Yeah it's that time of year again; the time when we reflect on all that we are thankful for... but strangely, I am not feeling all that sentimental; thankful yes, but sentimental, no. In fact, I just chewed out my 14 year old for spouting off sarcastic comments to me and being disrespectful in front of a roomful of people. I truly believe that the holidays or, um, family, bring out the best and the worst in people. You realize that you're thankful that you have a family and that they love you and are there for you, but then you also realize that everyone is talking about everyone and why did your nephew smack your kid and why the hell isn't your brother doing anything about it? You just step back and go, what is joyous about this whole thing again? The cooking, well, the reheating, the cleaning, the disrespectful children, trying to spray whipped cream into their mouths directly from the can? I think about this and then I remind myself that the Thanksgivings that I loved the most were when I was a kid and I didn't have to worry about not having enough tupperware to put leftovers in running out of silverware before dessert... That's why the kids love it, that's why I loved it then... no worries, except for eating and being together.
I like the moments when we laugh at each other and even the moments when one of my brothers makes some snide comment and they always do, about something inane. I roll my eyes when I have to take the baseball bats from my nephew and from Ty who, incidentally are swinging them at the big punching bag out in the garage. I shudder to think of Luke swinging the bat near Ty's head. I smile when Katie comes and sits next to me to show me how well she can read Junie B. Jones and I crack up when she ran up earlier and said, "Aunt Vet, there's zombies in the backyard" as Christine, John and Steve chased the little kids around while they screamed.
Maybe it's only a matter of time before you notice the little things that piss you off or annoy the hell out of you; that just comes with the territory I guess, but, as the day winds down, you kind of shrug and smile and say, well, at least we all have a chance to share those moments together and you remember what really makes the holidays so great. It's not the food and it's definitely not the football, although my family would disagree with that. It's about having something to share with people who know you and who, at the very least, claim to love you; it's about coming together once in awhile and forgetting the little things like your brother texting that you are a dick (he claims it was meant for someone else) or the mass confusion about why there are two turkeys and no ham. Maybe there needs to be more booze and less tryptophan; maybe there needs to be more time to play and less cooking, sorry reheating. Maybe there needs to be less of everything; less money spent, less effort, less worry. Maybe there just needs to be a day when you see your family and it's just about sitting around, shooting the shit and escaping the daily grind and really, that should be enough.
I like Thanksgiving. I always have. I like laughing with my brothers and seeing the kids interact with each other and with my parents. I like having to cut Tim off after whatever number margarita he's on. I was half joking, but he actually said at one point, "I'm cut off." I like that I'm no longer waitressing on the holidays; that was always the worst. I like that Ty passed out cold at 8:00 and hasn't moved since. I like that my mom is feeling better and that the rugrat Maynard made an appearance. I like that there are leftovers. And I really like that no one has to get up early tomorrow...
I have great kids, I have a husband who claims to still love me after 18 years of marriage, I have a job that I love and friends who support me and who make me laugh, I have a family who I care for deeply and, I have a full life. For all those things and people, I am truly thankful. Next year I hope to be thankful for the following:
A better economy, a Guilty verdict and life in prison for Jerry Sandusky, less military personnel deployed overseas, more quality educators, Nick making and keeping friends, more patience, less profanity (dammit, going to have to work on that) more flexibility (literally and figuratively), a full time job for Steve and sobriety, more overtime for police officers if they want it, a full time job for Christine in her field wherever she wants it, a great soccer season for Jake, more time with my husband, better knees and, a trip to the Chicago marathon... and that's just the short list. Happy Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Welcome to Public School...
I'm going to take some heat on this one, but, you know the drill... I don't really care. And, if I did really care, then I certainly wouldn't open myself up in a forum as public as this so that you or anyone else could comment on what I have to say. I'm going to take heat because I want to take aim at teachers and, I am one so therein lies the hypocrisy. Well, somewhat.
I want the bureaucratic nonsense to stop. I want there to be a system in place that not only eliminates the frivolous use of resources; one might argue that as of late, there is no frivolity because there are no funds, but, that is not the case. Do your research. I want that system to also include a "fine toothcomb" evaluation board that is comprised of a variety of educated individuals who have either excelled in their own teaching careers or who are currently excelling in them. I want this board or panel to represent the best of what our profession has to offer and to then take that expertise and devise a rigid, comprehensive evaluation process that leaves nothing to hide and that includes, as members, both teachers and administrators. I want evaluations to be on a regular basis with surprise "visits" to the classroom. I want classes to be offered either free or at a discount, by local Universities, to any educator who needs to stay current in his/her field. A program that encourages continued education, at a discount, with the incentive being that you keep your job and/or garner a promotion/salary increase. I want a system where the teacher, regardless of how many students he/she has, knows who my child is and what he/she is capable of and I want that teacher to admit when he/she is so overwhelmed or incapable of performance that my child ends up basically wasting a year of his/her life. I want a system that encourages homework only as a reinforcer, not as a time waster. Life is not built around the idea that the more you assign, the better a teacher you are. And, while we are at it, let's make "Draw and Label your own Island" an extra credit assignment shall we? There has to be an easier and more effective means of teaching children how to use the Legend on a map...
I sat through another IEP meeting today and I have to say that although it was standard fare, I appreciated the directness of the "specialists" and I found myself taking notes, some of which I might actually refer to in future. What I found and what I find disconcerting about Special Education in the public school is this notion that the plan is individualized to meet the child's needs. But here's the thing, those "needs" revolve around the child doing "well" and, even with the IEP goals in place, the only real yardstick that the district has is the same old totem pole that it has always used and that is, grades. A child is doing "well" if he/she demonstrates competency in the core subject areas. The other areas, such as social/emotional development or areas where "special" needs are addressed are broken down into categories and are then assigned an objective and a tangible "goal" that is supposed to be reached by a future point in time. What does this all mean? It means that the minute that you find out your child might be eligible or in need of special education services, you'd better find yourself a Child Advocate and put a Special Education Lawyer on your Rolodex if not on your Speed Dial because I'll tell you, every single time I walk into one of those meetings, I feel like I am facing a firing squad.
Maybe it isn't the teachers specifically that I'm taking aim at, I mean they are just trying to do their jobs, but it's this lack of understanding and even empathy at times that disturbs me. Yeah they have an inordinate amount of children and students to deal with and yes, there aren't enough hours in the day, but, wake up call, this is what they signed up for. They went into their respective fields because they wanted to make a difference. No one goes into teaching for the money or, especially not now, for the purported job security. People choose to teach because they are called to do it, like nuns or nurses I guess. You have to want to change lives to enter into a profession as demanding as education and if you don't, well, we've both met those who don't: burnouts in the worst sense of the word.
What I found particularly interesting about today's meeting was the presentation. Here are the services that the district provides if your son stays in public school and painted up, they all sound wonderful and many of them are. OT and Speech, sensory integration therapy and peer support. Sounds like a proverbial buffet and there I am thinking, well, maybe it's possible to receive some of these services if we bring our child to the school as part of the new plan, but still let him attend the private school where he is now? Um, how about no way in hell? See, it's about the money, show me the money and we'll meet your child's needs and that's it. Want services? Go to public school or sue the district for not providing FAPE for your kid. Acronyms - the lifeblood of special education. Keep notes, ask questions, get a dictionary and a map because apparently you are going to need to make several trips to various locations to peruse and gather the free resources that are provided by the district. SELPA (office), another important acronym.
Here's the thing, as a parent, how are you supposed to be automatically versed in Special Education; here you are dealing with a diagnosis and the daunting task of formulating a plan outside of school which will involve family, friends, coaches...
