Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Everyone Needs a Father
Today is a sacred day. It is Father's Day. Like many other day's in America, today has taken on a highly commercialized and profitable industry. Sometimes it almost feels as though the day should be centered around the best gadget and who will get it for dad, or will dad instead get one of those horribly humiliating ties that will be stashed away in the back of the closet, only to be worn once- a year from now- when he is given another to replace it. My mind has been racing today with all sorts of emotions. I don't even know where to begin. Please forgive me if my rambling's seem insignificant or hard to follow... eventually, hopefully, a full-circle will be made, and what I am attempting to say will make sense.
My dad is the greatest dad any girl could ask for. He understands each of his children in a way I hope to one day understand my own children. I've learned many valuable things from my father like: how to start a camp fire with only one match, how to transplant flowers and keep them alive at the same time, how to whistle, and the importance of using proper grammar. That's just the beginning. There are specific moments in my life that will always stay with me and majority of them involve my dad.
When I was 10 my dad worked 70-80 hours a week in order to support his family. He also had cancer at this time and was having to go through treatment which was extremely exhausting for him. I remember one Saturday night, my mom took me and my sister to my dad's work so that the three of us could spend his break time with him. I was struggling with some bullies at school at this time and didn't know how to talk about it or what to do about it and I remember walking with my dad outside and he was asking me how I was and how school was going and I was giving him short answers, "fine," "good," "not much is new." He knew something was wrong because I wasn't as talkative as I usually acted and he was patient with me and let me tell him my struggles at my own pace. He never pushed the issue, but I remember after about 10 minutes of talking I finally opened up to my dad what was going on and I started to cry and he put his arm around me and we walked like that and he told me how much he loved me and how much my family loved me and how he would always be there to comfort me and pick me up when life was kicking me down. I felt safe and secure at that moment because I knew my dad was honest to his word and that he would never let me down and he never has let me down; he's always been there for me.
When I was 13 years old I spoke like a valley girl... you know, like... you know and whatever... like I said stuff like somethin' and whatever... you know? It was really obnoxious. It was so bad, I couldn't go more than 3 words without adding one of the above nonsensical words... it was that bad. Anyway, I was "talking" to my dad one day while we were out weeding the flower bed and I don't remember what it was that I was talking about, all I remember is that, to me at the time, it was important. When I finished what I was saying, I looked at my dad and asked him, "You know what I'm sayin'?" And he looked at me and said with a heavy sigh, "No. Honey, I have no idea what it is you are trying to say. I listened as hard as I could, and I have no idea what you are talking about. I would love to know what you are talking about because I can tell it's important to you, but I'm at a loss as to what you were trying to say." I was surprised. He went on to say something to the effect of, "Other Mother, the most important thing in this life, other than family, is your education and your ability to communicate. Your education and your ability to communicated effectively with other's is your ticket to greatness. You're better than somethin' and whatever'. You're better than, you know, the people out there who don't take advantage of the education they are receiving. You are better than what you are settling for... and, to be honest sweetheart, based on that conversation, I have no clue what it is you are settling for, but I don't like it because it's confusing." I remember that my feeling's weren't hurt by what he said because of how he said it, it wasn't degrading, it was truly confused, and I knew that what he was saying was right and from that day on I strived to communicate in a way that was understood and not confused. My ability to communicate is something that I know I'm strong with and I thank my father for the important lesson he taught me that day while we weeded the flower beds. But, mostly, I am thankful to him for not making me feel like an idiot when, truly, I was acting like an idiot.
