The Great Haste - Elijah's Story

The Great Haste
Everyone knows Martian Mickey. If you don’t, you will soon.:” On one special day, Mickey was at his house; you know just chillin’. Then the mailman knocked on the door. Knock! Knock! Mickey filled with excitement. He rushed to the door as fast as he could. When he opened the door he was shocked. The mailman has pimples! Ewww! And he had a box too. He asked “uh…what is this?”
The mailman replied, “why this is a letter from our local community.”
Mickey thought and wondered a bit before he was issued the box. After a while, he replied, “OK . . . I guess.” Then he was handed the box. HE slowly made it back to where he was chillin’.
He wondered what the letter was. Once he opened it, he gazed at all of the words. HE couldn’t believe what he saw. How could forget?! The most horrible place on Earth!!! The doctor’s office!!!
Martian Mickey almost burst into tears. The letter reminded him that he had an appointment tomorrow. Mickey tried to keep it together. He began to think that somehow he could run away, or he could try to fight. He even thought about hiding in the closet. He decided to take a drink . He picked up a soda and gulp, gulp then crush.
After hours of thinking and two policemen came to talk about a noise complaint, he decided to go. Thankfully he had a plan. The next day, Mickey headed to the doctor’s office with two things: his pride and a bottle of shampoo. As he got in his car-mobile, he said, “It’s just me and you doctor’s office.” Five minutes later, he exited his car-mobile and approached the big doors. He took a big gulp and walked inside with the shampoo “duh duh duh duh.” (scary music played in his head.)
The nurse inside nicely asked him to sit down. Mickey replied, “shut it! Umm… I mean… ok.” The nurse was shocked. Mickey waited four hours. The glares from the nursed did not make him feel any better, and he was already feeling kind of sick to his stomach.
After many scary moments with the nurse, the doctor was ready. Mickey followed the so-called doctor (a.k.a. Evil Master Mind) to his office, and on the way, Mickey was so scared he almost threw up. Mickey was very surprised that the doctor’s evil lair (office) was actually very clean. The Evil Master Mind (slash doctor) told Mickey to wait. Mickey stumbled, “O…K….” He waited and waited. HE was getting tired. He then remembered about his plan. He pulled the shampoo bottle out of his pocket and began thinking and thinking and thinking.
Then he got it. Just at the right time too, because that very second the doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) walked ino the door. Mickey quickly shoved the shampoo down his pocket.
The Evil Master Mind (slash doctor) asked Mickey to slowly open his mouth. Mickey laid down and did as he was told, and he slowly pulled the shampoo out of his pocket. The doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) slowly pulled out his tools. Mickey slowly opened the cap and aimed at the Evil Master Mind (slash doctor)’s head. The doctor (slash Evil Master Mind) turned around. Mickey gave only a few seconds for the doctor to realize the situation. Then SPLAT!!! Soap was all around the Evil Master Mind’s (aka doctor)’s face. 1…. 2…. 3….
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH” screamed the doctor. Mickey jumped up and dashed away. Mickey dashed down the hall. SPLAT!! SPLOOSH! People screamed “AAAAHHHH! My eyes!”
Mickey rand down the hall. HE could see the door. He said excitedly, breathing hard, “Yes! I made it.” Then the police smashed the door and yelled, “FREEZE!”
Mickey stopped and sprayed all of htem, but there were so many. He decided to jump out the window. HE got into his car-mobile and drove away.
When he got to his house, he quickly bolted the door and blocked the windows. Mickey was breathing really hard and muttered, “I made it.” But from behind, a shadow appeared. The figure whispered, “we need you.”
Mickey answered, “Wh…what?”
The shadow replied, “we need you on our side.”
Mickey yelled “Come out! I got soap! I’m not afraid to use it.”
The shadow slowly crept out of the corner. The shadow was a shady man. HE said, “Mickey, I saw what you did in the Doctor’s office (slash Evil Master Mind’s Lair).”
Mickey replied, “wait…you saw?” The man said, “we want you to join the FBI. We saw you with the soap. You’re a professional.”
Mickey was surprised but he always dreamed of being a secret agent man. So he agreed, and began saving the world with his awesome soap bottle.
The End

