I never see Haven anymore. She's always off to some social event, sports training, or she's over at a girlfriend's house. When she is home, she's tucked away in her room, behind closed doors.
I've become a teenage widow. You know how most women say they are football widows or hunting widows? Well, I am a teenage widow. The term, widow, implies that I am married to my teenager, and I AM. I am more committed to her than I am to most anything in my life. It's kind of like she's married to me, too, because she's not talking to me. I've been married before, and I know how marriage works. Sometimes, I have the urge to cry and say, "See you when you're 25, after teenage season is over." Until then, it is all I can do not to blackout.
Lately, I've been listening to the music she likes through her door. GOOD LORD, some of her choices in music are awful. Haven is not set on a specific type of music, but has a propensity to blow her speakers to anything rap.
I think it's cool how rappers jumble all of their words together to create a story. It's fun to listen, too, when it is semi R-rated. Some of my most favorite artists are rappers. However, some of the stuff my daughter listens to makes me blush, and I have a great respect for the F word.
Let me just say, rational or not, that I have always associated rappers to auctioneers. I imagine each and every one is an auctioneer. I don't know why, I just do. I like to believe that rappers crafted their style from mono-toned cadences. I sometimes imagine myself beat boxing at a livestock sale auction. It could happen, too, depending on my Coors Light intake, and if the spirit moves me. However, I can't imagine beat boxing to any livestock auctioneer talking about breaking vaginas. That would just be plain weird. I am sure the actual history of rap is not as interesting as my association. I refuse to look it up on Google.
This summer, Haven begged her Aunt to take her to a rap concert. THANK GOD my sister is incredibly smart and let her down nicely. Wiz Khalifa is not exactly the way I want my daughter introduced to marijuana. Which brings me to the time I was introduced to marijuana: MR. HANK WILLIAMS JR.
I was 14 years old when I was invited to see him in concert. I was really excited, as it was only the second concert I had ever been to. My friend, Brian, took me, along with his chaperone father. We watched close to 35 seconds of a great performance, when some adults next to us lit up a big joint. I had no idea what they were doing or what in the world they were smoking.
Shortly thereafter, the concert was over because Mr. Williams Jr. was so drunk, he fell off the stage. My friend and I laughed uncontrollably for over an hour, and then devoured some sort of drive thru concoction. I got a two-for-one lesson on substance abuse that day.
So I started thinking about all of the concerts I've gone to, and realized that in some form or another, I was witness to some sort of illegal or inappropriate activity. I saw a rockin' girl fight at a concert in 1993, I saw some lady snort lines of what I assume was not baking soda at another concert, and at another, a tour bus filled with smoke, and no, it was not on fire. And this was all before I was 17 years old. Some adults are really bad role models.
I guess Haven cannot be protected from this forever, and maybe I shouldn't try. I might even say yes to the next concert, that is, if she ever starts talking to me again...
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Lessons
Something really cool happened tonight; I watched my daughter grow as a human being.
My mother called earlier this afternoon to see if I might like to meet Haven and her for dinner. We planned on meeting at 6PM. They did not show up until 6:35PM. Anyone who knows me knows that I am early to everything. It's a problem and I am working on it. However, in the 45 minutes I waited for them to show up, I checked Facebook, texted friends, and even talked myself into thinking the waiter was cute. I waited so long that I became annoyed. I called my mother at 6:20PM and she assured me that she would make it to the restaurant in three to four minutes. Time management has never been her thing.
However, as I sat there drinking a Mexican Martini and nibbling on jalapeno stuffed olives, a woman was being seated at the table across from where I was sitting. She was alone, and she was severely handicapped. I watched her struggle to sit down, and I watched her take her neck brace off. She was barely able to lift her head off of her chest with the neck brace on, but it was significantly worse when she took it off.
I did not feel bad for her. I was impressed with how independent she was. This woman could not pick her head up off her chest, and she walked in the place BY HERSELF. It was pretty inspiring.
Shortly there after, my mother and daughter arrived. They were seated and given drinks. I asked them about their shopping excursion and we made small talk. It was then my mother zeroed in on this woman.