All the while, trying to rely on the school "team" to provide you with accurate, up to date, reasonable information, choices and services that your child may or may not receive depending upon said diagnosis. This should not be a situation of sink or swim. One must wade carefully into the waters of Special Education and this means, going slowly, while, sadly, your child continues to grow and try to manage his/her situation while you are trying to manage the information at the same time. Before you know it, 3 years has gone by and your child is being re-tested.
Public Education as a system is illogical. So many things that are done or not done don't make any sense. We know this. Even people who don't have children know this. I am not naive, I'm not ignorant, I'm not an idealist. I'm just a mom who wants her kid to be able to manage school in an environment that works best for him. My taxes pay for good schools in my neighborhood, but those schools cannot meet his needs no matter how many services they offer, regardless of the programs that are available. A system that tries to "manage" learning, education, students is very much like someone who "tolerates" others. If someone treated you as if they tolerated you, would that be sufficient, would that be "fair and appropriate?" To me, it wouldn't and it doesn't.
Teachers should be assessed more efficiently, programs and services offered by the district should be explained prior to parents needing to seek them out. There has to a more stringent means of hiring and firing people who are a part of this profession. When we look at ourselves and we recognize what our weaknesses are, only then can we move forward. There is no room for complacency nor mediocrity in education and the longer we tolerate it, the more damage both cause. Teachers have an overwhelming task and they should be compensated by their performance, their time, their dedication and of course, by results, measurable by some yardstick other than Standardized Test Scores. But there has to be a recognition that there are so many teachers out there who should not be teaching, who have to go. Restructure the system so that these people either live up to higher expectations or they get fired. Why do we protect people in a position to exert a tremendous amount of influence over a segment of the population that is the most vulnerable, the most innocent and who have the chance to make the most difference in the next generation?
If you tell me that I have weaknesses, I work on them, but, really, I already know what they are. I talk to my students, I consider what they say. I talk to my colleagues, I ask for help, I recognize when I am in over my head. Does any of this make me a better teacher? I don't know, but I do know that it keeps me in a Growth mindset rather than in a fixed one. And because of this, I keep trying to improve and to be better and to learn more and if that doesn't sum up what teachers do, I don't know what does. If you have a child in the public school system, start at the beginning. Find out what's available and where you need to go to get it and then GO.
Interestingly, although the "standards" have changed since I was in Kindergarten and in Elementary School, there were 28 kids in my class and I was reading before I left my K class. We even took naps back then. We had reading groups, we worked with kids who were of the same ability level and we moved at our own pace. We had one teacher and no aides in the class. We did homework that made sense and by 4th grade, I was doing 5th grade work and the more I did, the more the teacher gave me to do. There was no, "Please don't read ahead so that class can stay together." That is one of the most ridiculous statements I've ever heard come out of a teacher's mouth.
There are no real solutions here because the "problems" are like tentacles, reaching far and deep into every aspect of education. I know that. I just would like more parents to know, going into a school, that they have the right to question everything and everyone and that they don't have to take it just because a "teacher" told them that's how it is. That teacher most likely has a degree and a teaching credential. How did he/she become a sudden expert on psychological testing and emotionally disturbed children and working with autism and the social benefits of similar task grouping and... the list is endless. A teacher might do the same thing two years in a row, curriculum wise as mandated by the State of course, but I would hope, I would wish, I would pray that the teacher would adjust how he/she presents the material according to the students that he/she has THAT year. Clearly, what works for one class, doesn't work for another, even if that means, just two kids in the class.
A student told me the other night, Hey Ms. Hawley, you never stick to the syllabus, you always change everything and I agreed. I despise the syllabus. It's like a monkey on my back. It helps the students, but only if I stick to it and clearly, therein lies the problem. So I ask her, why are you taking me for the third time. She laughed and said, "Because you're a fantastic teacher." One does not have to give way for the other; I know plenty of fantastic teachers who follow the syllabus. Organization is not my strong suit; it never has been. I recognize that and I work on it. Slowly...
At the end of the day, Nick stays where he is, in a private school where the environment is slower paced, kinder if you will and less intrusive. I forfeited his services by signing them away yesterday and although I was worried about the implications of doing this, I feel, deep down, that it was the right decision at this time. A year from now, it might be different. If it is, then we'll address it then.
Ty said to his Preppie K teacher, "Hey, there's too much people in this class." She laughed and said, "Yes Ty, there are too many people in this class." She laughed and I smiled yet there was a moment when we both realized the truth in that statement and that it reflected something much deeper than either of us was willing or able to address. Hey, if the 5 year old feels it, what is there to do?
Educate yourself parents, go back to school, get resources and be prepared, because it's only going to get more difficult as the belt tightens and the expectations grow. Oh, and please, read to your children... just had to throw that in there.
I want the bureaucratic nonsense to stop. I want there to be a system in place that not only eliminates the frivolous use of resources; one might argue that as of late, there is no frivolity because there are no funds, but, that is not the case. Do your research. I want that system to also include a "fine toothcomb" evaluation board that is comprised of a variety of educated individuals who have either excelled in their own teaching careers or who are currently excelling in them. I want this board or panel to represent the best of what our profession has to offer and to then take that expertise and devise a rigid, comprehensive evaluation process that leaves nothing to hide and that includes, as members, both teachers and administrators. I want evaluations to be on a regular basis with surprise "visits" to the classroom. I want classes to be offered either free or at a discount, by local Universities, to any educator who needs to stay current in his/her field. A program that encourages continued education, at a discount, with the incentive being that you keep your job and/or garner a promotion/salary increase. I want a system where the teacher, regardless of how many students he/she has, knows who my child is and what he/she is capable of and I want that teacher to admit when he/she is so overwhelmed or incapable of performance that my child ends up basically wasting a year of his/her life. I want a system that encourages homework only as a reinforcer, not as a time waster. Life is not built around the idea that the more you assign, the better a teacher you are. And, while we are at it, let's make "Draw and Label your own Island" an extra credit assignment shall we? There has to be an easier and more effective means of teaching children how to use the Legend on a map...
I sat through another IEP meeting today and I have to say that although it was standard fare, I appreciated the directness of the "specialists" and I found myself taking notes, some of which I might actually refer to in future. What I found and what I find disconcerting about Special Education in the public school is this notion that the plan is individualized to meet the child's needs. But here's the thing, those "needs" revolve around the child doing "well" and, even with the IEP goals in place, the only real yardstick that the district has is the same old totem pole that it has always used and that is, grades. A child is doing "well" if he/she demonstrates competency in the core subject areas. The other areas, such as social/emotional development or areas where "special" needs are addressed are broken down into categories and are then assigned an objective and a tangible "goal" that is supposed to be reached by a future point in time. What does this all mean? It means that the minute that you find out your child might be eligible or in need of special education services, you'd better find yourself a Child Advocate and put a Special Education Lawyer on your Rolodex if not on your Speed Dial because I'll tell you, every single time I walk into one of those meetings, I feel like I am facing a firing squad.
Maybe it isn't the teachers specifically that I'm taking aim at, I mean they are just trying to do their jobs, but it's this lack of understanding and even empathy at times that disturbs me. Yeah they have an inordinate amount of children and students to deal with and yes, there aren't enough hours in the day, but, wake up call, this is what they signed up for. They went into their respective fields because they wanted to make a difference. No one goes into teaching for the money or, especially not now, for the purported job security. People choose to teach because they are called to do it, like nuns or nurses I guess. You have to want to change lives to enter into a profession as demanding as education and if you don't, well, we've both met those who don't: burnouts in the worst sense of the word.
