I like a joke as much as the next person. I don't take things very seriously and I hope you don't either. Hope you didn't come here to whine 'cause I don't wanna hear it!
Memorial Day brings with it memories of barbecues past. When we got married, we began spending Memorial Day with my girlfriend Sue and her family in Brigantine, NJ. Every year, we would drive to their house and we’d stay until late Monday night. Eventually they moved away from the beach but we continued being with them until about seven years ago when her parents decided that they were too old to continue playing host to all of their friends and family.
When Son1 was 7 and Son2 was 2, I almost lost both of my sons. We had gone to the beach and it was a glorious day. I was sunning on the beach, catching up with Sue and just enjoying the day. Hubs was walking the waterline with Son2 , not far from where Son1 was splashing in the shallow waves. At some point Son1 ventured out just a bit further and got caught by the undertow. One second he was there and the next he was gone. Hubs looked to where he had been and he barely caught sight of our son struggling over 100 feet away from where he had disappeared. Hubs let go of Son2′s hand and swam out to sea. Son2 tried to follow Daddy and he too got tugged out.
I have no idea how I saw what was happening. Perhaps God intervened. Whatever it was, I ran out into the surf. Within five feet, the ocean floor gave way and I was suddenly underwater. I barely found the bottom with my feet. It wasn’t sand that I found however. I was barely balanced on the jagged rocks of an underwater part of the jetty.
I looked ahead of me and my heart dropped. My baby was floating face down. I reached out and grabbed him and squeezed him to me.
And I froze. The waves were rough and all I could do was to hold onto Son2 and barely keep my head above water. In my panic, I looked further out to sea and saw my husband holding my older son and treading water.
As if from far away, I heard someone calling to me, “Give me the baby!” The last thing I wanted to do was to relinquish my grip on my son. I turned my head and a man looked deeply into my eyes. “It’s okay, honey. Just give me the baby and we’ll get you out of the water.” Over his shoulder, I could see that onlookers had managed to make a human chain. They had to forceably pull me and my son to shore. Others raced along the jetty and grabbed my husband and my other son.
We were lucky that, being a toddler, Son2 had breathed in deep in order to cry. That breath had filled his lungs and kept him buoyant. Once he was out of the water, he was just very angry and cried. Son2 was blue and that was due to the coldness of the deeper water. Hubs and I? We were white as ghosts.
I shudder to think of what happened that day. Memorial Day isn’t considered “season” in Brigantine and there were no lifeguards yet. Thank God for the roughly two dozen people who were there to help us. I could have lost my entire family that day.
On Memorial Day, I always think of the many soldiers who gave their lives for freedoms that I enjoy. I pray for each and every one.
But I also remember the ‘everyday heroes’ who were there….to spend a day at the beach ….. and instead were there to protect my sons, my husband and myself. I never got a single name, but I never forget a single one of them.
Son1 went to school with a guy named Rob. They went through 12 years together in school and during those years, they played all manner of sports together, were in Cub Scouts together, etc. As a matter of fact, when they first started high school, computers weren’t in every home. (Can you even imagine??) Since Rob’s mom was a teacher, they had one and it was thanks to her, that Son1 was able to do alot of his school work.
After high school, they went in different directions. Rob had seizures and one had caused a car accident which injured his back. Unfortunately, Rob became addicted to pain meds. He spent some time in jail, was thrown out of his mother’s house and went on to live with friends. It is really a small world sometimes. Rob lived with the first girls I ever babysat. They all enjoyed their smoke and pretty much laid low.
Eventually, Rob moved on and continued drinking and partying. It was more than Son1 wanted to associate with, and so their friendship faded.
Rob was one of those kids who always said hi to the parents of his friends. It wasn’t unusual for me to sit outside of my house and have him stop by to say hello and shoot the breeze for a bit. I would straight up tell him that it was time to stop the party path. I would tell him that he had potential. I would point out the talents that he had. And he would give me a sad smile and say ” Someday”
We reconnected on Facebook. I thought it was a little strange that he wanted to be my ‘friend’ there, but I am friends with a few kids-or those I consider to be kids. You know, the kids who lived down the street, your friends’ kids, whatever. We’re all adults. We shared jokes, comments and birthday wishes.
He had cleaned up his act. He had an apartment. His seizures were diagnosed as being a reason to consider him ‘disabled’. He may not be working as steadily as he would like, but he was in a good place. He even had a steady girlfriend. She was almost my age, with an ex-husband and teenaged kids. But he was happy.
She was not. She was an addict.
Rob would turn her away when she was too fucked up but he would eventually look for her and make sure that she was okay. Unfortunately, he couldn’t find her a few weeks ago. The next day, he learned that she had killed herself. Then he learned that she had been in contact with her ex. The only comfort he found was to look at her Facebook page and the pictures that he had on his page.
I got a message today. Rob sent me his phone number and he wants me to call him this weekend. “I could use a friend about now. I miss her so much and my hurt is deep. I feel like a shadow of my old self. I’m afraid of the old habits that are calling me.”
I don’t know what I’m going to say. I suppose I will just listen to whatever he needs to get off his chest.
