Family Tree

In all of us there is a hunger, marrow deep, to know our heritage - to know who we are and where we came from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.
~Alex Haley~

I hope to write a series of blog posts about my family tree, at least what I know so far. I think it'll be good to get the information and stories out of my head and on "paper" for future generations. Today I am starting with my dad's side:

I was born in NYC, Manhattan to be exact. Same as my father. We lived in an apartment, I talked about it here. My dad's parents (my grandparents) lived in the apartment building next door. (Not where my dad grew up, but he still was born and raised in Manhattan). My grandmother Frances Clarke (Nanny) was Irish, but was born and had grown up in England, my grandfather, Thomas Cox (Pa) had grown up in Ireland, so they both had accents. I didn't think much of their accents, as living in NYC many people had accents.

The story, as I had always heard it growing up, was that Pa was coming from Ireland to America and Nanny was coming from England. They met on the boat and by the time they got to America, they were in love. The real story, which came out after both grandparents had died, was that Nanny got pregnant while they were on the boat, (guess there wasn't much to do on boats back then, especially if you were in steerage), so they had to get married. That baby ended up dying a few months after birth, he would've been my Uncle John, my dad was born 13 years later.

My dad didn't talk to much of his childhood. I know it was hard. I know they were poor, but most Irish were back then, especially in the big cities. The neighborhood my parents grew up in was mostly Irish and Italian, and poor, so everyone was in the same boat.

Pa held a variety of jobs over his lifetime. He was a milkman for a while (drove a milk truck) and was a member of the Teamsters. In his later years he worked for the Port Authority in NYC. It's what he did before coming to America that he was most proud of. He was a member of the IRA, the Irish Republican Army. He told us that he was one of the first members of the IRA. He was the youngest of 12 children, and there wasn't much to do in Ireland if you weren't the first born son (and inherit the land and farm) or a daughter who would be married off, so for a teenage boy, the IRA was it. I don't know what he did as an IRA member or what happened to him other than one story he used to tell us: After he had been with the organization for a while, and had done whatever they told them him to do, the Black and Tans came for him one night. He was asleep in his bed, and they dragged him away from his home. He said they tortured him for information, of which he said he had none. He thought they were going to kill him, but they didn't. After a very long night they let him go. He had nightmares for most of the rest of his life after that. He never told my dad any details, and he never told us kids any. It's kind of a shame really, so much history, such much information, lost forever. My grandfather wasn't a very nice man, he wasn't good to my father and he was very stern with us, his grand kids. I often wondered if he was always that way or if he was a product of his circumstances, the things that had been done to him.

In recent years I have begun exploring my family tree. I have limited information, I know who my great grandparents were, but barring a trip back to Ireland, I'm not sure how to get more information. Yes the Internet is a wonderful thing, but unless someone, somewhere, put that information on the Internet, it isn't there for my grabbing. My grandfather told us the birth records were kept in the Catholic churches, and many of those churches were burned to the ground during all the years of trouble with the British. So our record might not be there at all. I do know my grandfather had a sister who came to the states when he was a baby, and she died before he ever came here, so he never knew her. I never had first cousins, both of my parents were only children, but I do remember a 2nd cousin, who was my age, that I knew when we lived in NYC. My parents never fostered an interest in us keeping up with our relatives. After we moved to the Midwest when I was 8, we lost most contact with those relatives. I find it sad, and now it makes it that much harder to find these people who share my gene pool, my heritage.

This is what I know about my paternal grandparents: My grandfather was born Thomas Francis Cox, June 15th, 1902. His fathers name was John Cox and his mothers name was Bridget Devine. My paternal grandmother was born Frances Clarke, June 13th 1908. Her parents were Francis Clarke and Margaret LaVelle.

I plan to write more of their stories and delve into my mothers side in upcoming posts. More to come............

When anyone asks me about the Irish character, I say look at the trees. Maimed, stark and misshapen, but ferociously tenacious.
~Edna O'Brien~

To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die.
~Thomas Campbell~

My Dad

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes.

~Gloria Naylor~

My dad died 11 years ago today. He was 56. I am amazed at how quickly the time has gone by. My youngest was one, today she is 12. She never knew my dad and that makes me pretty sad. Carley doesn't remember him either, she was only 3.

He was diagnosed with Pancreatic cancer in Nov. of 1996. Here he is just 3 months prior to diagnosis (with me and my mom and my 5 month old, Catherine):


The doctors told him he had 3-6 months to live. He chose not to do Chemo or radiation, he wanted to have the best quality of life for his remaining few months. He did seek out some alternative remedies, and I think they helped him make it to the 6 month mark. My parents lived in Florida at the time, and I lived in IL. I was able to get down and see him twice before he died. We went down in December and again in March.