What I found particularly interesting about today's meeting was the presentation. Here are the services that the district provides if your son stays in public school and painted up, they all sound wonderful and many of them are. OT and Speech, sensory integration therapy and peer support. Sounds like a proverbial buffet and there I am thinking, well, maybe it's possible to receive some of these services if we bring our child to the school as part of the new plan, but still let him attend the private school where he is now? Um, how about no way in hell? See, it's about the money, show me the money and we'll meet your child's needs and that's it. Want services? Go to public school or sue the district for not providing FAPE for your kid. Acronyms - the lifeblood of special education. Keep notes, ask questions, get a dictionary and a map because apparently you are going to need to make several trips to various locations to peruse and gather the free resources that are provided by the district. SELPA (office), another important acronym.
Here's the thing, as a parent, how are you supposed to be automatically versed in Special Education; here you are dealing with a diagnosis and the daunting task of formulating a plan outside of school which will involve family, friends, coaches...
All the while, trying to rely on the school "team" to provide you with accurate, up to date, reasonable information, choices and services that your child may or may not receive depending upon said diagnosis. This should not be a situation of sink or swim. One must wade carefully into the waters of Special Education and this means, going slowly, while, sadly, your child continues to grow and try to manage his/her situation while you are trying to manage the information at the same time. Before you know it, 3 years has gone by and your child is being re-tested.
Public Education as a system is illogical. So many things that are done or not done don't make any sense. We know this. Even people who don't have children know this. I am not naive, I'm not ignorant, I'm not an idealist. I'm just a mom who wants her kid to be able to manage school in an environment that works best for him. My taxes pay for good schools in my neighborhood, but those schools cannot meet his needs no matter how many services they offer, regardless of the programs that are available. A system that tries to "manage" learning, education, students is very much like someone who "tolerates" others. If someone treated you as if they tolerated you, would that be sufficient, would that be "fair and appropriate?" To me, it wouldn't and it doesn't.
Teachers should be assessed more efficiently, programs and services offered by the district should be explained prior to parents needing to seek them out. There has to a more stringent means of hiring and firing people who are a part of this profession. When we look at ourselves and we recognize what our weaknesses are, only then can we move forward. There is no room for complacency nor mediocrity in education and the longer we tolerate it, the more damage both cause. Teachers have an overwhelming task and they should be compensated by their performance, their time, their dedication and of course, by results, measurable by some yardstick other than Standardized Test Scores. But there has to be a recognition that there are so many teachers out there who should not be teaching, who have to go. Restructure the system so that these people either live up to higher expectations or they get fired. Why do we protect people in a position to exert a tremendous amount of influence over a segment of the population that is the most vulnerable, the most innocent and who have the chance to make the most difference in the next generation?
If you tell me that I have weaknesses, I work on them, but, really, I already know what they are. I talk to my students, I consider what they say. I talk to my colleagues, I ask for help, I recognize when I am in over my head. Does any of this make me a better teacher? I don't know, but I do know that it keeps me in a Growth mindset rather than in a fixed one. And because of this, I keep trying to improve and to be better and to learn more and if that doesn't sum up what teachers do, I don't know what does. If you have a child in the public school system, start at the beginning. Find out what's available and where you need to go to get it and then GO.
Interestingly, although the "standards" have changed since I was in Kindergarten and in Elementary School, there were 28 kids in my class and I was reading before I left my K class. We even took naps back then. We had reading groups, we worked with kids who were of the same ability level and we moved at our own pace. We had one teacher and no aides in the class. We did homework that made sense and by 4th grade, I was doing 5th grade work and the more I did, the more the teacher gave me to do. There was no, "Please don't read ahead so that class can stay together." That is one of the most ridiculous statements I've ever heard come out of a teacher's mouth.
There are no real solutions here because the "problems" are like tentacles, reaching far and deep into every aspect of education. I know that. I just would like more parents to know, going into a school, that they have the right to question everything and everyone and that they don't have to take it just because a "teacher" told them that's how it is. That teacher most likely has a degree and a teaching credential. How did he/she become a sudden expert on psychological testing and emotionally disturbed children and working with autism and the social benefits of similar task grouping and... the list is endless. A teacher might do the same thing two years in a row, curriculum wise as mandated by the State of course, but I would hope, I would wish, I would pray that the teacher would adjust how he/she presents the material according to the students that he/she has THAT year. Clearly, what works for one class, doesn't work for another, even if that means, just two kids in the class.
A student told me the other night, Hey Ms. Hawley, you never stick to the syllabus, you always change everything and I agreed. I despise the syllabus. It's like a monkey on my back. It helps the students, but only if I stick to it and clearly, therein lies the problem. So I ask her, why are you taking me for the third time. She laughed and said, "Because you're a fantastic teacher." One does not have to give way for the other; I know plenty of fantastic teachers who follow the syllabus. Organization is not my strong suit; it never has been. I recognize that and I work on it. Slowly...
At the end of the day, Nick stays where he is, in a private school where the environment is slower paced, kinder if you will and less intrusive. I forfeited his services by signing them away yesterday and although I was worried about the implications of doing this, I feel, deep down, that it was the right decision at this time. A year from now, it might be different. If it is, then we'll address it then.
Ty said to his Preppie K teacher, "Hey, there's too much people in this class." She laughed and said, "Yes Ty, there are too many people in this class." She laughed and I smiled yet there was a moment when we both realized the truth in that statement and that it reflected something much deeper than either of us was willing or able to address. Hey, if the 5 year old feels it, what is there to do?
Educate yourself parents, go back to school, get resources and be prepared, because it's only going to get more difficult as the belt tightens and the expectations grow. Oh, and please, read to your children... just had to throw that in there.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Running the New York Marathon... 11/6/11
"Run like you stole something Ms. Hawley" words immortalized on the back of the running jersey that I will wear tomorrow in the New York marathon. I asked my students at Santa Monica College if they would like to sign my jersey before I left on the journey that brought me here tonight and most all of them did sign it; most of them, in fact, wrote the silliest, funniest and really memorable things. In addition to the one aforementioned, another classic would have to be "You better finish!" Almost sounds like a threat. When I asked the student about that, he laughed and said, "I just want to see the medal." Well, show me the money New York because it's on...
As I sit here in the dark, in the room at the Royal Park Hostel where I am staying, after just having had a "tension" reliever dinner with Rosh, Coco and Emma(also insane and highly motivated New York marathon runners)I am trying to draw from my word bank, the most appropriate and creatively descriptive words and phrases to accurately demonstrate what I'm feeling right now and, basically, I can't. I don't like to use that phrase and frankly, I use it very rarely, but there is no exact combination of things that I could say that can even begin to describe what the next 24 hours will be like. So, instead of trying, let me share a couple of stories and I hope that these will convey what this experience is like and what it will be like tomorrow...
The first marathon that I ran 3 years ago was for APLA and although I ran on Sundays, the Saturday group had a fantastic running coach named Scott. We had a much smaller group on Sundays that first year, but we knew who Scott was, just from the wonderful anecdotes that were shared about him, by the other coaches. I had only seen him a few times, but I too had heard the stories and he is beloved; that is the best way to describe it. Beloved. Two weeks ago, the new season for APLA began; the training for the Los Angeles Marathon in March and, I went, I signed up and there, in front of almost 200 alumni, was Coach Scott and this time, the story that involved him, that he would tell, would change everything, including an experience for a woman who had never met Scott, who never even knew who he was...