I do know that I won’t be waiting for the weekend. I’m calling him tonight.
My life is like mad mood swings lately. I have so much to do, but no incentive to move my ass.
I need to get a few things out of the basement and off to the Salvation Army. I have boxes for said things and the stuff is near the boxes……like beside the boxes. Also beside the boxes are piles of winter clothes and a few summer things that need to make their way upstairs. I just need to put them in the box and take them away.
It’s so cool in the basement too, but for some reason, I feel as if this job is “The Most Awful Job in the World”. And so I put it off.
I have stripped the wallpaper off the bathroom walls. I have spackle for the imperfections and a Mighty Mouse sander to finish it off. I also have the primer. It’s not as if there are a jillion spots to spackle and sand, there are really only a few. I just know that once I start, I will work like a horse in order to finish what I’ve started. Also, working like that, I will more than likely make my arms ache. And so I put it off.
Graduation is getting closer and closer. I have the menu in my head. I need to write it down. I could be buying soda, paper goods, and table cloths. I could extend my dining room table and place a few flowering plants outside. I need to start ordering food and cake and chairs. I haven’t done one of those things yet. If I do, that means that Babygirl will really be graduating. I get stressed and need to relax. And then I put them off.
But don’t start thinking that I am rolled into a blanket and lying in the dark on the couch. I’m not sitting on the computer 24/7. I’m not blogging or keeping up with laundry or watching movies. This is what I am doing:
Now I am moving on to the High School dances. Not exactly the mixers and not quite the proms. I am talking about two that were very special for special reasons.
One year, shortly after my uncle died, my aunt Margie wanted to have Thanksgiving dinner at her house. It was her way of getting through the holidays that first year. She managed to squeeze roughly two dozen people into her apartment, which was above the bar that Uncle Al owned. So there we were, four teenaged cousins who were bored to tears. That night, at my cousin’s school, was the “Turkey Trot”. None of us were very excited about going, but we were dropped off in front of the high school. Things shaped up once the music started. My cousin Kathleen and I were free to be brand new people. We were from the suburbs in a city dance. We were suddenly popular, carefree and outgoing. We could do whatever we wanted because we would never see these people again.
That night we were silly, giggly girls. We danced all night. My cousins Al and Margaret were popular by association, having brought the ‘new girls’. It was one of the most fun times we shared as kids.
The second was my “Ring Dance”. In our school, it was a symbol of hard work and achievement. We didn’t get our rings until Senior Year. I had planned on going with a guy named Howard. He played sports, and because of that, it wasn’t unusual for us to go for days without seeing or speaking. I called him the day before the dance to iron out the last details-when he’d pick me up, pictures, dinner before or after, etc. When he answered, he was with his girlfriend. He had forgotten our plans.
I was devastated. What would I do now? How could I tell my parents? How could I face my friends? I did the only thing I could think of….. I called my friend Frank.
Frank had graduated a year ahead of me. We missed seeing him on campus all the time and he would show up whenever he didn’t have to work. His prized possession was a red camaro. He was always washing and waxing it. When he answered his phone, I burst into tears. He let me cry without saying a word. Finally, all I could do was ask three questions.
“Are you busy tomorrow night?” “No”
“Is your car clean?” “Yes”
“Can you wear a suit and pick me up tomorrow at 7?” “Yeah, where we going?”
I began to cry again and he quickly said “I don’t need to know. I’ll be there.”
I hung up the phone feeling more relieved than anything. I still couldn’t bring myself to tell my girlfriends. I only told my mom that things had changed but I never told her what.
Frank showed up at my door on time. He had a corsage, because he didn’t know whether or not it was a ‘flower’ occasion or not (and better safe than sorry). We got into his car and he said “Where to?”
When I finally told him everything, he laughed. He couldn’t wait to see everyone’s face when we showed up. He hadn’t said a word to anyone. Not even our friend “Lostmahead”–who knew everything–knew about this.
We had a great night. Frank and I had a bond that was hard to shake. We shared other heartache during our young friendship. But we also shared other things as well.
You see, Frank and I are still friends and his daughters call me “Mom Chris”. That dance was more important to me than my own Senior Prom…and I went to that with Hubby!
Sybil Law asked me about a recollection of one of my first dances. I was pummelled by more than one, and each was significant in some way or another. I have decided that she is going to get a ‘two-fer’ as a belated birthday gift.
Dances for me, began in the 8th grade. The first was actually a high school dance. A couple of my friends and I managed to get permission to go to the high school mixer at the boy’s high school. I remember wearing a rust colored corduroy skirt with a matching jacket. I had bought a pair of platform shoes and this was my first chance to wear them.