The Red Headed Step Child

I have always been one to keep boundaries, or to compartmentalize things and people.  It’s not something that I think about, it’s just something I do.  Like there are work friends, and non-work friends.  There’s my family and Jose’s family.  There’s real family and married family.  I’m not very good at crossing groups, or really moving through these imaginary lines.  It doesn’t mean that I like or care about someone less, it just means they have a place in line, a sort of hierarchy I guess.  I’m not supposing that anyone else does this.  And as you read this you are probably thinking what a horrible thing to do.  I have no defense.  It just is the way it is.  I could in fact, probably easier than I should be able to, make a list of people I would save from a drowning in order from first to last.  Bad right.  It only works when you don’t aren’t actually involved in the sinking ship scenario, but just thinking about it.  For example, when Isaiah was a baby, the discussion that I had with every person in my house was that is something happened, their job was to save Isaiah.  And if they couldn’t save Isaiah, then, and only then, would it be ok to save themselves.  However, I told Jose that this didn’t apply to him.  If he couldn’t save Isaiah, he’d better die trying, because I’d probably never forgive him otherwise.  Anyway, all this weirdness isn’t the reason that I’m writing today.  But it’s necessary background needed to understand what comes after.

I strongly suspect that Franklin suffers from the same mental processing.  I think he puts people into boxes and doesn’t want them to move out of that box into another box.  And he’s not going to try to put the boxes together.  He has this little microcosm of people at my house.  He has my family in Cadiz.  He has his family in El Salvador.  He has Jose’s family.  He has has friends.  Here is what I suspect.  That he has my family and Jose’s family here in Kentucky.  But his real family lives in El Salvador.  And since we’re not his real family, he really can’t be bothered overmuch with getting involved in our lives.

I try to make justifications for this, try to find a way to change my mind about what I think is true.  But I’ve not quite made that happen yet.  Franklin came to live with us when he was 16 years old.  In retrospect, that was really too late, for him to feel like he was really a part of our family.  But I just couldn’t make myself push to have him come earlier.  I couldn’t take a child away from his mother, no matter what the opportunities would await him in America. It wasn’t until he was 14 or so, that I thought he could make that decision for himself about wanting to come.  By the time he came to live with us, who he was going to be was pretty firmly set.  Sure there was still some wiggle room, but the foundation had been laid.  And not to disparage his mother, who did so many things right, there are a lot of things that I would have tried to do differently.  But then, I have the luxury of the American life which would have allowed me to try to make those changes.  When Franklin arrived he had already acclimated to doing what he wanted, when he wanted, and how he wanted without a lot of parent interference.  He had not made any effort on his current semester of grades, because he thought they wouldn’t matter, so he was failing all of his classes.  It is perhaps the best example of this thought process.  He does not push himself or achieve for himself.  He is not a queen bee, or king of the pride, he is a worker bee.  He will do only what he’s expected to do.  He will not find anything extra to put him over the top.  And if it’s not explicitly laid out in the instructions originally given, then it will not be done because “no one told me to do that.”  It is by far the most annoying trait in a human being that I have ever seen, and it lives with me.