There are many reasons why I am sitting here and most of them have to do with you. Your support and generosity have fueled the fire that makes me want to continue to run these races. I could not do this without your help and that's really the whole point. We rely on each other in these marathons and we rely on everyone who surrounds us: family, friends, spectators, even people who we've never met, people whose lives benefit from the money that is raised, people who are trying to change the world by recruiting others to join in the crusade for charitable organizations.
I sit here because I represent all of them and you...
Coach Scott sent me a message saying that he was coming to New York to cheer on his brother in law and others who would be running. Then he shared the news that he had deferred his entry as long as possible for the last couple of years, but that this year he would have to use it. But, he wasn't going to be able to run and, by the way, Did I know anyone who could use it? (Insert mischievous smile here)
Coco Comer is one of those women who you want to know because you realize, once you've spent about 2 minutes with her, that she is everything that you could ever want in a friend: she's funny, smart, a confidante, she drinks, she runs and she's as quick as a whip. And, she's here, in New York, to cheer us on, oh, but now, she's running with us. Two days before the marathon and she has become Coach Scott and there couldn't have been a better person to represent this lovely and courageous man.
Coach Scott is in his own health marathon right now; battling two kinds of cancer. It is not my place to share details or even to ask I guess, but I think that by having made this coincidental connection and then by his graciously giving Coco his bib number, he has inadvertently bound us all together. Tomorrow when she runs, she will embody, as she does, all of the wonderful qualities about Coach Scott: his strength, his poise, his grace and his determination and, most of all his courage. Events unify us, but love and friendship, sharing and respect bind us forever.
I chose Autism Speaks this year because of Nick, for Nick and for all children with Autism. Tonight, as we sat at the dinner and listened to the stories and the numbers and when we met many people from all over, I was reminded of little I really know about the world and how simply naive I've become once again. I mean, do I think I have even a remote chance of changing the world with the 3 thousand dollars I've raised when a man stood up there who had raised 121 thousand? Do I, even in my wildest dreams, think that by running a 6 or even a 5 hour marathon will matter to anyone? How can I begin to imagine that what I do out there tomorrow has a real impact on any of it? On the world? On you?
So, I sit here and reflect, type, wonder, wait to get tired enough to fall asleep, knowing that I have to wake up in a little over 5 hours, in the freezing cold, take the subway, walk 4 blocks, take a bus and then wait around for 3 hours in order to run 26.2 miles... what definition of crazy is most appropriate here?
I'm scared and excited, nervous, jittery, my head hurts, I'm tired, I shouldn't have had that martini earlier or that ice cream if we're really counting, I miss my kids, I need to take a walk and clear my head. I am feeling a lot right now, slowly building to a boiling point that will no doubt explode some time tomorrow. But here's the beauty in it all. Not for one single second do I doubt that I will cross that finish line tomorrow. It's not pride or vanity or ego in this instance; it is simply sheer will. Whatever I have to do, however I have to do it, I will finish. And knowing that is the only option gives me enough peace to let all of the rest of it go for a few hours. Knowing that reminds me that Nick and Jake and Ty and all of the other children and families who are out there struggling with Autism or with HIV or with Cancer, all of those families who will show up tomorrow to cheer us on when we need it the most are what matters. Coach Scott matters, love matters, hope matters.
I'm going to close my eyes now and I'm going to say a quick prayer that might look something like this:
Dear Lord,
Remember why we are all running tomorrow and help those who cannot help themselves. Please give us all the strength and the patience to reach our destination whether that be a finish line or a starting line. And Lord, remind us of the greatness of helping others, of spreading the joy and love that reside in all of us. And, one more thing? Thank you for bringing me here. I won't let you down. I won't let any of you down.
Good luck to all of the runners tomorrow, may your feet be as light as your hearts and may they not hurt too badly. Thank you again for all of your wishes everyone. Close your eyes about 5 pm tomorrow and send me some more of those because that's when I will need them the most.
I run because I hope, I believe, I trust, I love, I care, I am blessed... I run because I KNOW that one person starts the change that makes the world better and tomorrow, there will be about 47,000 of them vying for the chance to show the world just that. Good Luck Marathoners!
New York City, 2011
As I sit here in the dark, in the room at the Royal Park Hostel where I am staying, after just having had a "tension" reliever dinner with Rosh, Coco and Emma(also insane and highly motivated New York marathon runners)I am trying to draw from my word bank, the most appropriate and creatively descriptive words and phrases to accurately demonstrate what I'm feeling right now and, basically, I can't. I don't like to use that phrase and frankly, I use it very rarely, but there is no exact combination of things that I could say that can even begin to describe what the next 24 hours will be like. So, instead of trying, let me share a couple of stories and I hope that these will convey what this experience is like and what it will be like tomorrow...
The first marathon that I ran 3 years ago was for APLA and although I ran on Sundays, the Saturday group had a fantastic running coach named Scott. We had a much smaller group on Sundays that first year, but we knew who Scott was, just from the wonderful anecdotes that were shared about him, by the other coaches. I had only seen him a few times, but I too had heard the stories and he is beloved; that is the best way to describe it. Beloved. Two weeks ago, the new season for APLA began; the training for the Los Angeles Marathon in March and, I went, I signed up and there, in front of almost 200 alumni, was Coach Scott and this time, the story that involved him, that he would tell, would change everything, including an experience for a woman who had never met Scott, who never even knew who he was...
There are many reasons why I am sitting here and most of them have to do with you. Your support and generosity have fueled the fire that makes me want to continue to run these races. I could not do this without your help and that's really the whole point. We rely on each other in these marathons and we rely on everyone who surrounds us: family, friends, spectators, even people who we've never met, people whose lives benefit from the money that is raised, people who are trying to change the world by recruiting others to join in the crusade for charitable organizations.
I sit here because I represent all of them and you...
Coach Scott sent me a message saying that he was coming to New York to cheer on his brother in law and others who would be running. Then he shared the news that he had deferred his entry as long as possible for the last couple of years, but that this year he would have to use it. But, he wasn't going to be able to run and, by the way, Did I know anyone who could use it? (Insert mischievous smile here)
Coco Comer is one of those women who you want to know because you realize, once you've spent about 2 minutes with her, that she is everything that you could ever want in a friend: she's funny, smart, a confidante, she drinks, she runs and she's as quick as a whip. And, she's here, in New York, to cheer us on, oh, but now, she's running with us. Two days before the marathon and she has become Coach Scott and there couldn't have been a better person to represent this lovely and courageous man.
Coach Scott is in his own health marathon right now; battling two kinds of cancer. It is not my place to share details or even to ask I guess, but I think that by having made this coincidental connection and then by his graciously giving Coco his bib number, he has inadvertently bound us all together. Tomorrow when she runs, she will embody, as she does, all of the wonderful qualities about Coach Scott: his strength, his poise, his grace and his determination and, most of all his courage. Events unify us, but love and friendship, sharing and respect bind us forever.
I chose Autism Speaks this year because of Nick, for Nick and for all children with Autism. Tonight, as we sat at the dinner and listened to the stories and the numbers and when we met many people from all over, I was reminded of little I really know about the world and how simply naive I've become once again. I mean, do I think I have even a remote chance of changing the world with the 3 thousand dollars I've raised when a man stood up there who had raised 121 thousand? Do I, even in my wildest dreams, think that by running a 6 or even a 5 hour marathon will matter to anyone? How can I begin to imagine that what I do out there tomorrow has a real impact on any of it? On the world? On you?
So, I sit here and reflect, type, wonder, wait to get tired enough to fall asleep, knowing that I have to wake up in a little over 5 hours, in the freezing cold, take the subway, walk 4 blocks, take a bus and then wait around for 3 hours in order to run 26.2 miles... what definition of crazy is most appropriate here?
