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.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
"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."
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."
Sunday, January 31, 2010
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.
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.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Turning the corner
This time tomorrow, it will be another decade, another birthday, another turning point. This year is no exception in that having a birthday at a time when others are celebrating makes for leaving out the details of one's personal reality, for better or otherwise. It's not about age, as this has been happening since adolescence or as long as can be remembered. It's just too much at once: a birthday and major holiday at the same time, not unique to anyone who is familiar with the same.
So the celebration is deliberately a quiet one, known only by those close. Forgotten almost as soon as it's mentioned to anyone who might overhear, unless one is a celebrity. Still no regrets there. There might have been another child, though not the same one, who has been a gift and a miracle. As fragile as ever, who brought on the reckoning of another childhood lost, though not so much as others. Knowing the latter neither compensates for or lessens the impact when it's your only family, one's only child, grandchild, nephew, cousin, with their own precious life that passes in minutes, hours, days, and weeks that will not be replaced.
To some, we are not unique, depersonalized and labelled from the moment help and protection is sought. Categorized, stigmatized, triaged, stereotyped, profiled: our social conditioning, the biases of our respective environments, or simply social pressure, sometimes called 'politics', for lack of a better term. No wonder so many times 'no good deed goes unpunished'. In a different environment it's nearly impossible to imagine what happens to others, much less the long-term impact, especially early in life. For those who survive the connections and progression becomes very clear over time, yet those considered elders without awareness or knowledge continue to repeat history.
There is always something to be grateful for, yet for those whose loved ones are unaccounted for or whose whereabouts or state of health is unknown there is no peace. Not everyone loves children, not even their own; for those who do life is never the same once the completely unexpected changes everything forever in the blink of an eye, the stroke of a pen, an uninformed statement, all at once. Over time, there are many tears unknown or ignored, the source unrecognized. There are premature deaths, literal and of the spirit; personalities become completely different from abrupt changes in environment and exposure. And we wonder what is wrong with the current generation or the one before, as if it had nothing to do with the decisions of those who never touched them 'in any direct way'.
Perception is not what we see, any more than what we're told. The evolution of a spirit is only as good as its environment and support system in many regards, though not all. No child deserves to have their childhood taken. Looking at others through different eyes and listening to the words of souls without knowing where they came from one cannot distinguish between who is actually the child, as the most wisdom often comes from who is thought to be the latter.
So as the fireworks go off and confetti descends, the choice is to remain silent, for now.
So the celebration is deliberately a quiet one, known only by those close. Forgotten almost as soon as it's mentioned to anyone who might overhear, unless one is a celebrity. Still no regrets there. There might have been another child, though not the same one, who has been a gift and a miracle. As fragile as ever, who brought on the reckoning of another childhood lost, though not so much as others. Knowing the latter neither compensates for or lessens the impact when it's your only family, one's only child, grandchild, nephew, cousin, with their own precious life that passes in minutes, hours, days, and weeks that will not be replaced.
To some, we are not unique, depersonalized and labelled from the moment help and protection is sought. Categorized, stigmatized, triaged, stereotyped, profiled: our social conditioning, the biases of our respective environments, or simply social pressure, sometimes called 'politics', for lack of a better term. No wonder so many times 'no good deed goes unpunished'. In a different environment it's nearly impossible to imagine what happens to others, much less the long-term impact, especially early in life. For those who survive the connections and progression becomes very clear over time, yet those considered elders without awareness or knowledge continue to repeat history.
There is always something to be grateful for, yet for those whose loved ones are unaccounted for or whose whereabouts or state of health is unknown there is no peace. Not everyone loves children, not even their own; for those who do life is never the same once the completely unexpected changes everything forever in the blink of an eye, the stroke of a pen, an uninformed statement, all at once. Over time, there are many tears unknown or ignored, the source unrecognized. There are premature deaths, literal and of the spirit; personalities become completely different from abrupt changes in environment and exposure. And we wonder what is wrong with the current generation or the one before, as if it had nothing to do with the decisions of those who never touched them 'in any direct way'.
Perception is not what we see, any more than what we're told. The evolution of a spirit is only as good as its environment and support system in many regards, though not all. No child deserves to have their childhood taken. Looking at others through different eyes and listening to the words of souls without knowing where they came from one cannot distinguish between who is actually the child, as the most wisdom often comes from who is thought to be the latter.
So as the fireworks go off and confetti descends, the choice is to remain silent, for now.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Domino Effect
I know you didn't notice, unless you were already a follower; I did it again, not remembering the entry day until after the fact, one day earlier than the last...
A big struggle this year has been distinguishing where personal responsibility leaves off and outside circumstances begin, on a very large scale. Call it a blessing or a curse, love it or hate it, when not in the tunnel vision of ‘survival mode’, I’ve been alternately criticized then praised for being able to see ‘the big picture’. To keep that perspective, and a sense of sanity, I seek out to read or listen to anything inspirational and uplifting, including stories of those who have overcome very difficult odds. Sometimes those who tell the stories are not those who have gone through them, though rather others who have become inspired by them as well, who can insert them into a text to make a point. Still, they are not the individuals who endured the same hardships, though they very likely and have had trials of their own.
The media often knowingly shapes our perceptions, though individuals can become extremely defensive of being ‘brainwashed’, for lack of a better term. It is the very thinking they are fed on a daily basis, the uncontrollable need to pick up the daily news or watch it on TV that shapes decisions and judgments. The ‘extremely wealthy’ in our society are largely not affected by what controls the masses; in many instances, the former are the ones who also create the media. Not only today is the gap between the ‘classes’ widening, what most don’t know is the divide between the ‘Haves’ who have consciences, and those who do not. The latter want others to stay poor, and their discontent cannot be satisfied by any dollar amount, thus the extreme rate of their incomes being spent on material trappings, clubs, perks, ‘favors’, and so called ‘self-improvement’ attempts that often abruptly become replaced by something else if any real self-reflection becomes ‘uncomfortable’.
