Memory

This exchange with my son has stuck since before the last entry, when he wanted me to share his paper airplane skills. Prior to that weekend, we were in our home; he was going through a 'jewelry box', and the subject of old boyfriends came up when I told him what might have been in the box that wasn't anymore.

He asked why I didn't stay with someone who I thought I would be with 'forever', before I'd met his father. I said 'If I'd stayed with that person, I'd not have had you.', partially in an effort to avoid telling any more. What he said next left me silent, as I looked at him just as he was looking back at me. 'You might have had me anyway.' had just come out with little or no hesitation.

It's the deepest thing I recall his ever having said, and there have been plenty. It was if he was coming from another consciousness, direct and certain. Had it been someone else, he was saying perhaps that the gift that he is and always has been would have come into existence no matter what. The same spirit. The same soul. The same incredibly special boy would have come into being as who he is, my son, only a different way.

'You know,' I muttered to him when I could speak again. 'you just might be right about that.' He looked back at me in the same way as the moment before: something that reflected or I had noticed maybe for the first time, something deep within that was separate from just a little boy in a human experience talking to his mom. We were almost completely across the room from each other, though his eyes were both penetrating and infinitely wise, for lack of a better description, as if we were face to face, suspended in time. I hesitate to say or describe where his words came from, only that in a way I knew he was right. It was a transforming moment that was unforgettable, and if it were possible to have regrets on what we were discussing, they may have crept in then and there. It was in part an awakening, and it was shared, over as quickly as it began, yet unchangeable.

Paper Airplane Maestro

Who knew (though why not), the skill of paper airplane craft would be a welcome challenge to my child. A lesson was learned after a lifetime of being aware of only the most traditional models, that there were a significant number of possible variations that could as easily become airborne, if not moreso that those with pointed ends.

As usual, he requested I watch the entire process as he demonstrated his favorites, one or two of which he had memorized and was quite proud of. I was impressed very much in addition as I witnessed the options of several forms he had adeptly created from the examples in a book he had gotten as a gift become aloft.

He later dictated his homework and as I assisted as his typist he created a miniature fleet from paper he found in the room as gifts for me. One that he had improvised as yet another original variation of his own he asked if I minded he keep, asking if I was disappointed that the more special one was not added to what he had assembled as my exclusive collection. I said I didn't mind; all that mattered is that he was satisfied and happy with the manifestations of one of his many talents, this one being the newest.

It's Halloween; he'll be a character of his own creation with lots of fake blood and 'scar tissue'. When he was a pirate I did his makeup. The black nail polish he originally requested was too much for him once he saw it applied to one fingernail; what was left along the perimeter of two nails looked appropriate from the costume I was informed would be put together later. This year for once, I wasn't requesting a photo, which in the past was not offered or delivered anyway. I might have discouraged it altogether if we had been together for the rest of the evening, though a boy this age has to do the undead zombie at least once, I suppose.

He always comes through in the overall; what is dominant cannot be done away with completely, so long as he stays true to himself and who he is: a gift, in a constant process of self-discovery, not afraid to show how he feels, whenever he can.

"Resolved"?

This is the 800 pound gorilla in the room for many, me as much as anyone, in the environment I exist in most of the time. In another part of the country, it would be different, which is also a serious concern, because it involves a child, who, in another environment would behave differently.

It's more acceptable to act 'homophobic' (for example), so they adapt. They weren't raised that way. It would be unpopular or stressful to behave in any other way than the others around them that they wish to be accepted by or survive amongst, though in other places they're free to be accepting of others' differences.

To be accepting of differences in others that are not tolerated or acceptable, they risk being categorized or labeled the same as the unaccepted group just for saying its okay for others to be who they are.

So they 'adapt', to survive; in other words, they suppress their true feelings. The right answer isn't how such a child really feels, it's the answer they've been conditioned to think others want to hear.

So they swallow the truth, or say what they anticipate others most want to hear, to survive. Inside, it eats away at identity, and over time manifests the telltale signs of the suppression in other ways. The same goes for topics regarding race, religion, gender, spirituality, and on and on.

The result is inner and outer conflict, resentment, anger, acting out, self-blame, confusion, and buried emotions, many other things that surface later, sometimes sooner, in ways that cannot always be recognized, or called something else, based upon the lens through which the observer's experiences leave off or are limited.