He died near midnight on the night of May 31st. I wasn't there when he died, my sister and my brother were. I had a 3 year old and a 1 year old. I was still nursing my 1 year old. I wanted to be there, but my mom and sister told me I couldn't bring my girls, that it would be too stressful on everyone. He was in and out of coherent near the end, but I did have my mom put the phone up to him and told him I was sorry I couldn't be there. I just couldn't leave my girls. I think he understood.

I didn't always have the best relationship with my dad growing up. He could be a mean son-of-a-gun when he wanted to be. But most of the time he was pretty reserved and rather jovial. He liked to read and passed that love to me. He taught me to play chess. Life was simple for my dad and he had clear boundaries of right and wrong. He was a staunch conservative and I thank him for those values. I never had a very emotional relationship with my dad, we never told the other we loved each other, although we did hug and kiss. I remember when I was really small he used to carry me to bed on his shoulders each night. And I remember even into high school kissing him good-night before bed.

Here he is on a Fathers Day when I was about 20 (that's me on the right):


Just before he died I wrote him a letter. I wanted him to know that I although I had blamed him in the past for screwing me up, that I no longer did and that I knew he had done the best he knew how in raising me. He had a horrible childhood with a very abusive father. His childhood was worse than mine. I thanked him for being my dad and told him I loved him. I waited for a reply and finally my mother called me and told me that my dad had read the letter and cried. My dad and I never spoke about the letter and we didn't need to. He heard what I said, it made him cry, that was enough for me.

Time lessens pain but doesn't remove it. I don't think about him everyday anymore, but I do think about him frequently. And I still remember the day he died. Most of all I look forward to seeing him again one day.

Here's a picture of my dad and mom in the bar in the house I grew up in. They had their issues, but I always knew they loved each other:

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.
~Madame de Stael~

A Slice of Unschooling

A lot of people don't get this whole unschooling thing. It's really all about child led learning. Let something spark their interest, and then let the child run with it as far as they wish to take it. Something funny happened at my house today, that looked like a slice of unschooling to me, so I thought I'd share.

My eldest daughter (Carley) asked for and received a game for her DS system for Christmas called Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney. You play as Phoenix Wright he is a defense attorney. I haven't explored much about the game, other than watching Carley play it. She has to gather clues, come up with some kind of defense and go into a courtroom and defend her client. Part of the game is yelling things into the speaker of the DS system, so in the last week I would often hear her yelling "Objection" while playing her game.

Well youngest daughter (Catherine) decided she wanted to play the game too. Thankfully her sister was willing to share. So Catherine has been playing the game for the last few days. Today, Carley and I were sitting in the living room watching TV and we could hear Catherine yelling things in her room. We knew she was playing the game. But imagine our surprise when we opened the door to her room. There she was sitting on her bed, surrounded by her animal court. She had used quite a few of her stuffed animals to lay out the game. She had her defendant (poor little Coconut, of American girl fame), the State's Attorney, the Judge, the witness's and the jury all laid out on her bed. With stuffed animals playing every role. She said it was a visual aid helping her with the game. It was really cute.

Now, to some, I suppose that would seem like no big deal. To some they would think she is just wasting her time playing a mindless video game. But she is learning all about the court system. She knows about defense attorneys and how to build a case to defend their client. And she knows what a State's Attorney is and how they actually function in a court. She knows when to yell "Objection" in defense of her client. She knows who will be a good witness and who won't. She has a sudden interest in knowing things about our legal system. I heard her ask her sister what a Paralegal does. She thought it might be interesting to be one when she gets older. She found something interesting (the game) and it has sparked a desire in wanting to know more. Imagine that. And some people think unschooling doesn't work : )

Christmas 1973

In 1973 I was 5 years old. We lived in New York City, in an apartment in a neighborhood on the far upper west side of Manhattan. I did a google search of where I used to live.....wow that was weird. I lived at 119 Payson Ave., Ny, Ny. The building looks exactly the same as I remember it. You can also do a pan of the street, and across the street from our apartment was a park.......it looks exactly the same. I was 8 when we moved, I can't believe everything looks the same as it did 32 years ago. What a jog down memory lane.

Now that I am done being sidetracked, let me regale you with what Christmas was like at the Cox's apartment in the early seventies.

