This is to the parents that like to compare their lives to childless people. Just those ones - because I know a TON of great parents that respect my wishes to not have children, even though I love kids (and have many nieces and nephews).
I am sorry that you feel the need to compare your life with kids to mine, without and think that my life is so glamorous.
I realize that to YOU, my life my seem like, "I can do what I want, whenever I want and my life is easy because I don't have to base it around children!"
Partially true - but only the basing it around children part.
On the flip side, to me (and some others) you sound like, "My life is hard and terrible because I made a CHOICE to have kids and now I want to make you feel like shit because of MY choices."
What's odd is that the parents I've seen say stuff like this - "Do YOU have kids?" .... "Oh, I guess you basically have no life because you don't have kids, therefore, can wake up whenever you want" (type of shit.. blah blah) go out and have a good time (traveling, bars, etc) WAY more than I do. In fact, I rarely go out and am kind of a homebody.
At the end of the day though, I tend to laugh at comments made by people like this, simply because what they don't understand is that, even though I'm not a parent, I was raised by two.
And my mom is a perfect example of "Parent". If I ever became a parent, I would set my standards as a mom so high, given my own mom's achievements and accomplishments with us. I would probably disappoint myself.
My mom raised five kids. She would have had six, but she lost her first one at 19. She was a stay-at-home mom until I was roughly 3-4 (I am the youngest) and then when my dad was laid off, she found work on her own. My father was also an alcoholic in the younger stages of my life, so she dealt with that as well.
Not only did she find work, but she eventually became part owner of a business. And she would still come home after 5pm, cook dinner, do laundry, etc. And never once complained. She also never made us feel guilty for being around or left us in a hot car on a summer day or went out drinking to drown her sorrows. Because we were her life - and that was her choice.
I am a stronger woman because of my mother. She raised me well and I will never have any regrets about not saying certain things to her while she's alive because I tell her everything. I love her, she knows it and she knows that she has been an amazing mother (though it's nice to hear again, right Mom??)
So my apologies if I can't grasp how you feel as a parent because of how I was raised. I know it's stressful - it's a full time job! But why must you make childless people - especially women, because not all can HAVE children, thank you - feel like shit because you're schedule is messed up?
Being a parent is a tough job, but should be a proud accomplishment on any resume, not something to use against childless women to make them feel inadequate and lazy.
I love you all but please, let's stop judging. You may not mean to, but it hurts.
Also - I love you, Mom. <3 p="">
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Monday, May 5, 2014
Diet Shmiet.
I have a sandwich bag filled with celery, carrots, and cherry tomatoes with a small cup of Ranch dressing. I pull it out and open the bag and look up to see people staring at me. I can read it in their eyes: 'That's what you're going to eat?!'
I carefully choose a celery stick and take a hard, crunchy bite out of it.
Yes - this is what I'm choosing to eat.
The above is a sample scenario of what I've encountered when I'm watching what carbs I choose to put in my body.
Maybe it's because I don't weigh 300+ lbs or maybe it's the amounts of processed foods a lot of Americans tend to eat (myself included), but I can't seem to wrap my head around why anyone would gawk in awe at vegetables. Is it that uncommon? I have a lot of friends that have gardens, so why on earth would this be an issue at all?
Diet
1. The kinds of food that a person, animal or community habitually eats.
I hate that word. "Diet" ... Ew.
The thing is, we are all on our own forms of a diet - if someone chooses to eat at Burger King every other day, that is their chosen diet. Sometimes I'm on a pasta and pizza kick, which would be my chosen diet.
If I could add up the amounts of processed and sugary foods I've eaten in my life, you'd probably wonder how I'm still alive. I can eat a lot of grown men under the table! (Not that I'm proud of-- No, no. I AM proud of that!)
But I find it shocking that out of everything I've ever eaten, the one food group I'm stared at over are vegetables.
I'm not here to preach about what people should or shouldn't eat - I know vegans that shake their heads at my soda intake, I know a cool set of twins that are vegetarians/vegan that can't live without Redbull, and I know people that have to try every new fast food joint. This is all okay.
I just know what works for me to be healthy and feel better when I wake up in the mornings and that's watching the amounts of breads and pastas and sugars and eating veggies, fruits, nuts, meats, etc.
So, what works for you? If it makes you happy and feel good, do it!
I carefully choose a celery stick and take a hard, crunchy bite out of it.
Yes - this is what I'm choosing to eat.
The above is a sample scenario of what I've encountered when I'm watching what carbs I choose to put in my body.
Maybe it's because I don't weigh 300+ lbs or maybe it's the amounts of processed foods a lot of Americans tend to eat (myself included), but I can't seem to wrap my head around why anyone would gawk in awe at vegetables. Is it that uncommon? I have a lot of friends that have gardens, so why on earth would this be an issue at all?
Diet
1. The kinds of food that a person, animal or community habitually eats.
I hate that word. "Diet" ... Ew.
The thing is, we are all on our own forms of a diet - if someone chooses to eat at Burger King every other day, that is their chosen diet. Sometimes I'm on a pasta and pizza kick, which would be my chosen diet.
If I could add up the amounts of processed and sugary foods I've eaten in my life, you'd probably wonder how I'm still alive. I can eat a lot of grown men under the table! (Not that I'm proud of-- No, no. I AM proud of that!)
But I find it shocking that out of everything I've ever eaten, the one food group I'm stared at over are vegetables.
I'm not here to preach about what people should or shouldn't eat - I know vegans that shake their heads at my soda intake, I know a cool set of twins that are vegetarians/vegan that can't live without Redbull, and I know people that have to try every new fast food joint. This is all okay.
I just know what works for me to be healthy and feel better when I wake up in the mornings and that's watching the amounts of breads and pastas and sugars and eating veggies, fruits, nuts, meats, etc.