When I was 16 years old I came home extremely late one night. I had had a flat tire and didn't know how to change it. Thankfully I came across a friend of mine who helped me, but the result was I got home much later than anticipated by my parent's and they were scared. I know what you are thinking, dear reader of mine, "Why didn't I call him on my cell phone?" Well, this was the dark ages, it was clear back in the year 2001 when teenagers didn't think it mandatory to be provided a cell phone by their parents... and so, I didn't have one. I got home and my parents were waiting and I explained to them what had happened. My dad flipped a gasket and yelled, "I better never hear of another person touching your tires!" I won't lie, I laughed at him... big mistake. I thought he was joking; turns out he wasn't joking... at all. I have my dad's temperment... and so, that night as we fought, neither one of us would back down and it progressively got worse and worse. The next day at school, I was so distraught because I kept playing over in my head the stupidity I displayed in arguing with my dad. It made me sick and I skipped out on one of my classes. When I tried to turn in a forged note the secretary (who, I'm convinced hated me)... she felt it necessary to call my dad to let him know I made it back from my doctor's appointment. I was in the office as she made the phone call and I remember hearing the words, "Oh, you mean you didn't sign this note excusing her from Algebra? Well, that's strange because I'm reading it clear as day and it is signed by you.... (eternal pause). Thank you for your time, you have a good day as well." The whole time, the secretary was staring at me with a look of accomplisment on her face and I sat there glaring at her. When I got up to leave she told me about detention and I told her that I look forward to spending more time with Mr. Nielsen and picking his brain about Beowulf as he happened to be my favorite teacher. I then asked her if she felt better about herself and then I walked off. When I got home that day I was horrified. I knew I let my dad down and I knew he would have a lot to say about it. I walked to his room and he was on a business call so, I waited patiently for him to be done. He sat on his bed and I remember looking at him and noticing for the first time ever, how tired he looked. We sat in silence for a while when he finally said, "Other Mother I've been thinking all day about our argument last night and it's made me sick to my stomach how we fought. I have been wondering to myself today how my behavior my affect you and your actions. I'm sorry for last night; I hope you'll forgive me. The saddest thing in this whole mess, Other Mother, is that you betrayed the trust of someone, and trust is the hardest thing to earn. You may never earn that woman's trust back, because you betrayed it, all you can do is try your hardest to gain it back and hope that you haven't broken her trust completely. I love you and I'm sorry about last night." I learned in that moment that trust is the hardest thing to earn and the easiest to break. I apologized to the secretary the next day and I told her that I understand she may never trust me again, but that I wasn't concerned about whether or not she trusted me because she obviously never did, seeming as she took it upon herself to make that phone call in the first place which wasn't a part of standard protocol and that I knew what standard protocol was as I was on office assistant for 8th period. I then thanked her for being the reason that mine and my dad's relationship was stronger that day than it was the day before.
When I was 22 year's old, both of my grandpa's died within 2 weeks of one another. It was a hard time. The hardest was the passing of my father's dad because there was a lot of family turmoil in my dad's family before his father passed away. His sibling's didn't want my family to come to the funeral, but we went anyway and it was very difficult. My dad got up and spoke and I will never forget the example that he was to me through his own difficulty. He apologized to his sibling's for any wrong he might have caused them. He told them that he didn't understand what went wrond or when that wrong occurred, but that if the anger that was directed towards him and his family was his wrong doing then he apologizes for all the hurt he caused. What you need to know about this situation is that my father was not in the wrong. In the mess that occurred before my grandfather's death, my father was not the antagonist. I'm not going to sit here and throw stones and say whose fault it was because... that's lame, but what I will say was that my father apologized for hurt he did not commit. Family is important to my dad. He's always lived his life as an example to his children that you do whatever you are capable of doing for your family when they need you. He raised his children to understand that "blood is thicker than water," and that all we can take with us when this life is over is familial connection. Family is all we have. Even though my father was not in the wrong, he apologized to his sibling's and let them know he will always love them and when they are ready to have him back in their life that he will be ready and waiting to be a part of their lives again.
I love my dad. He's the greatest example of good that I know. I wouldn't be who I am today without having his example throughout my entire life. There is no way I would have survived placing my baby boy in the care of a more capable family without the love of my family and specifically the love of my father. It is because of the love my father has given me throughout my life that I knew how important it was that my baby boy have a daddy, and a daddy was not something I could provide for him. Father's are irreplaceable. A father's presence, or lack there-of, in their child's life single-handedly can alter that child's life for the better or the worse. Fatherhood is sacred. Fatherhood cannot be replaced. Fatherhood is necessary for the healthy development of a child. I love my dad.
Happy Father's Day to all the father's out there.
My dad is the greatest dad any girl could ask for. He understands each of his children in a way I hope to one day understand my own children. I've learned many valuable things from my father like: how to start a camp fire with only one match, how to transplant flowers and keep them alive at the same time, how to whistle, and the importance of using proper grammar. That's just the beginning. There are specific moments in my life that will always stay with me and majority of them involve my dad.
When I was 10 my dad worked 70-80 hours a week in order to support his family. He also had cancer at this time and was having to go through treatment which was extremely exhausting for him. I remember one Saturday night, my mom took me and my sister to my dad's work so that the three of us could spend his break time with him. I was struggling with some bullies at school at this time and didn't know how to talk about it or what to do about it and I remember walking with my dad outside and he was asking me how I was and how school was going and I was giving him short answers, "fine," "good," "not much is new." He knew something was wrong because I wasn't as talkative as I usually acted and he was patient with me and let me tell him my struggles at my own pace. He never pushed the issue, but I remember after about 10 minutes of talking I finally opened up to my dad what was going on and I started to cry and he put his arm around me and we walked like that and he told me how much he loved me and how much my family loved me and how he would always be there to comfort me and pick me up when life was kicking me down. I felt safe and secure at that moment because I knew my dad was honest to his word and that he would never let me down and he never has let me down; he's always been there for me.
