Hold on...just a minute...where is that damn thing? Oh, there it is. Be right back.
Okay, got it. Had to find my soapbox and drag it out of storage. Yes, it's time for me to climb up on it again. But this won't take long. In the meantime, if you'd really rather not listen to me rattle on about what's currently bothering me, well, then the Olympics are on. Go watch. I think someone won a gold medal today, lessee, who was it? No, I'm not going to tell you who won today and spoil your viewing fun. But seriously, if you'd rather not deal with my rantings (not that this is much of a rant tonight), I give you permission to go. Come back later when I'm not on my soapbox and we'll have some fun.
Right now though I really need to make a few points about the whole Chick-Fil-A brouhaha.
1. Chick-Fil-A, a private company owned by a very, very conservative Christian family, is in the deep fryer over the fact that they actively donate to conservative Christian groups who actively oppose gay rights.
2. Chick-Fil-A, in donating to these conservative groups, is perfectly within their rights to do so. It's their money and they can do whatever they want with it.
3. Some people feel strongly about the money they spend on lunch not going to these conservative groups, who actively oppose gay rights. And they are refusing to do business with Chick-Fil-A. Which is also their right.
4. One of the people who has a problem with Chick-Fil-A's donations to groups that support discrimination against GLBT people (that would be Gay, Lesbian, Bi-sexual and Transgender) is the mayor of Chicago, who is opposing Chick-Fil-A opening stores in Chicago because of the owner's conservative views/donations.
5. Can or should Chicago try to legislate what types of charitable/non-profit donations made by any company are acceptable? I think not. That's a little too big brother for my taste.
6. Do I personally think donating to groups that actively lobby for laws that discriminate against GLBT or quite frankly, any group or person, is a truly Christian act and morally responsible? No, I don't. I personally think it's morally reprehensible.
7. Does that change my belief that Chick-Fil-A has the right to donate their money to who they want to donate it to? No, it's their money and they can waste as much of it as they want.
8. Will I be giving any of my hard earned cash to Chick-Fil-A knowing that this is the kind of charitable donations they make? No, they've lost my business. Because it is my right as a consumer to choose where I spend my money, based on my own personal moral code.
9. Do I have suggestions for Chick-Fil-A on some better uses for their charitable donations? Why yes, I do. How about funding vaccinations for children in the poorer parts of America and the world? Donating to literacy groups. Donating to food banks? Or anything that would genuinely help their fellow man rather than to groups who want to beat down anyone they consider to be 'different.'
10. What else? Oh yes, I'd like to point out to the owners of Chick-Fil-A that contrary to what they think, keeping America free is not about keeping it free of anyone whose lifestyle, religion, or sexual orientation they disagree with. Keeping America free is about ensuring that everyone, and I do mean everyone, has the same rights as the person standing next to them or across the cultural divide.
Wednesday, August 01, 2012
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Heroes
I have a small confession to make: I have a sort of litmus test for people. Basically, if they say their hero or one of their heroes is Princess Diana, I tend to put them down as people who are, shall we say, a bit shallow. Nothing against Princess Di. But based on what I know about the late princess, I have a hard time thinking of her as a 'hero.' In the interests of complete disclosure, I admit I do have a bit of a fascination with the British Royal Family. As in, if I see a news headline about them, I am more likely to read the article than I am to pass it up. Yes, I am shallow that way. But are any of them my heroes? No. And are they or any celebrity ever likely to be?
No. I have higher standards for heroes than mere news coverage or wealth. And my standards, as vague as they are, are high enough that if someone had asked me last year who my hero is, I would have been hard pressed to come up with an answer. But the months since this past February have changed that. I can honestly say that I do have a hero now. It's my little sister, Mary Claire.
In February, Mary Claire was diagnosed with cancer. I was with her when she got the news and let me tell you, my heart still stops when I think of that day. Because the news was awful in the truest sense of the word. That day was the day when the bottom dropped out of my family's world. Many people, hearing that diagnosis would have simply given up. Quite honestly, that was one of Mary Claire's choices. But she didn't take that choice. Instead she chose to fight the cancer cells that invaded her body with everything that she had.
