people

by

Parenting 101

There’s this fine line between disciplinarian and friend, when it comes to being a parent. Kids need rules, yet, they also need someone they trust. Someone to talk to. Someone like me.
I’ve never grounded my kids. Rather, I find quiet moments to talk about a situation, without making a big deal. Which in turn develops a bond between us. A solidarity.
One day, when Brad was at a friend’s house, I took the opportunity to clean his way too messy room. As the pile of clothing, and other junk, began to diminish from the top of his dresser, having settled back into the drawers, I spotted the Kindle Fire. I had forgotten about the electronic reader, as I had given it to Brad to use for school; so, for me, it was out-of-sight-out-of-mind. During the summer, he said he wanted to spent some time getting acquainted with the gadget, to just play with it, learn how to use it.
Sounded good to me.
I picked the Kindle up, which was tucked into the black leather jacket I had bought, to protect it. I stretched the elastic band off the cover, flipped it open, turned it on, and browsed through items Brad had downloaded. Just checking in, one might say. Games, Facebook, and a few magazines.
I should have guessed, but I hadn’t. Nor was I surprised. Or even mad, that one of the magazines included lots of photos of girls; young women, actually, in teeny-tiny swimsuits. HOT women, emphasizing breasts and rear-ends.
I laughed. To myself.
Later, when Brad was lounging on his bed, I walked in, asking how his day was. It was fun, he told me. And he thanked me for cleaning his room.
“Oh, and by the way, I was looking at the Kindle,” I began.
Brad gave me a sideways glance, narrowed his eyes, and smirked a bit.
“I saw the magazine you downloaded. The girls,” I continued.
He just looked at me. Waited for me to do some more talking.
“I see you have good taste,” I joked.
He smiled, and looked down.
“And, well, anyway, I have no problem with you looking at those pictures, but a word of advice.”
He waited, patiently.
“You need to delete them. The Kindle is for class books, for reading, and I don’t think your teachers would like those photos on campus.” I finished.
“OK,” Brad answered.
The night before his first day of school, I asked him if he had everything he needed. If he was all packed up.
“Yep,” he responded. “And, yes, the magazine has been deleted.”
I am sure he will not be surprised when another respect for women conversation drops into ours lives somewhere down the road.
I am building a lifetime with him. A trusting relationship, so that he knows that no matter what, he can always count on me.
by

Tota and the Cookies

 cookiesTota, age 6, was Rudy’s childhood friend. He was part of the crowd. One of the boys. Someone who wanted to do the right thing, mostly. But because of peer pressure from his buddies, sometimes he did the wrong thing.

The women in town made it a point to purchase snacks to share with their friends whenever they came to visit. A nice cup of tea, and some scrumptious cookies always filled the bill. Those cookies weren’t to be touched by anyone except for the woman who bought them. And only when she invited someone over, or when other women invited themselves to stop by for some good conversation. Or maybe just a bit of gossip.

One day, the boys were outside playing their crazy made-up games, running around, having a great time. Having fun until one of them, and then all of them, began to feel the pangs of hunger. Or maybe not hunger, but a desire for something sweet. Something good. And before you know it, all the boys are staring at Tota. They all knew what lay hidden behind his kitchen cupboard doors, sealed, waiting to satisfy. Cookies. Layers of small, buttery cookies.

“Come on, Tota,” one boy started, then another and another.

“I can’t,” he began, his eyes wide, almost fearful. “My mom will burn my fingers if I even think about stealing a few.”

“Nah, no way. She wouldn’t do that. Come on,” the boys continued their chant.

The boys snuck in, following Tota into his house. He quietly grabbed the tin of cookies, peeled the clear wrap away, lifted the lid and allowed his pals to choose a cookie here and a cookie there, until half were gone.

“She’ll never guess,” someone said, as they tiptoed out of front door, each heading to his own home, each living in a house on the same street.

Later, as everyone gathered at a predetermined time, at a predetermined place to continue their shenanigans, someone wondered where Tota was. They looked toward his house, which was directly across the street from where they stood. Suddenly, there he was, walking with his head down, walking toward the boys he spends most his time with, the boys he can depend on.