My mother has an affinity for the disabled. Her mother was a severe arthritic and instilled tolerance and acceptance in me and my two sisters. While most parents teach their children that you should open doors for women, my parents taught us to give up our seats to the elderly, open doors for everyone, and to never look at anyone as a victim.
My mother wondered aloud if the woman was meeting someone. I told her no, that I had seen her order, and assumed that she was dining by herself. My Mom said, "Haven, you should ask her to join us." Haven looked scared and said, "No, you do it." My mother said, "No Haven, I think you should." I watched this for awhile and decided to take matters into my own hands.
I quietly backed out of my chair, stood up, walked to this woman's table, bent down and asked her if she might like to have dinner with me and my family. The woman said, "Oh, I don't mind eating my myself." and I said, "And I don't mind if you eat by yourself, but my table is right behind you, and we would love for you to join us." And you know what? She did.
Here's why I didn't wait for Haven to get up and ask her: How is she supposed to know what to do if I don't model it for her first? So many parents have these expectations of their children, but don't take the time to explain or show them what to do in the first place. I haven't always been the best modeler, but how can I expect Haven to do it if I won't do it myself? This was not the first time I have ever asked a stranger to eat dinner with me, but it is the first time I have done it in front of her.
Here's how I saw my daughter grow: Even though she did not get up and ask this woman to have dinner with us, she engaged in conversation with her, was not afraid to look her in the eye, and really enjoyed speaking with her. Haven told her about her aspirations for track and for college, and did so with out prodding from me. I was very proud.
It reminded me of a time when Haven was eight years old. As she sat in our house surrounded by all of her things, (because lets face it, once you have kids, it ain't your house anymore) she told me that she didn't have anything. We went back and forth with, "Sure you do," and, "Play with this," until I became so angry that I snapped. I snapped in a good way, though.
Instead of spanking her, and telling her what a spoiled brat I thought she was, I grabbed eight black trash bags, threw everything she owned into them, and threw them outside for some fortunate soul to have a free-for-all. Then I told her to get her little ass in the car and I started driving. I drove Haven deep into the East side of town, a place where children would be grateful for 1/32 of what she has. I told her to take a good look around. I told her, "That is what not having anything is." Haven slept in a bare room for over a month because I wanted that lesson burned into her brain. Do you know to this day, she has yet to complain about what she has or what she doesn't? Was there probably a better way to teach her this lesson? Yes. But, I find value in teaching lessons without a plan. It works out better that way, and so are lessons about lifelong, deep rooted values.
I think it's such horse shit when people say how they want to be better people. How hard is it to be better when you can just do it? I think several children were happy to come across trash bags full of toys, and I think this lady was happy to have some company. I didn't do these things for notoriety or to make myself feel better. I did them to help my daughter grow. There is a lesson in every experience. After all, it is my job to teach her to be the best she can be.
And, Haven is well on her way. My daughter, mother and I walked our new friend out to her car, and Haven opened the door for her. Before our new friend got into her car, Haven hugged her. It was a hug with intention behind it, and it was sincere.
Will Haven remember what happened this evening? I believe she will. I believe she will show her own daughter the same act of kindness, and I think she will do it in a way that will promote dignity.
My mother called earlier this afternoon to see if I might like to meet Haven and her for dinner. We planned on meeting at 6PM. They did not show up until 6:35PM. Anyone who knows me knows that I am early to everything. It's a problem and I am working on it. However, in the 45 minutes I waited for them to show up, I checked Facebook, texted friends, and even talked myself into thinking the waiter was cute. I waited so long that I became annoyed. I called my mother at 6:20PM and she assured me that she would make it to the restaurant in three to four minutes. Time management has never been her thing.
However, as I sat there drinking a Mexican Martini and nibbling on jalapeno stuffed olives, a woman was being seated at the table across from where I was sitting. She was alone, and she was severely handicapped. I watched her struggle to sit down, and I watched her take her neck brace off. She was barely able to lift her head off of her chest with the neck brace on, but it was significantly worse when she took it off.
