Exclusion

Being different is something that I know a lot about.  Back in grade school, when I moved to Mokena, I had a hard time “fitting in”.  Before then, I was a “popular” girl, having a “boyfriend” or two, and all the friends I needed (or wanted).  When I moved in fourth grade, I became an outcast.  It was a difficult transition for me, and I was miserable.  My mother suggested that I could walk to school with a girl who lived near us, and she had a friend who walked with her, but I was “different”.  The girl was confident, cocky perhaps, and I liked her all right but I got along better with her friend, who eventually became my friend.  Truth be told, all through grade school and high school, I felt as though I was a “tag-along” because I was not popular like they were.  At one point, my mother and father were having a discussion one night, after I confided in them about how miserable I was, suggested that I might be more popular if I were to “care about what the boys thought more than Grandma's apple pie”.  Really?!  Grandma's apple pie is one of things that I miss most about my grandma, besides her smile.  She would get a bushel of apples that my grandpa had brought back from one of his frequent trips to Michigan (to see his relatives) and make, like, 20 pies from them.  They were the best!  Every time we went to my grandparent's house, she'd have homemade goodies for us to take home, and how I loved her for being so “traditional”. 

I wish I had ½ the talent, and patience, for making all that homemade food!

Anyhow, it hurt my feelings.  They tried to put me on a diet when I was 11, and then after that, I developed a thirst for “diet pills”, which really was caffeine or later, “speed”.  It wasn't until   sophomore year of high school, when a close friend overdosed on the stuff, that I stopped.  I became repulsed by pills.  I eventually made peace with my looks, and decided to go for guys who were not in my school.  By junior year, I was well-versed in “how to get an attractive guy”.  I already had a type.  I just didn't have enough self-confidence to demand respect.

Respect is central.  Respect for yourself and others is an absolute neccessity.  I wish I could go back now and demand some from people in my life who treated me as though I was garbage, to be thrown away when they were done with me.  I, indeed each of us, deserve better.  This is one thing that I emphasize to my daughter.  Not everyone will like us, but they need to respect us.  A while back, and I'm not sure how long now, I saw a movie about Queen Elizabeth I.  In this movie, she said that she'd rather have people respect her than like her, because it's harder to keep people liking you if you have something unpopular to say, while respect is the more desirable because then you can do what you need to do.  If people like you, fine.  We can't be people pleasers, it's just not healthy.

All this has led me to the point where I need to teach this to my daughter. 

It came up, two years ago, where she was excluded from the lunch table because she didn't like Hannah Montana, iCarly, Big Time Rush and some other Nickolodean show.  She liked SpongeBob.  She likes cartoons like SpongeBob, Looney Tunes and Scooby Doo.  These are not what the “popular” kids like.  On top of that, she doesn't get into cheerleading.  Some of the girls want to “cheer” at recess, and she wants to go on the playground equipment.  She has been in martial arts school for the last two years to learn how to defend herself, which was also a reason for the girls at the lunch table to exclude her.   One day, one of the asked her if she was a tomboy or a girly-girl.  I don't know what she said exactly, but whatever it was, it was not the answer they were looking for.  She sat sadly alone most days.  She made a friend this year who is willing to stick by her through thick and thin.  I am grateful for this. 

She wanted to be in Girl Scouts, but now wants to drop out because she isn't connecting with any of the girls in her troop.  I don't know whether to let her drop out or gently insist that she stay the rest of this year, so as not to give up to easily.  I am torn.  I don't want her to be forced to be somewhere where she is miserable, but I feel as though being a Girl Scout may help her “image” and her social skills with girls.  Recently, she received a scholarship to take dance classes at the nearby mall's dance school.  I felt that learning how to dance and be with other girls may also help her in the long run.  She loves the classes as much as she did the martial arts classes, but the money is so tight that I don't know how I'm going to come up with things she needs for the classes.