Resources and those it can influence takes precedence over examining root causes that affect and harm many innocent lives the media sometimes tells us with a shred of integrity are in fact the casualties of self-interested decisions several degrees of separation away. Too often, however, we are pounded by the ‘popular wisdom’ that others should pick themselves up by their bootstraps, even if they don’t have boots, or lost them to a higher bidder.
Going to a job one sometimes hates, picking up the paper and coffee, allows us to become numb to how that job, paper, and coffee came into existence sometimes on the backs of innocent children, women, and the elderly. It’s shocking to many that there could even be a connection of these ‘elements’ to each other. The ‘other half’ of the ‘Haves’ will tell a different story. Our discontent and everyday mundane ‘routines’ become an illusion, a ‘shield’ that permits the madness to continue.
We didn’t create the paper (but we bought it and read it, and used it as conversation at the water cooler so as to get along and attempt to bond with the coworkers we are ‘forced’ to coexist with, who make decisions about others). We didn’t make the coffee (but we bought it, harvested from the backs of workers that include children, women with child, and their parents and grandparents in underdeveloped areas). The jobs we hate we cling to, knowing that without trading the hour for the dollar we are much closer to those who reach out with a cup on the train we cannot make eye contact with. The pay that’s never enough is squandered on the ‘necessities’ of newspapers and coffee, to have something to do during commutes so as not to make eye contact with anyone, lost in our thoughts of discontent, reading all that’s ‘wrong’ with the world, in the paper, that we paid for, that paid the ‘Haves’ without a conscience, that we complain are ‘robbing’ the ‘Have nots’, yet it has nothing to do with ‘us’…
A big struggle this year has been distinguishing where personal responsibility leaves off and outside circumstances begin, on a very large scale. Call it a blessing or a curse, love it or hate it, when not in the tunnel vision of ‘survival mode’, I’ve been alternately criticized then praised for being able to see ‘the big picture’. To keep that perspective, and a sense of sanity, I seek out to read or listen to anything inspirational and uplifting, including stories of those who have overcome very difficult odds. Sometimes those who tell the stories are not those who have gone through them, though rather others who have become inspired by them as well, who can insert them into a text to make a point. Still, they are not the individuals who endured the same hardships, though they very likely and have had trials of their own.
The media often knowingly shapes our perceptions, though individuals can become extremely defensive of being ‘brainwashed’, for lack of a better term. It is the very thinking they are fed on a daily basis, the uncontrollable need to pick up the daily news or watch it on TV that shapes decisions and judgments. The ‘extremely wealthy’ in our society are largely not affected by what controls the masses; in many instances, the former are the ones who also create the media. Not only today is the gap between the ‘classes’ widening, what most don’t know is the divide between the ‘Haves’ who have consciences, and those who do not. The latter want others to stay poor, and their discontent cannot be satisfied by any dollar amount, thus the extreme rate of their incomes being spent on material trappings, clubs, perks, ‘favors’, and so called ‘self-improvement’ attempts that often abruptly become replaced by something else if any real self-reflection becomes ‘uncomfortable’.
Resources and those it can influence takes precedence over examining root causes that affect and harm many innocent lives the media sometimes tells us with a shred of integrity are in fact the casualties of self-interested decisions several degrees of separation away. Too often, however, we are pounded by the ‘popular wisdom’ that others should pick themselves up by their bootstraps, even if they don’t have boots, or lost them to a higher bidder.
Going to a job one sometimes hates, picking up the paper and coffee, allows us to become numb to how that job, paper, and coffee came into existence sometimes on the backs of innocent children, women, and the elderly. It’s shocking to many that there could even be a connection of these ‘elements’ to each other. The ‘other half’ of the ‘Haves’ will tell a different story. Our discontent and everyday mundane ‘routines’ become an illusion, a ‘shield’ that permits the madness to continue.
We didn’t create the paper (but we bought it and read it, and used it as conversation at the water cooler so as to get along and attempt to bond with the coworkers we are ‘forced’ to coexist with, who make decisions about others). We didn’t make the coffee (but we bought it, harvested from the backs of workers that include children, women with child, and their parents and grandparents in underdeveloped areas). The jobs we hate we cling to, knowing that without trading the hour for the dollar we are much closer to those who reach out with a cup on the train we cannot make eye contact with. The pay that’s never enough is squandered on the ‘necessities’ of newspapers and coffee, to have something to do during commutes so as not to make eye contact with anyone, lost in our thoughts of discontent, reading all that’s ‘wrong’ with the world, in the paper, that we paid for, that paid the ‘Haves’ without a conscience, that we complain are ‘robbing’ the ‘Have nots’, yet it has nothing to do with ‘us’…
Monday, November 2, 2009
A first, for here
Just realized this moment there was nothing for the end of the month: a marker for the intensity of events that have obviously overwhelmed to a point of missing what has become such a regular observed detail.
On the same day it was as this past one: unseasonably warm and pleasant. No jackets were necessary when the news broke that a child was on the way, by summer of the following year.
There was no way to anticipate what was to come. The most beautiful blessing, male, against the odds for a first delivery of a certain age and what was thought to not be possible by this time. What followed was the usual roller coaster that goes with hormonal changes compounded by pressures from an outside world that was not nearly as friendly as where home used to be. There was no option to not accept and embrace another human into this life.
Most memories are more joy than pain, more pain than was necessary. Too much was missing in the form of essential contacts. They were too far away. Where we were was too costly. We couldn't get out when it didn't seem to matter, when it would either have been agreed to happily or if the news hadn't been broken at all, saying it wasn't working so someone could go forward with their plans to go after someone else they thought they wanted more, never knowing what was to arrive.
Who we make up in our minds is what we attach ourselves to; caught up in emotions and all that goes with it does not reveal what others see. We often find out too late that our loyalties were misplaced, our time taken, our lives compromised, exploited as means to another's end, as if we don't matter at all. Becoming part of another's short-term purpose until the next conquest that appears to offer what they think they want, if only for the short term, as far as they can think.