I did not feel bad for her. I was impressed with how independent she was. This woman could not pick her head up off her chest, and she walked in the place BY HERSELF. It was pretty inspiring.
Shortly there after, my mother and daughter arrived. They were seated and given drinks. I asked them about their shopping excursion and we made small talk. It was then my mother zeroed in on this woman.
My mother has an affinity for the disabled. Her mother was a severe arthritic and instilled tolerance and acceptance in me and my two sisters. While most parents teach their children that you should open doors for women, my parents taught us to give up our seats to the elderly, open doors for everyone, and to never look at anyone as a victim.
My mother wondered aloud if the woman was meeting someone. I told her no, that I had seen her order, and assumed that she was dining by herself. My Mom said, "Haven, you should ask her to join us." Haven looked scared and said, "No, you do it." My mother said, "No Haven, I think you should." I watched this for awhile and decided to take matters into my own hands.
I quietly backed out of my chair, stood up, walked to this woman's table, bent down and asked her if she might like to have dinner with me and my family. The woman said, "Oh, I don't mind eating my myself." and I said, "And I don't mind if you eat by yourself, but my table is right behind you, and we would love for you to join us." And you know what? She did.
Here's why I didn't wait for Haven to get up and ask her: How is she supposed to know what to do if I don't model it for her first? So many parents have these expectations of their children, but don't take the time to explain or show them what to do in the first place. I haven't always been the best modeler, but how can I expect Haven to do it if I won't do it myself? This was not the first time I have ever asked a stranger to eat dinner with me, but it is the first time I have done it in front of her.
Here's how I saw my daughter grow: Even though she did not get up and ask this woman to have dinner with us, she engaged in conversation with her, was not afraid to look her in the eye, and really enjoyed speaking with her. Haven told her about her aspirations for track and for college, and did so with out prodding from me. I was very proud.
It reminded me of a time when Haven was eight years old. As she sat in our house surrounded by all of her things, (because lets face it, once you have kids, it ain't your house anymore) she told me that she didn't have anything. We went back and forth with, "Sure you do," and, "Play with this," until I became so angry that I snapped. I snapped in a good way, though.
Instead of spanking her, and telling her what a spoiled brat I thought she was, I grabbed eight black trash bags, threw everything she owned into them, and threw them outside for some fortunate soul to have a free-for-all. Then I told her to get her little ass in the car and I started driving. I drove Haven deep into the East side of town, a place where children would be grateful for 1/32 of what she has. I told her to take a good look around. I told her, "That is what not having anything is." Haven slept in a bare room for over a month because I wanted that lesson burned into her brain. Do you know to this day, she has yet to complain about what she has or what she doesn't? Was there probably a better way to teach her this lesson? Yes. But, I find value in teaching lessons without a plan. It works out better that way, and so are lessons about lifelong, deep rooted values.
I think it's such horse shit when people say how they want to be better people. How hard is it to be better when you can just do it? I think several children were happy to come across trash bags full of toys, and I think this lady was happy to have some company. I didn't do these things for notoriety or to make myself feel better. I did them to help my daughter grow. There is a lesson in every experience. After all, it is my job to teach her to be the best she can be.
And, Haven is well on her way. My daughter, mother and I walked our new friend out to her car, and Haven opened the door for her. Before our new friend got into her car, Haven hugged her. It was a hug with intention behind it, and it was sincere.
Will Haven remember what happened this evening? I believe she will. I believe she will show her own daughter the same act of kindness, and I think she will do it in a way that will promote dignity.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
You Should See a Rock
Haven has begun calling me by my first name. I remember doing this to my mother because I got pleasure from watching her internally combust. It bothered her, it doesn't bother me. I would prefer being called, "Mom," but I am not going to stop Haven from doing so, because she thinks she is getting away with something. Shoot, I'm a twin. I'm kind of excited she gets my name right to begin with.
That doesn't mean that Haven does not do things that make me want to throw her across the Gulf of Mexico. She's rather mouthy, and whether or not she gets that from me, is besides the point. She also makes me laugh so hysterically that no amount of Botox will ever be able to repair the damage done by a laugh so hard that nothing comes out.