Over the past six months, I've watched my sister transform. She readily admitted that she well may have done this to herself with heavy drinking and smoking. She told me early on, after she had first found that telltale lump near her collar bone that, "I knew I shouldn't be drinking and smoking this way, but I couldn't be bothered to stop. I had my fun, now I have to pay the price." But instead of deciding that since the damage was done, she might as well continue to enjoy her vices, she gave up her vices. Cold turkey the night before we received the news. Some might say that she took the easy road and it was too little, too late. But I have been there with her and I can tell you that my sister looked at the fork in the road before her and she did not choose the easy path. Even though she has made it look easy.
As she has made much of this ordeal look easy. From the very beginning, Mary Claire has looked this disease in the eye and faced it with grace and courage. When something she's facing does get to her, she has her cry and moves on. As she did one day when she was told that the new chemo mix they were going to use would require her to stay in the hospital for five days instead of three. She cried, but then later that day when I called to check on her, she told me, " Oh, I had my pout and I'm over it now."
Even when we were children, I knew Mary Claire had that core of courage. She could outrun everyone in the neighborhood. She would dive off the high diving board at our local swimming pool without hesitation. She did not let her fears get in her way and she hasn't let them get in the way of her fight to get well. And she is getting well. She has amazed her doctor with the way she has responded to the chemotherapy and with how rapidly the tumors have shrunk.
This past week, Mary Claire was rewarded with a respite from all the chemo. She is not yet in full remission, but she's made such incredible progress, that her doctor has decided that she can have a break from treatment for three months to rest and get her strength back before hitting the remaining cancer with whatever it takes to take it out. We were stunned. We cried. We hugged. And we rejoiced.
At some point in time, Mary Claire will resume chemo treatments. When she does, I'm sure that she will continue her fight against cancer with the same determination she has shown so far. And I'm also sure that she will get well.
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No. I have higher standards for heroes than mere news coverage or wealth. And my standards, as vague as they are, are high enough that if someone had asked me last year who my hero is, I would have been hard pressed to come up with an answer. But the months since this past February have changed that. I can honestly say that I do have a hero now. It's my little sister, Mary Claire.
In February, Mary Claire was diagnosed with cancer. I was with her when she got the news and let me tell you, my heart still stops when I think of that day. Because the news was awful in the truest sense of the word. That day was the day when the bottom dropped out of my family's world. Many people, hearing that diagnosis would have simply given up. Quite honestly, that was one of Mary Claire's choices. But she didn't take that choice. Instead she chose to fight the cancer cells that invaded her body with everything that she had.
Over the past six months, I've watched my sister transform. She readily admitted that she well may have done this to herself with heavy drinking and smoking. She told me early on, after she had first found that telltale lump near her collar bone that, "I knew I shouldn't be drinking and smoking this way, but I couldn't be bothered to stop. I had my fun, now I have to pay the price." But instead of deciding that since the damage was done, she might as well continue to enjoy her vices, she gave up her vices. Cold turkey the night before we received the news. Some might say that she took the easy road and it was too little, too late. But I have been there with her and I can tell you that my sister looked at the fork in the road before her and she did not choose the easy path. Even though she has made it look easy.
As she has made much of this ordeal look easy. From the very beginning, Mary Claire has looked this disease in the eye and faced it with grace and courage. When something she's facing does get to her, she has her cry and moves on. As she did one day when she was told that the new chemo mix they were going to use would require her to stay in the hospital for five days instead of three. She cried, but then later that day when I called to check on her, she told me, " Oh, I had my pout and I'm over it now."
Even when we were children, I knew Mary Claire had that core of courage. She could outrun everyone in the neighborhood. She would dive off the high diving board at our local swimming pool without hesitation. She did not let her fears get in her way and she hasn't let them get in the way of her fight to get well. And she is getting well. She has amazed her doctor with the way she has responded to the chemotherapy and with how rapidly the tumors have shrunk.
This past week, Mary Claire was rewarded with a respite from all the chemo. She is not yet in full remission, but she's made such incredible progress, that her doctor has decided that she can have a break from treatment for three months to rest and get her strength back before hitting the remaining cancer with whatever it takes to take it out. We were stunned. We cried. We hugged. And we rejoiced.