This was the difference between us: different visions, objectivity, consciousness, conscience, compassion, definitions of the same words so far apart from so-called reality. Daring to label the other as if entitled or qualified, practiced enough over a lifetime to convince others without question, expecting it to work again as it always had in the past, with whomever chose to serve them, consciously or not.
Now, more lives are lost or being lost, imposed by others just like them, not yet awake. The most vulnerables' voices are silent or not heard, though they will be.
On the same day it was as this past one: unseasonably warm and pleasant. No jackets were necessary when the news broke that a child was on the way, by summer of the following year.
There was no way to anticipate what was to come. The most beautiful blessing, male, against the odds for a first delivery of a certain age and what was thought to not be possible by this time. What followed was the usual roller coaster that goes with hormonal changes compounded by pressures from an outside world that was not nearly as friendly as where home used to be. There was no option to not accept and embrace another human into this life.
Most memories are more joy than pain, more pain than was necessary. Too much was missing in the form of essential contacts. They were too far away. Where we were was too costly. We couldn't get out when it didn't seem to matter, when it would either have been agreed to happily or if the news hadn't been broken at all, saying it wasn't working so someone could go forward with their plans to go after someone else they thought they wanted more, never knowing what was to arrive.
Who we make up in our minds is what we attach ourselves to; caught up in emotions and all that goes with it does not reveal what others see. We often find out too late that our loyalties were misplaced, our time taken, our lives compromised, exploited as means to another's end, as if we don't matter at all. Becoming part of another's short-term purpose until the next conquest that appears to offer what they think they want, if only for the short term, as far as they can think.
This was the difference between us: different visions, objectivity, consciousness, conscience, compassion, definitions of the same words so far apart from so-called reality. Daring to label the other as if entitled or qualified, practiced enough over a lifetime to convince others without question, expecting it to work again as it always had in the past, with whomever chose to serve them, consciously or not.
Now, more lives are lost or being lost, imposed by others just like them, not yet awake. The most vulnerables' voices are silent or not heard, though they will be.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Hawaii
Arrived this morning...
By Paul Curtis - The Garden Island
Published:...September 14, 2009 2:10 AM HST
LIHU`E —...someone who knows a flawed system when she is ensnared in one feels the need for "sunlight" on the problem on Kaua`i...
Jonea Schillaci-Lavergne,...followed her daughter to Kaua`i to be close to her and has organized...rallies to raise awareness of...problems in the state-run system designed to protect Hawai`i's youngest, most-vulnerable residents.
"...the public really needs to be more informed about what's going on on Kaua`i,...abuse should not be kept a secret. We have to put the sunlight on the problem."
The name of her group is the Kaua`i Angels, patterned after the Maui Angels, a similar group of concerned adults on Maui who are pushing for...reform on the Valley Isle.
While Schillaci-Lavergne's...rally,...in front of the...courthouse..., started,...people joined in at the Kapule Highway-Ahukini Road intersection near the entrance to Lihu`e Airport, and well-wishers honked their horns at...sign-holders...
Gatherings are also planned at...sections of...highways,...the day the group also plans to meet with Mayor Bernard P. Carvalho Jr...
The purpose...is to inform the community that...the Kaua`i Family Court and its court-appointed experts are not doing enough to protect children from abuse and...violence...
Child...abuse,...has become a national epidemic, and judges spend more time ignoring and suppressing facts and...evidence than investigating and prosecuting perpetrators...
Marsha Kitagawa, a spokesperson for the state Judiciary, said state judges are prohibited under the Revised Code of Judicial Conduct from making public statements that "might reasonably be expected to affect the outcome or impair the fairness of a matter pending or impending in any court."
Schillaci-Lavergne is undeterred. "I've seen so much...suffering going on. It's a problem everywhere,"...
"It's not a fun subject. I didn't choose it,"...of...cause to let people know about...the broken..system she says protects the abuser, sometimes just to punish the protective parent who reports the abuse.
A group of concerned parents who were unable to protect their children from abuse gathered and demanded a state audit of the Maui Family Court,...about the origins of the Maui Angels.
The Kaua`i Angels are asking that...cases be properly investigated and that the protective parents be allowed due process in court to fight for and protect their children from abuse...
Approximately one in three girls and one in five boys will be...abused...by age 18.
"These statistics are unacceptable for our children and, as a community, we need to end this problem immediately"...
Dara Carlin, who holds a master's degree and has spent 20 years as a child and family therapist on O`ahu, said what's happening in Hawai`i is both "disillusioning and disheartening."
She also totally understands that, culturally, because of the shame brought on families by the offenses, people are sometimes reluctant to come forward and admit that they have been or are being abused...
Ernest Sisca, a Wailua Homesteads resident and one of the half-dozen men who gathered at the courthouse, said he came to support Schillaci-Lavergne, who gave up her California home and career in order to be close to her daughter.
Copyright © 2009 - Kauai Publishing Company
http://www.angelgroup.org/component/content/article/22-what-were-doing/185-kauai-rally
"Angels" on Kauai successfully rallied on September 10 & 17, 2009; eliciting the support of the community who honked horns and shouted out, "Good for you", "It's about time somebody did something!", "Something definitely needs to be done!", and "Save our children!"
...These gender-neutral rallies were created to bring attention to...Court's indifference in addressing substantiated allegation of...abuse against children and the misappropriation of custody to the "abuser"; resulting in the railroading and eradication of the parent who "reports" on behalf of the child(ren) and/or takes action to protect them.
http://www.angelgroup.org/images/pdfs/090909_press_release.pdf
By Paul Curtis - The Garden Island
Published:...September 14, 2009 2:10 AM HST
LIHU`E —...someone who knows a flawed system when she is ensnared in one feels the need for "sunlight" on the problem on Kaua`i...
Jonea Schillaci-Lavergne,...followed her daughter to Kaua`i to be close to her and has organized...rallies to raise awareness of...problems in the state-run system designed to protect Hawai`i's youngest, most-vulnerable residents.
