Posts Tagged With: Love

Racsim: The View From Outside My Bubble

I’ve been living in a bubble. A bubble of I don’t know whose creation. A bubble where racism is a radical idea held by the few and certainly not where I live. I am not lonely in my bubble. There are lots of us in here.

But it’s leaking. Expelling air at an incredible rate.

You see, the interior of this bubble is lined with every time I didn’t experience racism. One of my best friends in high schools was black and I did not experience her discrimination, so clearly racism didn’t exist. One of my best friends and roommates in college was black and I did not experience her discrimination, so clearly racism didn’t exist. My children’s first best friends in their lives were black and I did not experience their discrimination, so clearly racism didn’t exist. I lined my bubble with these comforts. If racism existed at all it did not exist here.

And then there was a news story; racism, death. And another. And dozens more. In places not that different from where I lived. And it poked holes in my bubble. And then my friends, my black friends with whom I’d lined my bubble, they told me they were afraid. For themselves and for their children. And I looked at their babies, whom I have held and loved, and thought:

They are no different than my children. Why do they need to be afraid? 

And my bubble came crashing down around me.

I look at my son, with his red hair and bright blue eyes. I look at his best friend with his black hair and dimples that melt me. And without my bubble I see that they will be treated differently. And it makes me scared. And furious.

There are two sets of standards. Two sets of rules. Justice is not color blind. America is not equal. Our bubbles only make things worse.

I look at my daughter, with her blond, tangled mop of hair. I look at her best friend with her black, beaded braids. And without my bubble  I see…I see love. Despite my lack of bubble, I still see love. 

Because racism is not naturally occurring. It is taught and learned.

We need to learn to love like children. We need to be taught that the color of our skin or the way we pray or what language we speak are not symptoms of evil. We need to realize that neither love nor evil discriminates. 

And the only way to stamp out indiscriminate evil is with indiscriminate love.


#Ichooselove

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Categories: Kids | Tags: , , , , , | 3 Comments

Of Death and Karate

Dear Kids,

Yesterday evening my Aunt Ceil passed away after a short battle with lung cancer. I sat you both down on my lap to let you know.

“Aunt Ceil just died,” I said.

“No! I love Aunt Ceil!” said Kitten.

“Oh,” said Buddy. “Her body is in heaven?”

“No, Buddy, not her body. Her body was very sick and it died, but her soul will live forever in heaven and in our hearts.”

Silence.

“Do you guys know what a soul is?” I asked.

Heads shaking.

“A soul is…” Huh. What is it? “A soul is a person’s personality, all of their experiences, and all of the love that they filled their heart with while they were alive.”

“Is it there brain?” Kitten asked. “Is it their heart?” touches her chest.

“It’s not their brain, but it is their thoughts. It’s not their heart, but it is their love. It’s the stuff that you can’t touch. It’s the stuff that lives forever, especially when we remember the people that have died. Don’t you carry Grandma Margaret in your heart?” Nodding. “Well, now we carry Aunt Ceil in our hearts too.”

“I want to die too!” shouts an overly enthusiastic Buddy.

“No, Buddy, you’re not ready yet. You have a lot of living to do. When we’re alive we have to fill our hearts with love. Living teaches our hearts a lot about love. Your hearts still have a lot to learn.”

Buddy jumps up. “My heart is learning karate! Hi-yah!”

🙂 Good talk. Heads up, Aunt Ceil. Buddy’s soul knows karate.

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Aunt Ceil ♡

Categories: Buddy, Kids | Tags: , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Subconscious Hormonal Outbursts…Not Just for Teenagers Anymore!

Dear Kids,

I was having a moment a few nights ago as I was drifting off to sleep. My subconscious took over early and there may have been some hormones involved…

It started innocently enough with gratitude. I am so incredibly in love with my family.

You kids are awesome little people and I obviously love you, but it’s more than that. I LIKE you. I’m excited to get home and see you. I curse at traffic that makes me wait longer to be with you. I genuinely enjoy you guys and that makes me feel like the luckiest person in the world.

I love your Dad. I love ‘us’. I like who I am when I’m with him and I’m constantly surprised by how special he makes me feel. He impresses me all the time; as a father, as a professional, as a man. He’s so cool, and funny, and for some reason he hangs out with me; he likes hanging out with me! He finds out what I like and makes it a priority. He brings me flowers just because. Pinch me!

I was on cloud nine thinking about these things. I thought; it’s perfect.

Uh oh.

And suddenly, the good feeling was gone. Thanks, hormones.

I thought, what had I done to deserve so much? Could it last? Was the other cosmic foot about to fall? The thoughts of a restless brain that needs rest.

But then I thought, it’s not actually perfect. We have a messy life (and house). Relationships are messy; yes with spouses, but the ones with your own kids, too. There are tears, there is shouting, there is disappointment. There are mistakes. There are flaws. There is stress.

And that made me feel better. Because flaws make a thing real and effort makes things last. It’s not luck that I like my family. It’s the conscious & unconscious effort on the part of each member of it. It’s humility and compromises and the very unsexy nitty-gritty of life. It’s teamwork. And it’s the best part of us.

In pottery, there is the occasional practice of taking a piece that didn’t work out like it should have and firing it anyway; taking the piece as it is. I think they call it a ‘flop pot’. I have one.

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I made it in a pottery class several years ago. It’s not symmetrical, it’s incredibly bottom-heavy, and it is by no means the proper cup it was supposed to be. But, I put a lot of work in to it, literally bled from pressing against its gritty clay, and it is just what I need it to be. I love it. I’m proud of it. It makes me happy. It’s perfect for mebecause of its flaws.

It’s like my little family and our beautiful flaws; from my horrible cooking, to the obnoxious fart jokes, to our constant lateness, and -yes- even unexpected hormones in the middle of the night.

Imperfectly perfect. And maybe just a little bit lucky 😉

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Categories: Kids | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

A Brief Photo History of You and Me

Dear Buddy,

Happy Birthday! Today is our 4 year anniversary. I love you to pieces, sweetheart 🙂

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Love,
Mom

Categories: Buddy, Kids | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

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