My parents, even though they were parents, still liked to party. And for some reason, most of their friends didn't have kids. So most Christmas's were geared toward the adults than the kids. Oh we still had fun, but probably not the same kind of fun as most kids.

In 1973 I was 5, my brother was 9 and my sister was 10. I am pretty sure they didn't believe in Santa anymore, but they went along with it for my sake.

So the evening of Christmas Eve would start with family and friends coming to our house. I remember my grandmother and Harry (her live in boyfriend, only grandfather on my moms side that I really remember) would be there. Also my Aunt Marge and Uncle Ron (friends of my parents, not real aunt and uncles because both my parents were only children). I'm sure my dad's parents were there, they lived in the apartment building right next door to us, but they weren't as social as the rest, so it's a vague memory. I remember the loud people, the partiers the most.

So we would have an apartment full of people. And our apartment wasn't that big, so as a five year old it may have seemed like more than were actually there. But between my own family of five two sets of grandparents and Aunt Marge and Uncle Ron, that was plenty.

Since my mom and dad were partying, the last thing they wanted to do was get up at the crack of dawn to open presents. So the kids went to bed around 9 or 10 while the adults kept the celebration going. Before going to bed we would leave Santa a shot of whiskey, yes whiskey, it's cold flying around the world all night. If you aren't Irish, you might not understand. And then we'd be off to bed. After my parents knew we were good and asleep, they would bring out our gifts. Sometimes starting to put things together just then as well. When they had everything out and put together (and I heard in later years that the "putting together" part often took a whole lot longer than my dad thought it would) my parents would come and wake us up yelling "Santa's been here, come open your presents." Now this was usually around midnight or later depending on how much trouble toy assembly had been.

I remember this year particularly because I heard Santa's sleigh and that is what woke me up. It's kind of hard to explain, but the way our apartment was configured, the kitchen window was just an angle away from the bedroom I shared with my sister. Not right next to our window, but just across the way at an angle (clear as mud I'm sure). We used to string a clothes line from our bedroom to the kitchen to hang clothes to dry. Anyway, that year I was awoken to the sound of Santa's sleigh bells outside my window. I was told years later that it was my grandmother (moms mom) and she had hung herself out the kitchen window ringing bells so I would hear the bells outside of mine. (We lived on the second floor). It's a happy memory that I am glad I have.

So anyway, while we were happy Santa had been there, WE WERE TIRED! We had just fallen asleep. The adults were mostly happily inebriated at this point, so they were all quite jolly. We would open our presents, entertaining the adults, get a few minutes to play with a few things, then back to bed with you, playtime tomorrow.

Does anyone else think this is bizarre? It was the norm for us, at least for a few more years. During the summer of 1975, a mean girl I knew told me that that Santa was lie. I asked my mom and she confirmed it. I think she was happy about it because we no longer had to play the going to bed charade. We just started opening our presents before we went to bed on Christmas Eve.

We continued to have Open Houses on Christmas Eve. In 1976 we moved to Illinois. That year we had our first Christmas in a new house, in a new state. Grandparents flew in to be with us. As we all made new friends, more and more people got to experience a Cox Christmas Eve. Some of my friends still talk about coming to our house Christmas Eve. The food and booze were always flowing. My parents were perfect hosts. It really is one of the highlights of my childhood memories. A lot of things were not good about my childhood, but almost every Christmas was. I miss that my children will never experience what we had when all of my family could be together. We weren't the perfect family by any means, but there were times when we did have a lot of fun.

When Time who steals our years away

Shall steal our pleasures too,

The mem’ry of the past will stay,

And half our joys renew.

~Thomas Moore~

Thankfulness Thursday

My mood has been poor since Tuesday, so I thought maybe trying to see the positive things in my life would lift my spirit. Stephanie posted a few things she was thankful for yesterday, so I thought I would turn my Thursday's into "Thankfulness Thursday". Each Thursday I will try to take a few minutes and remember the truly important things in life.

1 - I have a home, a roof over my head, heat when I am cold, air conditioning when I am hot, running water and flushing toilets. I have a full refrigerator and food on my table. For that I am truly thankful.

2 - I have a loving husband that cares deeply for his family. He goes to work each day so that his wife and children can stay home together. For that I am truly thankful.

3 - I have two beautiful daughters who grow dearer to me each and every day. They are the biggest blessing God has ever given me. For that I am truly thankful.

4 - I have a savior, who laid down his life for me, so that I may live forever. For that I am most thankful of all.