"...the public really needs to be more informed about what's going on on Kaua`i,...abuse should not be kept a secret. We have to put the sunlight on the problem."
The name of her group is the Kaua`i Angels, patterned after the Maui Angels, a similar group of concerned adults on Maui who are pushing for...reform on the Valley Isle.
While Schillaci-Lavergne's...rally,...in front of the...courthouse..., started,...people joined in at the Kapule Highway-Ahukini Road intersection near the entrance to Lihu`e Airport, and well-wishers honked their horns at...sign-holders...
Gatherings are also planned at...sections of...highways,...the day the group also plans to meet with Mayor Bernard P. Carvalho Jr...
The purpose...is to inform the community that...the Kaua`i Family Court and its court-appointed experts are not doing enough to protect children from abuse and...violence...
Child...abuse,...has become a national epidemic, and judges spend more time ignoring and suppressing facts and...evidence than investigating and prosecuting perpetrators...
Marsha Kitagawa, a spokesperson for the state Judiciary, said state judges are prohibited under the Revised Code of Judicial Conduct from making public statements that "might reasonably be expected to affect the outcome or impair the fairness of a matter pending or impending in any court."
Schillaci-Lavergne is undeterred. "I've seen so much...suffering going on. It's a problem everywhere,"...
"It's not a fun subject. I didn't choose it,"...of...cause to let people know about...the broken..system she says protects the abuser, sometimes just to punish the protective parent who reports the abuse.
A group of concerned parents who were unable to protect their children from abuse gathered and demanded a state audit of the Maui Family Court,...about the origins of the Maui Angels.
The Kaua`i Angels are asking that...cases be properly investigated and that the protective parents be allowed due process in court to fight for and protect their children from abuse...
Approximately one in three girls and one in five boys will be...abused...by age 18.
"These statistics are unacceptable for our children and, as a community, we need to end this problem immediately"...
Dara Carlin, who holds a master's degree and has spent 20 years as a child and family therapist on O`ahu, said what's happening in Hawai`i is both "disillusioning and disheartening."
She also totally understands that, culturally, because of the shame brought on families by the offenses, people are sometimes reluctant to come forward and admit that they have been or are being abused...
Ernest Sisca, a Wailua Homesteads resident and one of the half-dozen men who gathered at the courthouse, said he came to support Schillaci-Lavergne, who gave up her California home and career in order to be close to her daughter.
Copyright © 2009 - Kauai Publishing Company
http://www.angelgroup.org/component/content/article/22-what-were-doing/185-kauai-rally
"Angels" on Kauai successfully rallied on September 10 & 17, 2009; eliciting the support of the community who honked horns and shouted out, "Good for you", "It's about time somebody did something!", "Something definitely needs to be done!", and "Save our children!"
...These gender-neutral rallies were created to bring attention to...Court's indifference in addressing substantiated allegation of...abuse against children and the misappropriation of custody to the "abuser"; resulting in the railroading and eradication of the parent who "reports" on behalf of the child(ren) and/or takes action to protect them.
http://www.angelgroup.org/images/pdfs/090909_press_release.pdf
Monday, August 31, 2009
Testimony (NYC)
Dear Distinguished Members of the Panel, and Allies:
We continue to watch fatalities in the headlines every day, many of which have either no history or background where the phrase ‘domestic violence’ is rarely mentioned. The press will include terms such as ‘separated couple’, ‘estranged boyfriend’ (or girlfriend), or ‘ex-partner’, though this effectively masks for the public that these are all crimes by those from abusive relationships.
There’s no established way to track if someone ended up dead, sometimes along with children, from returning to the oxymoron of ‘abusive home’ after being turned away from attempting to find shelter or safety, having found the courage to leave, many knowing the risks of doing so are great: the answer to the question ‘Why don’t they just leave?’.
The above refers to fatality reports. As many of our city’s inhabitants speak English as a second language, or are often traumatized on occasions when police officers are involved in incidents where death from attempts to escape is not yet a result, DIR’s (or Domestic Incident Reports) and police reports are written up incorrectly. Sometimes it is not disclosed or known that there was in fact an attempt to leave. Believe that it often is.
When there is some report in low percentages in contrast to the actual number of known unreported cases, the average individual filling out that form is a front line ‘first responder’, when it’s done at all, who is not a trained DVO (or Domestic Violence Officer). DVO’s, with few exceptions do not work during the most frequent times that ‘domestic incidents’ occur: evenings and weekends.
The officer often hands the supposed victim the phone number of the DVO, without filling out any report. It’s your guess how many actually call in later…, putting the children at even further risk of harm, when it is usually the mother attempting to protect them.
The alternative to not finding housing is potential or real death, in either returning to an abuser in desperation, or being found attempting to find other housing (including though not limited to abuse through the systems that have continued to fail to protect and further empower abusers).
The low number of survivors and their children placed in safe housing and high numbers of homicides or incidents of abuse that go unreported or for the largest percentages without police reports or orders of protection makes documentation requirements unrealistic and inappropriate, directly inflicting additional trauma by requirement alone to be considered 'eligible'.
Survivors seeking housing and safety in shelter and/or on PA must be referred to agencies where advocates may provide letters of their circumstances. It is most usually not possible to be misunderstood by or to misrepresent to a trained DV advocate. Police reports and DIR's do not address needs, indicate risk, or provide protection any more than Orders of Protection.
The extreme small percentage of those thought to 'misrepresent' will either not visit advocate agencies or not pass the interview or intake process, unlike the current process for making reports though 'law enforcement' (when done at all), which are often by untrained 'first responders', or between officer and alleged 'victim', reporting single incidents and not addressing DV.
Fatality reports are not representative of actual 'DV incidents', in order to 'keep the numbers down', though the headlines have also frequently mentioned no prior police involvement or no orders of protection in a number of deaths (also related to the unrealistic documentation requirements for more permanent housing).
