Those who know me well know that we (my sisters, brother, sister-in-law, mom and various aunts, uncles and cousins) call my dad Mister. It's a long story, but the name came about when I was around 4 and my sister Clare 3 because Mister would spend a lot of time lying in bed watching TV. His head on his pillow. He became Mister Pillow, but that name got shortened over the years. Sadly now I can't remember a time when I ever called him daddy, though I'm sure I did. There are days I think I should again, but I doubt it would be as endearing as "Mister."
There's a song by Reba McEntire called "The Greatest Man I Never Knew." In it Reba sings about her dad, he lived "just down the hall." He read his paper every day and he thought she hung the moon. Mister's room was always at the opposite end of the hall from me. To this day he reads his paper, every day. Sometimes more than one. Everything she sings about is Mister. I think Reba must have been living secretly in the third floor of our Philadelphia house or in the attic in Hollywood.
The thing that brings the song home for me is that he never said the words "I love you." My mom would say it. He never did. I don't know if it was his generation or if he just thought I knew so he didn't have to say it. I always wanted to hear it though.
One day I swallowed my pride and decided I'd say it (I never said it either). His response "I love you too." Now every Sunday when he calls he tells me that he loves me. Sometimes he even says it first.
Happy 81st Birthday Mister. You are the greatest man I know.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Seeing Clearly
I wrote this back in June, but never posted it. It still seems like a good message (one I could use now). : )
I have shocking news for you. Many of you may be surprised by this, but I feel as if I need to let you know. I was a geek. That might even be putting it generously. I wore my hair in a pony tail for all of junior high. I had thick Coke bottle glasses and hideously crooked teeth. I won’t even get started on the acne that blossomed before everyone else’s (or so I thought). I moved to South Florida with my heavy Philadelphia dialect (“wooder” instead of “wah-ter” try that with my last name). I was teased mercifully. By the time I got to eighth grade, I felt that it was acceptable to be spat on. At least it made me feel like I belonged and then I was less than a geek.
Thirty years later (please don’t do that math in your head because I in my mind I’m 22), that junior high girl is gone, sort of. Gone are the crooked teeth (I still have to wear a retainer at night), the ponytail is worn only on really hot or bad hair days, the glasses have been replaced by contact lenses (most of the time). The Philadelphia dialect is slowly being replaced by a Texas urban twang (I can get my Philadelphia on when necessary though). The acne has been transformed to laugh lines.
However, the self conscious girl who was teased and spat on is still deep down inside me. She doesn’t come out often, but when she does, the only person who sees her is the one who reflects her in the mirror. The 13 year old girl in the mirror still wants to be accepted. She still wants to be pretty. She wants to be normal. She wants everyone to like her. She wishes she was thinner, smarter, and had whiter teeth.
We hear so much on the news these days about bullying. The latest story is the grandmother who rode the bus every day and the kids taunted her. She is a woman in her 60’s who was brought to tears by 13 and 14 year olds. Why does this go on?
They say that you hurt the ones you love the most. I know those kids in junior high didn’t love me. I was their entertainment. I doubt seriously that the kids on that bus give Karen Klein a second thought when they’re not on that bus. To them it was just fun.
I am 100% guilty for making fun of my friends. 100%. I do it. They make fun of me too. Usually it is just friendly fodder for conversation. As friends, we know how far we can go. But I wonder, am I really hurting their feelings when I say certain things. I have been known, on more than one occasion, to put my foot in mouth. Then someone ends up with hurt feelings and I find myself apologizing for something that I never meant to say in the first place (it’s a Sagittarius trait so at least I come by it honestly and half the time I don’t know that I’ve done it).
I try now to be more cognizant of it when I make fun of people. Especially people I don’t know. I am striving to find the best in everyone. Especially in myself.
I have shocking news for you. Many of you may be surprised by this, but I feel as if I need to let you know. I was a geek. That might even be putting it generously. I wore my hair in a pony tail for all of junior high. I had thick Coke bottle glasses and hideously crooked teeth. I won’t even get started on the acne that blossomed before everyone else’s (or so I thought). I moved to South Florida with my heavy Philadelphia dialect (“wooder” instead of “wah-ter” try that with my last name). I was teased mercifully. By the time I got to eighth grade, I felt that it was acceptable to be spat on. At least it made me feel like I belonged and then I was less than a geek.
Thirty years later (please don’t do that math in your head because I in my mind I’m 22), that junior high girl is gone, sort of. Gone are the crooked teeth (I still have to wear a retainer at night), the ponytail is worn only on really hot or bad hair days, the glasses have been replaced by contact lenses (most of the time). The Philadelphia dialect is slowly being replaced by a Texas urban twang (I can get my Philadelphia on when necessary though). The acne has been transformed to laugh lines.
However, the self conscious girl who was teased and spat on is still deep down inside me. She doesn’t come out often, but when she does, the only person who sees her is the one who reflects her in the mirror. The 13 year old girl in the mirror still wants to be accepted. She still wants to be pretty. She wants to be normal. She wants everyone to like her. She wishes she was thinner, smarter, and had whiter teeth.
We hear so much on the news these days about bullying. The latest story is the grandmother who rode the bus every day and the kids taunted her. She is a woman in her 60’s who was brought to tears by 13 and 14 year olds. Why does this go on?
They say that you hurt the ones you love the most. I know those kids in junior high didn’t love me. I was their entertainment. I doubt seriously that the kids on that bus give Karen Klein a second thought when they’re not on that bus. To them it was just fun.
I am 100% guilty for making fun of my friends. 100%. I do it. They make fun of me too. Usually it is just friendly fodder for conversation. As friends, we know how far we can go. But I wonder, am I really hurting their feelings when I say certain things. I have been known, on more than one occasion, to put my foot in mouth. Then someone ends up with hurt feelings and I find myself apologizing for something that I never meant to say in the first place (it’s a Sagittarius trait so at least I come by it honestly and half the time I don’t know that I’ve done it).
I try now to be more cognizant of it when I make fun of people. Especially people I don’t know. I am striving to find the best in everyone. Especially in myself.
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