I'm scared and excited, nervous, jittery, my head hurts, I'm tired, I shouldn't have had that martini earlier or that ice cream if we're really counting, I miss my kids, I need to take a walk and clear my head. I am feeling a lot right now, slowly building to a boiling point that will no doubt explode some time tomorrow. But here's the beauty in it all. Not for one single second do I doubt that I will cross that finish line tomorrow. It's not pride or vanity or ego in this instance; it is simply sheer will. Whatever I have to do, however I have to do it, I will finish. And knowing that is the only option gives me enough peace to let all of the rest of it go for a few hours. Knowing that reminds me that Nick and Jake and Ty and all of the other children and families who are out there struggling with Autism or with HIV or with Cancer, all of those families who will show up tomorrow to cheer us on when we need it the most are what matters. Coach Scott matters, love matters, hope matters.
I'm going to close my eyes now and I'm going to say a quick prayer that might look something like this:
Dear Lord,
Remember why we are all running tomorrow and help those who cannot help themselves. Please give us all the strength and the patience to reach our destination whether that be a finish line or a starting line. And Lord, remind us of the greatness of helping others, of spreading the joy and love that reside in all of us. And, one more thing? Thank you for bringing me here. I won't let you down. I won't let any of you down.
Good luck to all of the runners tomorrow, may your feet be as light as your hearts and may they not hurt too badly. Thank you again for all of your wishes everyone. Close your eyes about 5 pm tomorrow and send me some more of those because that's when I will need them the most.
I run because I hope, I believe, I trust, I love, I care, I am blessed... I run because I KNOW that one person starts the change that makes the world better and tomorrow, there will be about 47,000 of them vying for the chance to show the world just that. Good Luck Marathoners!
New York City, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Coming Home...
Yes dear friends, it's that time of year; dust off the letterman's jacket and pull out the photos with the frayed edges to show your kids, who incidentally, don't want to see them except to say, "What's with the weird hair mom?" Or, "Oh my Gosh, is that you?" Really? Am I that unrecognizable? Whatever it was, whatever it is, another homecoming weekend has gone and most of us are left to ask that age old question once again, "Where the hell did that year go?"
25 years ago, when I was 17, there I was, standing on the grass with my dad who, in the photos, is younger than I am now and we are waiting, waiting, waiting, seemingly forever... The frenzy that surrounds the crowning of the Homecoming Queen is much like the Hollywood "It" girl of the week; I mean, do you remember who "the next big thing" is from week to week? If you do then fuck you I'm not writing this for you, but if you are often as in a haze about the celebrity status quo as I am, then this monologue is right up your alley so, read on...
"Hey mom, what's that thing called? You know, the thing, the flower thing that I'm supposed to get for her?"
"What? What are you talking about?" I'm trying not to smile as Jake is frustrated and desperately playing one of our verbal games called, Let's guess what the hell Jake is talking about? Even when I guess, I usually egg him on for a few minutes anyway; it's in the maternal contract. Says right on Page 3, line 57, "...psychologically torture at will." Hey, I'm just doing my part.
"MOM! The thing with the wristband that I'm supposed to get for her for the dance."
"Nope, no idea what you're talking about. Is this some kind of a new fad or something, a bracelet, like those Save the Boobies ones?" Now I'm really trying to keep a straight face as he looks as though he is about to implode,
"Forget it, when is Dad getting home?"
"Oh like he's going to have a clue what you're talking about" Jake turns to walk away when I pretend like I'm thinking and I go,
"Hold on a sec, are you talking about a ... corsage?" I swear, the kind of relief that flooded his eyes and his face as his expression passed from one of anxiety to one of contentment while he nodded was the exact same kind that I felt when I was once so engorged that it took me FOREVER to get that little bugger latched on properly, but when I did, Hallelujah! The Heavens parted. Jake's face reminded me of that moment, same intensity.
"Corsage, yeah, we need to get her one"
"Okay, I'll order one"
"Yeah?" He seemed to think that was it, but he should have read further in the contract, Page 3, line 62 "continue torture as needed to procure desired reaction..."
"Yeah, no problem" He started to walk away,
"Hey Jake, but don't you need something to wear too? A flower that goes on your shirt?" The screwed up face returned when he realized that I was right,
"Oh, what's that called?" Can somebody say commercial interruption because there was no way in hell that he was going to get boutenniere...
Yes, I am mean (never said I wasn't)...
My senior year, there were 5 girls out on the field, as is customary: Jenny, Carolyn, Julee, Monica and myself. We were all standing in the freezing cold wind, adreneline pumping, surrounded by the drill team and the band, grasping our father's arms as they stood there, warm in their suit jackets, waiting... What is it with waiting, the prolonging... ah, I'm sensing a theme here with the torture thing, but you already caught that. Anyway, our senior year, the class president, who I've known since we played softball together starting at age 11, always had the craziest and really, the most awesome ideas. She was, and still is, a damn smart and creative thinker and she came up with the idea of getting the blimp to fly over at half time and to have the ticker tape reveal the name of the Queen. Fucking genius. Who would have thought of that, I mean, the blimp? How crazy cool is that? So, here comes the blimp and we're all like chickens, lolling our heads around, looking up, pointing, reading the letters in red as they begin to scroll... The 1986 West High Homecoming Queen is...
The doorbell rings last night and it's time for Jake to take pictures with Mia; it's also time for just a second of "This has indeed come full circle" for me since Jake is a freshman at my alma mater and it is surreal to see him, all dressed up, ready for his first dance in high school, with a gem of a human being on his arm. So, there's a little bit of fuss, I think we all did quite nicely, considering the group, Thalia and I primarily, of not humiliating the two of them and, we sent them on their way. There were a few collective, "Aaaahhhs" but overall, not too bad as Jake would confirm later after I picked the two of them up from the dance. I have to admit though, when he came down the stairs a bit earlier, I got a little teary eyed. No smirking... read Page 88 of the contract and cut me some slack.
I think the most wonderful moment and really, the moments of Homecoming are the shared memories that people have when they return to the school or a school from their youth. Even walking through an old school can evoke a flood of strong emotion and memory that is more powerful than the time when the person was actually attending classes there. Nostalgia and sentiment are powerful bedfellows and they do not like to be asked to go home too soon after they take over. Kinda like that girl you picked up last week at the bar down in Hermosa, just checking to see if you were still paying attention. This year, there was a dedication ceremony for Coach Pete and the revealing of the plaque in his honor, along with the renaming of the West High Stadium that will forever bear his name. Rightfully so, everyone agrees. The man was a Warrior in more ways than one and those of us who share that distinction, well, I haven't met anyone who isn't proud to have graduated from West and there is a camraderie that permeates this community. As a result of that, I am glad that my son is now a member of that pride and of that sense of belonging. I hope that he treasures it as much as I do.
I also think it's interesting the concept of the Homecoming "Queen" and of the "King" for that matter because it isn't something that you work for or that you earn really; it's just something that's given to you for really what reason? You were the smartest? The prettiest? The easiest? The Best at whatever it was that the majority of kids happened to like at the time? I mean, is popularity the criteria? I guess that's the universal answer, but what does it mean to be "popular?" Well liked? Respected? Feared? Hated? I mean in John Hughes movies, the popular kids were cruel and sometimes without feeling toward anyone else. If that's the case, then the Homecoming Queen is a real bitch. It's like Miss USA; really? Yes it's a contest, but it's not really a contest. Miss America, now THAT'S a contest; at least there's talent in that one. Not to knock Miss USA, but I just don't get it, never have, never will. Besides that, it's so unbelievably drawn out; just call out Texas already and get it over. Well, California sometimes too, but Texas man, you'd think that a state that produced W. wouldn't have any beautiful women, but whoa... there will be no political commentary here, none whatsoever. Besides, I'm digressing again,which, as you already know, is normal par for the course...