If ‘domestic violence’ is not spelled out, it is treated as if it doesn't happen.
The deaths go up with budget cuts to preventive programs and housing options, while the ‘numbers’ ignore the realities. Is this the way the city regards our homeless families, who have been documented as 90% women and children as well as the #1 reason for their seeking shelter and housing now confirmed this year as Domestic Violence? The lambs are being thrown out for slaughter; we are all but numb from the headlines. Do you see the connection now?
For those that do survive the system, requirements for shelter and those in housing are obsolete and additionally oppressive, as if what these most always women and children have gone through weren’t enough.
The need or desire to work can be addressed by training providers or hours that do not fit a regular schedule or location. Assignments can be obtained by survivors of domestic violence who can put in work hours online or at varying locations in specific training or work situations who have been stalked by abusers or former partners seeking to find them at locations with 'normal business hours'. They can also be available to their children who have been traumatized by abuse or witnessed violence.
By providing survivors who know how to locate assignments the means to become established with an online business or flexible training or work locations and hours, we can potentially transform extremely limited resources to enable economically abused survivors a means to find their way back to safety, and even supporting themselves and their children.
The missing link is making the connection between those affected and those willing to help. This will also raise awareness to these and many other issues that are in the interest of the next generation, including seniors and extended families.
Documentation requirements repeat themselves regarding 'DV Advantage' and DV waivers in PA offices, compounding obstacles to safety for survivors and their children.
The 'boroughs of exclusion' in DV waivers, when granted, do not serve survivors or preserve their safety. They are put at further risk in any borough though current widespread technology where just having a cell phone on, unanswered, permits an abuser &/or their agents to track whereabouts, according to citywide law enforcement technical experts. Survivors have been dismissed without notice from shelters where abusers have shown up at confidential locations, without the survivors willingly or knowingly providing where they were. These practices must be eliminated; any one such incident can lead to more fatalities.
Forcing mothers to work requirements is an extension of abuse, where most are on PA either from economic abuse, shelter requirements, or both. Most are willing to work, so long as there is no additional risk to their safety or the safety of their children, though they are treated as non-cooperative and threatened with cut-offs or sanctioned when they resist practices that do not take into account safety risks without documentation, the acquisition of which can put them at even further risk or escalate threats or violence.
Addressing how mothers may keep themselves and their children safe with both housing and alternative work arrangements that allow for the 'required' number of hours while still being available to their children who have either been additional subjects of abuse or witnessed violence is critical for both safety and recovery.
We continue to watch fatalities in the headlines every day, many of which have either no history or background where the phrase ‘domestic violence’ is rarely mentioned. The press will include terms such as ‘separated couple’, ‘estranged boyfriend’ (or girlfriend), or ‘ex-partner’, though this effectively masks for the public that these are all crimes by those from abusive relationships.
There’s no established way to track if someone ended up dead, sometimes along with children, from returning to the oxymoron of ‘abusive home’ after being turned away from attempting to find shelter or safety, having found the courage to leave, many knowing the risks of doing so are great: the answer to the question ‘Why don’t they just leave?’.
The above refers to fatality reports. As many of our city’s inhabitants speak English as a second language, or are often traumatized on occasions when police officers are involved in incidents where death from attempts to escape is not yet a result, DIR’s (or Domestic Incident Reports) and police reports are written up incorrectly. Sometimes it is not disclosed or known that there was in fact an attempt to leave. Believe that it often is.
When there is some report in low percentages in contrast to the actual number of known unreported cases, the average individual filling out that form is a front line ‘first responder’, when it’s done at all, who is not a trained DVO (or Domestic Violence Officer). DVO’s, with few exceptions do not work during the most frequent times that ‘domestic incidents’ occur: evenings and weekends.
The officer often hands the supposed victim the phone number of the DVO, without filling out any report. It’s your guess how many actually call in later…, putting the children at even further risk of harm, when it is usually the mother attempting to protect them.
The alternative to not finding housing is potential or real death, in either returning to an abuser in desperation, or being found attempting to find other housing (including though not limited to abuse through the systems that have continued to fail to protect and further empower abusers).
The low number of survivors and their children placed in safe housing and high numbers of homicides or incidents of abuse that go unreported or for the largest percentages without police reports or orders of protection makes documentation requirements unrealistic and inappropriate, directly inflicting additional trauma by requirement alone to be considered 'eligible'.
Survivors seeking housing and safety in shelter and/or on PA must be referred to agencies where advocates may provide letters of their circumstances. It is most usually not possible to be misunderstood by or to misrepresent to a trained DV advocate. Police reports and DIR's do not address needs, indicate risk, or provide protection any more than Orders of Protection.
The extreme small percentage of those thought to 'misrepresent' will either not visit advocate agencies or not pass the interview or intake process, unlike the current process for making reports though 'law enforcement' (when done at all), which are often by untrained 'first responders', or between officer and alleged 'victim', reporting single incidents and not addressing DV.
Fatality reports are not representative of actual 'DV incidents', in order to 'keep the numbers down', though the headlines have also frequently mentioned no prior police involvement or no orders of protection in a number of deaths (also related to the unrealistic documentation requirements for more permanent housing).
If ‘domestic violence’ is not spelled out, it is treated as if it doesn't happen.
The deaths go up with budget cuts to preventive programs and housing options, while the ‘numbers’ ignore the realities. Is this the way the city regards our homeless families, who have been documented as 90% women and children as well as the #1 reason for their seeking shelter and housing now confirmed this year as Domestic Violence? The lambs are being thrown out for slaughter; we are all but numb from the headlines. Do you see the connection now?
For those that do survive the system, requirements for shelter and those in housing are obsolete and additionally oppressive, as if what these most always women and children have gone through weren’t enough.
The need or desire to work can be addressed by training providers or hours that do not fit a regular schedule or location. Assignments can be obtained by survivors of domestic violence who can put in work hours online or at varying locations in specific training or work situations who have been stalked by abusers or former partners seeking to find them at locations with 'normal business hours'. They can also be available to their children who have been traumatized by abuse or witnessed violence.