When I was 13 years old I spoke like a valley girl... you know, like... you know and whatever... like I said stuff like somethin' and whatever... you know? It was really obnoxious. It was so bad, I couldn't go more than 3 words without adding one of the above nonsensical words... it was that bad. Anyway, I was "talking" to my dad one day while we were out weeding the flower bed and I don't remember what it was that I was talking about, all I remember is that, to me at the time, it was important. When I finished what I was saying, I looked at my dad and asked him, "You know what I'm sayin'?" And he looked at me and said with a heavy sigh, "No. Honey, I have no idea what it is you are trying to say. I listened as hard as I could, and I have no idea what you are talking about. I would love to know what you are talking about because I can tell it's important to you, but I'm at a loss as to what you were trying to say." I was surprised. He went on to say something to the effect of, "Other Mother, the most important thing in this life, other than family, is your education and your ability to communicate. Your education and your ability to communicated effectively with other's is your ticket to greatness. You're better than somethin' and whatever'. You're better than, you know, the people out there who don't take advantage of the education they are receiving. You are better than what you are settling for... and, to be honest sweetheart, based on that conversation, I have no clue what it is you are settling for, but I don't like it because it's confusing." I remember that my feeling's weren't hurt by what he said because of how he said it, it wasn't degrading, it was truly confused, and I knew that what he was saying was right and from that day on I strived to communicate in a way that was understood and not confused. My ability to communicate is something that I know I'm strong with and I thank my father for the important lesson he taught me that day while we weeded the flower beds. But, mostly, I am thankful to him for not making me feel like an idiot when, truly, I was acting like an idiot.
When I was 16 years old I came home extremely late one night. I had had a flat tire and didn't know how to change it. Thankfully I came across a friend of mine who helped me, but the result was I got home much later than anticipated by my parent's and they were scared. I know what you are thinking, dear reader of mine, "Why didn't I call him on my cell phone?" Well, this was the dark ages, it was clear back in the year 2001 when teenagers didn't think it mandatory to be provided a cell phone by their parents... and so, I didn't have one. I got home and my parents were waiting and I explained to them what had happened. My dad flipped a gasket and yelled, "I better never hear of another person touching your tires!" I won't lie, I laughed at him... big mistake. I thought he was joking; turns out he wasn't joking... at all. I have my dad's temperment... and so, that night as we fought, neither one of us would back down and it progressively got worse and worse. The next day at school, I was so distraught because I kept playing over in my head the stupidity I displayed in arguing with my dad. It made me sick and I skipped out on one of my classes. When I tried to turn in a forged note the secretary (who, I'm convinced hated me)... she felt it necessary to call my dad to let him know I made it back from my doctor's appointment. I was in the office as she made the phone call and I remember hearing the words, "Oh, you mean you didn't sign this note excusing her from Algebra? Well, that's strange because I'm reading it clear as day and it is signed by you.... (eternal pause). Thank you for your time, you have a good day as well." The whole time, the secretary was staring at me with a look of accomplisment on her face and I sat there glaring at her. When I got up to leave she told me about detention and I told her that I look forward to spending more time with Mr. Nielsen and picking his brain about Beowulf as he happened to be my favorite teacher. I then asked her if she felt better about herself and then I walked off. When I got home that day I was horrified. I knew I let my dad down and I knew he would have a lot to say about it. I walked to his room and he was on a business call so, I waited patiently for him to be done. He sat on his bed and I remember looking at him and noticing for the first time ever, how tired he looked. We sat in silence for a while when he finally said, "Other Mother I've been thinking all day about our argument last night and it's made me sick to my stomach how we fought. I have been wondering to myself today how my behavior my affect you and your actions. I'm sorry for last night; I hope you'll forgive me. The saddest thing in this whole mess, Other Mother, is that you betrayed the trust of someone, and trust is the hardest thing to earn. You may never earn that woman's trust back, because you betrayed it, all you can do is try your hardest to gain it back and hope that you haven't broken her trust completely. I love you and I'm sorry about last night." I learned in that moment that trust is the hardest thing to earn and the easiest to break. I apologized to the secretary the next day and I told her that I understand she may never trust me again, but that I wasn't concerned about whether or not she trusted me because she obviously never did, seeming as she took it upon herself to make that phone call in the first place which wasn't a part of standard protocol and that I knew what standard protocol was as I was on office assistant for 8th period. I then thanked her for being the reason that mine and my dad's relationship was stronger that day than it was the day before.