At some point in time, Mary Claire will resume chemo treatments. When she does, I'm sure that she will continue her fight against cancer with the same determination she has shown so far. And I'm also sure that she will get well.
.JPG)
This is my sister. And she's my hero.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Call Him Dad
Note: I meant to post this last week on Father's Day. But on Father's Day I was in Connecticut, reconnecting with one of my sisters, looking at fireflies and generally enjoying weather that was at least 20 degrees cooler than it is in Texas. Plus I couldn't figure out how to log onto this damn little notebook that the tech department at work had given me (yes, basically user error). So instead this is going up today.
It is sometimes hard to believe, but my son Michael is now a father. His daughter is a little over two months old and it still takes me by surprise when I see Michael and her together and realize that he helped create this little miracle and is responsible for her.
As it turns out, Michael is a wonderful father. And watching him with his infant daughter is a gift that brings great joy. The love and caring I see in him for his child is remarkable. To see my son grown up and being such a caring, loving father is one of the great joys of my life.
Some of this is because I lost my own father at such a young age. I really don't remember much about my father. I know that he was in many ways a traditional father of his time (the late 1950s and early 1960s) who didn't actually do things with or for his children. The day to day care of children was very much the domain of mothers back then. And my father made a big mistake leaving us to our mother because he missed out on a lot with us. And we, or really I, was left with few memories of him when he died.
I don't worry about Michael missing out. He is fully vested in taking care of this daughter and any other children he may have in the future. I see this commitment every time he takes his daughter into his arms. His love is unconditional and real. He is that truest of men. A man who knows that there is more to caring for his child than simply providing material goods for her. A man who understands that merely saying "I love you" to his daughter is not the only way or even the best way sometimes of demonstrating that love. A man who will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to help his daughter, be it a diaper change when she is a baby, helping her with her homework in grade school, saying no to that party she wants to attend in junior high, teaching her how to change a tire when she is a teen, or being on the other end of the phone to just listen when she goes off to college and is homesick.
.JPG)
It is sometimes hard to believe, but my son Michael is now a father. His daughter is a little over two months old and it still takes me by surprise when I see Michael and her together and realize that he helped create this little miracle and is responsible for her.
As it turns out, Michael is a wonderful father. And watching him with his infant daughter is a gift that brings great joy. The love and caring I see in him for his child is remarkable. To see my son grown up and being such a caring, loving father is one of the great joys of my life.
Some of this is because I lost my own father at such a young age. I really don't remember much about my father. I know that he was in many ways a traditional father of his time (the late 1950s and early 1960s) who didn't actually do things with or for his children. The day to day care of children was very much the domain of mothers back then. And my father made a big mistake leaving us to our mother because he missed out on a lot with us. And we, or really I, was left with few memories of him when he died.
I don't worry about Michael missing out. He is fully vested in taking care of this daughter and any other children he may have in the future. I see this commitment every time he takes his daughter into his arms. His love is unconditional and real. He is that truest of men. A man who knows that there is more to caring for his child than simply providing material goods for her. A man who understands that merely saying "I love you" to his daughter is not the only way or even the best way sometimes of demonstrating that love. A man who will not hesitate to do whatever is necessary to help his daughter, be it a diaper change when she is a baby, helping her with her homework in grade school, saying no to that party she wants to attend in junior high, teaching her how to change a tire when she is a teen, or being on the other end of the phone to just listen when she goes off to college and is homesick.
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Happy belated Father's Day Michael. I love you.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Best Friends
Forty-four or forty-five years ago, sometime around when I was in 6th or 7th grade I met the person who would be my best friend for life. Sara's family had moved to the hell hole which was the small town where I had grown up during those times and at some point in time in high school, the two of us clicked. I'm not sure why. In many ways we are two very different people. But I've been grateful for years that we did indeed click. Because in many ways she has shaped the woman I have become.