She would like to go back to martial arts in the spring, when we can ride our bikes to the school again.  Truthfully, I would love to see her continue with it, but I feel so guilty that I haven't had the money to pay for the last two years, much less any more, that I cannot get past the feeling of being “just a taker”.  I wanted to do some photographic work for the owner of the school, but he hasn't really indicated what work I could do.  Every time that there was an event that I could shoot, he had someone else doing it.  I became discouraged.  He was nice about it, but I felt “funny”.  If I had the money, I would love to pay for everything, truly.  Right now, I just don't.  It's a choice:  either keep my kid at home and don't expose her to the things the other girls in her grade (who come from homes where there are two parents who work) do and watch her self-esteem dwindle and she becomes more and more sad about being excluded, or humble myself (humiliate) and ask for help to help her.  I have felt humiliated more times than I can remember, most recently for asking for a box of cereal for my kid from a local food pantry where the old man muttered walking down the hall to get it, “well, doesn't she have a big set of balls”.  I gave them back their food and told them that my balls and I, and God's grace, have enable me to raise my daughter by myself living in poverty for the past eight years, God bless them.”

Being poor hasn't been easy.  My first ex-fiance, I call him a-hole #1, called me up a couple of years ago to wish me a “happy Thanksgiving”.  Recently joining the Tea Party, he asked me, “Didn't you know when you chose to be a single mother that you'd be a burden on society?  I can be a single father because I make enough.”  It was the last time that I spoke to him.  He ruined any good mood that I was in that holiday.  I struggled to get food on the table, and here he was judging me.  God bless him too.

I want more for my daughter.  Even though being shunned for getting on the math team and liking “boy things” is rough now, she has her sights set on getting a scholarship to go to college, stay “on the narrow path”, and become a teacher when she grows up.  When I think about it, I cry, because I wish that I had the same direction as she does at such a tender age.  I applaud her self-respect, and am going to do anything in my power (with God's help) to get her there.

I only wish, and I'm going to work on it as the school PTO building rep, that kids' lives weren't being directed by toy marketing companies and television stations and living up to some stupid, unattainable standards, and instead be encouraging to those around them to be the best “them that they can be”, thereby raising everyone one up.  When are we going to think for ourselves instead of what others feed us?  When are we going to show true courage and reach out to others, instead of gossip about them behind their backs, or judge them?  Martin Luther King, Jr. said that he had a dream, that people would be judged by the content of their character instead of by the color of their skin, and I'll add by the thickness of their wallet.

Grateful

Being poor, while sometimes very difficult and frustrating, has been a blessing in a way for my daughter and myself.  We've endured through things that many people in this country today do not.  This week's sermon in church was about perspective.  I listened intently.  Our pastor, a relatable, funny guy, told us that when bad things happen to us, we usually ask “why”.  “Why, God, why?”  We usually don't ask, “what?”.  What is it that we're supposed to learn here, what is it that we don't get?  God's perspective, he said, is very different than ours.

Back when I graduated high school after junior year, I set out in life with some expectations.  I went to college and worked 2 jobs.  I drove a nice car around town, and my clothes, hair and make-up were very important to me.  After an incident in the bathroom in April of 1983, I decided that I had enough of living with my parents (again), and I calmly told my mother that I was leaving and would see her again after I turned 18.  She didn't believe me, although she seemed a bit worried.  I waited for my opportunity, packed a bag, kissed my sleeping brothers goodbye, and left.  I found the underbelly of life, sneaking around here and there, living with men who used me, being hungry at times.  To this day, I can eat only so much peanut butter and jelly.  For a time, I couldn't stand it.  I ate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for a stretch in order to survive.  A couple of men tried to get me into prostitution.  I didn't go through with it. 

After my parents split up about a month later, a member of my family contacted a former neighbor and asked to leave me a message, in case I contacted her.  When I went home one day, to get a couple of checks that I knew should be there, an income tax refund and a Pell grant refund, which I needed to eat and had been taken and cashed by my father, my neighbor saw me and gave me the message.  My mom was having a difficult time and my brothers needed me.  I was pulled in different directions.  I wanted to help my brothers, but being around the family was like a step back to me.  I did end up going back to live with my mom and my brothers for a couple of months, but by the 4^th of July, I wanted out again.  My mom and my aunt stayed up all night the night before and were making fun of me.  I guess they thought that I was sleeping, but I cried all night listening to them and the next day, while everyone else went over to another relative's house, I snuck away again, this time to live with an abusive a-hole, who didn't really want me.  It took me another 10 years to finally get away from him, and ironically, it was my mother's other sister who took me in, so that I could go back to school. 