So there we stand, looking up, craning our necks as we hear people begin to read the words as they appear on the tape; it's this collective voice, unified, like a vocal drumroll, but then, when they get to the name, there is no name read because the crowd bursts into this kind of quasi-yelling, screaming mass of insane parents and friends and classmates and there's clapping and whistling as the former HQ moves to crown her successor. There are hugs and congratulations, roses and a robe and, of course, a tiara, more hugs, a glance upward to read her own name on the ticker tape and to laugh at the fun of it all. Tears come even though she told them not to and she feels very awkward and happy and silly all at the same time as her dad takes her arm and leads her to the car to drive around the track... and all the while she's thinking. All the while I'm thinking... how did that happen?
I pulled out the pictures last night to show Jake and his response was expected, mostly at our choices of 80's attire and hairstyles, but he smiled too as he asked me questions about that night. Then again, he is a boy so there weren't all that many questions. He got up and moved to walk away, but he stopped, turned back and asked,
"Hey Mom"
"Yep?"
"Is your picture still up in the ASB office from when you won?"
I thought about it,
"Yeah as far as I know"
He nodded, "Cool" and walked away. For the mom of a 14 year old son, that was pretty much the equivalent of winning the gold medal... cool.
It's not something you put on your resume or something that ever comes up in conversation; it's not something that I even tell people except in certain contexts. But the reasons why I don't say it aren't because I wasn't happy or because I feel a certain way about being chosen. I don't say it because there is no need to say it. When you win a game, you don't walk around telling people years later that you won. You might tell details or share in the joy of having experienced it, but you don't do that; it spoils the authenticity of the moment. Geez I sound like Dr. Phil, but, sincerely, when you have moments like that in your life, they remain precious because they are close to your heart, made for you, by you, with the help of others and oversharing them is to minimize their importance. Like when Jake put the corsage on Mia's wrist and she said "Thank You." It's all in the gestures, the background, the moments, and, that's the way it should be.
So once a year, I, like many of my fellow Warrior alumni, come home: to visit, to share, to remember, to help pass on the traditions to a new generation, to our own children. "What was it like to be the Homecoming Queen?" Somebody asked me that at the game this year and I guess, really, my answer to that question was everything that I just wrote here, but that would have been too much to say, so instead, I just simply said,"It was an honor" and it still is...
Welcome Home everyone. Go West!
25 years ago, when I was 17, there I was, standing on the grass with my dad who, in the photos, is younger than I am now and we are waiting, waiting, waiting, seemingly forever... The frenzy that surrounds the crowning of the Homecoming Queen is much like the Hollywood "It" girl of the week; I mean, do you remember who "the next big thing" is from week to week? If you do then fuck you I'm not writing this for you, but if you are often as in a haze about the celebrity status quo as I am, then this monologue is right up your alley so, read on...
"Hey mom, what's that thing called? You know, the thing, the flower thing that I'm supposed to get for her?"
"What? What are you talking about?" I'm trying not to smile as Jake is frustrated and desperately playing one of our verbal games called, Let's guess what the hell Jake is talking about? Even when I guess, I usually egg him on for a few minutes anyway; it's in the maternal contract. Says right on Page 3, line 57, "...psychologically torture at will." Hey, I'm just doing my part.
"MOM! The thing with the wristband that I'm supposed to get for her for the dance."
"Nope, no idea what you're talking about. Is this some kind of a new fad or something, a bracelet, like those Save the Boobies ones?" Now I'm really trying to keep a straight face as he looks as though he is about to implode,
"Forget it, when is Dad getting home?"
"Oh like he's going to have a clue what you're talking about" Jake turns to walk away when I pretend like I'm thinking and I go,
"Hold on a sec, are you talking about a ... corsage?" I swear, the kind of relief that flooded his eyes and his face as his expression passed from one of anxiety to one of contentment while he nodded was the exact same kind that I felt when I was once so engorged that it took me FOREVER to get that little bugger latched on properly, but when I did, Hallelujah! The Heavens parted. Jake's face reminded me of that moment, same intensity.
"Corsage, yeah, we need to get her one"
"Okay, I'll order one"
"Yeah?" He seemed to think that was it, but he should have read further in the contract, Page 3, line 62 "continue torture as needed to procure desired reaction..."
"Yeah, no problem" He started to walk away,
"Hey Jake, but don't you need something to wear too? A flower that goes on your shirt?" The screwed up face returned when he realized that I was right,
"Oh, what's that called?" Can somebody say commercial interruption because there was no way in hell that he was going to get boutenniere...
Yes, I am mean (never said I wasn't)...
My senior year, there were 5 girls out on the field, as is customary: Jenny, Carolyn, Julee, Monica and myself. We were all standing in the freezing cold wind, adreneline pumping, surrounded by the drill team and the band, grasping our father's arms as they stood there, warm in their suit jackets, waiting... What is it with waiting, the prolonging... ah, I'm sensing a theme here with the torture thing, but you already caught that. Anyway, our senior year, the class president, who I've known since we played softball together starting at age 11, always had the craziest and really, the most awesome ideas. She was, and still is, a damn smart and creative thinker and she came up with the idea of getting the blimp to fly over at half time and to have the ticker tape reveal the name of the Queen. Fucking genius. Who would have thought of that, I mean, the blimp? How crazy cool is that? So, here comes the blimp and we're all like chickens, lolling our heads around, looking up, pointing, reading the letters in red as they begin to scroll... The 1986 West High Homecoming Queen is...
The doorbell rings last night and it's time for Jake to take pictures with Mia; it's also time for just a second of "This has indeed come full circle" for me since Jake is a freshman at my alma mater and it is surreal to see him, all dressed up, ready for his first dance in high school, with a gem of a human being on his arm. So, there's a little bit of fuss, I think we all did quite nicely, considering the group, Thalia and I primarily, of not humiliating the two of them and, we sent them on their way. There were a few collective, "Aaaahhhs" but overall, not too bad as Jake would confirm later after I picked the two of them up from the dance. I have to admit though, when he came down the stairs a bit earlier, I got a little teary eyed. No smirking... read Page 88 of the contract and cut me some slack.
I think the most wonderful moment and really, the moments of Homecoming are the shared memories that people have when they return to the school or a school from their youth. Even walking through an old school can evoke a flood of strong emotion and memory that is more powerful than the time when the person was actually attending classes there. Nostalgia and sentiment are powerful bedfellows and they do not like to be asked to go home too soon after they take over. Kinda like that girl you picked up last week at the bar down in Hermosa, just checking to see if you were still paying attention. This year, there was a dedication ceremony for Coach Pete and the revealing of the plaque in his honor, along with the renaming of the West High Stadium that will forever bear his name. Rightfully so, everyone agrees. The man was a Warrior in more ways than one and those of us who share that distinction, well, I haven't met anyone who isn't proud to have graduated from West and there is a camraderie that permeates this community. As a result of that, I am glad that my son is now a member of that pride and of that sense of belonging. I hope that he treasures it as much as I do.