The effects are life long and limiting in profound and far-reaching ways that last a lifetime. Unrecognized or addressed not only takes away a childhood and limits potential generally, it affects everything else as well, for the child, and everyone they will ever know.

Unexpectedly, the documentary movie Resolved and others of related threads illustrate the results of nature over nurture. Two young men of color by inspiration and determination are trained in a craft otherwise foreign to their upbringing and thrust into worlds where the limitations of their generation are deconstructed under all but the most unforgiving forms of conflict: what has become the 'sport' of high school debate.

From intuition and emotion alone, as they weren't born when traditional debate existed, they challenge what it has become, and appear to make a mark in its future. We share and relate painfully the emotions they encounter, despite their strongest efforts to overcome the invisible walls they run against in environments where what is taken for granted is put under the microscope, determined inappropriate and outdated, yet still at the mercy of the unenlightened, prevails, for a time. The movie ends as they embark on to college, transformed. This description does not do the film justice. One must witness their journey to begin to understand. A metaphor for the 'big picture'? Perhaps.

In another part of the country another version of the same 'debate' goes on: the "White Elephant" v. the "Brown Gorilla". Who 'hates' who most? Is there really 'hate' on both sides? Where does it come from? Why do we take it out on the nearest possible 'representative', who may not represent who we think at all?

Business proposal...

Was due the only time that was 'available'. Had I not completely forgotten, time would have been made. Again, it's an indicator of a major shift and overwhelming moments during the transition. The lesson is learning to manage at all times, within reason...

Everything comes back to it's all about the next generation, and one child in particular in the forefront. Lifechanging events lead to more lifechanging events over time when there are common threads, spun into rope, that can become like steel.

Now

No more time; not getting any younger. Life is too short; the time is now. Age means nothing. Jerry Lewis was right about one thing: underneath it all, everyone is nine years old. No one looks different from anyone else any more, all that shows is how evolved each one is, by what they say or do. My child is an old soul, torn between two worlds. Still working out the complexities of our intertwined relationship and how it melds with our respective purposes. He doesn't know his yet, nor would I. My purpose is to allow others to see they can choose much 'earlier' than I did. When my son is ready, he will either decide for himself or ask for guidance. I must continue either way; part of the reason for going on is my child, the rest are important as well, and will be included as they wish. I'm to simply be out and accessible, doing more than talking, accomplishing more than influencing. The latter will come with the former.

Better at picking battles, wishing there were none to decide between. Though that wouldn't be life on earth as we know it otherwise. The contrast creates the distinction between why there's so much effort and the potential rewards. Every single moment involves a choice. Like the wings of a butterfly against a breeze or flowing with the air currents. Sometimes it's all just timing, or so it would seem. Action, keep going, persist, don't stop. Keep breathing; 'the ability to take a deep breath' is checking into the moment of place, in touch with what is to be done, in the right place at the right time. Live well, choose, go, and be. In honor of one legacy, the one being created is only visible through what comes later, through actions and choices as small as the beating of butterfly wings from one moment to the next, until they all add up, and the mark in time is what remains.

Between...

Two worlds, two homes, two existences. Apologies for being late; not enough of me for all that needed to be done, again. It will get easier; must stay in the moment and focus on the priority, therefore, 'blog entry' came in second once more. There are other factors, of course: different time and place to name just two.

When it's easier, there's to be no tardiness, only more exposure and volume. Fatigued to the point of mind exhaustion, for the first time I can remember, here. The physical can only take so much at any given time, ignoring my age or otherwise.

Missing my best friend, the one that's 'forever'. Filling the days and going home late, as it's not truly alive yet, or isn't when there isn't other life there, the exceptional kind. All is preparation, work is not so much a chore as part of a process with a goal.

Missed a deadline, because there's only one of me; it was for all basic purposes self-imposed, with witnesses. I would have been happy for anyone that made it, even if I didn't, unless perhaps everyone made it other than me, though that isn't what happened. We're all on the same team, so there's only the marker for what's next: re-defining where we are and beginning another day differently.

Always watching or sensitive to children, remembering mine when he was all of the ages that seem like only yesterday. He remembers as well, with reminders of pictures or toys kept that survived the 'favorites' and were not let go.

Waiting, or not

Can't remember a time when my timeline matched everyone else's; my child and I are in sync: we don't procrastinate on priorities. Even without constant updates, it seems I'm regularly ahead of what others take time with, or I'm moving things along when no one else seems to be (except for occasionally not posting 'on time' when other things are being attended to). This is all only perception; my mind doesn't seem to stop.