When I was 22 year's old, both of my grandpa's died within 2 weeks of one another. It was a hard time. The hardest was the passing of my father's dad because there was a lot of family turmoil in my dad's family before his father passed away. His sibling's didn't want my family to come to the funeral, but we went anyway and it was very difficult. My dad got up and spoke and I will never forget the example that he was to me through his own difficulty. He apologized to his sibling's for any wrong he might have caused them. He told them that he didn't understand what went wrond or when that wrong occurred, but that if the anger that was directed towards him and his family was his wrong doing then he apologizes for all the hurt he caused. What you need to know about this situation is that my father was not in the wrong. In the mess that occurred before my grandfather's death, my father was not the antagonist. I'm not going to sit here and throw stones and say whose fault it was because... that's lame, but what I will say was that my father apologized for hurt he did not commit. Family is important to my dad. He's always lived his life as an example to his children that you do whatever you are capable of doing for your family when they need you. He raised his children to understand that "blood is thicker than water," and that all we can take with us when this life is over is familial connection. Family is all we have. Even though my father was not in the wrong, he apologized to his sibling's and let them know he will always love them and when they are ready to have him back in their life that he will be ready and waiting to be a part of their lives again.
I love my dad. He's the greatest example of good that I know. I wouldn't be who I am today without having his example throughout my entire life. There is no way I would have survived placing my baby boy in the care of a more capable family without the love of my family and specifically the love of my father. It is because of the love my father has given me throughout my life that I knew how important it was that my baby boy have a daddy, and a daddy was not something I could provide for him. Father's are irreplaceable. A father's presence, or lack there-of, in their child's life single-handedly can alter that child's life for the better or the worse. Fatherhood is sacred. Fatherhood cannot be replaced. Fatherhood is necessary for the healthy development of a child. I love my dad.
Happy Father's Day to all the father's out there.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Allow Me to Introduce You to...
... my alter ego.
Dear family and friends, as you read this post, you may find yourself blushing uncontrollably as you ask herself, "Is she doing this? Is Other Mother really exposing her insanity to the world wide web and all those who stumble upon her blog?" And, the answer dear loved ones o' mine is, "yes, yes I really am." So, gird up your loins oh ye faithful and be prepared to be amazed and horrified all in the same moment.
I've been thinking about my last semester at University a lot lately. It was, by far, the most difficult and rewarding semester I remember experiencing at University. I remember one class in particular. It was an American Literature survey class that covered American Literature of the late 19th century to Modern day American Literature. Being an English Literature major, I've always been a snob towards American Literature (yes, I know I'm American... ), while this truth is baffling, it also stems from an unexplainable source. While all Literature majors are united n their nerdom... there still resides a competitive nature amongst various literature studies where we all want to prove that our specific branch of literature studies is better than all the rest. It's like feuding football fans... the Utes vs. the Cougars... it just exists... against all reason, it exists. Therefore, I always thought American Literature was lame and childish in comparison to my major English Literature, but alas, I was forced to take this class as a pre-requisite to another class, so I did it. I went in with the mindset that I wouldn't learn anything because there is nothing to be learned from American authors, and I've never been more wrong in my life. While I could divulge all the wisdom I've learned from specific American authors, I won't, because the specific event from this class that stood out to me most is the one that I've been thinking so much about lately.
The very end of this semester, my profesor (whom I had/and still might have a crush on... I heart you Professor Carney... and Mango, baby, if you are reading this, Professor Carney has nothing on you because I love you) had our class research current authors that are residing in Utah. The author I had the privilege of researching was also a professor at the time at the University I was attending. Her name is Laura Hamblin and she is brilliant. I purchased her book of poetry and took from it like it was manna from above. Simply put, I was blown away by her words. They struck me deep within and caused me to think outside of who it is I thought I was and to explore what it is I truly believe and I have never been the same since. I was fortunate enough to go to a reading of hers and to hear her read her work with her voice... to experience the intonation with which she spoke and how it changed the meaning of what was being read. What fascinated me the most were her poems where she claimed an alter ego. The voice in these poems was so different from the voice that read through the rest of her work that I found myself captivated and I've always thought about the idea of an alter ego. I asked her where she got the idea for this other voice, how it came to her and she told me, "The voice with which these poems speak is the voice of someone who isn't being restrained by social constructs or other's telling her what she can's or shouldn't do. The voice in these poems is the voice of a woman without restraint. It's everything I want to be when I feel repressed." That's beautiful. And that's what I've been thinking about lately.