Oh the awkwardness! I was tall, thin and had big boobs. The fact that I was so thin, made the boobs seem that much bigger. I was tall and then I added another four inches with the shoes. My group of friends and I were in our spot and we occasionally danced. We felt out of our element. I remember how jealous I felt when Gigi was the first asked to dance by one of the boys. I honestly don’t remember anything else that I can put into words. It is a jumble of sensations…..the smell of a high school cafeteria, where we managed to sneak a smoke….the chill of the fall air…. trying not to sweat while I slow danced….and of course the last dance of the night to “Knights in White Satin”
The last of the 8th grade year was our graduation dance. Some girls were coupled up with some boys, but most of us were nervously anticipating our first contacts. There are only two things that I can think of. The first is that I really wasn’t looking forward to going. I cannot remember what happened that had made me not want to go, but my mother would not let me miss what was supposed to be a milestone. The other thing that I remembered was that one of my classmates, Bill, was wheeled into the dance. I say wheeled, because Bill had crashed his bike three weeks before and he was in a body cast. I remember the cheers that went up as he came in. Most of us had not seen him since the accident.
I can remember dancing with Gary, watching Kathy dance with Bill B, and I remember walking home with a gaggle of girls in the dark. So much for a ‘milestone’…..seriously, that is it.
What you must remember is that this was 1976. My memory isn’t what it used to be.
I woke up this morning and began the task of stripping the wallpaper from my bathroom walls. I made my way around the door frame and above the shower. Once I got enough paper to hold, it peeled right off, nice and clean. Above the sink, in the area that I have the biggest wall area, the glue is tight. I used a spray that Son1 used to do his bathroom. It worked…..but there is muscle needed. My alarm went off at 3:15. It was time to clean up stripped paper and chips of paint and glue.
It’s game time. Time to crack a beer and watch the pre-game show.
I am a soccer fan (football for you Europeans). Philadelphia has it’s first MLS team- the Philadelphia Union. Their “official” fans are the Sons of Ben. Son2 is a SOB. He left hours ago for the tailgating festivities. They will gather together at the designated spot just before gametime and march into the stadium as a group. At away games, they choose a bar to gather and they parade to the games. It is an awesome sight. They will have their own entrance in the new stadium that will open in two weeks. Their own entrance! That is how rabid these fans are. We have waited hella long for a team and we take it seriously.
I shoot the shit for a while with the Union Facebook group. We critique the lineup and debate defense strategies. And then the game starts.
I watch alone in my living room. I shout at shots on goal. I yell at the referees. There is almost a Union goal. I am screaming as Dallas FC scores.
I am happy about the return of our star player, Sebastien LeToux. He looks good after an injury. I marvel at the sight of the other players. They look so young. Some are mere children….really. Three are 18 and one is 17 years old. They are boys playing on team where the others are 20-30 years old. There is lots of comeraderie between the players of both teams. There is laughter between bouts of intense aggression.
The street is quiet, save for my yells. Hubby sleeps through it all. Two and then three near miss shots by LeToux. I can’t stand this. I can almost feel his frustration.
Half time. I take the time to shower.
I come back to start of the second half of both the game and my six pack.
The atmosphere is changed. The fans are more outspoken and loud in their rally cheers. The laughter is gone and the game has become more intense. The referee begins handing out yellow penalty cards to both teams. The playing has become vicious.
My own demeanor has changed. I am spending more time holding my breath or letting out sighs of desperation. The last four games were played on the road and we lost every one. This is a homecoming of sorts. The last home game was the last win. Instead of sipping my beer, I take long pulls on the bottle.
A kicked ball has flown into the seats….into the Sons of Ben. Is that….? Why, yes it is! There is the smiling face of Son2! How I wish I was there to cheer with him.
The clock ticks away and I have watched a game in which although the Union have given their all, they have lost.
WHAT’S THIS???
In the last minute, the last second of play, my boys have scored. The game ends in a tie. The crowd goes wild. I jump to my feet and I’ve scared the shit out of the dog.
Now Hubs can return from the bedroom. He can watch his own television again.
Finn asked, “What do you think about when you’re alone and it’s quiet?’
Okay so, I was sitting here last night. I had taken off my headphones because I wasn’t finding music that matched my mood. Hubs had gone to bed hours before and the kids were also in their beds. Stupid Me had decided to have not one, but two, cups of French Vanilla coffee after dinner and it looked like I was up for a while.
At one point I looked at the clock. It was midnight. My mind was just….buzzing. I don’t know what you would call it, but that’s it. No words, no full thoughts, nothing but static. I wanted to write. If I could just find a topic, somewhere to focus that mental energy, I would be fine.
Nothing. And so I asked my questions.
This morning, I sat to answer them. The television is off and I am alone. All I can hear is the songs of birds and an occasional car going by. Some of the things on my mind are fairly normal…..What to have for dinner? What is the dog chewing on? Where is my other shoe? Where can I find a Bunny for Grant?
But I also noticed something else.
There are alot of ‘shoulds’.
I should do laundry. I should mail those invitations. I should exercise. I should get rid of that chair.
So I turned them off and changed to “I wish”
I wish I could travel more. I wish I had some skills that I could use for employment. I wish I could see my friends more. I wish I had something to do this weekend. I wish Hubs would quit smoking (more than anything in the world.) I wish I could punch Grant in the junk so he’d focus on something other than ‘bunnies’. I wish I wasn’t so lazy.
Well, I can’t change alot of those things overnight, but I can do two of them today.
I’ll call my friends and see if we can do something together this weekend.
RSS Atom