But even that isn’t really the issue.  Franklin came with the idea that he was an outsider and he has let himself stay in the role for the past 5 years.  Any all family event was not something that he wanted to attend.  Believe me, I understand the teenage perception of the FFO.  It sucks, but mostly just the getting there.  And because I understood, I didn’t try to push him too much.  My mistake.  Maybe it would have been better to foster grumpiness in exchange for spending time.    On top of that, Franklin’s tendency to keep to himself and not talk to anyone really, only thickened the wall between us.  And because he was 16, because I thought what he was doing was probably the hardest thing ever, I gave him space.  I treated him more like an exchange student than a child.  I didn’t push him like I know I would push my own children.  I didn’t feel that I had the right.   And as a result, I now have a step child, who doesn’t consider himself a part of this family.  Though he doesn’t say it that way, his actions time and again reflect his disinterest in being a part of this family unit.  He chooses not to go on family vacations with us.  He worked his schedule at work so he doesn’t suffer through church or the family breakfast that we have after.  And this year, it was that he doesn’t really want to come to Thanksgiving or Christmas in Cadiz.  Now, he may argue that I’m over stating that position.  But I would disagree.  W hen you ask, are you expecting me to come to Cadiz for Thanksgiving.  What you are saying is, “I don’t want to go to Cadiz for Thanksgiving how mad are you going to be.”  And when the question is repeated for Christmas, well, that’s just the icing on the cake. 

I can say that it was a big enough hurt to make me step back a bit.  This lack of connection, this desire to not be a member of my family, is not a new conversation between me and Franklin.  We’ve had it several times.  And his response, usually, is related to the fact that he doesn’t like to talk to people.  Not just us, but anyone.  To which I respond, bullsh#$%^t.  Being a part of a family isn’t always about talking and sharing your innermost secrets.  If it were, then I would not be a part of a family.  As in the Walker household, we laugh and wax philosophical, but we don’t delve into our own personal crap with each other.  Sometimes we delve into a non-present parties personal crap, but that’s about it, really.  Having those big conversations is a huge, frightening production that no one really enjoys.  Deep down, we’re all relieved that everyone has someone so that that person can be the one to hear all the fears, hopes, dreams, etc.  Being family is about spending time together.  It’s about enjoying each other’s company, at least 60% of the time.  It’s about connection and shared history.  It’s about knowing that even if we’re different, you got my back with  everyone else (even if you immediately turn around and tell me I’m 10 kinds of idiot).  Hell, when you get right down to it, family serves the same purpose as religion.  It’s the knowledge that you are not alone in this world, ever.  It’s a weird kind of love that isn’t always accompanied by genuine liking.  It’s probably all based on innate survival instincts from when we first crawled out of the primordial ooze.  And it has been lost through the years as industry and technology have allowed us to move away from our families.  And you can believe, that Franklin doesn’t want to share such a bond with us.  What’s wrong with us.  We’re not to weird.  We’re decent, if not always good, people; some of us are better than others.  But more importantly, we all have made an effort and expressed a desire to include Franklin in our lives and in our family.  And though I compartmentalize and can’t really ever say that Franklin is my son without pausing first (cuz he’s not my son… as my son would have already been murdered for such behavior).  That doesn’t mean that I didn’t treat him like a son (actually I treated him nicer for the first year or so).  My dad and Glenda have treated him just like a grandson.  And my mother has made an attempt to bond with Franklin as well.  But I think Franklin only hears noise and interruption.  We are something that must be survived so that he can get back to his real family.   And that is what most hurts me (and I’m working diligently at expressing my hurt as extreme anger, thank you very much). 

So, the person that I am, says I am done.  I don’t want to try anymore.  It hurts my feelings and makes me angry.  But the mom in me (and this is when I feel the line between step son son fading away) tells me that I have to keep trying to make the connection.  Because one day it will be something that he craves or needs and it should be there.  And the cherry on top is the fear in the knowledge that when he leaves, and it’s coming, that it will not be a temporary goodbye.  It will be permanent.  When he leaves, he will not return to visit, or to spend time with the boys.  When he leaves, he is done; it will be too late to find a way to make him want to be in our family.  And here, I am so glad that he is not the child of my womb, because I don’t think that I could survive that hurt – this one is bad enough.

Up and Out

Well, first I must say that there should be a general thank you in Franklin's direction, as if it weren't for him I would not be conflicted enough to write. But he does exist and conflict he does create. so here we go.