It was difficult.  I felt out of place.  I struggled to get myself together, and I felt unwanted and alone.  I tried everything I could to be self-sufficient, but I couldn't earn enough to support myself fully.  I always felt back then, and indeed until I moved away in 2001, that I was just another problem to my mother.  I hoped that our relationship would be restored and improved, but it only got worse.  She was married at the time to an abusive alcoholic a-hole, who looked at me like I was scum.  He treated my brothers the same way.  No one that lived in that house was happy.

What does it all mean?  Even though living here, by myself, has been one of the hardest things that I've had to do in my life, and at times is the lonliest place for me away from my friends and family, I've learned a few things.

We don't have cable television any more.  My daughter, who has been a great reader since kindergarten, manages to find things to do instead of sit in front of the t.v. or the computer.  We do have a few computer games that she likes, and we do rent movies here and there, but we manage.  She really misses her favorite show, SpongeBob Squarepants.  She has taken some flack for liking SpongeBob, which many of the other girls have shunned her for, but I told her that it's important to be true to herself, through thick and thin.

We lost our car (to age) in June.  A couple of bikes were donated to a church that we associate with, and we ride around town on our bikes, matching retro-styled Schwinn cruisers, which always draws compliments from passerbys.  “Like your bikes!” they smile and tell us.  When we can't get somewhere by bike, we take the bus.  Money has been extremely tight since the unemployment ended last month, but we appreciate it when we do get to go somewhere.  After having to get around on a bike or on foot most of the time, I've lost 10 pounds.

Every night at the dinner table, we say grace.  We thank God for what we have, because we know that there are people out there who indeed have less.  My daughter will come up with variations on the theme, but now, after doing this for several months, she's getting better at it.  A good friend sent us an MP3 player last Christmas.  It has taken me months to get the confidence to fool around with the computer to learn how to copy songs to the player, but recently, I learned how.  I now have another computer skill, and she's thrilled to be able to listen to music anywhere she wants to go. 

She doesn't have high expectations for Christmas.  We have an older Nintendo GameCube, not a Wii, and I don't have to worry about buying the latest system every 2 years, with each game ranging from $30 to $100.  She wants some Little Debbie Zebra Cakes, a pop-up coloring house, a GameCube game, and some money to go to the chiropractor (we both believe her back hurts because she's out-of-whack from sports).  Of course, I'm trying to find a way (and a job) to get her more, but I'm happy to say that she is empathetic and realistic. 

Having spent years being celibate, while living in my mother's house and again while my daughter's father was in prison, I've avoided many pitfalls that would have otherwise been a stumbling block for us.  Being afraid of what I might find out there in the single world, I chose to remain alone because it was the safe thing to do.  I've seen too many women, in real life and in the movies, choose precisely the wrong man to come into their lives, and their families were worse off for it.  I've remained disease-free.  My daughter has never woken up to a strange man in her mommy's room, passed out from drunken revelry the night before.  She knows that she is safe with me, and I love that.

We have a roof over our heads and food on our table.  That's more than some people have, and I'm grateful that God and kind people have our backs.  A job will come along eventually, and I'll be grateful for that too.  Until then, it's “one day at a time”.  My wish when I was 18 was to make people happy, and while I realize now that I can't make other people happy, I truly do enjoy putting smiles on people's faces.  I give toys and clothes to neighborhood kids who smile when they get something, and I've encouraged my daughter to do the same.  It's a gift that keeps on giving.

I've lowered my expectations materially, but we seem to get what we need when we need it, and I know that God loves us, because we've made it through.  I know who my friends are, and I appreciate them all the more.  I love my family, but I hope to be more than they expected of me.  I believe that God will open a window for me that will take me to where He wants me to go, because His plans for me are better than I could hope for myself. 

