Reflections on Father's Day

As I sipped at my first cup of coffee this morning and scrolled through Facebook reading all the wonderful Father's Day memories and tributes and memories, I was struck by the fact that my own connection to a patriarchal figure was tenuous at best. I am the result of a one night stand between my biological father and mother who were divorced at the time. Times being what they were in the 1950's, a hurried shotgun wedding was undertaken to legitimize my legal status and satisfy both my mother's father and the Roman Catholic Church. An equally rapid divorce followed, and I was shipped off to be raised by my mother's parents for the next 18 years.

Both of my parents remarried. After my father was discharged from the Army, he married a wonderful older Creole woman of color and was immediately shunned by my mother's side of the family for good. My mother, or the other hand, continued to make marriage into a past time, marrying two more times  (for a total of five marriages, with numerous hook-ups in between). To be brutal about it, some people just aren't cut out to be parents.

My father visited me at Christmas and on the birthday we share up until the time I was thirteen. He had been a cook in the Army ( like my maternal grandfather), specifically a baker. After the military, he went to work in an upscale boutique dessert shop making cakes and candies; he smelled of chocolate when he stopped by to leave the child support check with my grandparents. On our too few visits together he taught me to decorate cakes and hand-dip chocolates. ( The result is that today, I make wicked-good butter creams from scratch.) The last time I saw him was when I was in the hospital after having my tonsils removed. My last memory of him was as a shadowy figure with a nimbus of light around him as he stood in the doorway to my room. I was still too drugged-up from the surgery to remember anything other than he said he loved me.  After that  night, I never saw him again.

My mother's parents raised me in a modest home. Pop was the local fire chief; Mom was a homemaker whose hobbies included crochet and alcohol. Unlike friends my age, there are virtually no childhood photographs of me after the age of five. I suspect it's because I have my father's features: my step-brother and I look exactly like him. More to the point, I do not look like anyone on my mother's side of the family which have very obviously Sicilian. Most of my formative years were spent staying out of the way or hiding from my grandparents to avoid being in the line of fire during one of their epic arguments; saying their relationship was volatile would be a kindness and an understatement. On those rare occasions when Pop took an interest in me-usually during one of Mom's lengthy drinking binges, I would accompany him on one of his side jobs doing general contracting, or we'd spend time in the kitchen. Pop had been a cook in the Army, and it was something he was particularly good at because he'd received an excellent education at the Cooks and Bakers School at Fort Dix. He taught both Mom and I to cook. Our time in the kitchen is my most positive snap shot memory of him, and all the other miserable crap from my childhood falls away when I think of it.

After both my father and grandfather died, two wonderful men were introduced into my life and became my Dads of Choice. Forest and George were both accomplished in their chosen professions, and well respected in the community. They were the fathers of grown biological children when they came into my life, and quite frankly, they redeemed all other males in my eyes. To qualify that statement, I am keenly aware of their faults, but some how that just made them that much more genuine.

I can add my friend John Denver to those who have been influential and gave me insight to the complexity of what it is to be a man. A side from his long, illustrious career as a renowned entertainer, he was the best example I can think of in how to turn fame into stewardship. He was just as much a humanitarian as anything else and he cared-he suffered-for the world. His greatest joy, however, was being a father. Being a father is what drove his desire to preserve the natural resources of our planet, it was behind nearly every charitable endeavor he involved himself in: ending hunger, worldwide environmental causes, serving the disenfranchised, space exploration. His fame became a stepping stone into all of these areas, and he participated not for himself, but for generations to come.

We honor our fathers- whether of blood or choice- on this day which is set aside to give thanks for their support and nurture. I believe it's a day out of time when we should sit back and think about all the things that make a man a Father, and exactly what parenting is.

Good For The Soul: Venting and Rants

               "Honesty is the first chapter in the book of wisdom."~ Thomas Jefferson

I am a little ashamed that I've neglected this blog; it's not that I stopped meditating and making self-examination. Just the opposite; self-examination is never ending and it takes a lot of time.
I confess that I've been writing for my other blog, the one my esoteric alter ego finds fun and which allows be to be somewhat anonymous, because I at times find it difficult to write when I'm the subject.   I'm still fighting that part of my upbringing that whispers in my ear late at night that people who write about themselves are egotistical and narcissistic. Those who know and abide by the rules of etiquette reserve the opportunity to speak up when they have been prompted. Nice girls don't bring attention to themselves, ever, unless they've done something to earn the admiration and praise of others.

