Steps Toward Conservatism?

I have this theory that no matter how liberal you are in your youth – in political beliefs, practices, whatever – as you get older, you begin to get more conservative. And how conservative you are, well then, the older you may be. I’ve had a couple of incidents that week that have really pushed this point home for me.

The first incident occurred in Junior Foods. Elijah and I were sitting in line, and all of the sudden, the guy behind us began to talk to his friend. Now usually, I find that thoroughly enjoy eaves dropping on a good conversation. I will often spend time trying to listen to other people instead of talking to someone sitting at the table with me. It’s probably the same gene that makes me enjoy the real world, road rules, and the hills on mtv – fly-on-the-wallitis. Anyway, the guy behind me was obviously having some problems with his dog, because he began to go into a lengthy discussion that was absolutely littered with profanity. My f-ing dog is getting on my last f-ing nerve. The S—thole dog is digging up my f-ing yard. I’m going to f-ing slit his mother f-ing throat. That was basically the opening sentence. And all I could think of was Elijah standing right there and hearing every bit of it. Now, I will admit that there is a bit of a double standard because Elijah will watch movies that have a fair amount of profanity. And I have dealt with that – and am living blissfully in a place where just because they say it in the movies doesn’t mean that real people talk that way. And as I sat in the line that had suddenly crawled to a stop, I found myself wanting to turn around and ask the man to please not use that language around my son. And thus the internal debate began… it’s his first amendment right to say what he wants to say – freedom of speech. When did I decide that I needed to infringe on another’s inherent American right? Of course, Elijah didn’t hear any of it at all. So it was essentially a moot point. There was a point in my life that I probably wouldn’t even have heard the profanity spewing from this man’s mouth. But that point has passed – perhaps everyone moves 4 degrees to the right as a child passes from their body – who knows.


The second incident was at a birthday party that my son attended. Now, not having ever had great successes with birthday parties myself, I try to attend all the parties that Elijah is invited to. And being competitive, I try to see if the parties that I have planned for him are better or worse than the ones he attends. Anyway, the family who was throwing this party seemed to have a nice bit of funding. New home, looked pretty big (despite the added size illusion added by a garage), in ground pool in the back yard, pool house, blah blah blah. It was a bit crowded as apparently all the wives forced their husbands to attend, as I did mine. There was some nice adult chips and dip (I’d never thought of that as I’m usually having a party for the kids and the parents are just transportation) – and they had a wet bar. A wet bar, with mixed drinks served in plastic pirate cups at a 6 year olds birthday party. They also had hired a DJ – which most everyone ignored – felt a little sorry for him, but well I’m sure he got paid handsomely for the time he spent there. And so, in yet another fashion, I show my age because I just can’t be convinced that it’s appropriate to serve alcohol at a child’s birthday party – Such a belief didn’t stop Jose from getting two drinks though. He wanted me to go get him a refill and I told him that I would not – because I was an elementary school teacher at the school where these kids and their parents went to school – and I did not want someone who thought that alcohol was inappropriate at a birthday party to see me lining up at the bar to get a drink – and then not see me pass it off to Jose (who, as always, was the only non-Caucasian in attendance) – which is an entirely different issue.

So despite these two minor conservative issues – please know that I still consider myself a liberal democrat. You’re never going to get me to say that abortion should be illegal, or that everyone should have a gun, or that it wouldn’t be a good thing to have healthcare reform so that everyone can have insurance without having to sell everything they own to pay for it. I still believe that every person can change and be a better person (though I’m less inclined than I used to be to give t hose who in any way shape or form hurt small children a chance to be reformed), I don’t think the death penalty works – not really (but I care less about that in my old age). I believe that anyone who wants to have a legal ceremony to say they love each other should have one . And I know for a fact that a gay parent can be a good parent who raises well adjusted children – or at least as well adjusted as any other kid. All in all, I think that my passion for political issues has faded as I concern myself with finding money for gasoline to get to and from work, soccer, and the grocery store – or making sure that my children are happy. I’m quite sure that as my children age, I might move back into that realm of political concerns. For now, I’ll just let Jon Stewart take all my pot shots.