There is a reason why kids go off to college. Sure, as a parent of young children you think to yourself that you don't want your kids to go. 18 is still so young. What will they get into; what dangers lurk behind the guise of friendly faces waiting to draw them down the path of self destruction. And the reason parents of young children think that is because they have young children. What you don't realize is that when your child reaches the age of maturity, they also approach the age of, hmmm...what shall I call it...? assholedom comes to mind, but that might just be for boys...maybe there's a bitchiland for girls. The fact of the matter is most individuals from the age of 18 to 24 can't think about anything or anyone else but themselves. They are in fact the center of their own universe and no other universe even exists or matters. And as a parent, you will try to remember being such an insensitive, selfish, jerk but you won't remember anything like that. You will think to yourself that you were pretty good. You will say that you did what your parents asked you to do, even when you didn't like it. And why can't your child be just like you were. Well they probably are. You just were so centered on your own personal life and happiness that you didn't register, as even the tiniest blip on your radar, that your parents were pulling their hair out in frustration over the idiotic, stupid, crazy, dangerous, life altering choices that you were making. And it was easier for you to be unaware of said parental angst, because most likely you lived in a college dorm and your parents didn't see you on daily basis...to which i say to you count your lucky stars.

Franklin is not lucky enough to be able to live on campus. It costs $500 a month to live in the dorm. And being the overtly frugal person that i am, I can not justify spending as much for a communal bathroom and 1/2 bedroom as I spend on my house payment each month. It simply makes no sense whatsoever. And since Franklin, god's gift to the universe, didn't apply himself to his fullest potential, he does not have any governmental funds coming his way to make campus life a reality. Needless to say that these past two years have been a bit challenging. Strike that, this last year has been challenging. The first year, he was still stuck firmly in high school at college mode and kind of holding his own. But then, he met A GIRL. Enter the teenage change. Apparently, meeting a girl who will let you see her naked makes studying next to impossible. Which makes sense if the jokes they make about blood moving to the penis and not to the head is true. I would imagine that it's probably difficult to study in the state of 19 year old semi-arousal. (Let me note that know for a fact that she didn't have any difficulty studying and kept her grades up, which may indicate something about Franklin's skills...just saying if heredity plays any role whatsoever, there will be some direct instruction going on). And so with the arrival of said girl, the need to go out and stay out become an almost constant. And when that resulted in brief foray into cohabitation that then resulted in arriving back home with his tail between his legs, I figured it was a lesson learned. When it was accompanied by failing grades, well, it was a very expensive lesson, learned. But alas, no. It would appear that the draw of a 19 year old vagina far outweighs rational thought, or really irrational thought, let alone forethought, and potentially afterthought. And the call of the wild hit again, and the same mistakes were made, just as shoddily. I mean seriously, the first time it was "I fell asleep and when I woke up it was 4 a.m." which is a half-hearted lie at best because mom's know that teenagers never wake up spontaneously at 4 a.m. They are either going to bed at that time, or crawling from the bathroom to their room. They don't wake up at that time. And this last excuse, "I'm too tired to drive home. I'm just gonna sleep here and be home in the morning." To which I say, Kudos to the casual tone of the text, delivered a mere 3 hours after everyone here has fallen asleep. And a little bitterness that we're not even worth a brand new excuse, but just a variation of the previous. Not that I'm suprised, as Franklin has demonstrated time and again, he'll find the easy way and stay with it...til...well, I've not seen him change this behavior yet, so I don't actually know how long it will last. So, after a few hours of fuming, ranting, raving... it was decided that with such freedom comes rent. Yes, I know that I did things that my parents wouldn't approve of. I stayed out all night. I got drunk. I experimented with all manner of things. But my parents didn't know. And I for sure wasn't doing it in my parent's house, unless they were somehow involved. And I didn't ask them to pay my way as I blew my money of frivolous perishible entertainment. I had hoped that perhaps that Franklin would find a way to get his own place, move out, and take the next step that he so desperately wants to take. But, staying was easier, and what did I say about Franklin, but he's a rut finder. So, he has taken advantage of paying rent, and spends 5 out of 7 nights out, somewhere. Which drives Jose totally out of his mind. And paying rent apparently doesn't stop you from getting a 1 hour in spanish chat an hour before you have to get up and go to class. What can I say, he's really getting a discounted rate.