“I told you she’d burn my fingers if I took some cookies,” he stated, holding up two fingers, red from a flame being held to them. No one said a word. No one needed to. Their wide-eyed scared looked said it all.

by

feeling

IMG_4073As you walk down your life’s path, thinking about what is important and what is not, be conscious of where you meander, for if you lose track of your whereabouts you may find yourself walking into the hands of disaster, unexpectedly prodding on thorns and other hurtful entities . Keep your morals and values intact, remembering that it is the small things that make the chaos seem miniscule.

by

home

f7804-img_1469i walk in with a smile, a carefree hello, and and ask how his day was. he asks me the same. then he offers me a warm bowl of freshly made soup, knowing it’d soothe me. i tell him i’d just like a cup of tea first, to just relax. so he offers me the homemade cookies he’d made. i take three. he smiles, and kisses my forehead as i lean into him.

by

the boy and the donkey

IMG_1725A donkey wandered around the backyard, minding its own business, when, suddenly, a young boy plopped a colorful wool blanket onto the unsuspecting animal’s back. That little kid jumped aboard, straddling the animal, just like he’d seen the older boys do. A friend grabbed the donkey’s rein and nudged the calm creature around the fenced in yard. Six or seven boys took turns climbing up onto the donkey’s swayed back and enjoy the slow pace of the animal.

Now, these boys were young, in first grade most likely. Boys being boys. Finding something to do to pass the time. The first boy to ride the donkey was in charge of this small-time circus, well, because, it was his grandma who gave them permission to entertain the donkey. Now, this was exciting considering these young lads had never before been allowed to enjoy such a treat. The boys laughed and laughed. They were enjoying themselves when out of nowhere – it seemed – a voice asked, “Can I ride?” It was another friend, the one who always seemed to get himself in some kind of trouble.

“Before you can ride the donkey you need to pull the donkey around the yard first,” the ring master told his friend. The newly arrived boy grabbed the rein, but none of the other kids climbed onto the donkey’s back, which was actually kind of nice because it made it easier for the trouble-maker to guide the animal around. The lone boy circled the yard but then decided to be a bit daring, so he oh-so-slowly maneuvered the donkey into the space below the house. Enough space to get through, but confined enough that he needed to stoop to walk from one end to the other. Except, well, the problem was, the boy didn’t stoop enough, or properly, or something, because all that the other boys could hear was “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” every time the boy smacked his forehead against the wooden pillars protruding down from below the house. The boy exited the other side holding his hand flat against his flaming red forehead. “That hurt,” is all he said. The other boys laughed, not surprised by the trouble-maker’s shenanigans, while the ring-leader jumped onto the donkey for another ride.

by

rudy and the rocks

Medion DIGITAL CAMERAIn first or second grade Rudy found himself in a pickle. He did something wrong, something the teacher didn’t approve of. She handed him a sealed note addressed ‘To the Parents of…’ and told him to take it home, that he needed to have one or both his parents read and sign it. And, well, in his town, a sealed letter from the teacher always meant You are in trouble mister! news.

Rudy panicked, was scared of the spanking that was sure to happen once his mom read what he had done. He knew that his dad was at work so it would be his mom that would handle the situation. Her way.

A classmate, a wee boy about the same small height as Rudy, noticed the fear building up in his eyes, so he recommended that Rudy defuse the situation with just three rocks.

“Three rocks?” Rudy questioned.

“Only three,” the friend responded. “And you must find those three rocks right here, on the school grounds, right now. You cannot pick them up on your way home.”

Rudy ran off to collect the average sized rocks, not much bigger than large pebbles.

“Got ’em,” he claimed, holding out his hand, displaying the carefully-selected-similar-looking gray rocks.

“Good. Now what you do is… when you are walking home toss one rock behind you, and don’t look back. Never look back,” his peer stated.

“So, I just throw the rocks over my shoulder?”

“Yes, but you must throw them one at a time, not all at once. And, you must throw them with an equal distance between each toss.”

“Okay,” Rudy felt slightly confused, and must have shown it on his face.