Nightmares

I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately. Most likely because I’ve been taking benedryl every night to fight off allergies enough to help me rest so that I can make it into school the next day. Many of those dreams have been related to the 20th high school reunion that I have coming up. That I sort of want to go to, but don’t really want to attend. The last one was about the party at Kim and Stan’s house (which in my dream was some sort of mansion) – and we rode a school bus to get there. JR Body (sp) was a doctor. And that’s about all I remember there. Those haven’t been bad dreams. Usually my nightmares aren’t even really tat bad. My nightmares are usually about tornadoes. They say that if you dream about tornadoes that you are actually dreaming about changes that are occurring in your life. I dream about tornadoes a lot -0 always have. Ell let me qualify that. I have since I was 23 or 25 – which is a long time ago now. Usually they aren’t really bad dreams, though they almost always wake me up. Usually the dreams have me in someone’s house (mine, grandmas, where ever) and there are always a lot of really small tornadoes. But I can always see them coming. I look out the window, and see these tiny little tornadoes coming down and I always have time to get everyone to safety. Tonight I didn’t have that sort of tornado dream.
It was in my living room, though my furniture arrangement was different, and the basement door was not in the kitchen but off the living room (sort of like Kay and Larry’s house in Morgantown – I know none of you know that that looks like, but I do). And my friend David was there. It was on the Friday night of my 20 year high school reunion. I didn’t go, but was in Cadiz. And David had stopped by. Jose wasn’t there. And I didn’t see Elijah or Isaiah there either. I was talking about why Jodi was upset – and sitting here, I don’t really remember why that was, something about rumors going around about mom and Lesa. Anyway, the wind started to blow. And I commented that the game was probably going to be rained out, and all of the sudden it wasn’t just a little hard wind, it was a tornado, a big one, that had snuck up on us. And Mom, David, Lesa and I rand downstairs – and it was only then that I remembered Isaiah and Elijah. Which was of course when I work up, and had to spend the next several minutes wracking my break trying to find them in my dream somewhere. Where they in the house but sleeping? Sleeping on the couch. Why were they sleeping so early, they never go to sleep. Quick-- go back to sleep and try to re-dream the ending so that it’s different. So that I know they are safe. But there was no doing it – and so I’m here trying to exorcise some sleep demons by writing them down . And will most likely travel from the keyboard to the benadryl which has unsuccessfully been trying to tackle the allergic funk that has settled in the back of my throat and chest, and a cheesy romance novel until my eyes can no longer remain open.
I don’t often have nightmares like this where I wake up and can’t go back to sleep. But there have been periods in my life that I’ve been plagued by bad dreams. When we first moved back to Cadiz in the 4th grade, I used to dream that the electric monster who appeared in the opening sequence of spiderman and friends (with fire starter girl and iceman – they were x-men) was chasing me and some others through the forest. And like a good Star Trek episode, the new person to the dream was always the one who got it before we reached the safety of the barn. I often dream, still even today, that I’m trying to cross the road, but somehow am unable to do so. I either fall down, or my legs quit working. Something always keeps me in the danger of the road with the knowledge that a car is coming and I’m going to get hit if I don’t find a way to get across. That one usually wakes me up. Added to that dream was the real experience that I had last summer when I was crossing the road to get the mail and tripped and fell. And I actually had a very real fear that my dream was going to come true and I wasn’t going to be able to get up in time to get across the road to safety. I don’t think I’ve had that dream much since then.
At the ripe old age of 37, oops 38, usually the dreams that wake me up are the ones that involve the safety of my children. And t hose are the ones that keep me up long after the dream has passed. Those are the ones that really suck. Even now, I am wracked with guilt that in my dream, I ran downstairs and didn’t even think of Isaiah and Elijah until I was already under the stairs and couldn’t go back up. It’s those sorts of dreams that make you go to Walmart and purchase a cooler to make a disaster kit though.
Anyway, I’m not going to try to analyze the dream – I’m not su re that I want to know what this one means - We’re just going to let it stand, and fade into the background and hope that Dylan, the ½ breed cowboy who’s set his sights on Hannah will help me forget it all.