Occasionally I need to throw out the conventional, ignore the rules and force myself to have feelings I don't want to face and say things that make me (and others) uncomfortable. Now might be one of those times.

Editing this entry a little while ago made me wonder if I didn't sound just a teensy bit more angry than the situation warranted. The simple truth is that I wasn't angry at all, I was more exasperated than anything else...Since I'm convinced that indulging in venting and rants are good for the soul, here are some of my current pet peeves for you to relate to as they apply and which I suspect you share too:

• I am tired of being a "good girl". I did not choose to be stereotyped as a paragon of propriety, it came with the job. Although I believe being a member of the clergy has a certain debt of expectation to the public ( and I believe I do try to hold up my end when needed), I am an imperfect, complex being with a lot of quirks. There are quite a few chinks in my armor. I was a human being before I was ordained - and by the grace of the God of Understanding, I will retain that gift. Humans aren't always nice to one another or to themselves. My clerical collar is not tattooed on or nailed into place. It comes off during my private time, and yes, I do have private moments. There are days when I don't feel like putting on my game face  and today has been one of them.

• I am sick of being diplomatic when faced with the overt stupidity and blissful ignorance of others. There are days I can barely hold my tongue and want to choke the life out of some people with my bare hands.

• At 200 pounds I am hardly demure and coquettish, so I will skip that pretense on the days my acting skills are limited. Stop trying to guilt me about being fat by pretending you're concerned about my health; we both know it's only to validate  the perverted idea of perfection touted by the media that you've bought into. Don't try to make it about me, when it's actually about you and your unresolved weight issues. Humans come in all shapes and sizes and none of us actually look like supermodels or rock stars without the intervention of a plastic surgeon. Let's just enjoy being together for who we are and drop it, shall we?

• Ditto to all of you who think that being a vegetarian or vegan makes you a superior and nobler member of the species. No one is going to give you a medal for your dietary choices. Live and let live and stop giving the rest of us unsolicited advice about our food choices. You aren't going to change my mind or my eating habits by being smarmy. ( Note: I have been blessed by the friendship of several fine individuals who are one or the other, and none of them feel compelled to inflict their personal control issues about food on the rest of our little circle of acquaintances.)

• I am finding that more and more often I can no longer manage a beatific Mona Lisa smile when someone who should really know better asks me how I managed to get myself gang raped, or how I ended up in a homeless shelter when I could no longer cope with the PTSD from the experience. Instead of conspiratorially whispering about my perceived character flaws or the state of my mental health (which no doubt lead to my circumstances, at least according to the gossip and active imagination of a few at coffee hour.)  Try asking if there is anything you can do to be supportive or helpful toward improving my lot in life. Just because most of you are members of the Care Committee does not mean you are caring. This kind of mean-spirited behavior is probably a contributing factor as to why your children live on the other side of the country and seldom visit.

• I want to fix the person who so casually asks why I'm still dealing with depression when, it's "obvious to them" that I have nothing to be depressed about with a stare that will instantly vaporize them. And yes, there are  still days when I am feeling worthless and have so little hope for the future that I am still considering stepping off the curb in front of a truck. I don't want your pity, but I don't need your lack of sensitivity, either.

• There have been days when I have wanted to be anything but professional and scream at the people who think they are so much more cool, clever and elite  than I am to knock it off and stop acting like conceited assholes. There are no awards for being overbearingly obnoxious, no matter how cute or important you think are. Not everyone thinks you are as irresistibly awesome  and adorable as you do. Try to get over yourself before someone else with even less tolerance for fools comes along and forcibly helps you to do so.

• Like Tartar Sauce the Grumpy Cat,  I want to look at those of you who are insufferably perky and just say "NO". Bombarding everyone around you with warm fuzzies and quoting Oprah does not not make you credible, so wipe that insipid smile off your face. Some times life sucks, so deal with it.