Let us rise up and be thankful,

for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little,

and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick,

and if we got sick, at least we didn't die;

so, let us all be thankful.

~Buddha~

Helping Our Kids

My oldest daughter had a martial arts class tonight. She has it every Tuesday and Thursday from 7-8pm. It's only about 10 mins away, so not a huge deal. I asked my dear husband to take her tonight. At about 4 mins till 7:00 he calls, telling me dear daughter forgot her belt. Belts are important in martial arts, it lets everyone else know what your rank is, as this is a mixed rank class. So, I grab the belt and hop in the car and make it to the class by 7:03. Dear hubby was standing outside ready to grab the belt and run inside. Hopefully the class started a little late and she didn't have to do any push ups. They have to do push ups occasionally for minor infractions. It builds character, or so they say. But I digress.......

So while I was driving home, after dropping the belt with dear hubby, I started thinking about how my parents never would have done that for me. They would have said too bad, so sad, you forgot the belt, you deal with the consequences. It actually never would have crossed my mind to even call my parents to ask. I knew the answer would always be no, so why call? My parents very rarely drove me anywhere as it was. Luckily I had an older sister and brother and friends willing to drive me places.

Some people say you shouldn't bring things to kids who forgot them. I know people who have let their kids skip lunch rather than bring it to their school. Moms who have let their children get detention rather than bring an important book or paper they have forgotten. I know people who know their kids have forgotten stuff when they are leaving the house, and let them forget the stuff anyway to teach them a lesson. What kind of lesson is that? That you are a mean mom?

What's wrong with helping out our kids?

I have brought my eldest daughter things she forgot for sleepovers more than once. One time I brought a teddy bear to her at 11:00 at night. It was 20 mins away, so 40 mins round trip for me. She was 10 or 11 (can't remember) and I knew she couldn't sleep without her teddy. This same daughter has forgotten games she wanted to bring to game night at the library, and when she was younger and in Montessori school, she occasionally forgot gym shoes for gym or some other pertinent item she needed that day. I ALWAYS have taken the item to my daughter. Youngest daughter seems to have a bit of a better memory. She likes to be prepared so she thinks ahead before leaving the house, or she remembers soon after leaving the house so I just need to turn around and go back home for a second. But on the rare occasion she forgets something, I will go home and get it for her.

I still forget stuff all the time. I very rarely leave the house and leave for good. I would say 9 times out of 10 I come back in because I forgot something. My kids laugh, because they just expect me to come back in now. Did my parents never bringing me my stuff teach me not to be forgetful? No, of course not. That is a punishment, not a lesson. How did some parenting "experts" decide that not helping out our kids is helping them?

Forgetfulness to me is a personality trait. Sure there are tricks to help people remember. Lists and notes and things. It is not a big issue here because we don't have to get out of the house for school everyday, with backpacks and a million other little things the schools require kids to have everyday. If we did maybe we would try lists and notes and things. But if either daughter still forgot stuff, I would still be ready to bring them what they needed, no questions asked.

It all goes back to that respectful living thing. If I have the ability and the time, and because I love my children, why wouldn't I help them whenever possible? It would never even have occurred to me tonight to say no, I will not bring your belt. I just grabbed it and ran out the door, doing my best to get there before the class started. Isn't that what being a mom is all about?

Death

We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love.

~Madame de Stael~

Today is the 4th anniversary of my mothers death. May 31 was the 10th anniversary of my fathers death. This time of year is a bit depressing for me. My dad died when he was only 56. Pancreatic cancer. We found out 6 months before he died. My mother would die 6 years later. She lived pretty recklessly after my father died. They had known each other since they were 14. I think in the end she wanted to die. Her life did not go well after he left, she was never really happy again. While they had their problems it was obvious to everyone they loved each other.

There's quite a long sordid story involved around my mothers death. Suffice it to say, it was unexpected, sprung upon us quickly. We knew she was sick, she had been in the hospital for some time. but we never thought she was near death. At least not until 4 days before she died. She was in Florida, my sister and I are in Illinois and my brother is in Arizona. In retrospect we should have gone down to see her well before she became so ill. We thought she was being taken care of. No point in looking back now. She ended up bleeding internally, and it could not be stopped. When they found her she was already in kidney failure. By the time we got to her late on a Saturday night (midnight actually, after flying most of the afternoon, or really sitting at O'Hare airport most of the afternoon) she was near death. All of her organs were failing. She was on life support. They were pumping bags of blood into her. It wasn't pretty. After talking to the doctor, we ended up taking her off life support at 7 am that Sunday morning.