The following are things that send me into orbit:
1.) When Haven doesn't answer the phone. I know she has it on her. What teenager doesn't have their phone connected to their ear or thumbs? I love it when she tells me that she didn't have her phone with her. What do I look like? A wife in denial? Nice try.
2.) I HATE it when she takes my things without asking. I should not have to gain a hundred pounds so that she will use her own clothing, and I should not have to hoard lime chips and IPhone chargers just so I can function. Guess what? I buy the stuff, so ASK!
That's Joan Allen in The Upside of Anger. Haven't seen the movie? You should. She does a great impression of my own mother. Unfortunately, she also does a great impression of me. Joan Allen nails me, and I suppose that's because I've turned into my mother.
5.) When I am telling Haven to do something, and she interrupts me by saying, "Okaaaay, Mother," before I can complete my sentence. Lord, that makes me crazy! And when you add that to some serious eye rolling, it's a wonder I am not locked up with the general population.
None of these things are criminal, just minor annoyances that when compiled together could send me straight into a straight jacket. Comparatively speaking, my Haven is an angel. I've heard the way some of her friends speak about and to their parents. Maybe Haven does not do this because she really values her mother; she's always been way smarter than those her same age.
That doesn't mean that Haven does not do things that make me want to throw her across the Gulf of Mexico. She's rather mouthy, and whether or not she gets that from me, is besides the point. She also makes me laugh so hysterically that no amount of Botox will ever be able to repair the damage done by a laugh so hard that nothing comes out.
The following are things that send me into orbit:
1.) When Haven doesn't answer the phone. I know she has it on her. What teenager doesn't have their phone connected to their ear or thumbs? I love it when she tells me that she didn't have her phone with her. What do I look like? A wife in denial? Nice try.
2.) I HATE it when she takes my things without asking. I should not have to gain a hundred pounds so that she will use her own clothing, and I should not have to hoard lime chips and IPhone chargers just so I can function. Guess what? I buy the stuff, so ASK!
3.) When I tell Haven, "No," and she asks, "Why?" THIS is what happens EVERY TIME: I calmly tell her why not, and she follows with, "But why?" OHMYGOSH. Kill me now!
4.) When Haven goes somewhere and needs me to pick her up and doesn't know where she is. This is my favorite. I absolutely love her simplistic descriptions of the landmarks I am supposed to look for. "You should see a rock." A rock? Really? This entire flipping area is made up of rocks!
One time, she told me she was five minutes from home, and I ended up finding her on the WEST side of town, a good 20 miles from where she should have been. This is what I ended up looking like when I found her:
That's Joan Allen in The Upside of Anger. Haven't seen the movie? You should. She does a great impression of my own mother. Unfortunately, she also does a great impression of me. Joan Allen nails me, and I suppose that's because I've turned into my mother.
5.) When I am telling Haven to do something, and she interrupts me by saying, "Okaaaay, Mother," before I can complete my sentence. Lord, that makes me crazy! And when you add that to some serious eye rolling, it's a wonder I am not locked up with the general population.
None of these things are criminal, just minor annoyances that when compiled together could send me straight into a straight jacket. Comparatively speaking, my Haven is an angel. I've heard the way some of her friends speak about and to their parents. Maybe Haven does not do this because she really values her mother; she's always been way smarter than those her same age.
Friday, November 11, 2011
Tear Drops and Powerpuff Girls
I knew this day was coming. I've known it from the moment my daughter's blue body came out of mine that I would have to watch my child cry over the absence of a male presence in her life. Today was the second day this has happened, and honestly, I've barely made it through.
On the way to school, Haven told me that some 'things' have been bothering her. She reached out to her father six months ago and has not heard back from him. This has weighed heavier on her mind than what I originally thought.
It's pretty evident that I am not the only single mother on the planet. I know I am not the only person that has had a baby at a young age. I am sure that many mothers have had to watch their children suffer, and I am sure it is equally as painful. But to wound my child, well, I do not take that lightly, and it just might be something I never forgive myself for. I have wounded her by a decision my parents and I made when I was an 18 year old girl.
