family

by

An Ode to Rudy’s Youth

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After Rudy finished eating breakfast on the morning of his 5th birthday, he excitedly ran toward the front door, hoping to kick around the soccer ball in the front yard. Unfortunately, his mom stopped him before he had a chance to escape, reminding him he needed to dress in his nice clothes. The ones that lay neatly across his bed. Rudy kicked at the floor and scowled.

Ten minutes later he re-entered the living room wearing a short sleeved white collared shirt fashioned with yellow pinstripes, black slacks, and slick black shoes. His hair was neatly combed back, and a half smile creeped onto his face.

“Qué guapo, hijo!” his mom admonished.

After spending the morning visiting family members in neighboring homes and accepting birthday wishes and hugs from everyone, Rudy spent the afternoon hanging with friends, playing games, eating food, blowing out the candles on his cake, and finally watching a soccer match at the local field.

Later, as the sun began to set, Rudy sat in a rather large chair, facing the crowd of people, opening presents. With each gift the boys and girls clapped their hands, seemingly as excited as Rudy was. Suddenly, a huge box was brought over and placed directly in front of the birthday boy. In his mind, all Rudy could think was that this massive box must contain the fire truck that he had been hoping for. The motorized one, with an extra seat for another fireman behind him.

He cracked open the lid. Looked inside. And felt a bit disappointed. There was another sealed box inside, which, in his mind, meant it diminished the size of what the fire truck should be. An adult came over, pulled the second box out of the first box and placed it in front of Rudy. Again, he peeled open the lid of the box, finding, again, another box. This process repeated itself five more times, ending only when inside the final container was a very small black jewelry box.

Rudy held the tiny cube at arms length, considering the gift from some friends of his parents. With coaxing, he finally flipped the squeaky-hinged box open, finding a gold ring. For a second he felt completely disappointed.

He had no idea what to do with a ring. He had plenty of ideas for fire truck uses.

“Feliz Cumpleaños a ti! Feliz Cumpleaños a ti! Feliz Cumpleaños que rido, Rodolfo! Feliz Cumpleaños a ti!”

 

by

Big Decision

Yep.

Big.

Decision.

I decided.

Not.

To.

Purchase.

A.

PowerBall ticket.

Because.

I.

Have.

No.

Idea.

How.

I’d handle.

What.

Comes.

With.

Such.

A.

Tremendous amount.

Of.

Money.

And.

More importantly.

Happiness

Is.

Not.

A.

Guarantee.



 


 


 

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
Relationships

	


		

		
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Back when I met Rudy, in the early 80’s, it was simply a happenstance. A moment in time where we both were in the same place, at the same time. Nothing planned, just what many may define as meant to be. And to confirm that belief, all I can say is that we met at a tupperware party. Generally, a party for women. Women who’d sit around, socialize, and admire all the sturdy plastic food-saver containers.


At that point in my life, I was still living at home and had no need for such well-made items but I did want to hang out with my good friend who was the invitee to the party. Rudy, on the other hand, and a friend, were asked by the friend’s sister if they’d like to go to a party. Just that, a party. Not, you know, Par-tay! But he misunderstood. “Sure,” Rudy said, imagining all the crazy-dance-like-there’s-no-tomorrow-let’s-have-another-drink fun that’d be happening.


And, the rest is history, so says just about everyone.


Flash forward to 2016.


A conversation ensued with my son, him claiming it’s so difficult to meet anyone, anywhere.


“Not so,” I responded.


“Oh, Mom, I know, I know, you and Dad have the story of the century. You met, you dated, fell in love, married… blah, blah, blah.”


“I’m just saying that it does happen as simple as that.”


“Not these days. That’s why people are always searching on sites for dating, looking for compatibility and companionship because it isn’t simple.”


Sigh.


Later, I noticed his focus was solely on his phone. He laughed, said things like “Holy Shit!”, and seemed to be texting, whoever.


And it dawned on me, right then and there. The reason this new generation is having such a hard time meeting each other is that their faces are always in their phones. I see it all the time, everywhere. Two friends sitting next to each other, texting instead of talking. A girl not realizing a guy is smiling at her, a guy who could have been her future mate. Two people, on vacation, not truly enjoying the view because they’re searching for the perfect picture to share with their followers. Because, you know, a picture is worth a thousand words. And a conversation is well, just that, a conversation.