So, what works for you? If it makes you happy and feel good, do it!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Your skin is darker than mine.
I have always felt strongly about the idea that we all derive from Africa, to some extent (my theory lies with Egypt, but that's a different blog).
This is why I think it's a good thing - great, even - to see African American men and women as very Pro-Black; proud of who they are and where they came from. I think we all should.
I am all for Civil Rights and fighting for everyone's rights as a people, but at the end of the day... I am white. I don't fully understand (and never will!) what it's like to be a Black woman in America. The racial slurs, the idea that one isn't "Black enough" because of skin being too light because of genetics or being bi-racial, the sting of being considered "TOO dark", having white women constantly want to touch your hair, just having to be THAT much stronger of a woman because of the color of your skin.
That is something I do understand: Being a woman. This blog is to celebrate ALL women, but especially the strong women of color.
I've always felt like I didn't understand the saying, "I'm colorblind - I see no color, only humans." Before you say/think anything, let me just say that I get why one would say that. You're accepting of all. But let's face the facts: We ALL see what's in front of us, no matter how "blind" you claim to be. You see when someone has a bad tan job, just as much as you see the dark complected woman standing in front of you.
So why not celebrate it instead?
When I studied Costume Design and Textiles, I looked through multiple fabric weaves and colors. Oh, the colors! Deep crimsons, seafoam green, turquoise, silky ballet pink, velvety emerald green.... Or when I did a show set in the 1920s-30s, I used sepia tones: creamy beige, deep chocolate, caramel, jet black....
When I see skin color, I see beauty. I see flawless skin complexions, the color of ones hair to skin tone, and most of all - speaking as a woman - what colors look fabulous on what women!
There is one particular woman this past year that has stood out to me in so many ways - she makes me proud to be a woman (and she's a Pisces ;P) and when I see a photo of her, I can't help but be a bit more proud.
Lupita Nyong'o. (If you're not familiar with this woman, please look her up - She's a Kenyan actress who has starred in 12 Years a Slave and who'll play along side Liam Neeson in Non-Stop)
This woman could wear a burlap sack and still look like a queen. She appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live and even Jimmy said to her, "You look fantastic! I love that dress!"
I cannot wear yellow. My skin tone does NOT look good in yellows. At. All. I look washed out and gross.
Now, that's how you wear yellow! Her skin tone is rich and it makes any fabric/color she wears look equally rich.
You might remember her in this stunning red carpet dress:
Gaw-jees! (Lafayette Reynolds voice)
She knows how to carry herself well in an interview. She is all around stunning.
And we all see that her skin is dark. And it's beautiful.
Embrace yourself and your skin color, ladies. We are all beautiful and stunning in our own way! And before you decide to say that you're "colorblind", try to understand that some women choose to embrace their color fully and are very proud of who they are. They should be.
This is why I think it's a good thing - great, even - to see African American men and women as very Pro-Black; proud of who they are and where they came from. I think we all should.
I am all for Civil Rights and fighting for everyone's rights as a people, but at the end of the day... I am white. I don't fully understand (and never will!) what it's like to be a Black woman in America. The racial slurs, the idea that one isn't "Black enough" because of skin being too light because of genetics or being bi-racial, the sting of being considered "TOO dark", having white women constantly want to touch your hair, just having to be THAT much stronger of a woman because of the color of your skin.
That is something I do understand: Being a woman. This blog is to celebrate ALL women, but especially the strong women of color.
I've always felt like I didn't understand the saying, "I'm colorblind - I see no color, only humans." Before you say/think anything, let me just say that I get why one would say that. You're accepting of all. But let's face the facts: We ALL see what's in front of us, no matter how "blind" you claim to be. You see when someone has a bad tan job, just as much as you see the dark complected woman standing in front of you.
So why not celebrate it instead?
When I studied Costume Design and Textiles, I looked through multiple fabric weaves and colors. Oh, the colors! Deep crimsons, seafoam green, turquoise, silky ballet pink, velvety emerald green.... Or when I did a show set in the 1920s-30s, I used sepia tones: creamy beige, deep chocolate, caramel, jet black....
When I see skin color, I see beauty. I see flawless skin complexions, the color of ones hair to skin tone, and most of all - speaking as a woman - what colors look fabulous on what women!
There is one particular woman this past year that has stood out to me in so many ways - she makes me proud to be a woman (and she's a Pisces ;P) and when I see a photo of her, I can't help but be a bit more proud.
Lupita Nyong'o. (If you're not familiar with this woman, please look her up - She's a Kenyan actress who has starred in 12 Years a Slave and who'll play along side Liam Neeson in Non-Stop)
This woman could wear a burlap sack and still look like a queen. She appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live and even Jimmy said to her, "You look fantastic! I love that dress!"
I cannot wear yellow. My skin tone does NOT look good in yellows. At. All. I look washed out and gross.
Now, that's how you wear yellow! Her skin tone is rich and it makes any fabric/color she wears look equally rich.
You might remember her in this stunning red carpet dress:
Gaw-jees! (Lafayette Reynolds voice)
She knows how to carry herself well in an interview. She is all around stunning.
And we all see that her skin is dark. And it's beautiful.
Embrace yourself and your skin color, ladies. We are all beautiful and stunning in our own way! And before you decide to say that you're "colorblind", try to understand that some women choose to embrace their color fully and are very proud of who they are. They should be.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Don't Go Viral
When I decided to post this blog, I almost put it under my Social Media Postings blog and thought twice about it. That blog is typically light on topics and I realized that my topic isn't just social media related. It happens everywhere.
You've probably seen a link floating around - on Facebook, on Twitter, on Youtube - links that lead to a phone video of girls fighting. Some of the fights are two-sided, both girls throwing blows to each other, some girls going at it like crazy, some look like all they need is possibly a kiddie pool of jello or mud.