By providing survivors who know how to locate assignments the means to become established with an online business or flexible training or work locations and hours, we can potentially transform extremely limited resources to enable economically abused survivors a means to find their way back to safety, and even supporting themselves and their children.
The missing link is making the connection between those affected and those willing to help. This will also raise awareness to these and many other issues that are in the interest of the next generation, including seniors and extended families.
Documentation requirements repeat themselves regarding 'DV Advantage' and DV waivers in PA offices, compounding obstacles to safety for survivors and their children.
The 'boroughs of exclusion' in DV waivers, when granted, do not serve survivors or preserve their safety. They are put at further risk in any borough though current widespread technology where just having a cell phone on, unanswered, permits an abuser &/or their agents to track whereabouts, according to citywide law enforcement technical experts. Survivors have been dismissed without notice from shelters where abusers have shown up at confidential locations, without the survivors willingly or knowingly providing where they were. These practices must be eliminated; any one such incident can lead to more fatalities.
Forcing mothers to work requirements is an extension of abuse, where most are on PA either from economic abuse, shelter requirements, or both. Most are willing to work, so long as there is no additional risk to their safety or the safety of their children, though they are treated as non-cooperative and threatened with cut-offs or sanctioned when they resist practices that do not take into account safety risks without documentation, the acquisition of which can put them at even further risk or escalate threats or violence.
Addressing how mothers may keep themselves and their children safe with both housing and alternative work arrangements that allow for the 'required' number of hours while still being available to their children who have either been additional subjects of abuse or witnessed violence is critical for both safety and recovery.
Friday, July 31, 2009
With my child's permission: a positive experience.
'How You Did': A Boy's Birthday Wish Fulfilled...
A First-Time Response to a Regular Request
At the bottom of receipts is often a feedback request, sometimes with an incentive for participation. Have missed out on many 'sweepstakes entries' by either forgetting or not enough time. This one warranted an answer.
This one was for a survey; there was nowhere to place this review, which is deserved on the part of the employees present the last weekend of my child's birthday month.
It was expected to write this content in duplicate to an appropriate place on the feedback site, though the boxes in the survey didn't seem quite right for this little story. We hope the staff eventually is rewarded for exceptional service: something I had no expectations of from a group of 'older kids' working on a weekend 'beach day'. For the low expectations, I apologize.
Had my son not had a fever the day before which carried over into that morning, he would have been playing baseball. He had wanted the same thing since the winter holidays: a portable game system.
'Life happened' over those six months, and baseball season took almost all of our weekend hours, to a point where just getting out to shop for the occasion of his birthday became an obstacle. For what was no small amount of money, I wanted to make sure that this was his first choice when the moment finally arrived.
"You didn't get me a birthday present, Mom." were words that stung at the heart when even the weekend that followed his actual birthday didn't render an opportunity to get to the right store following yet another baseball game and get all of the other unavoidable chores done. I wanted him to be present to pick out exactly what he wanted, not pick up what I thought was the right thing for the day, only to have to go back for an exchange.
He got to pitch for the first time this season; having run out of rain dates, the last game he participated in was in a downpour (which likely contributed to his low immunity by week's end). All of this 'game proficiency excitement' provided a distraction between that special birthday and the time that followed, though every extra day that passed ate at us both, in different ways.
On a day before the weekend he said again how he 'really wanted' the system, with that heart-wrenching, half-wincing look on his face as if it may not be possible, after so long. In that moment I showed him what I had just printed out from the computer: the current most valuable U.S. coins. After years and for the first time, his sealed bank was full enough to break for the occasion, and I wanted to make sure what survived, if at all, was keeping aside any coins that showed up on the list.
The next day he wasn't able to go to school, and pushed a little hard on the last day of school to be able to participate. The next morning, still with a low fever, knowing going to the game was not an option, the first words out of his mouth upon waking was the hopeful 'little' question: "Can we get it today?" Before he could see me, I winced this time, not really knowing how much was in that bank, wanting as much to have the answer he so deserved. "It's possible," I said.
Was so intent on the task at hand until it was done that I practially didn't notice that I hadn't made coffee for myself (incredibly) before picking up the very heavy bank and heading for a place to break it: our concrete 'mini-patio' at our back door, though not without a special boy's request to hold it to feel how heavy it was for himself. After getting a good feel for its weight he willfully handed it back to me and followed me into the kitchen, where I proceeded to lower the purple dinosaur bank into a plastic bag so that once dropped the coins wouldn't go flying everywhere, as he assisted in eager anticipation.
This could not have been put off another day; that the coins were not so much to the top so as that the pressure of the drop would immediately cause it to crack upon impact was not quite the case, so after a few tries, with the birthday boy making the first two throws from the stepladder, then handing it off to me to finish the job, after a couple more tries he instructed me to deploy the hammer, which did the trick. A couple of hours later, as we sat in the pleasant temperatures of an early summer day in our 'back yard', the necessary amount was divided into clear plastic bags by coin type and prepared for transport. I wanted to keep the ones with his birthday year that I had made a point of carefully including in the almost daily 'bank deposit' over time; my son insisted they go with the rest. After all, they weren't on 'the list'.
What I didn't share was how unlikely a business was inclined to take 'cash' this way; I was half-prepared and dreading the possibility of our 'legal tender' being refused, or at least negotiated with considerable effort that I was not looking forward to incurring, though was bracing myself to be very persuasively assertive on behalf of my child, whose birthday had passed without a 'real' present from me, who had a fever.
To dilute all potential outcomes, I prepared my young flush-faced (whether fever or anticipation was indistinguishable now) son for the possibility that the actual item he was looking for may not be at the location that was our destination, and not to raise his expectations to a level that would set him up for disappointment. We at least had what we needed; what we might not have was enough time to go elsewhere if the thing itself was not at this store.