And what does all of it mean? It means that I push the boys to get really good grades so they can live on campus when they are older. Because though I acknowledge the teenage need for freedom. The desire to grow as a person and make your own choices and decisions. I strongly advocate not having to witness the assinine nature of those choices. I don't want to know, unless you have to have a shot in your penis, at which point i want to know and post on facebook. I'm not sure that you can truly be friends with your children at this point, yet. They still need a parent, but an absentee parent. Someone to ask the right questions, and to call and check that the important things are being taken care of. I suppose for them it's about like having your cake and eating it to. But when they live at home, well, they are still 10 and will be treated as such. Course, to be fair, they still act like they're 10 when they come home (not cleaning up after themselves, unable to use a microwave, oven, stove, dishwasher, washing machine, vacuum, broom, sponge, etc.) They just can't grow up all the way until they leave. And the longer they stay, then the longer the battle between us. So, seriously, as soon as you can, when you know they won't end up on the street, give them the boot. Because until they leave, you can never move to the next phase of your relationship...the one where they buy you dinner instead.

The Office

Have you ever watched the Office?  It’s one of those quirky shows that really is funny, but it takes you a while to get into it enough to find it funny; at least that was true for me.  After I started watching it for a while, I began to think about which of these characters in the office was me; as it is a pretty representative microcosm of people of the world. 

There will always be the not quite qualified person in charge, who seems to have gotten there by being incompetent at their present level, sort of well liked, and the only one who applies for the job (which is what I must assume, because otherwise I can’t figure out how they get promoted).  This person does not always have to be in charge, but they  have gotten a job for which they are wholly unqualified.  This person always walks fast in the hallway, like they are on their way to somewhere important.  The more people in the hallway, the busier they will appear to be.  Too busy to be stopped and asked a question. 

There is the pretty but mostly useless girl or boy.  This is the person who has a job, but doesn’t want it.  They are daily, waiting to quit.  They put forth no effort.  Are happy to let someone else do their work.  They don’t care if they get fired, because they were just going to quit anyway.

There’s the extremist, that one person who is 100% devoted to some self selected cause and it rules their life.   This person is the master of the awkward conversation.  They are going to talk animatedly and at length about some topic about which you know nothing about and care nothing for.  And they will always catch you when you have about 5 minutes of free time and no way to escape.  And those 5 minutes become an eternity.

There’s the nerdy, slightly annoying person who’s feelings you don’t want to hurt, so you hide from them when you see them coming so you don’t get caught in conversation with them. 

There’s the know it all, been there, done that, let me tell you my story person.  This person must insert themselves into every conversation with an anecdote as to how whatever random topic relates to them and their experience.  They know which movies to see, which pop tarts are best, their kids have been in every club and won every award, and they have participated in every organization in the world. 

And there’s the grumpy person.  That person who gets a cake for their birthday then complains that it’s not the right flavor; or gets flowers from their mother and complains that they don’t like daisies, only roses will do.    It’s a dilemma really.  Because on the one hand, the selfish, I’m in it for me side, I don’t want to spend time with the grumpy person.  I don’t want to eat lunch with them, or hang out with them before, during, after work.  I just don’t care about what they have to say or do, and it’s always grumpy and always about them.  But, the other side, on my muted undeveloped social skills side, there’s the “but I don’t want to be a bad person.”  So the grumpy person is included as a guilt invite.  No one wants them to come, but you invite them because you don’t want to hear them complain about how they weren’t included. 