But within the past year (some just this past week), I've been seeing one-sided fights. Bullying fights. I'm talking about videos of groups of girls ganging up on a single individual. I'm talking about a young girl catching another girl off-guard and throwing a severe punch, knocking said girl to the ground, and continually beating and kicking her. About a girl cornering another girl and railing on her, leaving her with nothing but defensive moves. A transgendered Male to Female getting beaten into a seizure in a McDonald's.
And people will sit and record these videos, not once flinching, and make commentary in the background.
What I'm talking about are young girls that have a ruthless attitude with zero direction. Girls that know and believe a Jesus exists, but aren't taught that hatred is a bad thing.
I'm talking about a society where violence like above seems acceptable, yet we cover children's eyes when a love scene comes on in a movie but why? Is it okay to see hatred but not be taught the fundamentals of love?
What I find even more sickening than these young girls thinking it's okay to beat each other to a bloody pulp, is the amount of positive attention they receive. By allowing these videos to go viral, by praising a girl's brazen attitude toward the repercussions of their actions, by telling them it's completely okay (and in fact, cool) to be able to throw a knockout punch, we are telling them to MAKE MORE OF THESE VIDEOS.
Speaking as a woman who was once a young girl with an IDGAF attitude, I will say - if one girl sees the amount of attention another girl gets by beating someone senseless and putting it on Youtube, she might make her own video as well.
I have seen grown adults sharing these videos - MEN that have daughters of their own, sharing these videos and thinking it's funny. Men, I do not wish any harm like this to ANY woman or girl in your family. It's sickening, it's shameful, and it hurts ones pride so bad that some young girls will commit suicide over incidents such as this. I pray that you never have to see your daughter's broken jaw or wipe away her tears when she's ashamed to go to school. I hope you never have to place lawsuits against others and have years of medical bills of reconstructive surgery.
When I was six, there was a girl that lived across the street from me. An older girl (probably closer to my brothers' age, who are seven years older than I). I adored her and thought the world of her. I did not know what types of mental issues she may have had at the time, but one day, while we were playing in her parents' bedroom, she decided it would be fun to pin me down (my arms pinned under her legs) and beat me in the same manner as the girls mentioned above.
I'll remind you before I continue - I was six.
I remember the adrenaline rush, not the pain. I remember the high-heeled shoe she picked up to swing at my face with. I remember running to the bathroom and seeing the bloody lip I had. I remember begging her to stop - because right after she apologized, she did it again.
When I ran to the bathroom (after the second time), I devised a plan. (I believe this is why I'm a quick thinker now in stressful situations!) I knew I had to distance myself as far as possible at that very moment from this crazy, deranged girl.
She "made" me promise not to tell (honey, I looked a mess!) and I told her I wouldn't (I did immediately after. Some lies are meant to be told).
I walked home, crept through the front door, ran into my bedroom and cried. I wasn't sure what to do. I felt battered (I was), abused (I was), and weak (I was not). But most of all, I felt ashamed. I felt like I had done something horribly wrong.
When my mom came into my room to see what I was up to, I hid my face. She asked what was wrong - she saw my face anyway. She told me if someone had hurt me, she wanted to know. I cried and told her everything.
That evening, I watched as my family (three brothers, one sister, both parents) stared at me as I struggled to eat. It was embarrassing. I had bruises behind my ears, a busted lip, a bruised and sore jaw, a bite mark on my cheek (though I don't remember her biting me), my eye hurt but I don't remember what it looked like. I avoided any mirrors.
I thought I would finally tell this story because I feel like I have grown a lot from this situation - even becoming a stronger woman. I have forgiven the girl after many years of hatred. It wasn't worth it.
But from a young, beaten girl's perspective, it fucking sucks. It really, really does. Nothing about it is funny and honestly, I would probably be in therapy (even now) if there had been a video circulating around. The adrenaline rush is one thing - not knowing what's going on and avoiding mirrors, but the idea of seeing it everywhere you look, is too much.
That much pent up hatred is never good. Not for anyone, but especially not for young people. And to find it funny. But even more disappointing, sad, and shocking are the amount of adults that allow such things to get such a high circulation. Even they find it funny.
To the young ladies that do these things: Understand that it doesn't end with beating that b**ch's ass. Know that if you hit someone hard enough, you will kill them. And you will end up in prison for a long time with hardly anything to look forward to.
You wanna fight? Take a martial arts class to get out some of that anger.
You wanna fight? Fight with your mind. Pick up a book and educate yourself.
Or play chess ;)
Google Rochelle Ballantyne, a 17 year old girl that hasn't gone as viral as some of those videos, but fully deserves it. She is on her way to becoming the first African American female chess master.
To Rochelle: I am proud of you. You give me hope in today's youth. You should be every young girl's role model. You deserve all the praise the Internet has to offer. Keep playing.
(http://www.corvalliscommunitypages.com/Americas/US/Oregon/corvallis/Benjamin_Stagl.htm - Image)
You've probably seen a link floating around - on Facebook, on Twitter, on Youtube - links that lead to a phone video of girls fighting. Some of the fights are two-sided, both girls throwing blows to each other, some girls going at it like crazy, some look like all they need is possibly a kiddie pool of jello or mud.
But within the past year (some just this past week), I've been seeing one-sided fights. Bullying fights. I'm talking about videos of groups of girls ganging up on a single individual. I'm talking about a young girl catching another girl off-guard and throwing a severe punch, knocking said girl to the ground, and continually beating and kicking her. About a girl cornering another girl and railing on her, leaving her with nothing but defensive moves. A transgendered Male to Female getting beaten into a seizure in a McDonald's.
And people will sit and record these videos, not once flinching, and make commentary in the background.
What I'm talking about are young girls that have a ruthless attitude with zero direction. Girls that know and believe a Jesus exists, but aren't taught that hatred is a bad thing.