Subject shift.
For those of you who recall from a previous post, I have had an unhealthy fascination and sick admiration with Roller Derby girls from a very young age. I have been researching Utah's Roller Derby League in anticipation of trying out for it next year. I have also been extensively researching roller derby equipment so that I might purchase the correct equipment in order to train for next year's tryouts. I have been struggling to find a merchant of aforementioned roller derby equipment in the state of Utah, however the lack of roller derby merchants in the state where I live has not hindered my desire to push forth with faith into the roller derby unknown... in fact, I find myself even more driven to succeed.
Subject shift.
I have an amazing boyfriend. He is supportive of me in my goals and my dreams and my aspirations. I'm a lucky girl to be the recipient of his love. When I feel incapable, he gives me dozens of reasons why I am capable. He makes me feel fearless when I come up with a game plan to achieve my dreams. He also came up with my Roller Derby-girl name and I love it. Is it a name that conjurs warm fuzzies in one's heart? Absolutely not. Is it a name that will make my parent's glow with pride when they hear the commentator announce it in the arena? Not at all. Is it absolutely hysterical? It's the funniest thing I've ever heard. Is it perfect? Yes. Does it make me love him even more? Absolutely.
Without further ado, I introduce you my dear compadres to my alter ego (drum roll please).... Kiwi Trip-A-B*tch Unconscious.
Who is Kiwi Trip-A-B*tch Unconscious? She is fearless. She is honest to a fault. She is, potentially, tactless in her honesty, but honest all the same. She makes everything her cause and she fights for it. She is assertive. She isn't scared to throw a punch. She knows how to throw a punch. She is passionate. She fights for what she knows is right even it what is "right" to her is completely wrong to others who are too scared to fight for themselves. She sticks up for the underdog even if all the odds are stacked against him. She takes it as a personal insult when someone she loves is harmed or belittled and will cause pain (emotional or physical) to the one who harmed or belittled her loved one. She isn't afraid of lace or the color pink. She understands the necessity of tulle in some fashions. She believes that the 1980's were a major accident (excluding the hair bands) and doesn't understand why people feel the need to bring back certain styles from the '80's (no excuse is good enough to explain shoulder pads). She is determined to bring back old school gangster slang like, "yo diggity", "word to your mother" and "word!" back into modern vernacular. She uses words like "vernacular" and "misnomer". She sounds Irish when she's excited or angry. She doesn't give up; if it's important to her, she doesn't give up. Even though she hates cheerleaders, she is the greatest cheerleader to have in your corner when you need support and encouragement. She isn't perfect but she learns from the difficulties she faces. She lives her life tall. And last for now, but certainly not least, she is "possibly" known to swear like a sailor. Simply put, Kiwi Trip-A-Bi*ch Unconcious is the definition of bad-a*s, word!
You may be confused as to why any of the above is important in the first place. I understand the confussion, it's valid. I've been feeling down lately. I've been trying so hard to correct all that is wrong with me that I've been subconsciously putting myself down every day for thinking that there is something wrong with me in the first place. Does that make any sense at all? Am I perfect? No. Is anyone perfect? Surely not. And that's the point. Why is everyone putting themselves down? Why can't we accept our "faults" as part of who we are and embrace them as the "strengths" we need when we don't feel strong? I'm not making sense here. I feel vulnerable right now because I am telling myself I'm not good enough and I began thinking to myself about Laura Hamblin and her other voice. If I wasn't supressing myself and telling myself who I should be like and what I shouldn't be doing, then who would I be?
I would be fearless because I wouldn't recognize my weaknesses as something to be ashamed of. I would be honest in how I interract with people, even if the honesty that they need to hear is something they don't want to hear. I would passionately stand against the injustices I see around me that other's probably don't think to spend a second fretting about... and I would do that because I can and should because it affects me. I wouldn't be afraid to stick up for myself and be assertive when I don't appreciate how certain people treat me. I would know how to effectively defend myself, and trust me, if I knew how to do that, I could have avoided some horrible situations. I wouldn't think twice in telling someone who has hurt someone I love- beit a rude word said out of anger or whatever- what I think of them and where they can stick their opinion and I wouldn't be afraid to cause another fight because I know I can out speak them and what I speak would ring with honesty and shake the offender to their core with how unjust they've been. I wouldn't be afraid to be feminine and girly. It's stupid to say this, but I've always been afraid of makeup, and the color pink... I get nervous when standing in the hairspray aisle at the grocery mart, until recently, I was afraid of lace and I never understood tulle. I am beautiful... those words sometimes catch in my chest and I can't say them. I am beautiful and deserve to recognize this, and I'm working on recognizing it. I have nothing to say about the '80's except for, "Brett Michaels, I love you!" I've always felt that tall people are feerless because the world isn't as big to them as it is to a short person and this is an excuse for me to justify living my life in fear. I'm short and I'm powerful and I will live my life tall- there isn't anything I can't do. When I feel weak or unworthy I will aske myself, "What would KTABU do?" And I will remember that no one is perfect and what is imperfect about me is what is beautiful about me.