The worse part, is that you can’t put yourself into any of these categories.  Oh, I’m sure that I’m the wonderful funny person.  Of course I am.  But Sally knows it all down the hall thinks that I’m the nerdy annoying person.  Mostly because she doesn’t know me, I’m sure.

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A Life in a Day

Apparently there is a new documentary coming out called a Life in a Day.  The premise was that everyone around the world, record that happened to them on July 24, 2010.  These videos were submitted and then compiled to make this movie.  At first glance it looks like the same type of video where people offer 3 words to summarize their life.  What prompted the notation was that the director, during the interview, said something to the effect that we have been taught since childhood, that we are all different.  Our cultures and lifestyles make us different.  But what he learned from this project, is that underneath all the surface differences was that we are all the same.  We find joy in the same events and fear the same things.  That this project made him feel like we were all of one mind with a million different voices.  This is, of course, not a new idea to those of us who have read Richard Bach's One which proposes that we are all part of a single one and that the differences resulted each time a choice was offered.  But, if you track back far enough, then we are all part of one mind.  I always really liked that theory - it always made me seem closer to God somehow, as I always assume that he was the original one.  Such thoughts always jumped right into Mark Twain and the Mysterious Stranger and the thought that we are sort of a mental experiment of God.  And why these sort of ideas make more sense to me than anything in the Bible, I can't really explain, I just know that it is true - perhaps because it's more philosophically based rather than faith based.  Who knows, and not really the point. 

So, if someone had to take a glimpse into my life during any random day, what would I want him to see?  On a summer day, he's gonna see everyone in their space doing their thing.  We are all at home, but essentially separate - except for Isaiah who is the glue who connects us all.  Elijah would be playing a game, i'd be reading or watching a movie, Franklin would be skulking somewhere sloop-shouldered and murky.  The part I would want to see, would be the parts when Isaiah tells me he loves me, or when he creates his pokemon or dinosaur exhibits.  But those times are not nearly as often as they should be.  There's much of the day that is wasted and idled away.  However, to be honest, I think that if I lived a life in which every moment was important and counted, it would have to be a short life, because i would have to kill myself.  It would be too much for too long and I couldn't handle it.  And I don't think i'd appreciate it.  It would be like people who live next to the ocean, or in the mountains who don't see the view anymore.  I think I'd most like to record the laughing moments - but not the ones where we're teasing just the ones in which we are joyous, and tickled for no reason where a little giggle turns into pee on yourself laughing.  Or maybe the tender moments when we are quiet together and happy to be there (these happen less than I'd like...it is in its very nature a justification for letting your kids sleep with you).  Those are the moments of my life I'd like to record for others to see and share, those are the moments of my life that are most important.