Kindness

It has been a difficult couple of weeks for us at the “SQ ranch”.  I've always wanted to use that expression, ever since I heard my cousin use it for their family-the “J ranch”.  Tabitha has been having headaches in the back of her head for the last few months, and I've taken her to get her vision checked.  She has 20/20 vision, with a very slight leaning to the far-sighted side.  I've taken her to her pediatritian and her allergy doctor for some answer, but they've not been able to give us one.  Now she has to go to see a neurologist and we're on a waiting list for that.  This last week, she reported that her vision gets blurry, and sometimes she gets a tingling sensation in her hands.  She downplays the symptoms to doctors, and it's frustrating to me because I would be alarmed if those things were happening to me.  I think that she's afraid of what they will find, so she acts as though it's no big deal.

We had to stop going to the martial arts classes.  It's not because they haven't been great, it's because she has been going for the past couple of years and she knows how to defend herself to a certain extent, and also because it's no longer safe to take the bikes to get there in the dark and now it's getting much colder. 

I would like to say a few words about Tri-Star.  The owner and manager, Mr. Brummitt, has been a wonderful blessing to us (and I'm sure to everyone he meets).  He is one of the most calm, kind and generous people you'd ever want to meet.  He has been so, so kind to my daughter.  She started taking lessons there 2 years ago because she was assaulted on the sidewalk that runs from our building to the play area, when she was coming back from the play area, by neighborhood boys with baseball bats.  They surrounded her, lifted their bats to threaten her, lifted up her clothing, groped her, and humiliated her.  This caused her to withdraw, as in she didn't want to go outside for 2 weeks.  My normally singing, twirling and happy girl turned into someone who slumped and shrank.  She began acting out her anger.  I tried to get her some counseling, but their funding ended.  I tried to get a restraining order against the boys (or press charges) but no one told me that I had to prove that they were stalking her previously.  I prayed that God would bring us justice.  Their mother told them to lie in court, saying that they weren't even there.  It was devastating for us.  We wanted to leave.  We would have left, if there was somewhere to go.

Mr. Brummitt understood all this.  He met with us, told me that they would put a protective “bubble” around her, and teach her to defend herself.  To say that I am grateful would be an understatement.  I am so, so grateful to this man for giving my daughter back her song.  Even though living here is still a daily battle, the scars have begun to fade.  You know, what really hurt is that the boys who caused her withdrawl didn't have to leave.  We still see them almost every day, and I have to tell you, it's difficult to see that family, even now.   I will be forever grateful to Mr. Brummitt for giving my daughter her confidence back.  She would still like to participate, but I had to tell her that we need a car to get there, and that I would speak to Mr. Brummitt to see if that would work for him, and it was probably going to be a while before I could get transportation.  She still wants to go to the “Ninja” camp next summer.  I hope to be able to afford it by then.

There have been others who have stepped up to help us over the years.  Just when you think that you're alone, someone comes along to renew your sense that not all people are bad.  Finding work here has proven to be an enormous challenge.  I've been looking for the last couple of months, and have come up with a big “zero”.  I've never had this much trouble finding work, but I know I'm not alone.  The other day, upon hearing, again, that I was a day late and a dollar short, I started crying, right in front of a friend.  Embarrassed, I just wanted to escape from the van.  I was drawn to the river.  We got out of the van, and walked down by the river, and the sense of connection came over me again, and I was able to deal with the next challenge.  I had to take Tabitha to the hospital to try to get a CAT scan or MRI to find out why her vision has become blurry.  They didn't want to give her one after a normal neurological evaluation.  I have been so frustrated that the doctors are dragging their feet, meanwhile, my daughter is suffering.  It has been challenging, to say the least.

I guess that I'd like to close with gratitude.  I'd like to thank all of the good, kind and giving Christian people that have brought us through some dark days.  Without these people we wouldn't have made it this far.  I am grateful for a God who puts love in people's hearts, so they have love to give others.  The world is a cruel place, an unforgiving place, but I thank God that He forgives and loves us.  Without Him we wouldn't have made it this far either.  Thank you for looking out over us, making the rough ways smooth.