Dear family and friends, as you read this post, you may find yourself blushing uncontrollably as you ask herself, "Is she doing this? Is Other Mother really exposing her insanity to the world wide web and all those who stumble upon her blog?" And, the answer dear loved ones o' mine is, "yes, yes I really am." So, gird up your loins oh ye faithful and be prepared to be amazed and horrified all in the same moment.
I've been thinking about my last semester at University a lot lately. It was, by far, the most difficult and rewarding semester I remember experiencing at University. I remember one class in particular. It was an American Literature survey class that covered American Literature of the late 19th century to Modern day American Literature. Being an English Literature major, I've always been a snob towards American Literature (yes, I know I'm American... ), while this truth is baffling, it also stems from an unexplainable source. While all Literature majors are united n their nerdom... there still resides a competitive nature amongst various literature studies where we all want to prove that our specific branch of literature studies is better than all the rest. It's like feuding football fans... the Utes vs. the Cougars... it just exists... against all reason, it exists. Therefore, I always thought American Literature was lame and childish in comparison to my major English Literature, but alas, I was forced to take this class as a pre-requisite to another class, so I did it. I went in with the mindset that I wouldn't learn anything because there is nothing to be learned from American authors, and I've never been more wrong in my life. While I could divulge all the wisdom I've learned from specific American authors, I won't, because the specific event from this class that stood out to me most is the one that I've been thinking so much about lately.
The very end of this semester, my profesor (whom I had/and still might have a crush on... I heart you Professor Carney... and Mango, baby, if you are reading this, Professor Carney has nothing on you because I love you) had our class research current authors that are residing in Utah. The author I had the privilege of researching was also a professor at the time at the University I was attending. Her name is Laura Hamblin and she is brilliant. I purchased her book of poetry and took from it like it was manna from above. Simply put, I was blown away by her words. They struck me deep within and caused me to think outside of who it is I thought I was and to explore what it is I truly believe and I have never been the same since. I was fortunate enough to go to a reading of hers and to hear her read her work with her voice... to experience the intonation with which she spoke and how it changed the meaning of what was being read. What fascinated me the most were her poems where she claimed an alter ego. The voice in these poems was so different from the voice that read through the rest of her work that I found myself captivated and I've always thought about the idea of an alter ego. I asked her where she got the idea for this other voice, how it came to her and she told me, "The voice with which these poems speak is the voice of someone who isn't being restrained by social constructs or other's telling her what she can's or shouldn't do. The voice in these poems is the voice of a woman without restraint. It's everything I want to be when I feel repressed." That's beautiful. And that's what I've been thinking about lately.
Subject shift.
For those of you who recall from a previous post, I have had an unhealthy fascination and sick admiration with Roller Derby girls from a very young age. I have been researching Utah's Roller Derby League in anticipation of trying out for it next year. I have also been extensively researching roller derby equipment so that I might purchase the correct equipment in order to train for next year's tryouts. I have been struggling to find a merchant of aforementioned roller derby equipment in the state of Utah, however the lack of roller derby merchants in the state where I live has not hindered my desire to push forth with faith into the roller derby unknown... in fact, I find myself even more driven to succeed.
Subject shift.
I have an amazing boyfriend. He is supportive of me in my goals and my dreams and my aspirations. I'm a lucky girl to be the recipient of his love. When I feel incapable, he gives me dozens of reasons why I am capable. He makes me feel fearless when I come up with a game plan to achieve my dreams. He also came up with my Roller Derby-girl name and I love it. Is it a name that conjurs warm fuzzies in one's heart? Absolutely not. Is it a name that will make my parent's glow with pride when they hear the commentator announce it in the arena? Not at all. Is it absolutely hysterical? It's the funniest thing I've ever heard. Is it perfect? Yes. Does it make me love him even more? Absolutely.
Without further ado, I introduce you my dear compadres to my alter ego (drum roll please).... Kiwi Trip-A-B*tch Unconscious.