All I’ve got to say about relationship building is Drop the phone, people, Drop the phone.

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
Watch This. Listen, too.

	


		

		
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I seriously love to people-watch. I am enthralled with the social aspect of human nature.


Every avenue of relationships pique my interest. I am oh-so curious how people, all kinds of people, everywhere, all over the place, in various situations react to this, that, and the other.


I like to dig deep into what is happening, simply by watching. Watching. Watching. Watching. And listening. Trying to decipher what is really going on. Deep. Down. Below. The. Surface.


I wonder, quite often, what would I do without people. People all around. People adding a dimension to my life that deepens my feelings toward the world at large.

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
Be True to Yourself

	


		

		
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I get it, I do. In this day and age, in order to be considered cool, you need to be hip with what’s going on around you, and even more so, follow the trends out there. Whatever they are.


Just be careful, though, that the outside appearance you possess doesn’t interfere with your inner true self. The uniqueness you possess. The confidence you behold. The curiosity you cause.


Always maintain who you truly are. An original you. Possessing a demeanor that’s very personal, and uniquely yours. Living your life, finding your dreams, and feeling your happiness.


Recently, I listened to someone talk about how original they are, how no one is like them. Later, I logged onto Instagram™ only to be bombarded by photos depicting the same originality, claiming that no one is like them (either). They all looked the same. So cool. So hip. So like the latest trend.


Well, I can only hope that they each think, and feel, as individuals, true in their own thoughts, pursuing a life as individual as they are.


Yet.


It is what it is. I understand. We all want to fit in. Know what’s what. Participate in life, similarly to everyone else. Feel part of the crowd.


Be careful, though, because that’s where your true self can get lost. Lost in the crowd. You are no longer unique, but rather you’ve become just like everyone.


Unless. You uphold the value of Be True to Yourself. Then. That’s when. You will truly feel fulfilled.

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

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Lingo

	


		

		
Ah, to be 16 years old. So young, so carefree, so in tune with the latest lingo.


Bradford is one of those kids, one of those boys, who tend to keep up with not only the latest fashion, but he is also very hip to the language used by teens, the “I’m so cool” words which are generally foreign to adults.


Words like Bae (new babe), Basic (something typical), On Point (excellent quality), On Fleek (next level of perfection), TBH (to be honest), Zero Chill (uncool on so many levels), Slay (amazing success), Rachet (hot mess – although Brad simply stated it meant ugly) and Sick (cool).


So many more, so don’t care.


Rudy and I, when feeling humorous, use some of these words just to enhance the entertainment in our kids lives.


Rudy purchased a new hoodie.


I took his picture to send to Brad, knowing he’d appreciate the Jordan pullover.


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Then Rudy says:


“He’s going to say sick.”


“For sure,” I respond, in a know-it-all voice.


“Yeah, sick. Because my style is so sick,” Rudy cracks up.


“So sick,” I laugh, losing my composure.


And then my phone tweets. I’ve got a text.


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“Clean?” Rudy says softly, as if in contemplation.


“Clean. With money bags,” I state, nonchalantly.


Ah, to be 16 years old. So young, so carefree, so in tune with the latest lingo.


 

			

	
	



			
				



			

			
				Positivity			
		

	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
Positivity

	


		

		
It’s not always easy being positive, thinking the good thoughts, believing everything will be fine.


Like anyone, I can fill my head with what’s not right, with a fuck-this-shit attitude.


But.


For me.


It’s worth the simple effort it takes to get to that place, the place in my mind where everything feels serene.


Yay! for me.


I have been gifted a natural ability to move-on, get over it, think positive, hone in on what’s important, and find peace.


Simply. Quickly.


And I can do this, feel positive, faster, way faster, than I fall prey to negativity.


For me, for anyone, for all of us, the reality is that the value of life is what matters, not who is right, who is wrong, or who wins.