I'm talking about a society where violence like above seems acceptable, yet we cover children's eyes when a love scene comes on in a movie but why? Is it okay to see hatred but not be taught the fundamentals of love?
What I find even more sickening than these young girls thinking it's okay to beat each other to a bloody pulp, is the amount of positive attention they receive. By allowing these videos to go viral, by praising a girl's brazen attitude toward the repercussions of their actions, by telling them it's completely okay (and in fact, cool) to be able to throw a knockout punch, we are telling them to MAKE MORE OF THESE VIDEOS.
Speaking as a woman who was once a young girl with an IDGAF attitude, I will say - if one girl sees the amount of attention another girl gets by beating someone senseless and putting it on Youtube, she might make her own video as well.
I have seen grown adults sharing these videos - MEN that have daughters of their own, sharing these videos and thinking it's funny. Men, I do not wish any harm like this to ANY woman or girl in your family. It's sickening, it's shameful, and it hurts ones pride so bad that some young girls will commit suicide over incidents such as this. I pray that you never have to see your daughter's broken jaw or wipe away her tears when she's ashamed to go to school. I hope you never have to place lawsuits against others and have years of medical bills of reconstructive surgery.
When I was six, there was a girl that lived across the street from me. An older girl (probably closer to my brothers' age, who are seven years older than I). I adored her and thought the world of her. I did not know what types of mental issues she may have had at the time, but one day, while we were playing in her parents' bedroom, she decided it would be fun to pin me down (my arms pinned under her legs) and beat me in the same manner as the girls mentioned above.
I'll remind you before I continue - I was six.
I remember the adrenaline rush, not the pain. I remember the high-heeled shoe she picked up to swing at my face with. I remember running to the bathroom and seeing the bloody lip I had. I remember begging her to stop - because right after she apologized, she did it again.
When I ran to the bathroom (after the second time), I devised a plan. (I believe this is why I'm a quick thinker now in stressful situations!) I knew I had to distance myself as far as possible at that very moment from this crazy, deranged girl.
She "made" me promise not to tell (honey, I looked a mess!) and I told her I wouldn't (I did immediately after. Some lies are meant to be told).
I walked home, crept through the front door, ran into my bedroom and cried. I wasn't sure what to do. I felt battered (I was), abused (I was), and weak (I was not). But most of all, I felt ashamed. I felt like I had done something horribly wrong.
When my mom came into my room to see what I was up to, I hid my face. She asked what was wrong - she saw my face anyway. She told me if someone had hurt me, she wanted to know. I cried and told her everything.
That evening, I watched as my family (three brothers, one sister, both parents) stared at me as I struggled to eat. It was embarrassing. I had bruises behind my ears, a busted lip, a bruised and sore jaw, a bite mark on my cheek (though I don't remember her biting me), my eye hurt but I don't remember what it looked like. I avoided any mirrors.
I thought I would finally tell this story because I feel like I have grown a lot from this situation - even becoming a stronger woman. I have forgiven the girl after many years of hatred. It wasn't worth it.
But from a young, beaten girl's perspective, it fucking sucks. It really, really does. Nothing about it is funny and honestly, I would probably be in therapy (even now) if there had been a video circulating around. The adrenaline rush is one thing - not knowing what's going on and avoiding mirrors, but the idea of seeing it everywhere you look, is too much.
That much pent up hatred is never good. Not for anyone, but especially not for young people. And to find it funny. But even more disappointing, sad, and shocking are the amount of adults that allow such things to get such a high circulation. Even they find it funny.
To the young ladies that do these things: Understand that it doesn't end with beating that b**ch's ass. Know that if you hit someone hard enough, you will kill them. And you will end up in prison for a long time with hardly anything to look forward to.
You wanna fight? Take a martial arts class to get out some of that anger.
You wanna fight? Fight with your mind. Pick up a book and educate yourself.
Or play chess ;)
Google Rochelle Ballantyne, a 17 year old girl that hasn't gone as viral as some of those videos, but fully deserves it. She is on her way to becoming the first African American female chess master.
To Rochelle: I am proud of you. You give me hope in today's youth. You should be every young girl's role model. You deserve all the praise the Internet has to offer. Keep playing.
(http://www.corvalliscommunitypages.com/Americas/US/Oregon/corvallis/Benjamin_Stagl.htm - Image)
Thursday, August 29, 2013
"What I Want to be When I Grow Up" by Sarabi
I feel I may be cursed in libraries. Ohhh, but I love them so!
I used to watch The Mummy over and over again and watch with glee and envy when Rachel Weisz's character, Evie, stood up in her drunken stupor and proclaimed: "I am .... a LIBRARIAN!"
There are several professions that I could see myself in that would make me equally as happy. I used to want to be a dancer, but those days are long gone (along with the many hours of formal training!). I still dance, yes - I love to! And I even still take dance classes. If I had a daughter, I would be that mom that would take her to her dance class and let the teacher know, "Yes... *I* used to dance... at one time." I would be like that annoying parent that lets their theater major child know that they get their skills from them because, clearly, that one high school production that they recited one line in made them an infamous thespian.
(Funny story: My own father told a similar story to me. He was in a play in grade school and he said he had one line that he had to recite when he entered the stage: "Entering ..... the Handsome Duke!" I honestly think he might have made it up, though my mom and I found it equally hilarious and from that day forward called him Duke. And whenever he'd enter a room, he'd announce his arrival: "Entering ..... the Handsome DUKE!" Really, Dad?)
I thought about dropping theater altogether and trying something more daring and more time consuming overall: Archaeology with an emphasis in Egyptology. Everyone that knows me knows that I have a huge fascination with anything Ancient Egypt. I even ordered several books on Amazon on anything Egypt that I could possibly delve into, also watching multiple documentaries and going to the History Channel's and National Geographic's websites.