Who is Kiwi Trip-A-B*tch Unconscious? She is fearless. She is honest to a fault. She is, potentially, tactless in her honesty, but honest all the same. She makes everything her cause and she fights for it. She is assertive. She isn't scared to throw a punch. She knows how to throw a punch. She is passionate. She fights for what she knows is right even it what is "right" to her is completely wrong to others who are too scared to fight for themselves. She sticks up for the underdog even if all the odds are stacked against him. She takes it as a personal insult when someone she loves is harmed or belittled and will cause pain (emotional or physical) to the one who harmed or belittled her loved one. She isn't afraid of lace or the color pink. She understands the necessity of tulle in some fashions. She believes that the 1980's were a major accident (excluding the hair bands) and doesn't understand why people feel the need to bring back certain styles from the '80's (no excuse is good enough to explain shoulder pads). She is determined to bring back old school gangster slang like, "yo diggity", "word to your mother" and "word!" back into modern vernacular. She uses words like "vernacular" and "misnomer". She sounds Irish when she's excited or angry. She doesn't give up; if it's important to her, she doesn't give up. Even though she hates cheerleaders, she is the greatest cheerleader to have in your corner when you need support and encouragement. She isn't perfect but she learns from the difficulties she faces. She lives her life tall. And last for now, but certainly not least, she is "possibly" known to swear like a sailor. Simply put, Kiwi Trip-A-Bi*ch Unconcious is the definition of bad-a*s, word!
You may be confused as to why any of the above is important in the first place. I understand the confussion, it's valid. I've been feeling down lately. I've been trying so hard to correct all that is wrong with me that I've been subconsciously putting myself down every day for thinking that there is something wrong with me in the first place. Does that make any sense at all? Am I perfect? No. Is anyone perfect? Surely not. And that's the point. Why is everyone putting themselves down? Why can't we accept our "faults" as part of who we are and embrace them as the "strengths" we need when we don't feel strong? I'm not making sense here. I feel vulnerable right now because I am telling myself I'm not good enough and I began thinking to myself about Laura Hamblin and her other voice. If I wasn't supressing myself and telling myself who I should be like and what I shouldn't be doing, then who would I be?
I would be fearless because I wouldn't recognize my weaknesses as something to be ashamed of. I would be honest in how I interract with people, even if the honesty that they need to hear is something they don't want to hear. I would passionately stand against the injustices I see around me that other's probably don't think to spend a second fretting about... and I would do that because I can and should because it affects me. I wouldn't be afraid to stick up for myself and be assertive when I don't appreciate how certain people treat me. I would know how to effectively defend myself, and trust me, if I knew how to do that, I could have avoided some horrible situations. I wouldn't think twice in telling someone who has hurt someone I love- beit a rude word said out of anger or whatever- what I think of them and where they can stick their opinion and I wouldn't be afraid to cause another fight because I know I can out speak them and what I speak would ring with honesty and shake the offender to their core with how unjust they've been. I wouldn't be afraid to be feminine and girly. It's stupid to say this, but I've always been afraid of makeup, and the color pink... I get nervous when standing in the hairspray aisle at the grocery mart, until recently, I was afraid of lace and I never understood tulle. I am beautiful... those words sometimes catch in my chest and I can't say them. I am beautiful and deserve to recognize this, and I'm working on recognizing it. I have nothing to say about the '80's except for, "Brett Michaels, I love you!" I've always felt that tall people are feerless because the world isn't as big to them as it is to a short person and this is an excuse for me to justify living my life in fear. I'm short and I'm powerful and I will live my life tall- there isn't anything I can't do. When I feel weak or unworthy I will aske myself, "What would KTABU do?" And I will remember that no one is perfect and what is imperfect about me is what is beautiful about me.
Dear Sweetheart,
Dear Sweetheart,
In 2 hours and 21 minutes you will be 7 months old. I've learend that Time passes by quickly when you least expect it and seems to drag on the more concerned you are that it will pass by too quickly. In 2 hours and 21 one minutes, it will be seven months to the hour that I first held you in my arms. I couldn't believe then how quickly you would grow out of your newborn infancy. I believe that at the moment I first held you I immortalized your infant perfection in my memory and it will forever be imprinted in my mind's eye. You are perfection and your laugh is Heaven. You are starting to teeth; you aren't enjoying it so much. Your gums are sore, but if tickled in the right spot, even through your tears you laugh out loud. You are such a good natured baby and your family loves you so much. Your older sister and older brother worship you. You still don't have a neck, neither do you really have wrists or ankles... to me your chub is perfection, but perhaps my favorite thing about you (besides your smell) are the dimples that take the place of where your elbows should be. You are a cuddle bug and my arms still remember holding you. I love you with all of my memory, with all of my hopes and dreams. You are and will forever be the child of my heart, my dear, sweet, chubby, and happy baby boy. I love you so much and I always will.