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A Life Worth Living

My grandmother passed away this week.  O.K. actually she was my step grandmother.  And more often than not a part of me thought of her as a step grandmonster.  And as funerals usually do, I found myself reflecting a bit… about life and the meaning of it all.  Ruth Broadbent was the name of my grandmother.  And I know one thing for sure about her.  She didn’t like us when we were little.  I don’t know how she felt about me when I got older.  But I know for a fact that when we were little she didn’t like us.  Not that she came up and said I don’t like you.  But when you’re a kid, you can tell.  When I was about 5 or 6, and my brother, sister and I were in Cadiz for our annual summer visit of 2 weeks, we spent one week with Grandma and Granddaddy Walker.  The second week was spent with Granddaddy and Grandmother Broadbent.  Usually, the set that picked us up, got us first; and the second pair delivered us back.  Anyway, it was a Grandma Walker first year.  And the switch over was happening.  Grandmother Broadbent came to help me put my shoes on and I told her that I didn’t want to go with her.  The memory is a bit vague, as I’m older and my memories all blend together.  But I remember it being a bit of a battle of wills.  And I know that she left and I stayed with Grandma Walker.  I don’t remember much in the way of laughter or smiles, but much in the ways of heavy sighs and frowns.  When I got older, much older, I learned that there was also some difficulty between her and my aunt Cheryl.  Though I don’t profess to know what that is…nor do I really want to know.  What I do know is that it wasn’t just my perception that she was a  hard, difficult person to love.  And as I walked into the funeral home, my aunt  Yvonne hugged me and told me she loved me.  And it took everything that I had to not laugh out loud in shocked disbelief.  Perhaps I was at the wrong funeral?  And as I was sitting through the ungodly long music ( I swear it lasted 20 minutes or more), and then the strange merging of peaceful, easy feeling and amazing grace, and then some strange 1970s must have come from a spaghetti western, ballad (at which point, again I was trying not to laugh), it hit me that this was simply a travesty.  I should be overwhelmed with grief.  This woman, though not really my grandmother, was the only grandmother that I had ever known.  And I felt nothing for her passing.  I felt bad for Yvonne, because they were close, and for Sarah and Katie (the real grandchildren), and some for Cheryl, but not for the death or the passing.  And as the preacher began his sermon (in Cadiz there is apparently a no eulogy talk about the person rule if Amy Serrano attends the funeral) and the preacher said that she made good biscuits, country ham, and red eye gravy.  And what a summation of a life that must have been.  What a horrible thing that there was no one to stand up and say more about her.  Even at this late date, I would  have relished an opportunity to hear someone’s positive regard for her.  To hear that she loved, gave, laughed, had joy – even if she never chose to share that with me.  And I sat there wondering why didn’t she like me.  And though I suppose I could have been maudlin and whined about the unfairness of it all…really what was the point.  I had accepted for some 20 years that I was nothing important, and I was already o.k. with that.  Wishing it were different didn’t make it so.  But more importantly, it made me want to work on myself so that at my funeral – which of course no one will attend because they don’t attend my parties when I’m alive, that I’d like for someone to be able to say something more about me than I made a mean pancake (I don’t do red-eye gravy – really grease and water, bleck…).  Of course, who am I kidding…I’m never going to set aside money for a funeral, it’s a waste of funds.  So when everyone comes to Elijah and Isaiah’s house, I hope that someone is genuinely upset that I’m gone, but does not regret my relationship with them (except perhaps Satan from Eleventh Street, she can regret all she wants).  But I’m pretty good with my standing with all others in my life.  And that says something.  I just want to have lived a life that was worth something, to others and to myself (mostly to myself because I can’t do anything for others really).  And if that’s what I walk away with from the stepgrandmonster’s funeral, well then that was  lesson worth learning and I suppose she gave me a gift after all.

Go 25% or Go Home!!!

So, today was yet another FFD (f-in family dinner, newly coined by my nephew Lanny).  It was technically the birthday dinner for Franklin, my oldest son, who has recently turned 20.  He was late (which way made me grumpy).  How can you, if you pick the date, the time, the menu not bother to show up on time, don’t even call to say you’re late until 10 minutes after you are supposed to be here, then arrive saying you didn’t think it was that big of deal.  But despite the 10 minutes of enraged she-devil that emerged when Franklin arrived and came to give me a hug hello like nothing is wrong, that is not the topic.  The topic is the conversation that we had once I calmed down… not all the conversation, just the important parts.