“The purpose of our lives is to be happy.” Dalai Lama

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
“come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now”

	


		

		
Rock Band "Youngbloods"When the kids were younger, and for whatever reason, when some kind of disagreement pursued between them, or I was trying to explain the beauty of accepting others for who they are, I’d sing, a small portion of the Youngblood’s song Get Together,  “Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now”. At some point one of the kids, probably Liz, asked if I had made the song up. “Of course!” I responded, as I continued to sing the same words over and over. And because they were young, they thought it was so cool, not really thinking about the fact I never sang any other words aside from the eighteen I repeated over and over until I had had enough.


I love those words, the combination of them. They tell a lot, say so much in such a small bundle of feelings. Truly, everybody, let’s do it, let’s get together, and love one another. Why not? It couldn’t hurt and I bet good things will come of it. Am I right? I’m right.


As the kids got a bit older, and I was, once again, singing, loud, proud, and feel-good happy both Liz and Roberto looked at me. And smiled. One of them, probably Roberto, agreed by Liz, said, “Mom. You are talented. That song is so good!” I laughed, said “Thanks,” and wanted to fall into the tune, to feel the peacefulness of it, but I couldn’t, not yet, not until I told them the truth.


“Okay. I have to be straight-up with you. Because, after-all, I am building trusting, honest relationships with you…..” I rambled on.


They stared at me. Confused. And Brad? Well, he was sitting in the back, tucked into his wee carseat, oblivious to our conversation.


“I didn’t make the song up. It’s not mine. I just love it so.” I smirked. They laughed.


“Oh, wow! I wondered how you could make up something so cool,” Liz admonished. She did a belly-roll, laughing until her sides hurt.


“Come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody get together, try to love one another right now” Roberto sang, in-between spurts of laughter.


That was a simple moment in our life, a building of community and genuine good will. A moment that set the standard for the beliefs that we have always held dear. Smile on your brother. Get together. Love one another. Right now.

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
The working woman. The stay-at-home mom.

	


		

		
IMG_0279Friday night. I’m exhausted. I’m slouched on the over-sized faded denim sofa, watching TV. My eyelids droop ever so slowly. Yet, I can’t sleep. I will need to pick up my youngest kid. Unless he calls, asking if he can spend the night. I’m a working mom. I’ve been in the classroom all week teaching. This. That. And the other.


As I readjust my slumped position, I begin to reflect on my summer life. The one I lived only a few weeks ago. My life away from the school setting. The days I was a stay-at-home mom. Oh, how I enjoyed waking up at a ridiculously late morning hour, like 7am, rather than my working hour of 5am! With coffee in hand, I’d watch recordings of Dateline, Modern Family, and Say Yes to the Dress.

When Brad would wake several hours later (if he didn’t spend the night anywhere), I’d whip up his favorite breakfast – pancakes, eggs, bacon, toast, and orange juice – instead of quickly dropping a granola bar next to his cup of coffee. We’d talk. Shoot the shit. Discuss something new. Or revamp something old. Summer days. Days I truly feel connected. Devoted. Stellar. Like a mom.


I know I have the best of both worlds. Staying at home, working, engaging, and being involved is just as beneficial and rewarding as working outside the home. My family needs time with me just as I need time with myself.


And, so, I know, without a doubt, that the Friday night slump will soon pass, bringing forth renewed energy so that I can spend the evening writing up lesson plans for the following week, along with offering Brad and PB and J for dinner.

			

	
	



			
				



	
	


		
					

				 by 			

				
Writing.

	


		

		
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“Are you done yet, Mom? You said we will watch a movie together.”


Her son is sitting, waiting patiently.


Her face is aglow from the light of the computer.


“One minute. I just need to edit this. Make sure it makes sense. I’ve got to include all the important details,” she responds, not looking his way. “It really has surprised me how much time it takes to write one piece,” she adds, to herself.


But, then.


Finally.


She’s finished.


“Movie?” she questions.


“Yeah. But hold on. I am working on something,”  her son answers.


His eyes are focused on his laptop’s screen.


“Okay. Let me know when you are ready.”


She looks back at the desktop computer.


Opens her post.


Re-reads it for any errors.


Makes sure it’s coherent.


She finds a flaw.


Or two.


A misspelled word.


A sentence that needs a pronoun.


“Mom? I’m ready,” her son says.


“One minute. I just need to edit this,” she mumbles.