After thoroughly studying and reviewing how King Tutankhamun's body was desecrated when they found his tomb, I realized that I could never disturb someone's resting place, especially ancient kings and queens. Too much bad karma and juju. So, I continued on my path, while still nosing in both fiction and non-fiction books on multiple Egyptian topics.
Another historical aspect that I find interesting is Vlad the Impaler's life, as well as Eastern European folklore. One of my favorite novels is Dracula. I have several copies of Dracula, each with a different cover - some designed by great artists. Yes, I am well aware that Bram Stoker didn't exactly use Vlad as his inspiration, but the implicated connection is there. I love that there are stories all over Europe about the infamous Wallachian and many myths about his torture methods of his enemies, or in most stories, anyone that dared test him.
I continued, all through childhood and into adulthood, shoving my nose in many books and developing my interests through multiple literary outlets.
Now, as I struggle again to find a path that I can stick to (my own personal yellow brick road, if you will), I am thinking, What's more powerful than a librarian?
If you would have asked me that a month ago, I would say "Nothing!!" But, as I study my interests and re-read all I've written on just this blog alone and as I remember how I would passionately tell patrons about topics that they've shown a similar interest to (and sometimes coming up empty-handed: "We don't own this?? WHY NOT??"), I'm thinking - the answer has been right in front of me.
On my quest to finding what I, Sarah, want to be when I grow up, I'm realizing that I want to be a student. I want to be a teacher. I want to be a writer. I want to be ..... a Historian.
Whether amateur or professional, historians are always learning, always writing, always reading, always talking about languages (another thing I'm good at picking up), folklore, literature, weaponry, historical figures, kings, queens, Eastern Europe, Ancient Egypt, Medieval Times, torture devices, etc. etc. etc.
What's more powerful than a librarian?
Knowledge.
Whether I'm in school and decide to get my MLIS or a PhD in History or whether I decide to be self-taught, self-educated, I shall continue to read. Because what's more powerful than all of that is the knowledge and the will to want to do better. To continue to walk into a library and read, read, read, learn, learn, learn.
On I shall continue. On I shall march. With my head held high and a book in my hand (or many books). Knowledge.
معرفة
знания
kennis
γνώση
connaissance
bilgi
cunoștințe
maarifa
conocimiento
ידע
I used to watch The Mummy over and over again and watch with glee and envy when Rachel Weisz's character, Evie, stood up in her drunken stupor and proclaimed: "I am .... a LIBRARIAN!"
There are several professions that I could see myself in that would make me equally as happy. I used to want to be a dancer, but those days are long gone (along with the many hours of formal training!). I still dance, yes - I love to! And I even still take dance classes. If I had a daughter, I would be that mom that would take her to her dance class and let the teacher know, "Yes... *I* used to dance... at one time." I would be like that annoying parent that lets their theater major child know that they get their skills from them because, clearly, that one high school production that they recited one line in made them an infamous thespian.
(Funny story: My own father told a similar story to me. He was in a play in grade school and he said he had one line that he had to recite when he entered the stage: "Entering ..... the Handsome Duke!" I honestly think he might have made it up, though my mom and I found it equally hilarious and from that day forward called him Duke. And whenever he'd enter a room, he'd announce his arrival: "Entering ..... the Handsome DUKE!" Really, Dad?)
I thought about dropping theater altogether and trying something more daring and more time consuming overall: Archaeology with an emphasis in Egyptology. Everyone that knows me knows that I have a huge fascination with anything Ancient Egypt. I even ordered several books on Amazon on anything Egypt that I could possibly delve into, also watching multiple documentaries and going to the History Channel's and National Geographic's websites.
After thoroughly studying and reviewing how King Tutankhamun's body was desecrated when they found his tomb, I realized that I could never disturb someone's resting place, especially ancient kings and queens. Too much bad karma and juju. So, I continued on my path, while still nosing in both fiction and non-fiction books on multiple Egyptian topics.
Another historical aspect that I find interesting is Vlad the Impaler's life, as well as Eastern European folklore. One of my favorite novels is Dracula. I have several copies of Dracula, each with a different cover - some designed by great artists. Yes, I am well aware that Bram Stoker didn't exactly use Vlad as his inspiration, but the implicated connection is there. I love that there are stories all over Europe about the infamous Wallachian and many myths about his torture methods of his enemies, or in most stories, anyone that dared test him.
I continued, all through childhood and into adulthood, shoving my nose in many books and developing my interests through multiple literary outlets.
Now, as I struggle again to find a path that I can stick to (my own personal yellow brick road, if you will), I am thinking, What's more powerful than a librarian?
If you would have asked me that a month ago, I would say "Nothing!!" But, as I study my interests and re-read all I've written on just this blog alone and as I remember how I would passionately tell patrons about topics that they've shown a similar interest to (and sometimes coming up empty-handed: "We don't own this?? WHY NOT??"), I'm thinking - the answer has been right in front of me.
On my quest to finding what I, Sarah, want to be when I grow up, I'm realizing that I want to be a student. I want to be a teacher. I want to be a writer. I want to be ..... a Historian.
Whether amateur or professional, historians are always learning, always writing, always reading, always talking about languages (another thing I'm good at picking up), folklore, literature, weaponry, historical figures, kings, queens, Eastern Europe, Ancient Egypt, Medieval Times, torture devices, etc. etc. etc.
What's more powerful than a librarian?
Knowledge.
Whether I'm in school and decide to get my MLIS or a PhD in History or whether I decide to be self-taught, self-educated, I shall continue to read. Because what's more powerful than all of that is the knowledge and the will to want to do better. To continue to walk into a library and read, read, read, learn, learn, learn.
On I shall continue. On I shall march. With my head held high and a book in my hand (or many books). Knowledge.
