I should probably write since I haven't in a long time. I have no idea what to talk about... though, there is alot I'd like to say. So, I guess I'll just start:
I was watching my dad come in from work the other day (and yes, he's been retired for 8 years, but doesn't seem to know it yet). And for the first time, ever, he looked tired and old. Not 'old man - geriatric old,' but just aged. He's always been handsome (to me at least) and he's always had a swagger, but he works such long hours for a man of 63. And for the first time, ever, I got worried. Worried that all the drama that seems to consume time and swirl around him would be the thing to take him away from me.
I'm frustrated. No, I'm angry. Mad that my brother has made the choices that he's made and acts the way he does. I'm tired of feeling like I have to be the 'good child' so that he has someone to look up to... he obviously isn't watching anyway. I'm not saying that I haven't made any mistakes... God in heaven sure knows I have. My Christianity doesn't cleanse me anymore than it cleanses you. We're all in this together -- sinners saved by grace. But I don't understand how a child can act the way he does. It obviously stresses and hurts my parents. It obviously stresses and hurts his sister... yet, he pursists. My niceties are ebbing away, and soon I fear, I will be at a loss for words when he's around. My inability to understand such malicious, venomous, and blatant disrespect is moving me towards silence.
Children: A topic of much discussion lately. I've always said I don't want them, and God knows the way society is headed, I don't know if it's safe. The pressures are too great. The struggles seem to never end... no matter how much education you possess, no matter how much you shelter and shield. The world is the world -- and it's the only one for us to live in. But lately, after looking at my father, and realizing, and really accepting that... deep down... I want him to be a grandfather... the grandfather of my child/children. And I want him to see them and be able to play with them and change their diapers and have them over for weekend sleepovers and teach them the things of his generation that ony he can teach. Don't get me wrong, Elisia is great. She's beautiful and fat and all the things that a baby should be... she's his grandchild... but she's not my child. If I could take December 7th back and shift time and hold on just a little longer... I would.
And then, I look at the children at school. They are so disrespectful and so disappointing to me. I hear myself asking every day: "Where are their parents?!?" And then, I realize... they're parents are my old schoomates and classmates. And frankly, they're just a mirror of what's being projected at home. But on the other hand, I look at other students (and adults) that have persevered through the toughest of situations. I see them excel and shift the medium. And I can't help but question: What is it? Is there a certain gene that's missing from many of our kids? Is there a cog that God puts in you before you arrive... and some of our kids were so impatient in getting here that they missed getting that cog? Why are they so ugly to one another and adults? Why are they hell bent on trying to 'check' everyone - having no regard for authority? And... again... through this questioning I remember, that although I want Daddy to see my children and be able to do everything I've dreamt of him doing with them, I can't possibly, truly want to bring a child into this world with such risks...can I?
I laugh now as I re-read this blog for final posting. (I usually skim to make sure that my language is at least 'half-way' correct.) I took a writing class several years ago. Loved it... I would love to go to USC or UCLA and just sit and write with the literary ones. Maybe even transfer to NYU or Columbia just to see if people on the East Coast think differently when they write. Anyway, I was thinking about this writing class and how the teacher just encouraged us to write. To just write about whatever came to mind. Pencil never leaving the page. Just write.
I'd write for what seemed like forever. Starting off with some non-chalant topic... and then, boom... it would happen. The root of my thoughts would bore through near the end. I would have 'worked it out on paper.' Or at least gotten to a point where I could start working it out. And I guess, that's what this blog was for... to work it out on paper.
So, Kids or No Kids... that is the question. (Remember that little ditty from the early 90's? To be or not to be... that is the question... yeah... LOL!)
ciao
No comments:
Post a Comment