Not (even) One More

THIS might be a good start but gun safety, while that sounds reasonable, is not enough.

There was a time - when I had more free time - that I logged such things as accidental gun deaths vs the protection of one's property vs gun-inflicted suicide rates vs defense of one's self vs crazy mother fuckers with a gun. I have folders filled with articles and statistics. I have story after story about accidental shootings of spouses creeping in too late at night, of suicides made far too easy, of school shootings and of toddlers killing their siblings.

I hear the arguments for gun ownership. "No one is going to run off with MY plasma TV"... and I can concede that in 2010, of the almost THIRTY-TWO THOUSAND people killed by a firearm in the U.S., 1% were considered 'legal intervention' (which is primarily by police officers and also only 320 of those 32,000 deaths).

I hear the roar of the 2nd Amendment advocates too. Though I still maintain that our Founding Fathers couldn't even fathom an automatic weapon nor a time when free people would feel the need to be armed against one another, I do appreciate their claim to our Constitutional Right to bear arms.

But this isn't about home invasion or the Constitution. It's simply about collateral damage. How many kids need to be killed exactly to make it resonate that we - the sum of us - can't be trusted?

We have seat belt laws because we can't be counted on to keep ourselves safe without the fear of a traffic ticket. We recall everything from cribs that collapse when your baby's weight limit arguably exceeds any common sense, to bouncy seats because people set them on high counter tops unattended. We protect ourselves from ourselves.

There are people who are too stupid to realize you can't leave an animal in a closed car on a hot day; people who are so dim that they need a warning on their curling iron stating not to use it while they are in the tub; people who are so ignorant that they have to be told that their hot coffee is, in fact, hot and might burn them if they don't give it a second.... Well, we give those same exact people guns and expect them to behave reasonably and responsibly.

In 2001, we were devastated by the loss of 2,977 people in the attacks on 9/11. That same year at least 2,926 children died from gun related deaths. CHILDREN. Yet we avenge only one of these atrocities. We proudly wage the war against terrorism to avenge a single day, yet we sit idly while every year we lose thousands of our children right here in our homes IN OUR HOMES.

Why? Because we don't want to get into politics? Because we're scared we'll sound weak or vulnerable? Or worse? That we will be weak or vulnerable? Well let me tell you something. I don't own a gun. I never will. But if anyone ever tries to hurt one of my kids, they will be met with a rage so fearsome that no gun - no force for that matter - would stop it. That's why I write this. I don't want an innocent play date to end up tragically. I'm not going to let my kids get hurt. I, for one, am standing up and saying: NO MORE. Not even one more.

-kec

*****************************************************************************



I have read tons of articles like THIS

and this- In terms of accidental fatalities, American children younger than 15 are nine times more likely to die by a gun accident than those in the rest of the developed world.
 
and this - Accidental gun deaths are under-counted

But don't listen to just me - look for yourself. Don't rely on FOX or the NRA, or even Everytown.org. They all have their bend. So just look at the numbers - look on the CDC, state records, hospital stats. And if you find yourself in silent agreement, please stand with me and start speaking up. I don't want those numbers to grow larger. Not even by one.

The Mommy Drones Strike Again

Oh Love and Logic, how I love to hate you.  

Here is the latest helpful advice from our favorite clueless self-help guru (my comments in red): 

 

Mom, will you drive me over to school so I can practice with the cheerleader squad?"

 

"Maybe, Susie. Did you get your household contributions finished already?"

I am sorry. My what? My household contributions? What is that?... tithing? Speak English for God's sake. Or Spanish. Or Sane. Yeah, sane would be good here. 
 

"Well, I thought I'd do them tonight after I get home."

"That sounds great, except that our agreement was that they are supposed to be done before you leave the house."

If you don't like her answer, Mom, why did you open with "That sounds great"? I am picturing you delivering this line with that special head-tilted, wide-eyed, sweet-voiced weirdness that only truly repressed people can really nail.   

"But, Mom, that is so lame. None of my friends have to do stuff like that!"

"I'm sure that's true, Susie, and what did I say?"

Um... As a fellow 'adult' I'm not even sure what you said. It's pretty much clicks and whistles. So I don't know how Susie would be able to follow your insanity thinking. She's not even old enough to drive for Pete's sake. 

"Well, I'll just call Vera. Her mom will drive both of us to practice. I'm going anyway and you can just forget those jobs 'cause I've just about had it with being a slave around here!"

"That's a possibility, Susie. Are you telling me that you're just going to leave those jobs for me to take care of like you did last month?"    
What the... Are you some sort of robot, Mom? Or an alien? Seriously, Susie just threw DOWN with that one and all you got is"That's a possibility?" You disappoint me, Mom. Surely you can do better than that.