I also think it's interesting the concept of the Homecoming "Queen" and of the "King" for that matter because it isn't something that you work for or that you earn really; it's just something that's given to you for really what reason? You were the smartest? The prettiest? The easiest? The Best at whatever it was that the majority of kids happened to like at the time? I mean, is popularity the criteria? I guess that's the universal answer, but what does it mean to be "popular?" Well liked? Respected? Feared? Hated? I mean in John Hughes movies, the popular kids were cruel and sometimes without feeling toward anyone else. If that's the case, then the Homecoming Queen is a real bitch. It's like Miss USA; really? Yes it's a contest, but it's not really a contest. Miss America, now THAT'S a contest; at least there's talent in that one. Not to knock Miss USA, but I just don't get it, never have, never will. Besides that, it's so unbelievably drawn out; just call out Texas already and get it over. Well, California sometimes too, but Texas man, you'd think that a state that produced W. wouldn't have any beautiful women, but whoa... there will be no political commentary here, none whatsoever. Besides, I'm digressing again,which, as you already know, is normal par for the course...
So there we stand, looking up, craning our necks as we hear people begin to read the words as they appear on the tape; it's this collective voice, unified, like a vocal drumroll, but then, when they get to the name, there is no name read because the crowd bursts into this kind of quasi-yelling, screaming mass of insane parents and friends and classmates and there's clapping and whistling as the former HQ moves to crown her successor. There are hugs and congratulations, roses and a robe and, of course, a tiara, more hugs, a glance upward to read her own name on the ticker tape and to laugh at the fun of it all. Tears come even though she told them not to and she feels very awkward and happy and silly all at the same time as her dad takes her arm and leads her to the car to drive around the track... and all the while she's thinking. All the while I'm thinking... how did that happen?
I pulled out the pictures last night to show Jake and his response was expected, mostly at our choices of 80's attire and hairstyles, but he smiled too as he asked me questions about that night. Then again, he is a boy so there weren't all that many questions. He got up and moved to walk away, but he stopped, turned back and asked,
"Hey Mom"
"Yep?"
"Is your picture still up in the ASB office from when you won?"
I thought about it,
"Yeah as far as I know"
He nodded, "Cool" and walked away. For the mom of a 14 year old son, that was pretty much the equivalent of winning the gold medal... cool.
It's not something you put on your resume or something that ever comes up in conversation; it's not something that I even tell people except in certain contexts. But the reasons why I don't say it aren't because I wasn't happy or because I feel a certain way about being chosen. I don't say it because there is no need to say it. When you win a game, you don't walk around telling people years later that you won. You might tell details or share in the joy of having experienced it, but you don't do that; it spoils the authenticity of the moment. Geez I sound like Dr. Phil, but, sincerely, when you have moments like that in your life, they remain precious because they are close to your heart, made for you, by you, with the help of others and oversharing them is to minimize their importance. Like when Jake put the corsage on Mia's wrist and she said "Thank You." It's all in the gestures, the background, the moments, and, that's the way it should be.
So once a year, I, like many of my fellow Warrior alumni, come home: to visit, to share, to remember, to help pass on the traditions to a new generation, to our own children. "What was it like to be the Homecoming Queen?" Somebody asked me that at the game this year and I guess, really, my answer to that question was everything that I just wrote here, but that would have been too much to say, so instead, I just simply said,"It was an honor" and it still is...
Welcome Home everyone. Go West!
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Turning 5...
I remember sinking to my knees in the bathroom of the apartment where we were living at the time, tears coming quickly, staring at the little plus sign in the window.
I remember hearing those magical words, "You're pregnant!" and feeling both fear and joy that time.
I remember craving Orange Chicken and Pozole soup and wanting spicy foods; seemed to be the only things that settled my stomach.
I remember walking the dog and having to stop suddenly to vomit in the bushes because the morning sickness was so intense.
I remember how wonderful it felt, carrying you; feeling you kick, singing to my belly, wanting you to hurry up and get here.
I remember driving to the hospital with your Dad at 4:30 in the morning, ready for the C section that we'd scheduled.
I remember sitting there with your Dad, waiting for the surgery, trying to decide on a name for you, wondering why I was in pain.
I remember when we agreed on TY as your name and your Dad saying that we would tell people the T was for Tim and the Y was for Yvette, but really we just liked the name.
I remember walking into the operating room, telling the nurse about the pain, only to have her tell me, "You're in labor, you've actually been having contractions all this time!"
I remember hearing you cry, not too loudly and your Dad bringing you over so that I could kiss your face. Black hair, unhappy, squinting eyes, red skin.
I remember the 3 days in the hospital, not wanting to put you down, watching television, singing to you, feeding you.
I remember on the fourth day when you went limp in my arms and the nurse took your temperature and then, you were whisked upstairs for two weeks. Staph infection.
I remember coming home from the hospital without you, feeling kind of lost and very afraid; I was lying in bed, crying and praying.
I remember thinking to myself, please don't let him die in the hospital while I'm here. Please let me bring him home.
I remember going to pick you up, perfectly fine and the nurse making me sit in the wheelchair anyway, two weeks later.
I remember not minding the middle of the night feedings or the baths or the rocking you in the chair.
I remember how I blinked my eyes and you were 1 and then 3 and now, today, 5 years old.
I remember how much I wanted you and how much you've brought to our family.
I remember all of the times you've made me laugh and made me cry, already and I'm looking forward to many more.
And, in case someday you don't, I will remember all of this so that I can tell you about it then.
Happy 5th Birthday Ty Matthew Hawley and many more to come. I love you.
I remember hearing those magical words, "You're pregnant!" and feeling both fear and joy that time.
I remember craving Orange Chicken and Pozole soup and wanting spicy foods; seemed to be the only things that settled my stomach.
I remember walking the dog and having to stop suddenly to vomit in the bushes because the morning sickness was so intense.
I remember how wonderful it felt, carrying you; feeling you kick, singing to my belly, wanting you to hurry up and get here.
I remember driving to the hospital with your Dad at 4:30 in the morning, ready for the C section that we'd scheduled.
I remember sitting there with your Dad, waiting for the surgery, trying to decide on a name for you, wondering why I was in pain.
I remember when we agreed on TY as your name and your Dad saying that we would tell people the T was for Tim and the Y was for Yvette, but really we just liked the name.
I remember walking into the operating room, telling the nurse about the pain, only to have her tell me, "You're in labor, you've actually been having contractions all this time!"
I remember hearing you cry, not too loudly and your Dad bringing you over so that I could kiss your face. Black hair, unhappy, squinting eyes, red skin.
I remember the 3 days in the hospital, not wanting to put you down, watching television, singing to you, feeding you.
I remember on the fourth day when you went limp in my arms and the nurse took your temperature and then, you were whisked upstairs for two weeks. Staph infection.
I remember coming home from the hospital without you, feeling kind of lost and very afraid; I was lying in bed, crying and praying.
I remember thinking to myself, please don't let him die in the hospital while I'm here. Please let me bring him home.
I remember going to pick you up, perfectly fine and the nurse making me sit in the wheelchair anyway, two weeks later.
I remember not minding the middle of the night feedings or the baths or the rocking you in the chair.
I remember how I blinked my eyes and you were 1 and then 3 and now, today, 5 years old.
I remember how much I wanted you and how much you've brought to our family.
I remember all of the times you've made me laugh and made me cry, already and I'm looking forward to many more.
And, in case someday you don't, I will remember all of this so that I can tell you about it then.
Happy 5th Birthday Ty Matthew Hawley and many more to come. I love you.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Ty
Happy Birthday to my littlest guy, Ty Matthew Hawley. What a blessing you've been these past 5 years! Have a wonderful day big guy...
Love,
Mommy
Love,
Mommy
Sunday, September 11, 2011
9/11
Dear New York City,
Ten years later, a nation remembers: your pain, your sacrifice, your devastation...
And, we will always remember.
