Fears

To Future Ava

I don’t have a clue what your future holds.

 

Will you be a lawyer, successful with a busy life full of friends, family and career?

 

Will you be a stay at home mom, spending your days wiping noses, driving to and from softball games and gymnastic lessons?

 

Will you be a bleeding heart liberal?  Will you spend your time actively working to better life for people around you?

 

Will you be a conservative Christian, who thinks government should stay out of private lives and private sector?

 

I don’t know what paths you will take.  I have no idea what roads you will travel, or what adversity you will face.

 

I don’t know if one day you will come to me and tell me that you don’t like boys, you like girls.

 

What I do know is that it doesn’t matter.  I will love you no matter who you love.

 

Except it does matter.  It matters because ignorance and bigotry still exists in such ugly fashion at the time I am writing this.

 

Because some people still believe it is ok to take away the rights of people who lead different lives than their own.

 

Less than a hundred years ago we were having these same discussions.  Except then it was about white people thinking that black folks weren’t entitled to the same rights.  Marriage, the ability to vote, to shop in the same stores, eat at the same table, be taught in the same schools.

 

For my generation, it’s absurd to even think about.  Of course the color of your skin doesn’t matter.  Below the surface we are all the same.  To misquote some Shakespeare,  “Prick us, do we not bleed?”

 

To be honest, we still haven’t gotten past all of the bigotry towards black people.  The fact that the KKK still exists, and other, hate-filled groups like them, is evidence of that.

But it’s not legal to tell black people they can’t have our rights.  Hatred doesn’t just disappear stealthily into the night.  It finds new targets.

 

I hope by the time you are old enough to read and understand this, you too will be appalled that we ever had to even have these discussions.  That they were wrapped up in religion and God and Jesus as excuses to justify the bigotry.  People cherry picking Bible passages to further their own agenda, all the while ignoring the fact that we have a separation of church and state in this country and laws cannot and should not be biblically based.  Let’s not even get into the fact that the Bible is full of things that were perfectly acceptable then that we find abhorrent today:  slavery, stoning, selling of women as chattel, polygamy, etc.

 

Whether Jesus would have approved of homosexuality is irrelevant.   He sat and dined, at his invitation with the worst of his era’s society.  He preached love and tolerance.  He did not preach hate and exclusion. All humans are worthy of God’s love. All.  Not a select few.

 

Allowing gay people to marry, in civil unions and state sanctioned marriages in no way undermines or weakens marriage between two heterosexuals.  Men and women will still marry and divorce, I might add, at the same alarming rate as always.

 

No, I don’t believe churches should be forced to perform the ceremonies.  Again, we are circling around back to that separation of church and state people seem to conveniently forget when pushing their own agenda.

 

I got married in chapel.  By a man licensed by the state of Nevada to perform the ceremony.  Six years later a judge signed some papers and it was all over.

 

Who the hell am I, or anyone else, to say that this right is only for a select few?

 

So, my dear Ava, I don’t know if you will marry a woman, a man, or not marry at all.

 

What I do know, is that I want the choice to be yours, and not someone else’s.

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Girl Talk Thursday – Punishment

Today’s Girl Talk Thursday topic is one that is actually very difficult for me to discuss.  Punishment.

I’ve written about it before.  My parents handed out the usual punishment, grounding, taking away the TV, the stereo, etc.  But my mother went a bit further.  Not just spanking.  Hitting.  And not just with her hands.  But with whatever happened to be lying around close by.  A wooden spoon.  A fly swatter.  Usually these objects made contact with my face.   She was very quick and physical with doling out punishment for whatever act I may have committed.

Needless to say, now those acts would be called child abuse.  Back then?  Nobody gave it a second thought.  However, it left a lot of scars.  Not physcal ones, mind you.  The emotional kind.

I was terrified of becoming a parent.  All I knew was the kind of life I had as a child.  I didn’t want to treat my daughter the same way.  But I feared I would, because after all, we are our parent’s children.

Ava is not quite yet two, so we are still a number of years away from the big punishments.  However, I have caught myself in moments of sheer and utter frustration, and had to step away from her.  Physically leave the room.  So I wouldn’t do to her what my mother did to me.   The twenty minute tantrums that escalate.  The meltdowns that won’t allow me to even get dinner cooked.  Times when I cannot take one more second of her throwing food to the floor.  Being bitten on the arm.  Slapped in the face.

All those things are moments where I have had flashbacks of my mother’s punishments.  Moments where for one, split second, I could see myself acting exactly the way she did.  Instead I walked away.  I turned my back on my red-faced, howling child and walked away.  I’m not sure if that in and of itself will leave scars.  I fear it will.  But I fear the alternative much worse.

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Who You Calling Skeered?

Today’s GTT topic blows the lid off our fears…what we are afraid to do. My list isn’t terribly long. But the few things that push me to the edge of insanity are pretty intense to me.

So what am I afraid of?

Spiders and snakes of any shape, size, color or venomous capability. They simply make me lose my shit. Hardcore. Once when I was around 16 or so, I was walking across our front yard after having been to the neighbor’s house. Halfway to our front porch, I saw something coiled up on the lawn. It only took my mind seconds to register “SNAKE”. I froze. Literally could not move. It took me a good five minutes for my voice to come back so I could scream. And scream I did. My mother came running outside, expecting to find me with a limb chopped off or some such injury. She was rather perturbed to discover that it was “only a snake”. Yeah. Bite me, mom. While I stood there paralyzed, she went, grabbed a hoe (shut up) and proceeded to lop its head off. Mom, slayer of serpents. Jenna, chicken shit.

Heights. Anything over 4 feet off the ground is too damn high for a human being to be off the ground. I can’t even watch television if they’re on, say, the top of a gigantic river-spanning bridge (I’m looking at you, Mike Rowe – knock it off) or panning around from the top of a high rise. My palms will sweat. My stomach will churn. Black out or freak out will soon follow. I lose all sense of reason. No amount of calm, rational discussion will help me if I get to the point of yelling. Just get me down on terra firma. Top/side of a mountain does not count, FYI. I need to be as close to sea level as possible. Cause I might fall off the side of the Earth and die, yo.

Talking on the telephone. Yes, I do it in my job every single day of the week. But I hate it. I will email, fax, send letter by carrier pigeon, anything to avoid it. I will talk to Darin, my mother, MIL, etc. But that’s about it. I really can’t explain the fear. I’m not certain what it is about it that scares me. Afraid of the long pause? Looking stupid? Silly? Running out of things to say? (Shut up, Issa, it does too happen). Whatever it truly is, I have to know somebody for years before I am comfortable chatting with them on the phone. I envy people on Twitter who can exchange numbers and just like that start calling each other and having conversations.

Going to the dentist. My parents weren’t exactly big on oral hygiene. Mom had a gum disease that left her with dentures when she was 40. She never went to the dentist. Somehow with all the other stuff going on with my dad, he just never went either. So when I had to have a tooth pulled when I was around 13, that was an eye-opening experience. I had pain so bad, I wet my pants. Wet. My. Pants. You can imagine how embarrassing that was for a 13 year old. It left me so traumatized I’ve only been to the dentist two other times since then. Yes, I know how bad that is..so you can save the finger shaking emails. I just can’t do it.

That’s about all I have right now. Of course, as soon as I hit publish I’ll think of something else. But we’ll leave those for another day. So. What are you afraid to do?

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