For those of you who have read this and have come to the conclusion that I'm the biggest bitch you've ever imagined, you're probably right...and I'm not apologizing for it...because I am owning it. And  I'll tell you something else...facing all of your faults and hurts and confronting your own shadow is probably the most healing thing you will ever do in your life. It's a matter of faith to be able to look at yourself  and acknowledge that some parts of you aren't so nice and rosy. Life is messy and dealing with your personal baggage is no picnic in the park, because it's not supposed to be. It's a constant battle to sort out what's authentic and to keep your integrity intact. Honesty is not pretty. You may not always like what I have to say, but you will be able to trust me. I have learned that embracing my crap isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's sad that we've been brained washed (again, by the media and pop culture) into thinking confrontation is always negative, when in fact, conflict might be just what's needed to remove the obstacles to your journey.  I don't know about you, but I want to feel and experience my life-even the bad stuff.  I need  the ups and downs, the good and not-so-good to believe in humanity and embrace living authentically. You have to get your hands dirty to plant a garden. You have to dig deep and get muddy before you can put out the seeds of things that will eventually blossom and ultimately nourish your soul.

What No Longer Serves

Every once in awhile, my feelings about things change and I have to adjust my life accordingly. Of course Life in general is eternally in constant change, there is no way of holding that back-nor would I want to. It's an adventure and a journey that I don't want to miss. However, sometimes when I'm in a reflective mood -or I'm forced to examine a particular activity-I come to terms with the fact  that things that no longer serve my growth, enrich my spirit or feed my soul need to go. Things left to molder eventually become more emotionally hurtful and harmful to my psyche. I have had enough of that in the past and have learned when it's time to cut those things loose for the moorings. It's the only way I'm going to be healthy and survive all the other crap that Life throws at me. It's about priorities.

We all need to interact with others; we are by nature social beings. It's a human trait that we  want to belong and be a part of something with the hope that whatever it is, it will be personally satisfying and enriching. That's changed for me over the last few weeks, and I'm no longer in the 'group' mindset because I have found that I can still do many of those things by myself and in solitary practice and it is just as rewarding...and I am happier. So this week I have decided to leave several groups on Facebook because I  find them no longer satisfying, to limit my interaction with other fans of my RockStar Muse because I just don't want to be sucked into the never-ending drama, jealousy and one up-manship, and turn down a call to minister at a church because the philosophy feels more wrong than right to me. Which will leave me with more time to read, study and generally be inside my own head. Unlike the majority of folks, I am more than reasonably comfortable inside my own skin. That  has mostly been a painstaking process, but the end result is that I can live with who I am with very few regrets. That wasn't always the case. Life changes exponentially when you choose to take responsibility and control of your actions and reaction to the everyday business of existence. Within reason and not meant to be a narcissistic statement, I like who I have become. I try to keep the self-doubt to a minimum by not second-guessing my decisions ( but remaining flexible). And I try not to worry what others think about me, because really...Does it matter? Junior High was a long time ago and I'd like to think that it's no longer necessary for Life to be a petty popularity contest. I have little tolerance for the pretensions of others because I have no use for it, those who pretend to be something they definitely are not have no place in my life...and I have an excellent pair of bullshit antennae.

Everything we encounter is influenced by our thoughts and feelings. You don't just see the world through your eyes, but with your heart as well. We become so preoccupied with what we must do in Life that we very often forget what we like to do. There are many more things I want to accomplish and a limited amount of time daily and weekly allotted for me to do them. Casting off things that no longer serve me gives me the precious gift of more time. I will take all that I can so I can continue working on who I am and want to be in the future.

Shine On

First and foremost, life is a fragile. We forget this because of our tendency to rush head-long from one thing to the other, to fall down and get right back up, ignore the bruises, because it's what's expected of us by society. We create a membrane of steel around ourselves,that will deflect the bad things. Mostly we just carry on.

Life is an exciting, wonderful adventure full of Mystery. We never really know what's going to happen next, but we never expect it to be more than we can handle. We don't look too closely or make eye contact. It's better that way. We're less likely to get hurt by Life.

A few hours ago, I found out someone in my congregation died. She was a physically and spiritually beautiful soul who possessed a spirit open to whatever the world would bring. She was tragically killed in a traffic accident. We have questions about the circumstances, for which we may never have answers. Today would have been her 27th birthday.

We believe with our hearts that this life will go on forever, even when we know in our heads that it won't. Dying is the natural cycle of things; we are born and we die. What we do between those points is called living, and we burn with a light from a flame within. Some of us achieve great accomplishments the span of a lifetime; others only burn brightly for a few short years, but the people their light shines on are left feeling warm and good.