Love,
your birth mother
In 2 hours and 21 minutes you will be 7 months old. I've learend that Time passes by quickly when you least expect it and seems to drag on the more concerned you are that it will pass by too quickly. In 2 hours and 21 one minutes, it will be seven months to the hour that I first held you in my arms. I couldn't believe then how quickly you would grow out of your newborn infancy. I believe that at the moment I first held you I immortalized your infant perfection in my memory and it will forever be imprinted in my mind's eye. You are perfection and your laugh is Heaven. You are starting to teeth; you aren't enjoying it so much. Your gums are sore, but if tickled in the right spot, even through your tears you laugh out loud. You are such a good natured baby and your family loves you so much. Your older sister and older brother worship you. You still don't have a neck, neither do you really have wrists or ankles... to me your chub is perfection, but perhaps my favorite thing about you (besides your smell) are the dimples that take the place of where your elbows should be. You are a cuddle bug and my arms still remember holding you. I love you with all of my memory, with all of my hopes and dreams. You are and will forever be the child of my heart, my dear, sweet, chubby, and happy baby boy. I love you so much and I always will.
Love,
your birth mother
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Something Wonderful
I can't believe how fast time can get away. I've been meaning to write about a particular event for a while now, but needed some time to organize my thoughts and then before I know it, June is here! As you all know, Baby Boy's adoption was finalized on May 19, 2010; what a special day that was for Baby Boy and his wonderful family. That following weekend on Mayy 22, 2010, Baby Boy was sealed for all time and eternity to his parents and siblings in a temple not too far from where we all live. Baby Boy's family was very wonderful to allow my parents and myself to come to the temple for this occassion. My parents were able to view the sealing as it occurred and I waited in the waiting room because I was not able to attend the actual ceremony. I thought I would be extremely anxious the entire time and at first I was, but as I sat in that spiritual setting, I couldn't help but realize how peaceful I felt with all that was happening not too far from where I was sitting. I know that I've made the right decision in placing Baby Boy for adoption and I know that I chose the family that he was meant to be with... he was always meant to be their's. That doesn't mean I don't have difficult days still because I do, but in that half hour to forty minutes that I was sitting in the temple waiting room, the only thing I could feel was immense joy for my baby boy and his eternal family, that and a calm peace that it's okay for me to move on.
After the sealing, I met both Baby Boy's sets of adoptive grandparents and other extended family. They are all wonderful people. My parents and I were then invited over to have dinner with all the extended family. I got to hold Baby Boy all afternoon. It was wonderful. He is perfection and so squishy and rolley and smiley and giggly. I got to feed him a bottle and rock him and cuddle him and... I will never forget that afternoon.
The following day, May 23, 2010 Baby Boy was blessed at church. His adoptive father gave the blessing and it was beautiful. My father wasw included in the circle of priesthood holders. Some of my siblings attended the blessing as well and it was really good for them to see Baby Boy surrounded by all the love of his new family. After Baby Boy's blessing, his mother asked me if I would like to hold him and of course I said yes. I looked down at my baby boy dressed all in white and couldn't help but cry at how beautiful he is and how happy I am for him that is part of such an amazing family and that my family was invited to participate in this very special day of his. I fed him another bottle and he fell asleep in my arms and I felt the peace again that I've only ever felt with him. My entire pregnancy was blessed with a calm that was so tangible to me and it was the calm that comes along with this little boy... and I felt that again and I watched him sleep. My family was invited over to a relative's house of Baby Boy's adoptive parents to mingle with everyone and have time to spend with Baby Boy and it was an absolutely wonderful afternoon. I was able to hold Baby Boy all afternoon again and as I was feeding him another bottle he pee'd and it leaked out his diaper and all over me, but I didn't mind (gross, I know!) because my baby boy pee'd on me. I laughed so hard, he also pee'd on my oldest sister, and she laughed as well.
When it was time to go it was difficult to leave him again. I got pictures of my family holding him and of him with his litte birth cousin who is just 7 weeks older and pictures of me and him that I will always treasure. And, I know I'll see him again because his parent's are wonderful people and don't discourage contact. It was hard to leave him again, but I also know better the people that are his family and that's calming in itself. That weekend was the best weekend of my life thus far because for 2 days I was able to hold the child of my heart. I didn't wash either of the blouses I wore for a week after because they smelled like him... spicy and sweet at the same time and earthy... I love his smell.
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