"Massive Action" is part of a quote by a friend that is neither new nor old. I act like I write, in very long sprints, rarely if ever comfortable resting. There's no time for rest at an age when most are beginning to wind down, there's no stopping now. There are no options, only to keep moving forward.

Everything is so fragile, and timely. It's raining out. Pouring. Glad to be inside, though not for long. Someone is still uncomfortable, much more so than I. I feel them almost as much as if it were me, sometimes as much: the reason stopping or resting is not an option. Someone cannot speak for themselves. Someone cannot say what they really mean. It isn't safe to do so. This is more common than most are aware or think about.

The right words at the right time; the right information at the right moment can mean life or death, or at best an entirely different outcome, which can go in either direction. Uncertainty is only a given, what causes fear is moment to moment. Some claim it's all from within; having seen so much, even that theory remains in question. Those who have not experienced or remember what happens in childhood for many can only comment on popular thought. What's hidden is the fabric of the landscape, like the soil that holds the trees. Never mind the forest; that's just the surface. Seems only the unconscious knows the surface isn't all there is, most of the time.

So close; so far away

Was in front of the screen to write on the usual day, and priorities that could not wait came before time ran out; the same for the next day. It's the first time every effort was made to be in the right place was made when just being there wasn't enough. One person having to do what no one else can do; things having to be done before anything else. Overwhelming. It may be the last time such constraints exist; I certainly hope so.

The last illness took a tremendous toll: unprepared, frustrated, not comprehending why so much time passed with little or no improvement. No chance for proper rest, no back-up. No nurse. No family nearby. Fortunately I'm ill so infrequently. Dragged myself here another day as another day still was not an option.

A bike tour detoured all traffic; the last two years and this one the route went right past our front door, where my son 'refreshed' everyone with his rotary-powered Superman watergun as they rode by. He's not here this weekend. He's far away, to a place I would not have taken him. He'll be back. He would be happy the race didn't have railings this year so that he could get closer to his targets with the water gun.

One year he had enough water guns for all of the children two doors down, so the bikers encountered a wet ambush. Only one other year was it cool enough for the water to be unwelcome. Today it was missed and would have been met with open arms off the handle bars. Saw a bike with three seats and helmet covers that looked like jesters and fish; lots of bright colors. I could only see them go by from the window, staying horizontal as long as possible until coming out for what cannot wait.

Every day it's something that can't be put off another day; feeling better would make a big difference. Where's my sense of humor? Congested in my chest, the kind that hasn't gone away for too many days now. Got material, and no energy to even sit up at home to get it all down. Where's the limo when you need it most? Where's the personal assistant? Where's the support? The results of years of effort? Any day now. Any day.

For Saysay

There are things children understand (or not) at certain ages that are moments to be savoured. At a party not long ago I reluctantly or sheepishly agreed to do a stand-up comedy routine which was recieved with delight and eager anticipation to the event organizers as I thought to myself there was no way to know how it would go.

Turned out it was an overwhelming success with much laughter and applause with requests for not only an encore; it was requested again at yet another gathering. Time now does not permit exploring this now exposed 'talent', though the spark has been lit for later development, particularly with empowering children, which is a long-term commitment.

As today took place, I asked a known and cherished nearby person of minor age what today's theme should be. As we tossed around ideas, I was reminded of her presence at the very gathering where the 'debut' took place, going on to say my son (the inspiration for and author of earlier posts) had found one of my original real-life 'jokes' very funny, though not another, both that were on an online form that was filled out.

The one he found funny enough to laugh out loud to had happened more than once; the more recent one (a 'first original' that the attendees of the gathering thought was extremely funny to the point they wrote it down) he didn't understand.

I was grateful; his not understanding meant that for now part of his precious innocence is still intact. His age borders on vulnerability to everyday exposure to what might not be inappropriate, though preferably in a perfect world he would not know until much later.

By the same token, my young lady 'consultant' for today had the same response. For today, in a small way, innocence is preserved, and there is gratitude for this and all that others may take for granted.

Most important in all of this is the children, so the part that they found funny may not be new to all: exercising a 'right' in a politically correct way that gets attention and makes one memorable, usually for the better. The census notwithstanding, in the many other forms we find ourselves filling out when necessary or voluntarily, there are often questions that many of us see as routine, and some of us find rather offensive in the sense that we are all more than part of a group, culture, or population, to name but a few. So when I encounter a form that requests my race (optional or otherwise), when possible, I will choose "Other" and fill in the box: Human.