معرفة
знания
kennis
γνώση
connaissance
bilgi
cunoștințe
maarifa
conocimiento
ידע
Thursday, August 8, 2013
"I'm trying.."
It's been close to two years since my father's death. In October, he
would be 68 years old. This past Monday would've been my parents' 46th
Anniversary.
When my dad passed away, a friend of mine from high school sent me a message offering his condolences, but then he said something that is so, so true: "Don't let people tell you that the pain gets better."
Yes, the pain and the hurt are still there. But I'm also continuing on with my life. I have to - we all have to. I'm getting married in November and I've asked my dad's twin to walk me down the aisle. He's like a second father to all of us kids. He's excited and I'm thrilled he said he would. We have to move on with our lives.
I was thinking the other day about what I could say if I wrote this blog post, when I came across a note my friend from grade school wrote several years ago after his brother passed away. The story was simple and sweet: He visited his brother at the hospital after emergency surgery and the first thing his brother said to him wasn't "I hurt" or "I need food/pain meds". What he said was, "I'm trying."
What my friend went on to say was that, though it's been several years since his big brother's death, he is also still trying. It was refreshing to read the note because it summed up how I feel when I find myself talking to my dad (or late sister-in-law); I think to myself, 'I'm trying. I'm trying to be the best that I can be, in spite of all of the ups and downs that I've been going through.' I feel they're still watching and rooting me on, and I'm trying to maintain what they've always thought I was.
I got my job at the library shortly after my dad's death. He would always ask if I had found a good job yet and, sure enough, I did. After being at my job for some time, I realized that I would like to get my MLIS (Masters in Library and Information Science) and I wanted to run and call my dad and say, "I'm doing it!" Instead, I looked up and thought of something like, "I'm trying."
My sister-in-law, Lisa, passed away a few months ago and lately, I've been back and forth with my anxiety and depression issues, so it kind of hit me hard. I have possibly more random conversations with her than with my dad. I tell her that it's okay, that I'm okay and that all things have a way of working itself out. We're all trying in one way or another.
We move on because we have to, not because we want to, necessarily. My wedding day is on All Saints' Day, while my reception is on All Souls' Day. There are many reasons for having them on separate days, but the most obvious one is that I want all close friends and family to be present and have a wonderful weekend with us.
And so the circle of life continues.
(Special thanks to friends David G. and Ryan H.)
When my dad passed away, a friend of mine from high school sent me a message offering his condolences, but then he said something that is so, so true: "Don't let people tell you that the pain gets better."
Yes, the pain and the hurt are still there. But I'm also continuing on with my life. I have to - we all have to. I'm getting married in November and I've asked my dad's twin to walk me down the aisle. He's like a second father to all of us kids. He's excited and I'm thrilled he said he would. We have to move on with our lives.
I was thinking the other day about what I could say if I wrote this blog post, when I came across a note my friend from grade school wrote several years ago after his brother passed away. The story was simple and sweet: He visited his brother at the hospital after emergency surgery and the first thing his brother said to him wasn't "I hurt" or "I need food/pain meds". What he said was, "I'm trying."
What my friend went on to say was that, though it's been several years since his big brother's death, he is also still trying. It was refreshing to read the note because it summed up how I feel when I find myself talking to my dad (or late sister-in-law); I think to myself, 'I'm trying. I'm trying to be the best that I can be, in spite of all of the ups and downs that I've been going through.' I feel they're still watching and rooting me on, and I'm trying to maintain what they've always thought I was.
I got my job at the library shortly after my dad's death. He would always ask if I had found a good job yet and, sure enough, I did. After being at my job for some time, I realized that I would like to get my MLIS (Masters in Library and Information Science) and I wanted to run and call my dad and say, "I'm doing it!" Instead, I looked up and thought of something like, "I'm trying."
My sister-in-law, Lisa, passed away a few months ago and lately, I've been back and forth with my anxiety and depression issues, so it kind of hit me hard. I have possibly more random conversations with her than with my dad. I tell her that it's okay, that I'm okay and that all things have a way of working itself out. We're all trying in one way or another.
We move on because we have to, not because we want to, necessarily. My wedding day is on All Saints' Day, while my reception is on All Souls' Day. There are many reasons for having them on separate days, but the most obvious one is that I want all close friends and family to be present and have a wonderful weekend with us.
And so the circle of life continues.
(Special thanks to friends David G. and Ryan H.)
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
For My Sister
Today is my big sister’s birthday. I won’t say how old she is (all I’ll say is that she’s thirteen years older than me…) but that hardly matters!
For the past few decades, she has raised me, taught me right from wrong, encouraged me, supported me, even backed up the bad decisions I’ve made, the ones that we all have to learn from for ourselves.
In 5th grade, she came to my Spelling Bee. I was so excited to be in the Bee that year – I had won in our class by spelling “Encyclopedia” – now I was up against the rest of the winners in the school! I don’t remember what word I had to spell, but I got it wrong and sat there, embarrassed, for the rest of the Bee. But there was another face in the audience that sat there through the whole thing along with me – my sister, Shelly. She was there to support me, as usual. She was proud of me, regardless of the word I failed to spell correctly.
When I was thirteen, I had the crush of a lifetime – a crush that lasted for a few years. I remember getting the mail one day and it was a note from my sister – she had clipped out a Dear Abby article about a girl’s puppy love. I thought, ‘What is she trying to tell me? That I’m THIS stupid??’ That wasn’t it at all. She saw her sister broken hearted and didn’t want her to dwell over it any longer, so in her big sisterly way, she helped the best way she could at the time: reaching out to me via mail and showing me what was happening to me through an advice column. She got her point across loud and clear, even if I didn’t want to hear it at the time. (But thank you – I think I still have that article in the envelope somewhere)
I used to love to sleep over at my sister’s apartment on 6th Street when I was in grade school. She always had the coolest movies to watch (where I first watched – and fell in love with – Brendan Frasier in School Ties!) and the best snacks! She’d take me to school, just a few blocks away, in the morning (after making cinnamon rolls! Yum.)
