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.