It's a funny thing when your parents die. I wasn't particularly close to my dad. I loved him, but he was an emotionally closed man, and it was hard to get deep with him. I had a few conversations with him as I got older, and I suspect that had he lived, our relationship probably would've deepened. I was still greatly upset at his passing. I was only 30 years old. My kids were only one and three. They would never get to hear his laugh, (he had a great laugh). They would never get to hear his jokes, or listen to his political views. He was a smart man and had a lot of good thoughts on a lot of things. It's a loss I feel for my children but they'll never know. Recently we watched an old home video, and my youngest didn't even realize it was my dad (her grandfather) in one of the videos. That is sad to me.

When my mom died I not only mourned her, I mourned my dad all over again. Something happens to you when you realize both of your parents are gone. Maybe not for everyone, but I re-lived my whole life. I flashed back to my childhood, to stories my parents told, I thought about my grandparents and living in New York and moving to Illinois. Everything kind of came back in waves. I couldn't stop thinking of my life with my parents and how now they were gone. I was 36 and I was an orphan. I know it seems weird to say, I was an adult with my own family, but I still felt like an orphan. No parents, no grandparents, everyone (besides my siblings) from my family of origin was gone. Both of my parents were only children. Maybe if they had siblings that were still alive I wouldn't have felt so alone. I don't know. It was a very lonely time. I cried a lot after that. The first holidays with no parents were very lonely times. Even though I hadn't spent all of those holidays' with them, especially since they lived so far away, I couldn't call them or talk to them. I used to call my mom every Thanksgiving to talk with her while I made her Thanksgiving stuffing. I knew how to make it, but I was always afraid I was going to forget something. So I would call her to make sure. It was weird to make it that first year and not be able to call her.

So here it is, 10 years since my dad died and 4 since my mom. Time goes by so very quickly. It just doesn't seem that long ago. The pain has lessened with time, but I do still really miss them. It makes me worry about my own children. I don't want them to go through this pain when their father and I go. Maybe if my parents had been older it wouldn't have hurt so much. Maybe if they hadn't died when they were still relatively young and healthy. It seems a blessing sometimes when older people go. They are unhealthy, or in pain, or forget who they are. People grieve then, but also feel relieved. I never felt relieved after my parents died. I felt cheated.

Despite my sadness, my parents live on. They are still alive in my memories. They are in the pictures I keep. They are in the stories I tell. I see my own mother in my face. I hear my father in the things I say. I see my father in my sister and I hear my mother in my brother. As their parents lived on through them, they now live on through us.

So here's to you mom and dad. I know you must be together, I can't believe God could be so cruel to keep you apart. I hope right now you are walking down a sandy beach picking up shells and watching the sunset with a martini in your hands. I look forward to the day when I will see you both again. I love you.

Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.

~Albert Einstein~

More on Abuse

My last post started me thinking about abuse in general, not just from teachers. I was abused as a child. My parents themselves were abused and probably their parents before them.

My dad was the only child of an England born Irish mother and an Ireland born Irish father. His father was the abusive one. His mother was strict, I remember her, but his dad was terrible. He was very strict Catholic. Actually fought with the IRA in Ireland, and was forced to leave Ireland for his safety in the late 1920's. His mom and dad met on the boat coming to America. My dad was born left-handed. Well, to my grandfather, that meant he was of the devil, so he was beaten until he learned to write with his right hand. My dad was a leftie in other respects, but he learned how to write with his right hand. That's an example of how my dad grew up. I know his mother tried to shield him from some of the abuse, but she was as afraid of my grandfather as was my father. My father was a very reserved man. Didn't show a lot of emotion and kept a lot of his feelings inside.

My mom's parents were born in the States. Her mother was of Irish descent and her father was of Scot/Irish descent. Her father was an alcoholic. He emotionally and sexually abused her. Tales from her childhood are too gruesome to describe here. One story my grandmother told me was when my mom's dad came home from the bar and took an axe to my mom's piano. Fun guy huh? Although my grandmother was no saint, she didn't protect her daughter. I reference our ethnicity only because I have heard from many people raised in an Irish Catholic atmosphere. It seems the Irish Catholics like to be physically abusive. Must be in our culture.

So, those are my parents. Two only children raised in very unfortunate circumstances. So they didn't have much to pull from when they had kids of their own.