That’s when we started taking Karate classes together. Because clearly, the way us girls are in our family, it’s probably not a good idea if we throw anything and everything we can and curse every name in the book and basically frighten anyone that tries to break in to our homes. We should try to contain ourselves with… Ka-rah-te. Self discipline. Which is why I karate chopped my poor sister in the neck on our second day. I really didn’t mean to, I think I was mad our instructors were so Cobra Kai militant that I had to do push-ups when my eyes wandered around the room, looking at stretching devices (you put me on that and we’ll have some bigger problems than karate chopping, buddy). So, like a good sister, I took it out on Shelly with a “Haaaiiii-YA” to the neck. (She was completely okay, but I did get a giggle out of our instructor. Heheheh) We stopped going about a month in. Meh, we knew enough. We were more Drunken Master than Mr. Miyagi anyway.
(Note to Martial Arts instructors: You should probably not have what looks like torture devices hanging around your dojo, because I WILL stare and if you make me do push-ups again for staring, you’ll have to pry my Wolverine claws off your knee caps and neck. Not a threat, just.. saying… Don’t.)
I remember one night I slept over and we were in bed and she got a late night phone call from her then fiancé, Kerry, who lived in Wisconsin while we resided in Indiana, stating that he wouldn’t be able to make it to see her that weekend. She hung up and began to cry. I remember thinking how in love she must be and I asked her what was wrong, even though I knew. She said she was okay, that Kerry wouldn’t be able to make it that weekend and she missed him, was all. But it hurt me to see her so upset over something that some would consider trivial. (Now, she might be embarrassed that I’ve mentioned her crying on my blog, but it’s an important detail in the story and it’s also important that everyone knows that I’m honestly not the only case basket in my family – just the biggest! :P) That was when I knew that he meant so much to her.
Fast forward a year or so later and I am a bridesmaid in her wedding (wearing a not very flattering dress, I might add. Geez! Though it was right for the time period, I guess. I’ll give you that!) and I didn’t think I’d get emotional at all – I was really happy for her and knew I’d still see her often, even though she was moving to Wisconsin to start her family. But as I sat in the pew, watching them light their unity candle, I began to cry. Not tears of joy, but tears of sorrow. I was sad that I was losing my sister! I could no longer have sleepovers at her apartment, or take karate classes, or make cinnamon rolls for breakfast. I quickly learned she wasn’t leaving me as a sister, she was starting her own family that she would share with me and the rest.
I remember holding her son for the first time. I thought I would break him, he was so tiny. I went home after that weekend and tried to picture him older, a teenager, and just couldn’t do it. I knew I was fond of him though. And now look….
…he’s a teenager. And him and I get along just how I always imagined. *cough*I’mTheFavoriteAunt*cough,cough* :D
And, also just like I thought, you raised a great son. You always say you’re proud of me and my accomplishments, but *I* am proud of YOU.
I may not be the best sister or friend or girlfriend, but I will say that I have the memory of an elephant, so if you’ve done something for me in the past, know that I have yet to forget it. One could barely hint at something, and I’ll know exactly what they’re talking about. Shelly may not even remember the moments I’m bringing up, but I do. Some how, in some way, they have impacted my life for the better.
I remember when she wanted to write a book about her/our life – I thought it was a brilliant idea and I wanted in on it somehow, even if it was just reading first drafts (I am forever the reader/writer of the family) She sent me a chapter or two of what she had written, but after that, she forgot about it and decided not to write it. I loved it though! I was so proud of her for attempting to take on such a huge task like writing a book! Especially about our lives. Writing a book isn’t easy, if anyone is curious. And when you write about your own past, you’re forced to go into both the good moments and relive the bad moments. It can be quite draining. Maybe that’s why she stopped writing it, but if she’s reading this (and I know she is, because, well, SISTERS) I want her to know that I encourage her to continue when she gets the chance! I think all of my siblings (we have three brothers) could write a book about their own lives if they chose to do so. We’ve all had such rich and colorful lives so far – imagine if we all collaborated on one big book! And, of course, I find myself writing this.
I love you, Shelly. I am so proud of who you are as a sister, a mother, a wife, a friend, and a woman. There isn't a perfect gift for a great sister, so this time, I did what I do best: Write. <3 span="">
P.S. - Yes, I still have your anklet.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Let Your Inner Light Shine
When that darkness seeps over your soul, there's a second - a moment - where you forget those around you, those that love you......but when that light clicks on again, you might reach out to someone or think, "Never again."
I hate to break it to you all, but sometimes.....that light never comes back on. But please - don't think anything is YOUR fault - you can't stop certain things from happening. No one can......all you can do in times of someone else's moments of weakness is simply let them know you are there for them and that you love them. Trust me....it's enough. :) Depression/Mental illness IS a thing. Don't let it take over you and your mind! Let that light bulb click on!
Below, I've made a list of my "Lights" - the things that help me get through those moments. Maybe some of these things can help you or someone you know.
1. Chess!
- I list Chess first, even though it's still something new to me. But chess makes me think - and I notice that in my weakest, saddest moments, is when I fight harder on the board. I beat my chess coach just yesterday and I have a LOT going on right now mentally. (Although HE may have another story!! Haha!)
Chess reminds me of my father and his strength. At times, I feel like I'm playing him... other times, I feel he's playing through me, like yesterday. I was catching some CRAZY positions several moves ahead that normally I stumble on!
(My lovely fossil and red onyx chess set, given to me on my birthday by my fiance, Niko <3 br="">
2. Dance/music
- Dance is my heart, my soul. When I dance, I feel whole. There are some dancers that manage to move me to tears because of where their heart is at at the time. I feel it. It's beautiful and a great way to get out extra stress and anxiety. Just move!
