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Showing posts from November, 2012

When everybody's words got in the way.

Dear Stubborn, Backside of 30 Self:

Just when you think you got a handle on parenthood, the enigmatic teenager arrives on the scene.

You don't know.

Anything.

Don't take my word for it. They'll remind you daily.

Puberty is a rough ride so strap in. Tis what tis.

This too shall pass but the exhaustion lingers.

Bless and serve them In Spite Of, because, you may be experiencing a test of the emergency system.

That's how the game is played.

Don't expect them to understand what's taken you a lifetime to sort out.

You can't fix what you did not break.

There will be breakage, despite your best efforts.

Most things will shake on out if you choose not to lay down in them.

Get yourself out of the way so an adult can finally emerge.

Although you've now managed to eat all your words, you still don't know anything.

Most sincerely, Your stubborn, backside of 40 self

Message in a bottle.

I got me a Lovin' Dad but some don't.

Sometimes you can see the Daddy Wounds that live in folk's worries but sometimes folks carry them around as broken bits inside of them. Sometimes, the bits are sharp and push through so everyone around feels the sting. Others can keep them settled inside so as to only damage one heart at a time.

Once, I saw a father use his own saliva to try and soothe his son's burnt fingers but his mouth was on fire from the lies he told and only platitudes were spoken.

Sometimes, reaching deeply, a hidden affliction is given a voice that reveals the aching behind a bitter facade. There's not much for it, here on Earth, and this special brand of wound often lurks around a lifetime, fighting for the right to curse the generations to follow.

Once, I knew a father who graciously opened his heart to his daughter but only wide enough to allow her to see what she was missing because he felt confident she would understand there just wasn't roo…

I've got you to make me forgive.

I know that you can walk away. I know that you can shed the past. I know that you can reach higher. I know that you can be lifted up.

I want you to face the pain, the tragedy, the suffering, the wrongs. I want you to know all these organic emotions and be brave. I want you to wage war on the lies and sift through the remains. I want you to find the strength you already possess.

I want you to fight so you will know triumph.

You are not too damaged. You are not too frightened. You are not too ugly. You are not too far away for His Hand to reach you.

I want you to listen.

Closed the door and left me blinded by the light.

Sometimes, holding on loosely equals a war; cold though it may be. It always starts the same:
Quit on you or
failed you or
broke you or
frightened you or
disappointed.
Said what wasn't true.
Enraged you and it's still not okay.
Tearful moments that shape us, in spite of ourselves.

Remember that time you called me Four Eyes and it was true?

Remember when I felt alone and said so but you patted my hand and walked away?

Remember how I thought you held my hand but you were really just shaking them all?

Remember that time I slept all night and all day with a silent cordless phone under my pillow?

Remember how you wrote that letter with the lower cases and I couldn't recognize one word of truth?

Remember how you left me at the first sign of trouble without a life line?

Remember how I lost you, Little Baby? Only to be followed by Despair and Devastation.

Remember how I trusted you with the most precious thing because you were so precious to me?

Remember how you let me dra…

You're a mean one.

Maybe it makes me not that good of a person but I truly dislike Halloween.

Eye rolling at the profit driven advertisements appealing to the lowest common denominator, I'm equally disturbed by the inappropriately gory decor at my local grocery store. I just need some orzo and tomato paste and I ain't wanting to see all that. Accepting this as normal is beyond bizarre and second only to our acceptance of brothel inspired costumes that ladies trot out this time of year.

(I hate haunted houses.)

When teenagers hide in trees above sidewalks intent on terrorizing even the tiny Tinkerbell and bitty Spiderman, I am simultaneously horrified and infuriated. Halloween pranksters should operate under some code of decency and let the Tinkerbells be.

(I hate haunted corn mazes.)

Honestly, it's too much pressure on parents to make this Homage To Candy something fabulous and unforgettable. And, what business does a home have with so much candy? Even the tamest of children obsess and b…