We managed to skate by 'daddy issues' during her early childhood. She was not heavily plagued with questions from school aged friends. No-one really asked, "Why don't you have a Dad," or, "Where is your Dad?" Her friends didn't seem to care, nor did she. Mostly, this was because I had a father who relished being the 'stand in,' and welcomed Haven as his own. He did things with her that most fathers do with their daughters. He took her fishing, hunting, swimming and of course, golfing. He even crawled around on his knees so that she could ride him like a pony. He read her books, listened when she talked, and made her feel like the special little girl that she is. He did every thing with her that he did with me. My father was a blessing and Haven loved him immensely.
When he died, I broke Haven's heart for the first time. My mother offered to tell Haven of his passing, but I would not let information of that magnitude come from anyone other than me. I will not tell you about the look on my daughter's face the moment my words registered for her. I will not tell you about the scream that left her body. It is a private hell that is meant for only me. Her reaction, though expected, would be the first time I caused a horrific hole in her heart. I did not cause my father's death, but telling a seven year old that kind of news, makes me feel as if I did.
As I listened to Haven this morning, our life together went into a hyper rewind. Our lives didn't flash before my eyes, but came to me in old movies. I remembered the things I smelled when I was pregnant with her, and the way she smelled coated with baby lotion. I remembered how she never slept in a crib, but up next to me, and did this until she was 12 years old. I remembered her as a three year old, and taking her to get her nails done. I remembered the time my Dad walked in on us having 'Dance Party USA' in the living room, and him joining in. I remembered what a fast runner she was at the age of six, and how she always beat the boys. I remembered our favorite meal in our first brand new house. I remembered her struggle with dyslexia. I remembered letting her leave Hawaii when all I wanted her to do was stay.
I wont get into what her father is and what he isn't. I could only tell you what he isn't, anyway, and that would not be helpful to my daughter. But what I did tell her this morning is something that my father told me as a 20 year old when I was struggling with the absence of her father.
I told her, "Why are you worried about the one person that does not love you when there are so many people that do?" And she said back to me, "Because it sucks." Those were the exact three words I said to my father all of those years ago.
I went on to tell her, "Believe me, when you get older, you will face every decision you make. The decisions you make now will ultimately be decisions that you will deal with the rest of your life. The difference is in how you handle the outcomes." She was listening, and I continued on. I told her that it will show the type of person she is if she is able to apologize to those who are affected by her decisions.
If you think about it, growing up and owning up to your failings is much like a 12-step program. Some people silently acknowledge their mistakes, while others make amends. She asked me if I thought her father would ever apologize to her for his absence, and the truth is, I don't know. My hope is that he does because Haven deserves it.
But, I also owe Haven an apology. I made a decision 16 years ago that has wounded her today, and for that, I am sorry. There is nothing that I could ever say to her to take away what she is feeling, and for that, I am sorry.
As she got out of the car, I told her that being her mother was the best thing I've ever done. I didn't let her see me cry. I waited until she had turned around and walked away.
On the way to school, Haven told me that some 'things' have been bothering her. She reached out to her father six months ago and has not heard back from him. This has weighed heavier on her mind than what I originally thought.
It's pretty evident that I am not the only single mother on the planet. I know I am not the only person that has had a baby at a young age. I am sure that many mothers have had to watch their children suffer, and I am sure it is equally as painful. But to wound my child, well, I do not take that lightly, and it just might be something I never forgive myself for. I have wounded her by a decision my parents and I made when I was an 18 year old girl.
We managed to skate by 'daddy issues' during her early childhood. She was not heavily plagued with questions from school aged friends. No-one really asked, "Why don't you have a Dad," or, "Where is your Dad?" Her friends didn't seem to care, nor did she. Mostly, this was because I had a father who relished being the 'stand in,' and welcomed Haven as his own. He did things with her that most fathers do with their daughters. He took her fishing, hunting, swimming and of course, golfing. He even crawled around on his knees so that she could ride him like a pony. He read her books, listened when she talked, and made her feel like the special little girl that she is. He did every thing with her that he did with me. My father was a blessing and Haven loved him immensely.