Maybe that's all that needs to be said about today; maybe there aren't enough words or images or tears to cover the incredible tapestry of humanity that comes to mind when someone says 9/11. Maybe it's enough to simply close your eyes for a brief moment and remember, often and with a solemnity that only comes from having experienced a firsthand event that changes the very fabric of you are as a human being and who, really, a nation is.
It has all been said during this past decade; it's all been revisited in loving tributes, eulogies, articles about United Flight 93. The stories have been told and retold and today we live in a time when our military continues to be "out there," trying to maintain a foothold in an uncertain world, in a very uncertain time.
When I think of that day and today as I think about all of the people who were in New York City on that day, my heart feels heavy, my head hurts a bit and I feel a sense of despair that kind of starts in my brain and works its way down. My stomach hurts and I'm exhausted. And I wasn't there; like so many of you, I simply stared at the television, watching, waiting, hoping that it didn't happen. And then, I got dressed and went to work, people milling around, whispering beneath their daily tasks, taking every opportunity to turn on a television or a radio to find out what was happening...
When I was a kid, I had this feeling that my family, my neighborhood, my life was secure, invincible would be a better word. That's the point I guess, when you're young, you think that, most of us, if we're lucky. I went to sleep at night feeling safe and I gave little to no thought of the dangers that existed everywhere outside of my shell of world, outside of my family and my school. That feeling of security seemed to vanish on 9/11 and not just for children, for all of us. I remember some of the conversations that day and there was a sense of amazement and wonder as to how it could have happened, how could it have happened? And for maybe the first time, in my adult life as well, I no longer felt safe. I'm not naive and I'm not a fool, of course things happen and no one is 100% safe, but that feeling that I'd had since I was a child vanished the day that the World Trade Center fell and for those who were there, who lived it firsthand, who pulled bodies out from beneath rubble and who lost their family and friends and brothers and co-workers, I cannot begin to fathom the violation that they must have felt and still do. I try to multiple what I felt about a million times over and it's most likely not enough. Devastation lingers, but, maybe that is a point too.
In all of human nature, tragedy brings out the best and worst in us. I think that 9/11 showed the best of what we bring to the table when we are faced headon with the unimaginable, the wolf at the door... but it is also an example of the worst of human beings; their greed and desire for power, revenge, control. Because at our very core, we are all the same. It is merely how we choose to behave and respond that separates "us" from "them." And it was in our response, as New Yorkers, as Americans, as human beings that clearly distinguished "us" from "them." One can only aspire to be as brave, strong and respectful of human life as the firefighters who risked their lives that day; one can only hope to be as courageous and as forthright as the passengers of Flight 93 who knew that they were going to die, who, knew that they were going to die and yet who had the wherewithal to control how it would happen. Their story haunts me to this day.
Sometimes I think that it is ironic how we can come together as a nation in times of tragedy and remembrance but we cannot have a bipartisan Congress. Partisanship divides us to the point where we waste time, money, resources and our integrity even on issues and arguments that in the end, amount to nothing. The best of what we are as a nation should also come through on 9/10 and 9/12 and every other day or 9/11 becomes nothing more than another national day... If we are really going to remember and pay tribute to those who gave their lives, to those who suffered, shouldn't we do it by living their legacy? I'd like to see that kind of passion and committment to every single thing that we do as a nation. Maybe then we would see some real change.
It's hard to imagine what it must have felt like that day, in that great city, amongst the countless terrified and confused and sad people. It's hard to imagine that it could ever happen again. It's hard to imagine...
And so, we move forward and, like any tragic event, we enfold everything that came before and we take it with us, in everything that we do, in every place that we visit, in every baby that's born, in every triumph that we feel and in every day that we have together. So thank you New York, for everything that you are, for everything that you gave us and for reminding us of all that is to come...
Ten years later, a nation remembers: your pain, your sacrifice, your devastation...
And, we will always remember.
Maybe that's all that needs to be said about today; maybe there aren't enough words or images or tears to cover the incredible tapestry of humanity that comes to mind when someone says 9/11. Maybe it's enough to simply close your eyes for a brief moment and remember, often and with a solemnity that only comes from having experienced a firsthand event that changes the very fabric of you are as a human being and who, really, a nation is.
It has all been said during this past decade; it's all been revisited in loving tributes, eulogies, articles about United Flight 93. The stories have been told and retold and today we live in a time when our military continues to be "out there," trying to maintain a foothold in an uncertain world, in a very uncertain time.
When I think of that day and today as I think about all of the people who were in New York City on that day, my heart feels heavy, my head hurts a bit and I feel a sense of despair that kind of starts in my brain and works its way down. My stomach hurts and I'm exhausted. And I wasn't there; like so many of you, I simply stared at the television, watching, waiting, hoping that it didn't happen. And then, I got dressed and went to work, people milling around, whispering beneath their daily tasks, taking every opportunity to turn on a television or a radio to find out what was happening...
When I was a kid, I had this feeling that my family, my neighborhood, my life was secure, invincible would be a better word. That's the point I guess, when you're young, you think that, most of us, if we're lucky. I went to sleep at night feeling safe and I gave little to no thought of the dangers that existed everywhere outside of my shell of world, outside of my family and my school. That feeling of security seemed to vanish on 9/11 and not just for children, for all of us. I remember some of the conversations that day and there was a sense of amazement and wonder as to how it could have happened, how could it have happened? And for maybe the first time, in my adult life as well, I no longer felt safe. I'm not naive and I'm not a fool, of course things happen and no one is 100% safe, but that feeling that I'd had since I was a child vanished the day that the World Trade Center fell and for those who were there, who lived it firsthand, who pulled bodies out from beneath rubble and who lost their family and friends and brothers and co-workers, I cannot begin to fathom the violation that they must have felt and still do. I try to multiple what I felt about a million times over and it's most likely not enough. Devastation lingers, but, maybe that is a point too.
In all of human nature, tragedy brings out the best and worst in us. I think that 9/11 showed the best of what we bring to the table when we are faced headon with the unimaginable, the wolf at the door... but it is also an example of the worst of human beings; their greed and desire for power, revenge, control. Because at our very core, we are all the same. It is merely how we choose to behave and respond that separates "us" from "them." And it was in our response, as New Yorkers, as Americans, as human beings that clearly distinguished "us" from "them." One can only aspire to be as brave, strong and respectful of human life as the firefighters who risked their lives that day; one can only hope to be as courageous and as forthright as the passengers of Flight 93 who knew that they were going to die, who, knew that they were going to die and yet who had the wherewithal to control how it would happen. Their story haunts me to this day.
Sometimes I think that it is ironic how we can come together as a nation in times of tragedy and remembrance but we cannot have a bipartisan Congress. Partisanship divides us to the point where we waste time, money, resources and our integrity even on issues and arguments that in the end, amount to nothing. The best of what we are as a nation should also come through on 9/10 and 9/12 and every other day or 9/11 becomes nothing more than another national day... If we are really going to remember and pay tribute to those who gave their lives, to those who suffered, shouldn't we do it by living their legacy? I'd like to see that kind of passion and committment to every single thing that we do as a nation. Maybe then we would see some real change.
It's hard to imagine what it must have felt like that day, in that great city, amongst the countless terrified and confused and sad people. It's hard to imagine that it could ever happen again. It's hard to imagine...
And so, we move forward and, like any tragic event, we enfold everything that came before and we take it with us, in everything that we do, in every place that we visit, in every baby that's born, in every triumph that we feel and in every day that we have together. So thank you New York, for everything that you are, for everything that you gave us and for reminding us of all that is to come...
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