"The Life of Harry Houdini"

"On or around 1883 a boy named Ehrich Weiss and his brother, Theo, started a little circus.

Ehrich called himself The Prince of Air. He did the trapeze. All the kids in the neighborhood went to see it.

The trapeze was made of broomsticks and rope. Ehrich’s mom made him a trapeze outfit. One of his tricks was picking up nails with his eyelids from the trapeze.

The brothers quit grade school, but kept their show going. Ehrich had always been into magic.

He and his brother had a magic show at the same time Ehrich was working in a locksmith shop.

He could pick any lock in the shop.

Ehrich’s favorite magician was Jean Enguene Robert Houdin. So Ehrich thought he could get his stage name from Houdin. He would add an ‘I’ to ‘Houdin’ to be ‘Houdini’ and change his nickname, ‘Ehrie’ to ‘Harry’, and ‘Harry Houdini’ was ‘born’.

Harry and his brother called themselves ‘The Brothers Houdini’. When they were performing in Coney Island, Harry saw a woman who was also performing, named Bess. Harry met Bess.

They fell in love and got married. He started performing with Bess instead of his brother, who kept performing, but never grew as famous as his brother.

Harry and Bess moved to England and Harry got work as a magician and escape artist, for a week. Harry’s employer said there were too many escape artists, but if he could break out of Scotland Yard, he could have six months of work. Harry never let a challenge go by.

Harry knew that most of London’s handcuffs could be opened with only two types of keys, and he owned both of them. At Scotland Yard, he was put in a cell naked with cuffs chaining him to

a stone pillar. The guards checked anywhere that he could be hiding extra keys, but Harry was hiding them where nobody thought to look. He was holding them in his throat.

Superintendent Melville assured Harry that he wouldn’t be getting out any time soon. But Melville was amazed, as seconds later, he heard chains and handcuffs clatter to the floor. Then Harry’s employer gave him six months of work.

When the six months were up, Harry and Bess moved to New York. They had two kids and Harry became very famous. They bought a huge house with a library with over four thousand books on magic.

Harry learned how to escape out of a straightjacket, but later on performed it with an added twist.

He would perform it hanging from a five story building. One time he performed, there were strong winds and he got pushed into the building and badly bruised.

In 1926, Harry was performing in Montreal, Canada, when two schoolboys confronted him backstage. Both of them had heard that he could take any punch. Before Harry had time to clench his muscles, one of them hit him hard several times in the stomach. Harry had a strong pain in this stomach that night. He went to the doctor and the doctor said his appendix had burst and needed to be removed, but Harry chose not to do it right away.

Harry should have cancelled his next show, because he was sick and injured, but he still performed the next day. He went onstage with a temperature of a hundred and four degrees, but during the intermission he collapsed backstage. He was rushed to the hospital, but it was too late. He was dying.

Harry died the next morning on October, 31st- Halloween. Harry was buried in the coffin he planned to use for his “Buried Alive” escape. He had fought death many times and he was used to winning, but this time he would lose.

I chose Harry Houdini for my book report because I’m into magic and Houdini is my favorite magician. He set an example for all magicians that followed him."

Dog Drill

Have reached a new decade and made it for over a month now. Asked my child what to make this about for the month and he said "dogs". So the first thing I thought of was 'The Dog Whisperer', to whom I'm grateful for what he has taught us so far.

Had dogs when I was my child's age, and was not taught how to appreciate them. Everything is about the example one is presented with from which to follow.

We couldn't do his homework assignment on the subject this month, as the dogs we know are domesticated, and the former was for animals in their natural habitat in 'the wild', past or present. The wish to focus on the inspiration of the dog whisperer is a reflection of the impact instilled since being exposed to his work for the first time. 'Amazing' again, how exposure to something different can have an effect on someone, which can be said for a lot of things, positive and otherwise.

He wants a dog, it is his wish second to our having a bigger place, which he made his first wish of the new year with his new Stone of Dreams from a Disney show.

Didn't get emotional when my son made that wish aloud, though it would have been very easy to, or I didn't show it at that moment. He can still cry, though part of him is very different and it's better now if the tears he does see are kept to a minimum.

Anyway, our dog will be worth the wait; let the healing begin, and thanks to all the other angels like Cesar who live for and amongst us.