Thirteen sandwich bags, equal amounts in each, were placed in the same heavy grade plastic FAO Schwartz bag we got when we made it out an earlier weekend as an early celebration in anticipation of his upcoming special day (with a couple of special token gifts for the occasion). With the lot hoisted into our weekend backpack, we made one stop to the library to return books and attempt to register the giftcard his aunt and grandmother had sent for his birthday that would make up the balance and perhaps allow for an accessory or two. After a frustrating too many minutes online, I resolved that beyond online purchases, a simple swipe should be sufficient, as somehow some portion of the very personal information was being rejected, which I had very uncomfortably and reluctantly entered more than once. All giftcards are not created equal, though I knew from experience that store purchases did not always require registration. This only added to my secret anxiety about the upcoming pending transaction.
"How many more minutes till we get there, Mom?", was asked three times as the bus neared the mall. I answered him each time to his satisfaction, until just a few minutes before arriving at the stop. After visiting the pet store and puppies across the hall, we entered the store.
We asked about the system (they had both new and used), and the pros and cons of purchasing new as opposed to the latter. One young man brought out two used units for my son to examine as one eye remained on the available game shelf that we were standing beside.
Following a short discussion and a very informed sales-oriented information session on the part of the young man, my son decided to follow the suggested advice and acquire the used though latest model that would also allow for the purchase of a game and an outer case. The incentive was that a full refund was an option within a week, whereas if he didn't like it after having purchased it new, it could not be returned at that value once opened.
Once his decision was made, my son quickly returned his attention to the game rack, knowing I would take care of 'the rest'.
Fortunately, the desk that the young man returned to was out of earshot from where my son continued to browse. With as much optimism and confidence as I could muster, I requested a manager (who was identified as standing closeby), then proceeded to explain our form of payment. Two (young) managers were in fact behind the desk, with two different answers. The second contradicted the first in the affirmative. Before the first manager could utter any protest, I quickly responded with "Great!", then returned to my son to help him with his case and game choices.
The first hurdle was cleared; no full breaths were taken so long as the card issue hung in the balance. It was not presented until each bag was re-checked by several staff behind the desk as having the amount stated, one coin at a time. Fortunately again, we had arrived in the lull of a 'beach day', when the store was not as busy as we had encountered many times before.
When the last coin was counted and the amount matched, it was time for the balance; I handed over the card, knowing even this young manager had experience in these situations. After a few attempts, showing little frustration, the manager who didn't want to take our money rather calmly helped in the steps necessary to make the card work, asking for what was needed (which I had) and dialing the right number to get a live person, in the Phillipines (yes, I asked). With the cordless in hand, wandering around the store as other business was tended to, it was less painful to give the same personal information under my breath so those around couldn't hear; it was finally 'the home stretch', as my son waited almost patiently by the demos in the front of the store.
Just a minute or two later, the receipt rolled out of the machine. The transaction was complete. The long awaited and much anticipated birthday choice was now my son's property. He was the proud owner of his long awaited system, which he continued to say almost incredulously into the next day, as TV was ignored over his new (used) high-resolution game that made his other player seem, well, 'less-than'. There was almost no comparison; the latter was not removed from his school bag the entire weekend.
Had the staff at this store responded as I was hoping they would not, it would have been a very different day indeed. My thanks and gratitude go out to these kids who surpassed my expectations; they deserve more than a few extra compliments from 'higher-ups'. With so many kids like them who have jobs at the same level who choose to behave 'as expected', those who go beyond that merit recognition by their superiors in the presence of their peers. In doing so, there's a higher probability that a little boy who was able to have his special birthday shopping trip go as was planned in his mind witness what older kids can do that he can choose to carry on, as opposed to something else that's all too common.
And not only this little boy, for whom I'm grateful. For many other children as well. Some moments that others forget quickly remain unforgettable to a child forever. My thanks for this day turning out the way it did. It was a team effort, and everyone stepped up to the plate. Congratulations; we'll be back.
A First-Time Response to a Regular Request
At the bottom of receipts is often a feedback request, sometimes with an incentive for participation. Have missed out on many 'sweepstakes entries' by either forgetting or not enough time. This one warranted an answer.
This one was for a survey; there was nowhere to place this review, which is deserved on the part of the employees present the last weekend of my child's birthday month.
It was expected to write this content in duplicate to an appropriate place on the feedback site, though the boxes in the survey didn't seem quite right for this little story. We hope the staff eventually is rewarded for exceptional service: something I had no expectations of from a group of 'older kids' working on a weekend 'beach day'. For the low expectations, I apologize.
Had my son not had a fever the day before which carried over into that morning, he would have been playing baseball. He had wanted the same thing since the winter holidays: a portable game system.
'Life happened' over those six months, and baseball season took almost all of our weekend hours, to a point where just getting out to shop for the occasion of his birthday became an obstacle. For what was no small amount of money, I wanted to make sure that this was his first choice when the moment finally arrived.
"You didn't get me a birthday present, Mom." were words that stung at the heart when even the weekend that followed his actual birthday didn't render an opportunity to get to the right store following yet another baseball game and get all of the other unavoidable chores done. I wanted him to be present to pick out exactly what he wanted, not pick up what I thought was the right thing for the day, only to have to go back for an exchange.
He got to pitch for the first time this season; having run out of rain dates, the last game he participated in was in a downpour (which likely contributed to his low immunity by week's end). All of this 'game proficiency excitement' provided a distraction between that special birthday and the time that followed, though every extra day that passed ate at us both, in different ways.
On a day before the weekend he said again how he 'really wanted' the system, with that heart-wrenching, half-wincing look on his face as if it may not be possible, after so long. In that moment I showed him what I had just printed out from the computer: the current most valuable U.S. coins. After years and for the first time, his sealed bank was full enough to break for the occasion, and I wanted to make sure what survived, if at all, was keeping aside any coins that showed up on the list.