I have quite a few memories of emotional and physical abuse from my childhood. I remember being hit for throwing up in my bed. I remember having my pants pulled down in front of a neighbor, when I was about 6 or 7 years old, and beaten on my bottom. I remember getting the belt (hit with my dad's belt 5 times across my bare butt, I was 11) for hiding an airplane size bottle of vodka in my dresser drawer. It was there because I wanted a friend of mine to think I was cool. (My parents had a bar in our house, so it wasn't hard for me to find alcohol.) The older we got, the more the abuse became verbal/emotional. (Although I do remember one time my dad chasing my brother around the house trying to catch him. I know my brother was a teen at the time. Not sure what he did, but my dad was mad.) My parents liked to say hurtful things to us. My dad called my sister and me a "bitch" all the time. He said we were bitches. He actually used the "c" word on me once. Nice. I remember my sister didn't get invited to her senior prom, and my dads' exact words to her were "Even the dogs (meaning ugly girls) get asked to prom, you must be a real bitch to not get an invite". I could go on and on, the stories never end. But that's not really the point. It's what we grew up in and what we knew.

Which finally brings me to the big question: Why do people/parents perpetuate this abuse generation after generation? My mom and dad would both probably tell you (if they were alive to do so) that we had it much better than they did. And they would probably be right. Even though my parents weren't AS abusive as their parents, they were still abusive. But they didn't see it. What made me see it?

When my first daughter was born the only book I had read was "What to Expect When You Are Expecting". I didn't read about how to raise a child. I had babysat before, I thought I knew what to do. What I realized after she was born was that I instinctively did know what to do. If I trusted myself and went with my gut, I really would do right by her. I took her to bed long before I read about the Family Bed. I nursed on demand even though the doctors told me I could put her on a schedule. I just did what felt right. And sure there were times when she cried and cried, and nothing I could do would console her. But I never, ever had the urge to strike her.

When I got pregnant with my second, I began to read. I found Dr. William Sears. I found the book "The Family Bed". I understood what attachment parenting was and realized I had been practicing it. I hung out with La Leche League people. I had a supportive environment.

So I made the decision, conscious or unconscious, to not raise my children the way I was raised. I have never struck my children. I admit I was a bit more of a screamer than I would have liked to be, but that has even tempered with time. I try to treat my children respectfully. They are not my possessions, I am not their dictator. I am their loving parent. A guide, a protector, a nurturer, a leader.

I hope I have broken the cycle. My daughters know it is wrong to hurt a child. They know what attachment parenting is and that was how I tried to raise them. We are homeschoolers, so they know I like to be with them. And I do like to be with them. I think that's part of the problem in this society. Children are seen to be a burden. Children get in the way, they are messy, they require attention and money and time. People have children and really are clueless about the life changes that will result. And some become resentful, and blame the child, when in reality it is the parent that deserves the blame. People continue to blame their childhoods for the mistakes they make as adults. "I never learned any better". Well, educate yourself. "I just don't have the patience." Well take a yoga class and figure out how to get some. "It's not my fault". Maybe not, but you are an adult now, and it's time to move on. I do get really tired of listening to adults continually blame other people for their circumstances. One has to finally come to the point in their lives when they realize all the decisions are up to them. You can put your past behind you and move on. And for the sake of the next generation, they really need to.

Once again I don't know what the solution is. I have issues with how quickly Child Protective Services in this country swoop in to remove children. I think the intention is good, but the execution has failed. I do feel mothers like myself need to get the word out. We need to talk about how abuse is not ok, that there are better ways to raise children. We have the Internet now. There are websites, and books and radio programs that can give parenting advice and help people to treat their children better. Maybe every mom that leaves the hospital should get a booklet of resources. It would list names of books, links to websites, maybe even email addresses and phone numbers of people they could contact. Maybe new mothers could have a mentor. A mother to show them the kinder, gentler way to parent. Do you think people would listen? Do you think they would welcome such help or advice? I suppose I can dream, can't I?

"In a nutshell, people whose lives are hard, boring, painful, meaningless—people who suffer—tend to resent those who seem to suffer less than they do, and will make them suffer if they can. People who feel themselves in chains, with no hope of ever getting them off, want to put chains on everyone else."

~John Holt~

Teach Your Own, Introduction

The Homeless

One of the greatest diseases is to be nobody to anybody.

~Mother Teresa~

I've been thinking about the homeless lately. Our county has an organization called PADS. It stands for Public Action to Deliver Shelter. They offer a day program for homeless people to gain job skills and stay out of the cold in the winter. From October through April, they set up in area churches each night from 7pm - 7am and the homeless can come in, get a hot meal, shower, sleep. They are fed breakfast in the morning and given a brown bag lunch when they leave for the day.