20 year class reunion

O.K. It's not really so difficult to admit that I've been out of high school for 20 years. I don't have any problem with being 38 years old - or with the passage of time. But it does seem to have gone by rather quickly. I got the invitation for my high school class reunion in the mail yesterday. Felt a bit excited because Steven Sanders had actually hand written the address. I mean a little giddy because Steven Sanders was sort of the poo back in the day. And here it is 4:15 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and I'm up blogging at the computer because I had a dream about the reunion and couldn't get back to sleep.

Now, there is a big part of me that wants to go the reunion with a vengeful spirit. Small as it is, I suppose I want someone who had everything in high school (or seemed to) to have had a really difficult life. Which doesn't seem like a very good reason to go to a reunion. The other reason would be to see old friends from high school. But I didn't really have any friends in high school. I had people that I had all my classes with. But there was no social interaction. I was never invited to a party. No one asked to hang out with me after school. David Thomas, who I have long called my only friend from high school, was the only person from high school who wrote or kept in contact - and none of that in the past 12 years or so. And Kris Michele McGill and I hung out a bit our senior year -- Pebbles Herndon my junior year. But after high school that was it - nada, finito. And I admit to having no small amount of curiousity about the people who I saw daily and thought had everything - thought perfect. The logical part of my mind realizes that they weren't perfect. I realize now, though it's hard to say it, that probably Caroline and Shelly weren't innocent virgins when they graduated from high school. But 20 years ago, I was sure that they were - mostly because people who were exemplars of the human race (as only those who are in the top clique of a school can be perceived to be) must be good and perfect. Of course, in recent years, I've spent some time indulging in watching reality mtv shows and enjoyed Laguna Beach and The Hills. I have often wondered if those girls and boys that I knew were similar to those on the screen. There's a lot of drama and meanness there - and I never got a feel for that sitting on the sidelines, looking in, that there was -- but it seems to me that if you ever get more than 3 girls together, drama will insue.

So, I can't really decide if I want to go to the reunion. In my dream, Jose, the boys, and I were eating supper at the lodge, but of course not in the reserved section for the reunion (who eats at 8:00 p.m?) And a whole parade of people began to walk by. Jim Jim Wallace (though I know he hates to be called Jim Jim now) was very tall, sporting a nice sweater and blazer. Reggie Thomas and Kenneth Wharton. I haven't thought about Kenneth Wharton since I graduated from high school - though every so often I try to find Reggie without success. Steven Sanders stopped for a hello. Michelle Guinn (who was the first person at Trigg County that I ever met) was there - but her family for some reason looked like circus clowns - literally in make-up. And the next thing I knew I was fighting back tears. Here were all these people who I didn't really have anything to say to -- didn't really have any common high school experiences -- unless you counted Beta convention or classes. And all the faces were familiar and I knew the people - but I still didn't fit in or belong -- I graduated in 1987, but was never really a member of the CLASS of 87. Although, I hold desperately to a conversation that Jim and I had the year that we were both back in Cadiz. He had come to my house (which was surreal in and of itself) and we watched Hairspray. And he told me that he always felt that I didn't need to be a part of the whole social scene at school. Which made me feel better. It made me feel like I wasn't excluded because no one liked me, but for other reasons - whatever they were. I have no idea how people remember me, or what they thought of me when I was in high school. And it's a scary proposition to go back into a group of people whose approval and attention you craved when you were younger but never got (no one was ever mean or hateful, just not opening any arms either). That's an awful lot of hurt that I don't know if I want to face or revisit (more so than I am doing right now anyway). I suppose in the long run, I have to decide if it's a thing that I'll wish I had done, if I don't. Ironically, it's probably all a moot point anyway with Franklin's soccer team. But you know me, I like to be prepared.