Glibbertysmidgeon

We had two parents, just not at the same time.
When Mom and Dad divorced I was two years old, and my sister was only a baby, so neither of us remembers the two of them as a pair. We have lots of memories of them as separates, though.

Like the time Dad shaved off his beard, and we couldn’t recognize him anymore. We stormed into Grandma’s kitchen and demanded, “Where’s my dad?” and the stranger sitting atop the woodstove wearing Dad’s black cowboy boots laughed and laughed.

Or the time Mom told us we were going to visit Santa Clause. We went on an airplane trip and I remember looking down on the puffy clouds below and asking her if we could ski on that snow. The foil package of peanuts was so salty that it burned my mouth. When we landed we were in Colorado, not the North Pole, and I was bitterly disappointed.

Mom tells me that some of our visits with both parents during those early divorce years would have been defined by certain authorities as child snatching.

When we were with mom we were WITH MOM. We didn’t phone our dad- we didn’t even know his phone number. (Did he have a phone?) We liked visiting/living with Mom because she let us choose our own breakfast cereal, and she said silly things.

In answer to the question, “Where are we going?” she often replied,

“To the moon!”

When we were with Dad, we didn’t know if Mom lived on the next block or on Mars. Sometimes she would materialize at our front door bearing gifts. Once she brought an EZ Bake Oven, and a battery operated sewing machine. We sewed ugly Barbie clothes out of old socks and dirty T shirts until the batteries wore out, and we fed Dad chocolate cake after chocolate cake until all the tiny cake mixes were used up. Then they both became gigantic appliances for Barbie.

When we had a place of our own with Dad there were always cows and chickens around, and when we were really settled we had pigs. Dad used to pretend to sit on the pigs, and we girls squealed with laughter when the pigs scooted out from under him and he pretended to fall on his bum.

Sometimes, though, we weren’t with either of our parents. Those were the times when we relied on our aunts and uncles.

Aunt Barbara tells me stories about how us kids (she had three of her own) used to help her weed the garden when we lived with her. I don’t remember that, but I love that she still sends me teddy bears when I’m lonely, Hershey Kisses when I’m sad, and Cinnamon Bears when I’m afraid.

Then ones I remember best are Uncle David and Aunt Eunice. Donna and I moved in with them the summer before I started the sixth grade, and it was a tough change. It was scary enough moving into their 100 year old farm house with its peeling, water stained wallpaper and its eerily tall doors; it was terrifying to have to learn how to have manners like they did.

“Patti, don’t use your finger to push your peas onto your fork.”

I couldn’t figure out how to eat peas for months.

Aunt Eunice taught us about doing our laundry, taking showers every single day, and combing our hair properly. She bought me my very first bra. Sometimes, she did unexpected things. Like the day I told her that I’d learned how to make mini pizzas in Home Economics class.

“Would you like to make mini pizzas for dinner tonight?”

Aunt Eunice dutifully recorded the necessary ingredients and went off to the store. I will never forget the queasy mix of emotions churning in my stomach as I carried that plate of mini pepperonis to the table that night:

Ashamed Who would want to eat these stupid pizzas, when we could have had Aunt Eunice’s cooking?
Sheepish I wasn’t accustomed to being treated like an adult.
Shy David and Eunice’s real daughters were right there, but everyone was paying attention to me.
Mixed in with all of those greenish feelings, was a little bit of pride, and a lot of disbelief.

After that school year ended Donna and I went to live with Mom for real, and we didn’t have to go and stay with any more aunts or uncles. I was relieved to be back with my ‘real’ family because- no matter how well I was welcomed- I always felt like a burden and a misfit when I lived with my aunts and uncles. But I missed the farm. My year there had made it’s mark on me; I continued baking apple pies the way Aunt Eunice had taught me, and I never pushed my peas onto my fork with my fingers again.

When I brought Kris home to meet my family he met both Mom and Dad, and he met my outspoken little grandmother as well. But I also made sure that he got to spend a lot of time on Aunt Eunice’s farm. After all the moves and adventures of my life, I knew there was one place we could go where he’d see one piece of my life story that is still there, right where I left it. It didn’t hurt that he got to eat plenty of home made ice cream while he was there.

Over the years, Aunt Eunice has given me so much more than a place to crash during that one rough patch. Aunt Eunice has given me a home for life.

This is the final week of this year’s Tour de France, and it’s the only thing I have watched on TV for a month. In an email, my sister-in-law cheered for Lance Armstrong, and then asked, “Is that like cheering for Goliath?”

I confess, I do tend to cheer for the underdog, but in this case, I’m cheering for the top dog.

Lance may be the big fish among the cyclists on the road today. He probably has the best team, the best legs, and the best bike. He definitely has the fiercest mental focus and the most rigourous training routine- cycling through the winter when the other cyclists are resting, and riding all of the climbs in each years’ route in advance of the race .

But what Lance is chasing is something bigger than a victory over this particular group of cyclists. in 103 years, only five men have ever won the Tour de France five times. Two have won five consecutively, and only one has ever had the chance to win seven. In his bid for his 7th consecutive Tour de France victory, Lance is competing against the entire history of cycling. He is attempting to achieve a record that will stand, probably, for my lifetime.