"Oh, fine! Just fine, Mom! Can't you just lighten up? The last time you took care of it, I got a $40 bill from the Merry Maids. It took most of my savings. I don't know why you have to make such a big deal about chores. I get good grades! Isn't that enough? Geez!"
Seriously, Mom, you DO kind of suck. If $40 wiped out her savings, you aren't throwing many bones here.  My cat has more in his savings than that. 

"Well, Susie, I guess that if I were your age which I never have been since I was created in a lab in a mad scientist's castle, I'd have a hard time understanding why everyone should do their share of the work. It will probably be a lot easier to understand someday when you have a family of your own. If you don't figure it out by then, I'll give it another try."

Wait. Did that make sense to anyone else out there? What does she mean by "if you don't figure it out by then, I'll give it another try"? Is she planning to show up at grown-up Susie's place once she's married with children? I can only imagine that opening: "Hi, Susie. I'm sure you remember our conversation when you were 14 and wanted a ride to cheer practice. Now let's get to those household contributions!" 

"Does that mean you're not going to take me?"
Yeah, Mom, are you sure you aren't just milking this for a visit from Merry Maids? I think you are totally working this so Vera's mom will drive Susie and you can kick back with a girly umbrella drink and a couple of Vicodin.

"No, Susie, I'll be glad to give you a ride just as soon as the jobs are done. Let me know when that is and I'll jump right to it. See you later, sweetie. Right now I have a date with my medicine cabinet."
 

Note: This discussion is bound to come up before long. (I wouldn't put any real money on that...) You might want to keep this handy. (For easy access, Mom, keep it with your copy of "The Guide to Understanding Men: If You Want Closure in Your Relationship, Start with Your Legs"*) You may find a need to say, "I'm not sure how to react to what you are asking. Give me a few minutes, and I'll get right back to you." This will give you time to race to the nightstand for a quick reminder, a shot of  Baileys and a Xanax.

 *This is a real book.

You know what? I'm leaving you without a closing remark. I am aware that this is shirking my responsibilities and someone somewhere is surely to suffer an energy drain because of this. I accept that possibility and the totally unreasonable consequences that may follow. 

Redemption Lost

Where do I begin?

This week I learned of the death of one of my classmates.  I can't refer to her as a 'friend' because I never was her friend.  Not because she wasn't open to that, but because I was a bitch.

A couple of years ago I wrote this: Joke of the Week  If you don't want to read it, the cliff note version is that I was awful to some kids in Jr. High School.  I used to write a gossipy newspaper-ish thing and in it would include my Joke of the Week.  Sometimes that Joke was simply someone else's name.  And once it was hers: Kimberly Murphy. 

And now she's gone. 

I saw her on Facebook a few years back and I could have friended her, but I didn't.  I spent much more time deliberating over this than anyone possibly ever should of.  I mean, it's Facebook for God's sake.  But I did deliberate because I felt so hypocritical and guilty for how I had treated her. Even though I didn't perpetually torment her, I did find moments where I could sneak in a quick barb behind her back to ensue laughs from the other kids.  I was totally prostituting myself for the attention at her expense.  Now, some 30 years later, I'm going to emerge from a past long forgotten and say "hey! how's it going! remember me?" No, that felt all types of wrong.

You see I wasn't a mean kid.  Not at my core.  I was actually a super sweet kid.  In elementary school there wasn't an underdog I didn't stand up for.  I raised money for kids in Haiti - door to door like a salesman.  I organized a neighborhood litter clean up.  I captured injured birds and animals and brought them home to nurse back to health.  I physically hurt when I'd witness someone else enduring emotional pain and I stood up to my grandmother when she spouted off some racist remark.  I was a nice kid.  I wasn't religious, but I loved Jesus so much - just from his turn the other cheek and love one another messages.  I identified with all the lovable underdogs in every movie and every show I saw.  I believed in hope and magic and my favorite shows were Lassie and Little House on the Prairie.  I was a nice kid.

So what happened? 

I can't blame my family, other kids... I can't blame anybody really.  Just know that I was too sensitive to endure the taunting I received.  I wasn't brave enough to face the criticism from my peers.  I wanted approval, to fit in, to be part of a crowd that seemed to walk on socially acceptable water.  I was pretty, though I didn't know it, but not pretty enough anyway.  I didn't have the body, the cool clothes, the athleticism to reach the status I was trying to achieve.  I found, by accident, that what the kids did like was catty humor.  So that's what I went with at the expense of the real me.

You'd think all that would fade into some 'no regrets' history and my adult self would just get on with things, but this 'friending' of Kimberly weighed on my mind from time to time.  I thought I should reach out to her.  She's human for heaven's sake, she's probably lovely and interesting.  But where to start?