The conversation began innocently enough with Franklin asking me about the movie The Social Network.  He told me how it inspired him and made him want to do well in school.  That he saw this guy who was his age who essentially was so smart, did so well in school, and then had an idea and changed the world.  Which was not at all what I saw in the movie, but that’s neither here nor there.  The important part is that he said in the midst of this conversation something to the effect that I might be surprised, but he’d  had never given 100% or tried his best on anything.  My response was that no, I wasn’t surprised at all.  Which wasn’t entirely true.  I suppose, I was surprised that he actually admitted to such a genuine lack of effort or involvement.  I hear that the first step to conquering an addiction is admitting you have a problem.  I don’t know that such an admission of his personal lack of effort will result in a lasting change, but I was so hopeful.  He talked about watching the movie over and over again and every time he saw it he got inspired.   He was ready to do something, be something.  And for a few moments, I was hopeful and excited with him.  But then the conversation shifted and moved and ended up squarely on the doorstep of his current booty call.  Now he wouldn’t call her a booty call.  He’d call her almost a girlfriend.  He likes her.  And they have sex.  And she wants him to be his boyfriend, but he doesn’t want her to be his girlfriend.  And that being girlfriend and boyfriend today means that you like someone as a friend, want to see them naked and then see what they are all about, to see if you like them or not.  Which placed me firmly in the other generation.  Because I’d figured if you were seeing someone naked on a regular basis, then you should already know what they are mostly about.  I had thought that time when you are getting to know someone was called dating.  And I thought dating came before that.  That was when you tried to find out about someone to see what they were like.  And it was even a chance to take a test run on the seeing naked part.  But girlfriend and boyfriend means that I don’t want to see anyone naked but you.  It means that I think that I love you, or that I do love you. 

So naturally our conversation moved to this girl, Erica.  And the fact that if she’s just his booty call, that I didn’t really want to have to know her.  That you don’t introduce booty calls to your family.  At least you don’t introduce them to my family.  And then I talked to him about not wasting time with someone that you knew you weren’t going to love.  I mean seriously, if you know after a few weeks whether or not you really like this person, if you are crushing on them, or not.  And if you don’t feel that little spark, then being friends is o.k., but why waste time with what you know you don’t really want.  At which point, he told me about this other girl that he kind of liked.  That he felt that she was almost the perfect girl for him.  But he was with Erica.  And I almost lost it.  I mean it was a shake my head and try to see if he was serious kind of moment.  I could not, and still do not, understand why you would stay with someone that you like as a friend, and enjoy having sex with enough, instead of trying to be with someone that you already have a kind of crush on.  Now, if Franklin was a girl, then I’d say that he was suffering from the better to be with someone than be alone.  It’s a common enough phenomena among the fairer sex and lends itself to all kinds of mediocre relationships that go no where and make no one happy.   But Franklin, Mr. All By Myself himself, isn’t really that person.  And it hit me… Franklin is the easy peasy lemon squeezy guy.  He’d rather have something convenient and easy and there that he doesn’t have to work for, than having something wonderful or great that he might have to work for.  He doesn’t go Big or go home.  He would prefer to just dip himself in corn syrup and see what comes to him, he live with whatever that might be. 

To be fair, it’s been a long long time since i’ve been 20 years old.  And when I was 20, I was mired in the uber unhealthy relationship (I was the hag to his fag).  And I have not much room to talk when it comes to bad relationships, because I spent most of that time praying that my fag would settle for 25% himself because that was better than nothing.  It took several years for me to realize that I was settling not the other way around – well that and gay men don’t like beautiful women naked they definitely won’t like fat ugly ones.  But the upside is that I’m older and no how precious time is.  And wouldn’t it be lovely to emerge from those trying years without having totally screwed up your life.  Wouldn’t it be nice to begin a career at the tender age of 23, with little to no debt, self confident and secure in yourself, and with someone who compliments you (not says you’re pretty, but is essentially the jelly to your peanut butter).  Apparently that age old adage that youth is wasted on the young was created and maintained for a very good reason.  So, in the meantime, as Franklin marks time with Miss 25%, while watching miss 90% could be the real deal pass him by, I suppose these are the lessons he must learn… such a shame that it has to be a practicum course rather than a lecture.  The latter, though boring and a pain to sit through, is so much easier in the long run.  If only Franklin only knew how much work he was creating for himself later, he’d probably give a bit more than 25%.