When he died, I broke Haven's heart for the first time. My mother offered to tell Haven of his passing, but I would not let information of that magnitude come from anyone other than me. I will not tell you about the look on my daughter's face the moment my words registered for her. I will not tell you about the scream that left her body. It is a private hell that is meant for only me. Her reaction, though expected, would be the first time I caused a horrific hole in her heart. I did not cause my father's death, but telling a seven year old that kind of news, makes me feel as if I did.
As I listened to Haven this morning, our life together went into a hyper rewind. Our lives didn't flash before my eyes, but came to me in old movies. I remembered the things I smelled when I was pregnant with her, and the way she smelled coated with baby lotion. I remembered how she never slept in a crib, but up next to me, and did this until she was 12 years old. I remembered her as a three year old, and taking her to get her nails done. I remembered the time my Dad walked in on us having 'Dance Party USA' in the living room, and him joining in. I remembered what a fast runner she was at the age of six, and how she always beat the boys. I remembered our favorite meal in our first brand new house. I remembered her struggle with dyslexia. I remembered letting her leave Hawaii when all I wanted her to do was stay.
I wont get into what her father is and what he isn't. I could only tell you what he isn't, anyway, and that would not be helpful to my daughter. But what I did tell her this morning is something that my father told me as a 20 year old when I was struggling with the absence of her father.
I told her, "Why are you worried about the one person that does not love you when there are so many people that do?" And she said back to me, "Because it sucks." Those were the exact three words I said to my father all of those years ago.
I went on to tell her, "Believe me, when you get older, you will face every decision you make. The decisions you make now will ultimately be decisions that you will deal with the rest of your life. The difference is in how you handle the outcomes." She was listening, and I continued on. I told her that it will show the type of person she is if she is able to apologize to those who are affected by her decisions.
If you think about it, growing up and owning up to your failings is much like a 12-step program. Some people silently acknowledge their mistakes, while others make amends. She asked me if I thought her father would ever apologize to her for his absence, and the truth is, I don't know. My hope is that he does because Haven deserves it.
But, I also owe Haven an apology. I made a decision 16 years ago that has wounded her today, and for that, I am sorry. There is nothing that I could ever say to her to take away what she is feeling, and for that, I am sorry.
As she got out of the car, I told her that being her mother was the best thing I've ever done. I didn't let her see me cry. I waited until she had turned around and walked away.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Hey Coach, Watch who You're Calling Fat
I originally posted this in October, but quickly took it down. When I wrote this, I was quite angry, and the post was riddled with the F word. I've calmed down since then, and have re-written it. I feel this post has some value. Consider it my PSA for the month of November.
Saturday mornings are full of information; it's the hangover from the night before--not the alcohol kind either. (Not yet, anyway.)
Teenage girls are an interesting variation of woman-kind all on their own, but when you get multiple girls in the same room, and F5 tornado ain't gonna do much in comparison. This morning's congregation of teens totaled three--a small wind storm that has the potential to scare the life right out of you.
Octave levels of teenage girls can leave one deaf, I should know, I was once one of those high-pitched girls that thought I could not get my point across without shattering glass. Apparently, this is a right of passage, because these girls are well on their way to becoming universally known for breaking the sound barrier.
What I gathered from this morning's version of the previous night is this:
1.) They go to school with a bi-sexual racist,
2.) So-and-so's homecoming dress is downright AWFUL, and
3.) A coach at the school has no problem calling the girls on her team FAT.
I cannot begin to tell you the levels of confusion I am still suffering with the first topic, but what I can say for sure is that So-and-so's homecoming dress really IS awful. I've seen a picture.
The third topic, well, I find that a bit familiar and to tell you the truth, the incident still bothers me today.
According to our house guests, the coach repeatedly tells "her" girls that she "will not" have fat girls on her team, and publicly chastises one girl in particular about the size of her thighs.
