Inhumanity

I will never forget the first time I saw mans' inhumanity toward fellow man.  It was a baby.  A small, sweet, surely innocent soul who had no choice in the manner of its suffering. Many more times since, I have witnessed a similar theme. This changes a person.     For me, due to my experiences, so many things are not about religious or political leanings any longer. Or, perhaps due to my intrinsic nature, they never were. No matter the context, once you see bootprints on a person's head, allegedly put there by folks that didn't agree with how that individual preferred to dress, or act, or live out their gift of time here on this earth... Well, you see how ridiculous man can be. And it makes me cry for my fellow man, and how mislead they are.  Because the perpetrator- also my fellow man, they believed in something as well...so strongly that they were compelled to act as they did.  I can't forget.  And very few things will evoke more sadness in me.   You see things your mind can't unsee or undo. You change.

Fathers Day

i was about 9 years old.  

my dad was in state to visit with my brother and i.  he was to take us on a vacation.  the plan was to stay in hotels, and swim in their pools, and just drive here and there, seeing "things" and doing "stuff"...whatever it is people do on summer vacations in the Midwest.

the day prior to our departure, my mother made an attempt to gather contact information: what was the plan?  what phone numbers could be reached in the event of an emergency? 

the usual things folks ask, i guess, when their children are heading off on a trip.

yet, my father wasn't casual or usual about this line of questioning.  he became very agitated.  he tried to argue.  they sort-of argued, right there in the middle of Court Street.  i was only a little embarrassed, wondering if anyone saw or heard.  but, mostly, i was nervous about Dad's agitation, and how it might effect the plan.  he took my brother out after that exchange, with and old friend of Dad's and his sons (just a boys' thing, no girls allowed!), delivering my brother home later to prepare for the Big Trip.

the next day, the Big Day, i was all packed and ready- likely earlier than necessary.  but, hey, i was excited for my special vacation with my daddy- what girl wouldn't be?? 

i watched and watched out of that dining room window for hours, teeming with anticipation.

at some point in the waiting i realized the truth.  but, especially for an optimist like myself, hope always springs anew, and faith always prevails.

when the phone rang, i knew before it was even answered.  but i did have to hear it for myself.

"Hi, Daddy, when will you be here?"

He told me he was already back in Arizona.  Plans had changed.  Vacation was canceled.

i didn't cry.

i went to the McDairmant's house.  i felt safe there. i had fun there.  i always did feel good with them.

we began to play, and things were going as normal.

we were outside, i had some sort of ball in my hands, like a beach ball or kickball.

and then the question was asked:  "weren't you supposed to go on vacation with your dad today?".

i tried, but the tears could not be held back.  i could not stop them.  i used the ball to cover my face.  and then, when i realized that this wouldn't be sufficient enough a shield, i just dropped it.  and i ran home.

the humiliation and shame was overwhelming.

though the the actual problem of my failed visit with my father was disappointing enough in itself, i remember feeling more ashamed about not being able to suppress my emotion.

i have been who i am for a really long time.

The attached photo is one that makes me happy. It's from a lot of years ago, but it's the only one I have of my Father and myself, and my stepmom of sorts. Bless you, Bonnie.  Thank you for making sure Mel is so well cared for.

Bean

This is my favorite coffee cup. A gift, of course, that represents my fondness for the warm beverage as well as a nickname that I'm rarely referred to by these days. Bean was a moniker my husband came up with when we were dating. My initials were LLB, so this was an offshoot of the retailer LL Bean, finally shortened to Bean. It became even more fun when his brother started dating another tall brunette also referred to by her people as Bean (her actual last name) for years before we'd met her. 

Everyone at work called me Bean as well. And I can't quite remember anymore why it wore off, or when most people stopped calling me by the nickname. But it was fun while it lasted. And every time I use this mug, my heart does a little flip, I grin to myself, and I remember younger times before all of our hearts got a little heavier with experience and loss.