The next day he wasn't able to go to school, and pushed a little hard on the last day of school to be able to participate. The next morning, still with a low fever, knowing going to the game was not an option, the first words out of his mouth upon waking was the hopeful 'little' question: "Can we get it today?" Before he could see me, I winced this time, not really knowing how much was in that bank, wanting as much to have the answer he so deserved. "It's possible," I said.
Was so intent on the task at hand until it was done that I practially didn't notice that I hadn't made coffee for myself (incredibly) before picking up the very heavy bank and heading for a place to break it: our concrete 'mini-patio' at our back door, though not without a special boy's request to hold it to feel how heavy it was for himself. After getting a good feel for its weight he willfully handed it back to me and followed me into the kitchen, where I proceeded to lower the purple dinosaur bank into a plastic bag so that once dropped the coins wouldn't go flying everywhere, as he assisted in eager anticipation.
This could not have been put off another day; that the coins were not so much to the top so as that the pressure of the drop would immediately cause it to crack upon impact was not quite the case, so after a few tries, with the birthday boy making the first two throws from the stepladder, then handing it off to me to finish the job, after a couple more tries he instructed me to deploy the hammer, which did the trick. A couple of hours later, as we sat in the pleasant temperatures of an early summer day in our 'back yard', the necessary amount was divided into clear plastic bags by coin type and prepared for transport. I wanted to keep the ones with his birthday year that I had made a point of carefully including in the almost daily 'bank deposit' over time; my son insisted they go with the rest. After all, they weren't on 'the list'.
What I didn't share was how unlikely a business was inclined to take 'cash' this way; I was half-prepared and dreading the possibility of our 'legal tender' being refused, or at least negotiated with considerable effort that I was not looking forward to incurring, though was bracing myself to be very persuasively assertive on behalf of my child, whose birthday had passed without a 'real' present from me, who had a fever.
To dilute all potential outcomes, I prepared my young flush-faced (whether fever or anticipation was indistinguishable now) son for the possibility that the actual item he was looking for may not be at the location that was our destination, and not to raise his expectations to a level that would set him up for disappointment. We at least had what we needed; what we might not have was enough time to go elsewhere if the thing itself was not at this store.
Thirteen sandwich bags, equal amounts in each, were placed in the same heavy grade plastic FAO Schwartz bag we got when we made it out an earlier weekend as an early celebration in anticipation of his upcoming special day (with a couple of special token gifts for the occasion). With the lot hoisted into our weekend backpack, we made one stop to the library to return books and attempt to register the giftcard his aunt and grandmother had sent for his birthday that would make up the balance and perhaps allow for an accessory or two. After a frustrating too many minutes online, I resolved that beyond online purchases, a simple swipe should be sufficient, as somehow some portion of the very personal information was being rejected, which I had very uncomfortably and reluctantly entered more than once. All giftcards are not created equal, though I knew from experience that store purchases did not always require registration. This only added to my secret anxiety about the upcoming pending transaction.
"How many more minutes till we get there, Mom?", was asked three times as the bus neared the mall. I answered him each time to his satisfaction, until just a few minutes before arriving at the stop. After visiting the pet store and puppies across the hall, we entered the store.
We asked about the system (they had both new and used), and the pros and cons of purchasing new as opposed to the latter. One young man brought out two used units for my son to examine as one eye remained on the available game shelf that we were standing beside.
Following a short discussion and a very informed sales-oriented information session on the part of the young man, my son decided to follow the suggested advice and acquire the used though latest model that would also allow for the purchase of a game and an outer case. The incentive was that a full refund was an option within a week, whereas if he didn't like it after having purchased it new, it could not be returned at that value once opened.
Once his decision was made, my son quickly returned his attention to the game rack, knowing I would take care of 'the rest'.
Fortunately, the desk that the young man returned to was out of earshot from where my son continued to browse. With as much optimism and confidence as I could muster, I requested a manager (who was identified as standing closeby), then proceeded to explain our form of payment. Two (young) managers were in fact behind the desk, with two different answers. The second contradicted the first in the affirmative. Before the first manager could utter any protest, I quickly responded with "Great!", then returned to my son to help him with his case and game choices.
The first hurdle was cleared; no full breaths were taken so long as the card issue hung in the balance. It was not presented until each bag was re-checked by several staff behind the desk as having the amount stated, one coin at a time. Fortunately again, we had arrived in the lull of a 'beach day', when the store was not as busy as we had encountered many times before.
When the last coin was counted and the amount matched, it was time for the balance; I handed over the card, knowing even this young manager had experience in these situations. After a few attempts, showing little frustration, the manager who didn't want to take our money rather calmly helped in the steps necessary to make the card work, asking for what was needed (which I had) and dialing the right number to get a live person, in the Phillipines (yes, I asked). With the cordless in hand, wandering around the store as other business was tended to, it was less painful to give the same personal information under my breath so those around couldn't hear; it was finally 'the home stretch', as my son waited almost patiently by the demos in the front of the store.
Just a minute or two later, the receipt rolled out of the machine. The transaction was complete. The long awaited and much anticipated birthday choice was now my son's property. He was the proud owner of his long awaited system, which he continued to say almost incredulously into the next day, as TV was ignored over his new (used) high-resolution game that made his other player seem, well, 'less-than'. There was almost no comparison; the latter was not removed from his school bag the entire weekend.
Had the staff at this store responded as I was hoping they would not, it would have been a very different day indeed. My thanks and gratitude go out to these kids who surpassed my expectations; they deserve more than a few extra compliments from 'higher-ups'. With so many kids like them who have jobs at the same level who choose to behave 'as expected', those who go beyond that merit recognition by their superiors in the presence of their peers. In doing so, there's a higher probability that a little boy who was able to have his special birthday shopping trip go as was planned in his mind witness what older kids can do that he can choose to carry on, as opposed to something else that's all too common.
And not only this little boy, for whom I'm grateful. For many other children as well. Some moments that others forget quickly remain unforgettable to a child forever. My thanks for this day turning out the way it did. It was a team effort, and everyone stepped up to the plate. Congratulations; we'll be back.
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