If that is a form of teaching, I guess I missed that class in college. This practice is concerning to me because being a former teenage girl, (yes, I am an expert) I know what something like this can do to a person, especially a girl. I have seen how it has affected my own sister throughout her life and believe that had one of our coaches used a little discretion, my sister might feel differently about herself TODAY.
Am I going to become and activist to weigh whatever you want in high school? NO! But, I will tell you this:
If any person of authority ever tells my child that she should lose weight, that she's fat, OR remotely talks about the size of her thighs, I am going to turn into the LOUDEST, most DISRESPECTFUL 16 year old you've ever seen. I gave disrespectful a nice try when I actually was 16. Ask my coach.
Aren't there rules about bullying? Shouldn't ADULTS follow those same rules when it comes to children? I understand that there are other points to this issue--winning, timing, scoring, etc. But when you see a child has done whatever they can to maintain a 'proper' body weight, the coach might want to step back a second and recognize that this child actually showed up to practice, and that maybe there is an underlying issue that needs to be addressed. Albeit a medical issue, metabolic issue, or perhaps the child actually weighs what she is supposed to in comparison to her height. There has to be another way to motivate.
Motivation? Is that what this is? As I sat there listening to them, I became angry. ANGRY, angry.
During high school, my sister was singled out because she weighed more than I did, and she was singled out by a person of authority. My sister really looked up to this person and was absolutely crushed. We are twins, not carbon copies of each other. We are individuals. My sister and I are never going to weigh or have the same body type, and you know what, that's okay!
I am sure you are wondering if I might feel so strongly about this issue if not for my sister, and the answer is an unequivocal YES. All girls have issues with their bodies; I myself would like to thank my boobs for finally showing up 20 years late. It would have been nice for them to make an appearance when I was 14 when everyone else got them. It hurts when people point out the obvious, but it hurts a heckofalot more when an adult or someone you look up to does and makes a public issue out of it.
I am sure there is a fine line when it comes to coaching. All I am saying is to stay on the side that allows a girl to feel good about herself.
Saturday mornings are full of information; it's the hangover from the night before--not the alcohol kind either. (Not yet, anyway.)
Teenage girls are an interesting variation of woman-kind all on their own, but when you get multiple girls in the same room, and F5 tornado ain't gonna do much in comparison. This morning's congregation of teens totaled three--a small wind storm that has the potential to scare the life right out of you.
Octave levels of teenage girls can leave one deaf, I should know, I was once one of those high-pitched girls that thought I could not get my point across without shattering glass. Apparently, this is a right of passage, because these girls are well on their way to becoming universally known for breaking the sound barrier.
What I gathered from this morning's version of the previous night is this:
1.) They go to school with a bi-sexual racist,
2.) So-and-so's homecoming dress is downright AWFUL, and
3.) A coach at the school has no problem calling the girls on her team FAT.
I cannot begin to tell you the levels of confusion I am still suffering with the first topic, but what I can say for sure is that So-and-so's homecoming dress really IS awful. I've seen a picture.
The third topic, well, I find that a bit familiar and to tell you the truth, the incident still bothers me today.
According to our house guests, the coach repeatedly tells "her" girls that she "will not" have fat girls on her team, and publicly chastises one girl in particular about the size of her thighs.
If that is a form of teaching, I guess I missed that class in college. This practice is concerning to me because being a former teenage girl, (yes, I am an expert) I know what something like this can do to a person, especially a girl. I have seen how it has affected my own sister throughout her life and believe that had one of our coaches used a little discretion, my sister might feel differently about herself TODAY.
Am I going to become and activist to weigh whatever you want in high school? NO! But, I will tell you this:
If any person of authority ever tells my child that she should lose weight, that she's fat, OR remotely talks about the size of her thighs, I am going to turn into the LOUDEST, most DISRESPECTFUL 16 year old you've ever seen. I gave disrespectful a nice try when I actually was 16. Ask my coach.