How about an apology?!  I came so close to doing it that I literally just checked my history to see if I'd actually ever sent that. I hadn't.  Now I remember!  I thought hard about this one too.  Should I tell her I was such an asshat and it was inexcusable and she never did anything wrong or mean or deserving of even one unkind word?  The angel on my shoulder said I should send it.  I should let her know that I consider her now, even though I did not do that then, and that I am ashamed of my behavior and that she was always nothing less than sweet to me.  Maybe I'd tell her I would like to get to know her now.  .... but I didn't send that.  The social director on my other shoulder suggested she might not have even known I was awful to her and that confessing my sins would only result in hurt feelings that she hadn't already experienced.  I'd like to say now that the Social Director won out in the end, but in truth I have a feeling my decision was made by less noble influences.  Shame most likely.

For you, Kim.

And now she's gone.


I pray she had a happy life.  I pray she knew love.  I pray her family is blessed with memories so dear they somehow diminish the pain of her loss.  And I pray that the next time I feel like I might want to say something - I'm sorry, or I love you, or just to tell someone I like their shoes or the way they smile or that they are just wonderful - I won't think twice.

kec

True Meaning of Christmas

One of my favorite Christmas movies is the Grinch.  My favorite line in the movie - the one that brings me to well up with tears every.single.time is this one:

"Maybe Christmas, he thought... doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps... means a little bit more."

By the same token I love watching Linus school those Peanuts kids on the real meaning of Christmas by reciting the Christmas Story, from the bible, by rote.

Oh, I am just a sucker for all the sappy sweet, you-gotta-know-that-Christmas-isn't-about-the-presents things, but the reason my very favorite seasonal movie is Miracle on 34th Street? Is because I, too, believe in Santa.

What, you say?  You don't REALLY believe in Santa?  I mean, honestly?

Yes.  Yes I do.  For real.

You may call Santa something else but whatever he is named, Santa is very, very real.  Oh, I have solid proof.  I've been that parent praying for the same Tickle Me Elmo or Cabbage Patch doll or game console that other parents are trading punches for or camping out for for days outside the loading dock at ToysRUs.  Yet I, unlike the other parents, inevitably walk into the store right as they are unloading the box of the most sought after Gift of the Year and manage to procure one with no stress, strife or bruises.

Dia asks for the most ridiculous things.  Komodo Dragon, discontinued toys (a particular E.T.) and a platypus have all been Santa requests.  Every year, Santa finds these non-existent treasures like they are staples on a grocery store shelf.  Last year - the year of the platypus - he not only found the platypus, he even found a book about platypuses (platypi?) written by an author whose name was "Dia." Not even kidding.  He's found us a Malificent's dragon costume all the way from the U.K., won us auctions on eBay and always ensures I get amazing parking spaces.  He's not messing around, that Santa.  He makes certain that the coveted gift - the one so sacred as to be saved off for Santa - is always, always under that tree.


No, Christmas is not about the toys.  Well, yes it is.  But by toys, I mean the magic.  You have to remember that when you are a child, the magic is real.  It's palpable.  And if you - as the parent - if you are quiet, if you put away the well-intended hard knocks lessons for when life actually hands them out and let the kids be kids for real, you can feel the magic too.

Santa is that - the magic, the belief that there is something bigger than us watching out for us.  He's all the good in people.  He's what makes us open up and forgive, make new friends, love each other through everything and anything.  He's all that's right in this world.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

Fitted Sheets and Spiders

It was a rare phone call.  It was made even rarer still by the content: He thought he'd come see Dia. 

Being that a visit isn't an every day thing, I suggested he take her ice skating.  "She is taking lessons and I'm not much use for practice time since I don't know how to skate", I explained.

"You can't skate?" he said.
"No"
"Can you rollerblade?"
"No"
"Can you skateboard?"
"No"
"Can you ski?"
"No"
"Can you surf?"
"No"
"What can you do?"

Wow.  I had to think about that one.  I muttered something about how I could run slowly for a very long time and changed the subject.  But after we hung up, it lingered.  What can I do?  I had a weird childhood where I didn't participate in any sports or clubs and everything I dabbled in, I did just that: dabble.  I took piano, sort of took ballet (when I was 6), had some voice lessons...  Sort of. 

So what can I do? 

Last night on the drive home from the O.C., with Dia asleep and her snoring my soundtrack, I took inventory and it went a little something like this:

I can fold a fitted sheet.  Properly.  By myself.
and
I can catch spiders with my bare hands and take them outside.


I got stuck after that. 

Of course there are things I can do - like physically do them - but nothing well enough to be social about it.  I'm a wizard with finances and I write better than the average bear, but those aren't really marketable traits for social situations.  I don't know a lot of people that want to make a budget, balance their checkbook and write a journal entry over cocktails. 

After a few more snores from the backseat, it came to me. 

His ability to do all those things and more (he's an accomplished drummer and painter too) doesn't make up for his inability in the most important role we have.  Without being able to skate, ski, or balance on pretty much anything wobbly - I got this.  I'm her parent and I'm freaking good at it.  She probably wishes I could skate.  After all, she constantly begs me to "get off the wall" when we do go.  But I know for sure she wouldn't trade me for the world.  Skates or not.

So that's what I can do.