On the Goodness of Behaving like Children

When I was in the second grade, my parents put a very nice pool in our back yard. They decided to do so after spending thousands of dollars on "experimental" Physical Therapy for me in Florida. It was a failure, but because the water in the pools there was so warm, my mom and aunt were able to teach me to swim. I fell in love the with water. I had never felt more "normal".  I could move freely, walk, relax my muscles and play just like the other kids.   I told my mom excitedly that I wasn't handicap in the pool; it melted her tender heart and the next year we had one.
 For years after they put in the pool, I was practically part fish. I swam, floated , bobbed up and down,  and splashed my poor sister for hours  for hours on end. Any adult in charge of me, had to beg me to get out of my swim suit.

As years went by, I still enjoyed swimming, but because of my dwindling confidence, it wasn't the same.  I began to worry too much about my appearance, and the fact that most of my friends would rather lay in the sun than actually swim. I used the pool for exercise , when alone, and to cool off because my parents do not have air conditioning, but that's about it.  My mom started having to demand that I go in the pool, when my friends were over.

In college, some of my confidence came back, I would lay out with my friends, usually covering more than they did, we had fun though.  This weekend, however, I got a special reminder of what a riot it is to be sure of yourself. 

In March, a family of six moved in next door. They are wonderful people.  The youngest child is ten, and just as funny and adorable as can be. She was ecstatic when my parents told her she had carte blanche of the pool. She and her older sister (16) were here for hours on Sunday. She was in complete bliss in the water: dancing, diving, trying her hardest to do flips and hand-stands. It looked like such a ball that I joined her. We had a great time. I  taught her how  to do a hand-stand and we played a game, my sister and I used to play, in which you try to understand what movie-title the other person is shouting under-water. She and her sister raced.  I didn't think about any of my troubles, or my body issues once. That was the freedom the water used to give me.

What a gift kids have in their ability to live in the moment, to not paint themselves with permanent brushes.  Life gets in the way though. It really is impossible to stay so intelligently happy.   All we can do appreciate the reminders, that either fate , God, or the universe sends our way,  do our best to bottle the feeling up for a particularly rainy day and carry on as cheerfully as possible. Because that kind of bliss does eventually become at least slightly tainted, my wish is that every child is given the opportunity, by the adults in their lives, to be young and carefree for a long time.  

Poetry

Here are a few poems I have written. 

Untitled

She has spent the day in hell and sees him as a way out of it.

He has rendered his life useless, and sees her as a purpose.

Tonight.

They don’t need much else.

They see the pointlessness in sex,

And crave each other anyway.

They see the fear that comes with love.

Rather or not they risk it, is their business.

Browns seduce her….

Green eyes make him wonder….

Smiles,

Kisses

Touching

Sweat.

It’s anything but thoughtless,

It’s logical, biological.

Perfect and scary.

 Wonderful and completely empty.

It’s over.

Wedding Poem

There was a day when I wasn’t sure to whom my love belonged.

I can’t recall it now.

It belongs to him, and his belongs to me.

There was a day when I did not care what my love looked like.

Now my love has only one face.

His eyes to see me in the best light, his arms' purpose to hold only me.

My heart will accept him, my touch will comfort him.

There was a day when I could not fathom dying for another.

I say now, on the day our marriage begins, those days are over.

Our greatest triumph  will be to die feeling just like this.

Wait

We stand side-by- side,

The red hand warns,

We are still,

You stare at me.

I wait.

Keep Looking.

The time will come when you see me,

In spite of yourself,

You’ll see my eyes,

And you’ll hear my laugh.

I wait.

The time will come when you’ll see a human,

Not an angel.

You will see my obstinacy.

You will see my volatility.

I wait.

The time will come when we are equals,

In your mind and mine,

We will feel likeness,

We will make sense.

I wait.

Then you will see,

And I will see,

In spite of myself,

We walk together.

Keep Looking.

The time will come when you see me,

In spite of yourself,

You’ll see my eyes,

And you’ll hear my laugh.

I wait.

The time will come when you’ll see a human,

Not an angel.

You will see my obstinacy.

You will see my volatility.

I wait.

The time will come when we are equals,

In your mind and mine,

We will feel likeness,

We will make sense.

I wait.

Then you will see,

And I will see,

In spite of myself,

We walk together.

Him and I

I hated the way he wore his clothes.

I loved the way he looked out of them.

I hated the way he spoke to me.

But he always knew to hold my hand.

Nothing’s perfect.

He hated the way I cried.

He loved the way I comforted.

He hated the way I ran.

But I always knew when to stay.

Nothing’s simple.

They hate the way we laugh so loud.

They love the way we were imperfect.

They hated the way we didn’t care.

But they kept trying to change that.

Everything is judged.

Nothing’s perfect.

Nothing’s simple.

Everything is judged.

This is him and this is me.

Death

Little children can ignore it. 

Everyone they love has breathe in their lungs.

What a brief luxury.

It is inevitable and ultimate.

Equalizing all of us in seconds.

What does this matter?

It is silence. 

Our end only makes noise in the hearts of a few.

What is the harm in loving too much?

On My Accepted Snobbery

I am often asked why I am so critical of people with bad grammar. I wrote  this in an attempt to understand this   aspect of myself.