In spite of this service, I still see homeless people roaming around town. This is not a brag, but I live in a fairly affluent town. 10 years ago you would never have seen a homeless person wandering around. Never. I actually saw a woman the other day set up right on the side of our busiest roadway. She had a shopping cart and had made a bit of a tent with it to sit under. This was also right in front of one of our major strip malls. There is a guy I see almost weekly. He walks around with all his stuff in a few bags. He just walks around all day. Sometimes I have seen him in the morning one place, and then in the afternoon at the other end of town.

So you are probably wondering why I haven't done anything to help them. I wonder that too. I have in the past given money to homeless people. One time I saw this man walking around various stores and gas stations checking all the public phones for change. I gave him $20. Probably not enough to make a difference, but he seemed appreciative. He did go right into the gas station and buy a pack of cigarettes with some of the money. I hope he at least got himself a sandwich with the rest.

My brother has an interesting perspective on the homeless. I remember one time he told me he took restaurant leftovers to homeless people. His point was that you could let it sit in your fridge for a week and throw it away, or give it to someone who would appreciate it. I thought it was kind of an insult to give food you had already munched on to another person, but my brother said it had always been appreciated when he did it. I think he still does it.

Recently I was emailing with my brother (who lives in AZ btw.) I had sent him this political cartoon:

I found the cartoon to be a bit truthful and funny. I wasn't at all thinking about the fictional homeless person mentioned. My brother sent me back this very thoughtful reply:

"Ok so what I get from that is that Barack will not give to the homeless, Hilary will give a little and McCain will give a homeless guy a Job.

The problem with homeless people is that 75% of them want to live on the street, 20% are drug addicts and alcoholics, and the other 5% do not have a choice.

We have a huge homeless issue in Tucson, probably due to our year round average temperature…I talk to, yes actually talk to, homeless people and most of them would not take a job if you offered it to them….they choose to live the way they do…..next time you see a guy with a sign that says “will work for food”…pull over and tell him to get in and that you have work for him….9 out of 10 will not get in the car or truck or whatever, they are looking for a handout, they are holding the sign so people who feel bad or think they are doing a good deed will just hand money to them…..I am ok with that….it takes balls and a lot of time to make money panhandling…and if it pays I guess it is a job…and the people who pay them are provided a service as well….they get to give money to the poor bum in hopes that they will get a better number in the waiting line to heaven….or they see it as a way of giving back…whatever the reason it works like a charm here in Tucson!

The only reason any of the presidential candidates would even look at a homeless guy is for the vote. I like Baracks response the best……”change” is an ambiguous term…..I am pretty sure at this stage of the game that it is not always for the better.

Oh and by the way, I don’t give the guy with the sign by the freeway any money….there are plenty of guys walking around collecting aluminum cans and getting 8 or 10 bucks a day from the recycler….if I see those guys I will pull up to them and give them $10 bucks and tell them to take the day off…..they are not begging for it.

I could have very easily ended up on the streets, drunk, alone, and dying.
I have to help my fellow man because of the gift that has been given to me, I will never be able to give or help enough to pay that back………….Life!"

See, my brother used to have a drug and alcohol problem. He wouldn't have ended up on the street, he has family that would have taken him in. But he can sympathize. After our mother died my brother really was touched by the hand of God. He was headed down a very destructive path. He has been clean now for almost 4 years.

I was really touched by his words actually, which is why I decided to post it here. Everyone might not agree with his statistics, but he makes some very valid points. Which brings me back to the people I see in my town. We have services in our county, yet they continue to live on the street and wander around. Could they be mentally ill, do they really want to live this way? How can you help people who don't want to help themselves? I suppose I can be like my brother, offer a hand out when I am able, and try to have compassion. I've been given a better lot in this life than most. Sure it doesn't really seem that way sometimes, especially because I am at the lower end of the spectrum for the town I live in. But globally, thinking of what most of the world has, I have been blessed. And I need to start being really thankful for that.

We ourselves feel that what we are doing is just a drop in the ocean. But the ocean would be less because of that missing drop.

~Mother Teresa~

Ode to my Mother on Mother's Day

My mom, Carol Ann, was born July 10th, 1941. She died June 13th, 2004. It's been almost 4 years since her death and I still miss her. We didn't have that great of a relationship, her and I, but I still miss her.