Aren't there rules about bullying? Shouldn't ADULTS follow those same rules when it comes to children? I understand that there are other points to this issue--winning, timing, scoring, etc. But when you see a child has done whatever they can to maintain a 'proper' body weight, the coach might want to step back a second and recognize that this child actually showed up to practice, and that maybe there is an underlying issue that needs to be addressed. Albeit a medical issue, metabolic issue, or perhaps the child actually weighs what she is supposed to in comparison to her height. There has to be another way to motivate.
Motivation? Is that what this is? As I sat there listening to them, I became angry. ANGRY, angry.
During high school, my sister was singled out because she weighed more than I did, and she was singled out by a person of authority. My sister really looked up to this person and was absolutely crushed. We are twins, not carbon copies of each other. We are individuals. My sister and I are never going to weigh or have the same body type, and you know what, that's okay!
I am sure you are wondering if I might feel so strongly about this issue if not for my sister, and the answer is an unequivocal YES. All girls have issues with their bodies; I myself would like to thank my boobs for finally showing up 20 years late. It would have been nice for them to make an appearance when I was 14 when everyone else got them. It hurts when people point out the obvious, but it hurts a heckofalot more when an adult or someone you look up to does and makes a public issue out of it.
I am sure there is a fine line when it comes to coaching. All I am saying is to stay on the side that allows a girl to feel good about herself.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Get Off the Phone Justin Bieber
Last night at 10:30 p.m., like usual, I had to tell Haven to get off of the phone. And like usual, she had some excuse as to why her telephone conversation was more important than listening to me. “Mom,” she said, “Soandso had a 3-way.”
...blink... blink... blink.
See, I told you Haven tells me things I would have never told my own mother.
I can tell you, as a 15 year old, I had no idea what a 3-way meant. My daughter knows what this means, and believe me, I didn't tell her. Times sure have changed. They've changed so much that I am not entirely sure where I am anymore. I was telling a good friend about last night's verbal exchange, and he said, “Like a 3-way phone call?” No. Not a 3-way phone call; a full-out-face-humping 3-way.
After making her get off the phone, and making sure she did not get back on, I lay in my bed and struggled to sleep. I swear to God if I make it out of high school again, it will be one of my proudest achievements. My Mom used to tell me, “There are some things a mother shouldn't know.” Um, YEAH! I get that. Now.
I am certain Haven doesn't tell me these things for shock value. I think she thinks I am genuinely interested in what is going on with her and her friends. And I am. However, this one is a bit tough for me to deal with. Maybe it's because I've been up two nights in a row with sick babies. Maybe it's because NO 15 YEAR OLD SHOULD BE TALKING ABOUT THIS. EVER.
I don't even want to begin thinking where these kids are doing such things, but, if Justin Bieber can get it on with someone in a bathroom stall, why shouldn't these kids? And let's not pretend any of this is fun for the girls; their bodies are too young to appreciate intercourse. Shoot, I faked it until I was 23 years old, and that was with one person. I don't have enough Hollywood in me to fake it with two people.
I want to tell my dear Haven, “Let's focus on Chemistry, the subject, because the last time I checked, you were needing to spend a little time on it.” But, I know that she finds this development a little more interesting.
So I lay there, waiting for this to leave my mind, with no such luck. While Haven slept soundly in the other room, I prayed for a seizure. I did.
I know they are in high school and that this is a time for discovery. But a 3-way? Really? I'm 34 and that does not sound appealing to me at all. Call me what you want. Call me a prude because that would be a first. Do it. Call me a prude.
She woke up the next morning looking as beautiful as always. I don't want any boy to think he is ever going to have a 3-way with Haven. I would prefer no boy have a 2-way, 1-way, ½ way with Haven, but I am taking baby steps here. She's growing up, and it appears her friends are doing it at a much faster pace than she.
I have to remind myself constantly that I am HER mother and not the mother to all of her friends. I want to take all of these girls like Angelina Jolie would, and protect them, because I have a heart big enough to love them all. But for now, it looks like I have to have a conversation with my daughter about sex with multiple partners.
If anyone is interested, I love Cabernet. If someone could provide me with a fully stocked wine cellar, that would be great.
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