“Once you leave this spot and are a short distance away throw the first rock behind you, wait until you have walked a little then throw the second rock, and then the third rock gets tossed at an equal distance compared to the first two. Understand?”

Rudy shook his head up and down. “And you are sure I will not get a spanking when I get home?”

“Yep,” the boy confidently stated.

Rudy made it home, successfully tossing the rocks at an equal distance, and never once did he look behind him to see where they landed. He nervously handed his mom the letter, whereby she simply smiled, and let him pass without a word.

by

rudy and the belt

IMG_2614Something happened at dinner, some kind of confrontation. Maybe it was something he did, maybe it was his brother, or maybe his mom was in a bad mood because of something that happened to her during the day. But, it didn’t matter the reason  because all Rudy knew was he was in big trouble.

He left the table, said he was going to go to the room downstairs, had to get out of there, away from the negativity. His mom didn’t let it go that easy. She grabbed a belt and followed him down the stairs, down to where the guests stayed and where she did the laundry.

His mom wrapped the belt tightly around her wrist, around her hand, leaving just enough leather to whip him. Rudy surprised her by grabbing the belt and yanking it away from her, saying he wasn’t going to take spankings anymore. That he was beyond too old for such discipline. That didn’t stop his angry mother. She grabbed a piece of wood, determined to make a point. But, that too, he pried from her hands. And then he walked away, walked back upstairs, up into his own room, and locked the door. And out of anger, he smashed some glass, breaking apart the bottom half of an otherwise functional slated glass window.

He could hear his mom on the phone, the phone right next to his bedroom, calling his dad, telling him how awful Rudy was behaving, how out of control he was. Rudy’s dad listened to his wife, told her he’d be right home, that he just needed to say goodnight to the client he was having dinner with.

He heard his dad approach, and opened his bedroom door when asked to do so. Rudy’s dad asked him what was going on, what happened. Rudy began by apologizing for breaking the window, but then he told his dad he didn’t do anything wrong, he didn’t know what his mom was so mad about, and that in no way, no how was he going to let his mom spank him with a belt. “I am 15 years old,” Rudy told his dad. “Enough is enough.” His dad wasn’t angry. Didn’t try to dispute Rudy. He simply listened, then nodded. Then his dad walked out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

by

grandma’s visit

Rudy and I were sitting together on the couch this morning, me enjoying a cup of coffee, him sweating from the overbearing heat filtering through the windows, when he somberly stated, “My grandma Victoria came to me in a dream last night.” I turned my body toward him, encouraging Rudy to continue, to tell me about his favorite Abuelita, who, sadly, passed away when he was 15 years old.

“She was wearing a light beige skirt. It went to about here,” he made a slicing motion across the middle of his calf with the side of his right hand. “And she was wearing a tan colored long sleeved blouse, with fancy ruffles across the front. Which is odd, weird, I don’t know, just not her style. She always wore dresses. You know, the spring kind, with flowers? Bright colors?”

In the dream, Rudy had been sitting on the screened-in front porch of the house where he was living as a teen. His back was to the front door when it suddenly opened, revealing Victoria. He turned to see his grandma, and smiled.

“The top was tucked into the skirt,” he continued, “and she asked me, ‘How do I look?’ I said, ‘You look beautiful, Grandma!’ and then I cried.”

While Rudy was relaying the dream, and the intense love he has always felt for his long gone maternal grandmother, tears flooded his red rimmed eyes, just as it must have happened in his dream.

“As she held my face in her hands Grandma said, ‘It’s time for me to go. I need to go home.’ But this is your house, I told her, you live here too, with us. ‘I know’, she said, quietly, ‘but I need to go home. I have postponed it twice now, Hijo, but I need to go.’ I told her I understood, but I didn’t really. And then I woke up.”

I looked at Rudy, waiting for more.