I grew up in an incredibly tolerant household. I was told from a very young age that is our differences that make us valuable. It is okay in my family to be part of racial or religious minority, it is okay to struggle with substance abuse and other addictions. Homosexuality is accepted and so are the mentally and the physically disabled. There is one thing in my house though, that is very much frowned upon:  improper grammar. 

My parents, without a doubt, believe in eradication of informal dialects of English .  My sister and I were always corrected when we misspoke.  I’m twenty-three and my father still says “YES!” if I respond to a question he asks with “yeah.” Mom and dad call themselves the cultured poor.  They grew up with less than most people but were lucky enough to be able to learn a lot about art, music and to become well-read. I suppose that, they see the use of standardized English as something that separates them from the uncultured poor. It’s a weird thing though because as I said, we were never taught to look down on the poor, only to help them and to empathize with them. It is sad that even in the hearts of people as open-minded as my awesome mother and father, it is so important to be separated from the quote- unquote, lower class.

They always told us that if we did not speak correctly, people would not take us seriously, and in their day this was probably very true.  They were doing us a service, by making it our nature to speak the way the world deems acceptable. I am really grateful for this. It would be challenging to switch dialects in different situations and I think it makes easier tasks such as writing this post, a tad easier. What I am less grateful for is that they have definitely turned me into a snob. Every time a friend of mine says, “I seen it” or “That was the hardest test I’ve ever tooken.” I fight the urge to correct them—and sometimes I fail. I cannot go on second or third dates with guys who talk that way because I know I will end up correcting them if the relationship goes far enough.  It probably comes off as condescending and it must be overwhelmingly obnoxious.   It feels natural though; I have been indoctrinated.  Maybe deep, deep down I think I am helping them to be taken seriously. I haven’t traveled quite that far into my subconscious.  Maybe I will know better by thirty.

What I wonder about is, whether or not this is a form of prejudice. Does it really matter what words people use as long as they are able to convey their message? My parents say it does because society will judge them. My parents also taught me that just because it is, does not mean it should be.  It is every generation’s job to attempt to change what is unfair in society. We would not fault a Spanish speaker for speaking Spanish, and so people should be allowed to speak any version of English they were raised to speak…. Right? 

The proceeding paragraphs are not  meant to imply that I speak perfectly; I do not.  I have an aunt who hates when people use “like” too much as filler in speech. Every time she visits, she counts how many times I say it. The numbers have certainly gotten into double digits.  I break grammar rules all the time. I realize I do it and for a couple of minutes sometimes actually feel guilty.  If I become a parent, I will teach my children, to speak the way I do. I hope, however, to avoid indoctrination. 

On Attention? Or Disability? Or Family?

My mom and I got to one of our famous debates last night. We are famous for arguing very loudly and laughing at an equally high volume minutes later, because we realize we're being ridiculous.

It all started because I have absolutely no desire to walk at my impending graduation. I am so glad that it is fast approaching, and I am proud of myself.  I am grateful for the many people who supported me. I will go out and have drinks or dinner with my parents and whatever family or friends wish to join us. My problem is that, figuring out how to walk down there, how to get back up, which equipment to use, all so people can act like it's amazing that in five and a half years, I did what most people do in four, is not appealing to me in the slightest. I don't feel like explaining this to mom so I just say , "I don't want all the attention." She made a comment about how it will be worse on my wedding day.
I tell her the truth: I have no desire to have a typical wedding. If I had it my way, the love of my life and I  would go to city hall with my parents and sister say "I do" in front  of judge and call that a wedding. I guess I'd have to allow his immediate family to attend. :) She says "So MANY PEOPLE would LOVE to see you get married. That is UNFAIR to them." This irks me, but not for the reason my mom thinks. She thinks I am irritated because I should be allowed to make the choice. I absolutely should make the final decisions about my wedding day, if it ever happens, as everybody should. What really makes me uneasy is the fact that so many people would be so enthused to watch me walk down the isle. She said it would be a bigger deal than most because I'm so loved.  I am not anymore loved any of my friends, immediate, or extended family.  I am equally loved and unbelievably blessed for it.   So why would it be so exciting to hear me say my vows? For the same reason it would be exciting to see me graduate. I am disabled, and nobody expects it happen. If it does happen, they'll all be especially  happy for me.  That's annoying.

I have an incredible family and my mom is the best person I  have ever met, hands down. I know she doesn't realize what she thinks, that none them do. For the most part, my family sees me as "one of them". When you're considered different from others in society though, you learn to  recognize a tone in people's voices, one they use when inadvertently expecting less of you. My mom doesn't use it often , but when she does, it hurts me.  I do not want to watch people in awe of me while I walk. I would hate to see all my aunts and uncles crying harder than they did at my cousins' weddings. I do not want to hear a million remarks about what a special guy my husband is. The whole idea actually makes my skin crawl a little.

 I am taking a very cynical look at this. It's really not like me. I can be negative about lots of things, but not people's feelings. I understand that it is  rare for someone with a physical disability to earn a college degree; it is difficult for disabled people to find partners who accept them. My family would be happy for me and proud of me because they are wonderful , and because they help me reach my goals.  That makes me indescribably fortunate. Maybe they deserve to celebrate with me.

 I'm still bothered by the whole thing though, I can't help it. It's a flaw in me.

I have no clue what the purpose of this post is. As I said in the beginning, Mom and I ended the argument cracking up, because I don't even have a candidate for husband, and she cannot force me to walk at graduation.