her eyes.

What is left is the memories of a child robbed of her innocence all too soon, and by no one else but me, a parent who succumbed to my own mysterious and not well understood mind. That does not make me a bad person, and it does not taint this memory.

Now NORAD knows a good thing when it sees it. I imagine those who work there, people whose job it is to watch out for harm which might head our way, find welcome relief and joy in putting together this annual event. They have used the tools of the digital age to create one more way to make a child smile.

When children are prey

It is a world unfathomable to most every parent - the thought of someone preying upon your children, or any child.

I've watched message board posters go after someone in virtual lynch mode after comments hinted at paedophilia being not as dastardly as most believe. I've read a story tonight of an acquittal in the trial of someone accused of sex with a ten year old, on the grounds it was consensual. No Prison For Gang Rapists of Girl.

And then there is a pending trial here, the charges for which brought a collective gasp from many prospective jurors, of which I am not one. No other case has brought anything but silence when charges were read.

It is hard to believe this world produces both children and adults who will prey upon them. It makes no sense, not to my simple, idealistic brain. Yet I also see folly in cyber lynching someone over the issue, given they have not provided any concise information that proves beyond any doubt they tacitly or otherwise support paedophilia.

My mom claims there is something inherently wrong with us today, there is no convincing her this is not a new phenomenon. If there is one positive, society makes it easier to come forward now. Go back 50 years, and well... Grace Metalious shocked the nation with her explicit novel Peyton Place, finally beginning to open the door into a very, very ugly world we have yet to eliminate.

Foster children - paying their own way?

NPR's Here And Now programme for 12/10/07 carried a segment on how states are taking social security survivor's benefits to children if they are in their care.

In one example today, a child was left a home, a rather invaluable asset when starting out in life. The state took his social security benefit, leaving him unable to pay the payments on his home.

And that led the programme to examine whether this practice makes sense, or if it is in fact preying upon the assets of children.

We aren't talking about adults, who have had an opportunity to acquire assets during their lifetime and now require care. This is a child, who's care is the responsibility of parents now dead or missing.

Do parents hold their children accountable for the career and nurturing we render? If we are no longer able to parent, relinquish care, etc. is it fair for those charged with this responsibility to hold the child accountable for the cost of their care? Do we have a right to compromise their future for the sake of paying for their care today?

As I listened to the broadcast, both sides presenting their point of view, I must say the state's case was pretty weak - the rules say we can do it. OK, fine, no question the rules say you can - now about those rules.

Should this rule exist? Should benefits left to see that a child gets some kind of decent start to life be taken by the state and social service agencies? Does a child with such available assets become a pawn in the machinations of the system, of any given entity rendering care, or any given individual?

I've never thought on this before, and it surely was a thought provoking segment.

Illusory comfort lost

Today was a day devoted to my automobile - or at least the morning was spent in this endeavour.

The day began by having the driver's side front tire changed. From there, it was to the dealership to change the serpentine belt. Onward to the inspection station for the coming year's accreditation and sticker. And to finish things off, I swung back around the building for an oil change.

Once I'd settled back in here, my daughter logged in online. It's a school day, so... I inquire. The response takes me aback. Earlier this week, she suffered a severe reaction/seizure, and spent four hours in the hospital. She is unfortunately prone to such reactions, and memories of one occasion, where I thought she was going to die in my arms, came flooding back to me.

She was home today because she suffered another reaction, and was sent home by the school. There was a time where that meant a call to me, and it was me who brought her home. I knew the school staff well, my presence was not uncommon.

Yet now... I am not even aware of when she is ill, distressed, and in need. No one lets me know in the moment.

This is where frustration comes from. I can't say a thing, it would reignite animosity and still nothing would change. So I accept my outcast status, and suffer silently.

When K informed me of these events today, it was as if I had just been kicked. Since leaving in 2003, I've been under the illusion that things I did were continued - specifically, checking her blood sugar late at night. K is a teen, susceptible to pressure to keep her weight down, and I worry she does not eat as she should. That is a recipe for disaster, because her blood glucose will drop precipitously, and what happened this week becomes inevitable.

Now the illusion of safety has been shattered, and every night when I go to bed, the thought will enter my head... is she safe?

Back to the real world

When I'm reading a decent novel, the story becomes some alternate semi-reality. We anticipate in that world, we experience, emotions sweep over us as we move read through a scene. And when it is over, we lament our journey in our make believe world, a world created by another, has ended.

The more engrossing the story, the more it becomes a universe to experience. There are a few special novels that stay with us far beyond the time we first read through the book's pages. Labyrinth by Kate Mosse (I am awaiting postal delivery of Sepulchre, now overdue, grrrrr), The Red Tent by Anita Diamanté, Dance of the Dissident Daughter by Sue Monk Kidd, The Effects of Light by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore, Nineteen Days by Jodi Picoult - these are some of the books which have imprinted their mark upon my mind.

My latest read is yet another Picoult creation, Keeping Faith. It kept me interested, though it will not leave a lasting impression as the above books have. Still, it triggers latent emotions within me over memories of my daughters, of how it feels to worry over their safety, to struggle to keep them safe, to guide, to live in the moment with them. My memories carry a suspension date, frozen there indefinitely at 30 June, 2003. Much like the family in Keeping Faith, ours was ripped in two, except in our world, the dividing element was not another woman, but my no longer being able to suppress a woman at the heart of my soul and mind, who no longer would be denied.

I've been called selfish for moving in this way, for all that followed in the wake of change. In our world, it was every bit as traumatic as facing hordes clamouring for the perceived healing powers of a child. And interestingly, in an odd way, children do possess a certain ability to heal some around them. The mere presence of my daughters would be a wonderful gift to my spirit. Just seeing them from afar, busily living their lives as responsible adult or young adult is cause for a smile of satisfaction.

We can be ferocious in our defence and protection, but there are things for which there is no defence. Ultimately, we cannot defend others when we ourselves have a fatal weakness that is living under pretence. Sooner or later, that fatal weakness would have damaged our lives in some other unknown way. Yet I have faith, keep the faith if you will... that good things can come to those who focus on living life in the best possible way.