In the seven years that Lance has worn the Yellow Jersey, he has exhibited a level of integrity, discipline, and sportsmanship one doesn’t often get to witness in the world of professional sports. I can enjoy watching him race without the stain of steroids, drug addiction, or ear biting that have dulled some of our other passtimes.

And as if all of that isn’t enough, one look at his life story, and you’ll realize that we are witnessing one of the greatest moments in sports history.

I’m for great moments in history. I wish we had more like this one.

Go Lance!

I got an email from my mom tonight inviting me to visit her online journal. Her site is quixotically named, “The Many Moods of Granny.” Though she does have one beautiful granddaughter, she is still a young woman, and a newlywed herself. I have to wonder about this title. Is this a hint?

Congratulations, mom, and welcome!

The heat index is 91 today. I don’t know what that means, but it’s really hot out there.

Yesterday The City set a new record for electricity usage in a single day as New Yorkers gathered around our air conditioners, leaning into the cool like pioneer families around the woodstove. At least today the humidity has let up; for the past four days a blanket of damp has laid heavily on the city. When I walked out of the office, the thick, gray air hit me like a bag of wet laundry- hot and suffocating. Everybody walks slow in this oppressive weather, trying in vain to preserve their dry clothes. I don’t need to sweat; the moisture just condenses on me like a bottle of beer. If only I could be so cold.

This summer I swing madly between manic bouts of creative energy, and absolute lethargy. In the air conditioned office, my mind skips out of my meetings into the chaos of the childrens’ story I’m working on.

“What things can a severed hand do?” I wonder, “scratch, snatch, slap, poke, pick, point, flick, grab, pinch, pry, shake, squeeze, KARATE CHOP!”

In the warmer, damper terrain of my apartment I fuss. Ideas buzz around my head like fireflies, but I can’t organize myself enought to swat them down and press them to the page. Instead kick myself later for letting them get away. I want to write, I want to go to the gym, I need to walk the dog… and find myself upgrading my blog to a new version of WordPress instead. I’m beginning to see my modern conveniences as annoying interruptions, instead of fun and useful gadgets.

I’ve lost interest in email entirely. In fact, I dread it. What I once adored- my miraculous convergence of socializing and writing- has devolved into a chore. It consumes too much time and creative energy.

My cell phone is out of favor as well. Last year I was a local fixture, walking my dog with my earbud in place, phoning home, organizing my wedding, making dinner dates. Now, you’d be well advised to send me a text message, because I can’t be bothered to check my voice mail.

I have a love/hate thing going with my laptop. I love it for writing, I hate it because that dratted Internet constantly distracts from my work. Blog updates, emails, Instant Messages, news… I’m not sure I was built to access so much communication in one location. Sometimes I pull out the network card, physically removing access to the Web, so that I can work on what really matters.

A trick I should employ right now.

Young Brennan Hawkins has been rescued from his four days lost in the wilderness. His parents are very proud of him for surviving, and for following their advice so carefully.

Brennan’s mother, Jody Hawkins, suggested that her son may have been avoiding searchers by following his father’s advice.

“He had two thoughts going through his head all the time,” she said. “Toby’s always told him that ‘If you get lost, stay on the trail.’ So he stayed on the trail. We’ve also told him don’t talk to strangers … when an ATV or horse came by he got off the trail … when they left, he got back on the trail.”

“His biggest fear, he told me, was someone would steal him,” Jody Hawkins added.

CNN

I fear that Brennon’s parents may have hammered home the wrong message. Studies show that 71% of child abductions are not perpetrated by strangers.

For generations, our fundamental messages to children have contained three basic premises.

“Don’t Take Candy From Strangers”
In at least two of three cases, the offender is not a stranger in the mind of the child. Usually, the victim and offender know each other, at least casually. Child molesters often seek legitimate access to children and then victimize them through a process similar to seduction. This reality does not make the message wrong, only grossly inadequate in providing protection for children, who need more comprehensive information about the dangers they are far more likely to face.

“Don’t be a tattletale.”
One of the most stigmatizing names that a child can be called is tattletale. From their earliest moments, we consciously and subconsciously encourage children not to communicate. Thousands of children are hidden victims, and the key to prevention and detection is communication. Children must be taught that if something is happening in their lives that they do not feel right about or that makes them feel uncomfortable, they must tell somebody they trust.

“You’re just a kid. Be respectful to adults; they know what they’re doing.”
With this final message, we face a delicate challenge. All parents want their children to be polite and respectful to adults. Our message is not that we want children to be disrespectful, but that we must empower them to realize that they have the right to say no to those who would abuse their authority as adults. As educational consultant Stephanie Meeghan aptly expresses during many of the training sessions for teachers that she has held since 1988, “We must make children aware that their safety is more important than good manners.”

America’s families need not live in fear, but parents need to be fully informed about the dangers their children face and the most effective ways to educate them and guard them from harm. The key to child safety is communication. Children should recognize that “strangers” often do not look strange, and parents should recognize that most abductions and assaults involve an offender and victim who know each other. The exaggerated fears of “stranger danger” generated by lurid tabloid headlines need to be replaced with solid facts garnered from serious research.

Keeping Children Safe: Rhetoric and Reality
Ernest E. Allen
Juvenile Justice Journal

Sure it’s healthy to be wary of strangers.
It is not healthy, however, to blow this wariness up into a phobia so strong that a child would rather brave the wilderness with no food, water, or shelter than to ask for help from a passing hiker.