When Sara met me back in junior high, I was basically like most young girls of my age who were growing up in small towns in South Texas. In other words, I was an idiot. I cared way too much what other people thought of me. I was obsessed with being considered popular or cool, something I was not in any way, shape, or form. And I didn't understand at all what real friendship was about. Basically, all I wanted back then was to fit in with people who were, to be honest, not worth fitting in with. It was pretty much what every other girl in that school cared about too. So Sara was a revelation to me. She didn't give a damn what people thought of her and being 'popular' was, to her, the definition of hell on earth. If she did actually care, she hid it well. Her philosophy was, if you don't treat me well, I don't need you in my life and if you want my respect, you have to earn it. Thankfully, she saw something worthwhile in me and we became friends, never dreaming that we would still be friends all these years later.
As it turned out, Sara had a lot to teach me. Such as how to be a real friend. And that I was more than what people, who did not know me, thought of me. She truly opened my eyes to the fact that there was a world outside of the small town we lived in and that the people who really cared about you were what mattered, not the superficial idiocies of adolescence that seemed so incredibly important at the time. She taught me to laugh at myself and, ultimately, that high school was not the high point of our lives. Real life was what was going to happen when we left that little South Texas town. Looking back, it took an impossibly long time for me to learn what she had to teach me. But she was right and I'm grateful she didn't give up on me.
Through the years we may not have been in constant contact, but we both know that the other one is there if needed. We have other friends, and what Sara taught me about friendship enabled me to make friendships that are based on respect and caring.
But Sara is a friend like no other because she is the one person who knows, not just who I am, but who I was. She knows me as no one else will ever know me because she's known me the longest. I hold that same knowledge about her. And I know, that if I ever need to, I can call her up and pour my heart out to her, just as I did all those years ago when all I was pouring out was the dregs of teen angst. And I hope she knows that I will always do the same for her.
Today is her birthday, a fact she will not thank me for pointing out to the world. Sara does not like being the center of attention. But I'll risk her displeasure because today I want to make sure she knows how happy I am she is here and that the world is truly a better place because she is here: caring about what is real and what is important.
Happy birthday Sara. Love always.
When Sara met me back in junior high, I was basically like most young girls of my age who were growing up in small towns in South Texas. In other words, I was an idiot. I cared way too much what other people thought of me. I was obsessed with being considered popular or cool, something I was not in any way, shape, or form. And I didn't understand at all what real friendship was about. Basically, all I wanted back then was to fit in with people who were, to be honest, not worth fitting in with. It was pretty much what every other girl in that school cared about too. So Sara was a revelation to me. She didn't give a damn what people thought of her and being 'popular' was, to her, the definition of hell on earth. If she did actually care, she hid it well. Her philosophy was, if you don't treat me well, I don't need you in my life and if you want my respect, you have to earn it. Thankfully, she saw something worthwhile in me and we became friends, never dreaming that we would still be friends all these years later.
As it turned out, Sara had a lot to teach me. Such as how to be a real friend. And that I was more than what people, who did not know me, thought of me. She truly opened my eyes to the fact that there was a world outside of the small town we lived in and that the people who really cared about you were what mattered, not the superficial idiocies of adolescence that seemed so incredibly important at the time. She taught me to laugh at myself and, ultimately, that high school was not the high point of our lives. Real life was what was going to happen when we left that little South Texas town. Looking back, it took an impossibly long time for me to learn what she had to teach me. But she was right and I'm grateful she didn't give up on me.
Through the years we may not have been in constant contact, but we both know that the other one is there if needed. We have other friends, and what Sara taught me about friendship enabled me to make friendships that are based on respect and caring.
But Sara is a friend like no other because she is the one person who knows, not just who I am, but who I was. She knows me as no one else will ever know me because she's known me the longest. I hold that same knowledge about her. And I know, that if I ever need to, I can call her up and pour my heart out to her, just as I did all those years ago when all I was pouring out was the dregs of teen angst. And I hope she knows that I will always do the same for her.
Today is her birthday, a fact she will not thank me for pointing out to the world. Sara does not like being the center of attention. But I'll risk her displeasure because today I want to make sure she knows how happy I am she is here and that the world is truly a better place because she is here: caring about what is real and what is important.
Happy birthday Sara. Love always.
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