Shine on, Sister. Shine on.

Thoughtful New Year

Maya Angelou

In 2012 nature and the mad nature of some human beings caused us to wonder how can we go on. From super storm Sandy to the Colorado movie house shooting and the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School, we have been pressed to find some answers to the question, why, me why us, why now? As we come into 2013, we bring with us the need to find answers and the hope to find what can we do to prevent the recurrence of these despairing occurrences. I think we must commit to a commitment to all human beings and a decision to accept our responsibility to nature's outpouring and human misbehavior. I wish that we could say with Horace Mann that each of us should be "ashamed to die until you have won some victory for mankind." I think we must surrender the despair of unexpected cruelty and extend the wonder of unexpected kindnesses to ourselves and to each other. 2013 can bring us the chance to be kind to each other and kind to ourselves. We deserve each other and each other's generosity.

This appeared on my Facebook page tonight. I can add nothing more other than...Amen. So Mote It Be.

Where Was God?

Where was God when children and adults were being injured and killed in Connecticut and China?

The question always arises after one of these tragedies occurs and makes worldwide news.

" Where was God? Doesn't God care?"


Where  was God? Where were you? Where was I? Where were WE when funding for healthcare that covered mental illness was being cut? Where were WE when legislation was being passed that allowed assault weapons to be placed in the hands of ordinary citizens?

Stop blaming Deity for the foibles and failures of humans. WE need to take responsibility for not providing proper healthcare for the mentally ill. WE need to take responsibility for passing laws that allow excessive freewill to those who cannot make rational decisions which results in them harming themselves and others. WE need to to stop using the cop-out that allows dangerous individuals free reign in our society because they have a 'right' to self determination. WE need to reexamine the distribution of firearms in this country and realistically come to grips with exactly why anyone believes assault weapons should be allowed to be in the hands of anyone other than the military or the police... Which leads to a much deeper question, one I'm pretty certain Americans aren't ready to face but must come to terms with:our fear of The Other., because we have permitted special interest groups to play on our righteous corporate ( as in unified, not business ) paranoid after 9/11.

WE need to stand up to political bullies and lobbyists who force legislation, not because they necessarily believe in it, but because someone has crossed their palms with silver.

Placing Blame

Yesterday, twenty-seven people were savagely butchered in an elementary school in Connecticut at the hands of a someone suffering from a severe mental illness. The details of the incident are sketchy, but as they leak out, the very prominent fact that this atrocity was visited upon innocent children and their adult caretakers due to a failure of our society is undeniable.

While others are mourning the loss of lives, I am angry at the inadequacy of our mental health care system. I am furious at politicians who have chipped away at funds earmarked for the diagnosis and treatment of the mentally ill. I am beyond frustrated by constantly having to justify mental illness as a physical illness which requires medical treatment. I am literally sickened by the inexcusable attitude of healthcare practitioners who are undereducated or lack education altogether about the myriad forms of a legitimate disease that is swept under society's carpet...just as it was over a century ago. Some forms of mental illness kills; not only through suicide by the individual, but by other means which makes it a matter of public health. Pretending that someone else is "okay" when it is clear they aren't is nothing short of criminal negligence.

I am tired of those in the "helping" professions which are supposedly responsible for the oversight and welfare of those who are the least able among us to care for themselves begging off with," What do you want us to do?" Grow some fucking cojones, step up and be responsible, that's what I want you to do. That includes families who choose to use the worn cop-out, " We can't make choices for him".

Let me tell you something: When your troubled 'loved one' or client becomes the next  Adam Lanza, or Jared  Loughner, or James Holmes or  Eric Harris or Dylan Klebold, and all you have done is thrown your hands up in frustration, those hands will have just as much blood on them as the one who loaded the bullets into the gun. Or maybe you'll just be the first of many to die.

You wouldn't let frustration with the healthcare or the court system get in your way if the one you cared about were suffering from a 'tangible disease' such as cancer and was mentally unstable and unable to make realistic decisions about their personal welfare. The fact is that an individual's right to self -determination ends when his/her behavior and choices become a dangerous threat to their own welfare and that of the public. Lack of responsibility for proper mental healthcare is a public health issue, period...and we had better become accountable before the next tragedy occurs.