My mom was what most would call a troubled person. She was an only child of a clueless mother and a drunken father. I don't really remember my mother's father, he died when I was 5. What I know of him is mostly from the stories people told. And most of those stories weren't too pretty. Seems like the dysfunction in our family started back pretty far. I loved my mom's mom. She doted on her grandchildren. It was only as I got older that I began to understand that a lot of what she did for her grandchildren were things she wished she had done for her own daughter.

The pain and trouble started early for my mom. She suffered great emotional and physical abuse. She never got over it. It affected the rest of her life. She married young, and had children young. Too young to really be a good parent. She was never really parented, so she never learned how to parent. My father didn't have a great life either, so really, neither one of them really had a clue about how to raise children. They did what they knew: they controlled, they yelled, they beat and they ignored. I do think they loved us, they just had no idea how to show it.

This ode to my mother is not meant to tear her down. I actually had a fairly good relationship with my mom when I was very young. We moved to Illinois when I was 8 years old. My mom was born and raised in NYC. She loved the city. She moved very unhappily to "suburbia" when my father was transferred with his job. It was during those years that I became aware of my mother's problems with depression. I spent most of my childhood remembering my mom being in the hospital. It wasn't until I was in 7th grade or so that I was finally told what types of hospitals my mom was in. Sure she occasionally had a regular illness that required her to go the hospital, but most of the time she was in the psych ward. I think a lot of her physical ailments were also caused by her psych problems. I remember spending many weekends driving with my dad to visit my mom. I used to count the dead animals on the road while we drove. I don't know why I remember that. I remember the time they let her out for Christmas. She had to go back the next day.

I am the youngest of 3. My sister is 5 years older than me, and my brother is 4. So by the time I was in high school, my siblings were out of the house. It was around this time I guess my mom felt I could take care of myself. So, instead of heading into the nut house when she needed it, she began taking off. She would just up and leave. Drive to Florida, go visit friends, just leave. I remember being at work one day, and she called me at work to tell me I needed to go home and feed my grandfather dinner (my dad's dad lived with us) because she was heading to Florida. No one knew she was leaving that day, she just left. I asked my dad many years later why he stayed with her. (Life with Carol just wasn't easy.) He said he stayed for us kids. Not sure how his staying with her helped us, but in his mind it did.

Again, I am not trying to slam my mom. These are just memories. All of us kids really raised ourselves. A lot of times it seems like the roles were reversed. We needed to parent Carol.

I fought with my mom. I always told her what was on my mind. In reality now, I know I am a lot more like my mom than I would like to admit. Despite her many faults she could be a very strong woman. She did teach us to stand up for ourselves, (probably because she was unable to do that for herself). We learned how to survive in the real world. I know a lot of people who are book smart, and have no life smarts. She taught us life smarts. I'm sure living in NYC helped with that. I know that no matter what happens, I CAN take care of myself.

It wasn't until I had my own children that I better understood my mom. I was 27 when I had my first. My mom was 27 when she had her 3rd (me). I think if I had 3 children at 27, I too might have been a bit loopy. I remember she came to visit me when my first born was 3 weeks old. I still felt like I had no clue what I was doing with a newborn. I remember crying to her and telling her I should have just kept having cats. She reassured me that I would be a good mom and I just needed to give it time. For once she was right.

My mom was loud and over the top. She liked to party and was often the life of the party. I remember so many parties she threw while we were growing up. Every Christmas Eve we had an open house. My mom loved to cook and entertain. She loved to drink and dance. People really liked my mom. She often helped those outside her family more than she helped those within. She could be a really wonderful person at times. It seems that those were the times she had her demons under control. But they always came back. She had many self destructive tendencies.

After my mom died my brother, sister and I went through her house to sort out her belongings. (My dad had already died 6 years earlier). Years ago, my sister and I had given her a book called (I think) "For My Children's Children". It had questions to answer and spaces to write info about one's life. When we gave it to her, I don't think my sister or I really thought she would fill it out. She did. It was surprising to read some of the things she wrote. At the very back of the book it asked what was the one thing the person was most proud of in their life. My mother said "her children". None of us expected that. She wrote more, but suffice it to say, we were the most important thing she felt she had ever accomplished. She never verbalized that to us. I don't think she knew how. It was comforting to read that upon her death.

So here I sit 4 Mother's Days after her death. I wish I had been given more time with her. I wish she had been given a chance to purge herself of her demons. I wish my children had been given the chance to know her.

I do know I will see her again. I hope she is happy and finally free where she is.

Happy Mother's Day mom. I love you.

I miss thee, my Mother! Thy image is still the deepest impressed on my heart.~Eliza Cook