“I don’t know what she meant about postponing going home twice. I can’t make sense of it.  Or why she was wearing beige. I think it might be because we were just talking about colors the other day, and remember when Liz mentioned something about the beige clothing a character was wearing? About how psychologically colors represent some kind of emotion? So maybe that’s where the outfit comes from. A symbol that she’s been an essential and dependable force in my life? But it’s weird to see her like that because, like I said, she always wore dresses. Very colorful ones. And she was never without an apron at home. I don’t have any idea what the dream meant, and probably never will. My grandma died so long ago, but I do like that she visited me.”

Rudy looked at me. I smiled.

“Anyway, I felt happy seeing her, and my grandma seemed happy and content. When she held my face the way she used to, in a way that I knew how much she loved me, I felt her here, with me.”

His eyes brimmed with tears as he squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.

by

empty-nesting

IMG_0279

Our nest was empty today.

And it felt sort of like when Rudy lived in Arkansas.

And I lived here, in California.

So many days came and went.

Both of us experiencing life without the other.

Mostly, only words said how we felt, or what we were thinking.

Gestures and body language played an intermitent role in our relationship.

Those are days that will forever be distant.

Days that cannot be redone.

Days that are, thank goodness, over.

But.

Today.

I am reminded of those distant days.

Because.

Here I am. Here we are.

In the house. Together.

Without kids.

No one is mumbling on the phone with friends.

No one is singing along to the lyrics booming from a computer.

No one is chatting. Talking about a day in the life of.….

And it hits me.

Both softly and a bit aggressively.

That life will be sort-of-like-yet-not-exactly-like-but-in-a-way-it-will-be-sliced-up-similar-to when Rudy lived there and I lived here.

by

boys of summer, too

IMG_2056

Brad, once again, asked if he could go the beach with a different set of friends than those from the boys of summer at Arch Rock in Corona del Mar. And once again I said sure. This time he was heading to Huntington Beach to partake in the festivities planned for the last day of the US Open of Surfing.

The enormous crowd of people was overwhelming. Bare and flip-flopped feet seemed to cover every inch of the paved and sandy ground. Yet, under the heat of the sun, everyone seemed to be anticipating an awesome day. Fist bump greetings and smiling faces filled the area near Main Street, directly across from Huntington’s famous pier.

The bumper-to-bumper traffic, though, was not cool, so as I neared the boys’ destination, I told them to jump out here! In the middle of traffic. They did. Quickly. Yelling, thanks for the ride! as I maintained my stationary position. I waved, unsure if they even noticed my farewell as they were swallowed by the crowd.

As the day at the beach neared its end, as I was driving down Pacific Coast Highway, and noticed a few helicopters circling above, Brad called. Mom! There’s a riot going on here. On Main Street! After his brief explanation of what had happened I found myself, once again, tangled up with all the other vehicles in the area. I had to back track, go behind the main area so that I could find Brad and his pals on the other side of the action. Cruising along, snail-like, my jaw dropped, taking in the sight of the two rows of cops, 15-20 in each row, that I had to drive through. Brad wasn’t kidding! I mumbled to no one.  The officers were brandishing weapons of all sorts, blocking the line of cars from turning left or right onto Main Street, and also keeping an eye on all the pedestrians that were hanging around.

A bit intimidating, I admit.

The further I drove the heavier the crowd. People yelling, screaming, hoot and hollering. People caught up in the energy of the riot, saying that it was the cops fault, that they ruined everything by shooting tear-gas pellets into the crowd. When in fact, it was a fight that broke out. Some guys trying to up one another. Then other drunk and and not so drunk people started jumping in. Fighting. Arguing. Ironically, the cops used the tear-gas as a last ditch effort to dispel the chaos. They were hoping to regain control of an out-of-control situation. But it didn’t work. People became even more heated. People were nowhere near settling down.

IMG_2052

The boys jumped into the car, energized. I’m so hyper right now!, one of them yelled. Oh, my god, dude, that was so crazy! another added. And on it went during the ride home. Boys who got caught up in the energy of the night. The craziness of it all. They even fashioned masks made from their t-shirts wrapped around their faces, so they could breathe without sucking in the chemically induced tear-gas. As usual, I simply listened, occasionally asked a question – which they were more than happy to answer – and embraced the fact they were safe.

Yikes! I sighed under my breath.

IMG_2050