3. Meditation
- Some may have issues with meditation and wonder how it works, exactly. But meditation comes in many forms, some being Martial Arts. Martial Arts is just as mental as it is physical. Though I am a huge fan of different fighting styles (Tai Chi, Aikido, BJJ, Muy Thai..) I have yet to learn one particular style (it's on my list!). So I meditate spiritually (at a resting state) and sometimes in my Nia dance class. Nia combines modern dance, Tai Chi and Yoga into one expressive art form.
More on Nia here: http://www.nianow.com/practice
Also, shot of my friend, Theresa's shop in Terre Haute (Kamikaze Karate!):
...because Bruce makes me happy. (http://www.kamikazekarate.com/)
4. Family/friends/pets
-All of the above are key. I try to tell the ones I care about that I love them all the time. After my dad died, I remember thinking about how short our time is on this planet. What are we doing with our lives and why aren't we enjoying it more? Why do we find it so hard to tell the people around us that we care?
(Dog-Jitsu! Niko and Athena Dog-Jitsu-ing on the floor. Yes.... oh yes.. it's a thing.)
There are other things that I use to settle anxiety/depression (like my tea!), but these are the big ones for me.
Okay, another shameless plug of something that manages to combine all of my Zen moments into one, an organization that some of you may have heard of: The Hip Hop Chess Federation. These people do AMAZING things. I ask each and every one of you reading this, please read this:
HHCF Summer Camp Program
... and donate if you can. "The HHCF fuses Hip-Hop Chess and Martial Arts to promote unity, strategy and nonviolence." And guess what? It works :)
I'm hoping one day soon, Cincinnati will have its own branch of the HHCF. We have so many youth here that have so much talent!
Similarly, we have Elementz Hip Hop Youth Center (http://elementz.org/wp/about/), another amazing organization right here in Cincy, helping youth remain off the streets and putting their minds in more positive places.
If you've read this far, I thank you. Stay positive and know that you are loved. <3 p="">
~S
I hate to break it to you all, but sometimes.....that light never comes back on. But please - don't think anything is YOUR fault - you can't stop certain things from happening. No one can......all you can do in times of someone else's moments of weakness is simply let them know you are there for them and that you love them. Trust me....it's enough. :) Depression/Mental illness IS a thing. Don't let it take over you and your mind! Let that light bulb click on!
Below, I've made a list of my "Lights" - the things that help me get through those moments. Maybe some of these things can help you or someone you know.
1. Chess!
- I list Chess first, even though it's still something new to me. But chess makes me think - and I notice that in my weakest, saddest moments, is when I fight harder on the board. I beat my chess coach just yesterday and I have a LOT going on right now mentally. (Although HE may have another story!! Haha!)
Chess reminds me of my father and his strength. At times, I feel like I'm playing him... other times, I feel he's playing through me, like yesterday. I was catching some CRAZY positions several moves ahead that normally I stumble on!
2. Dance/music
- Dance is my heart, my soul. When I dance, I feel whole. There are some dancers that manage to move me to tears because of where their heart is at at the time. I feel it. It's beautiful and a great way to get out extra stress and anxiety. Just move!
3. Meditation
- Some may have issues with meditation and wonder how it works, exactly. But meditation comes in many forms, some being Martial Arts. Martial Arts is just as mental as it is physical. Though I am a huge fan of different fighting styles (Tai Chi, Aikido, BJJ, Muy Thai..) I have yet to learn one particular style (it's on my list!). So I meditate spiritually (at a resting state) and sometimes in my Nia dance class. Nia combines modern dance, Tai Chi and Yoga into one expressive art form.
More on Nia here: http://www.nianow.com/practice
Also, shot of my friend, Theresa's shop in Terre Haute (Kamikaze Karate!):
4. Family/friends/pets
-All of the above are key. I try to tell the ones I care about that I love them all the time. After my dad died, I remember thinking about how short our time is on this planet. What are we doing with our lives and why aren't we enjoying it more? Why do we find it so hard to tell the people around us that we care?
There are other things that I use to settle anxiety/depression (like my tea!), but these are the big ones for me.
Okay, another shameless plug of something that manages to combine all of my Zen moments into one, an organization that some of you may have heard of: The Hip Hop Chess Federation. These people do AMAZING things. I ask each and every one of you reading this, please read this:
HHCF Summer Camp Program
... and donate if you can. "The HHCF fuses Hip-Hop Chess and Martial Arts to promote unity, strategy and nonviolence." And guess what? It works :)
I'm hoping one day soon, Cincinnati will have its own branch of the HHCF. We have so many youth here that have so much talent!
Similarly, we have Elementz Hip Hop Youth Center (http://elementz.org/wp/about/), another amazing organization right here in Cincy, helping youth remain off the streets and putting their minds in more positive places.
If you've read this far, I thank you. Stay positive and know that you are loved. <3 p="">
~S
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Dancin'... Dancin'... DANCIN'!
*sings* She's a dancing machine! (Had to finish that.. sorry.)
So, I wish I had more photos, but allow me to share my dancer side with you.
(Eventually, I'll find or "steal" some photos from friends, but I used to have tons of photos from productions and basketball games!)
I never took a single dance class growing up. For strange reasons, I was too scared to have my mom drop me off somewhere and leave me for the hour. But I loved to dance! I would dance for hours in my room by myself. My brothers would stand there at the door when I wasn't looking and laugh at me. I didn't care. I'd slam the door in their faces and continue to dance. (After screaming, "MOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!! THEY'RE BOTHERING ME!!!")
I remember in 2nd Grade me and my best friend at the time, Heather, signed up for the talent show. As a side note, I'd like to mention that the school my brothers and I attended was part of Indiana State University - called, appropriately enough, University School. Our mother worked there for some time and it was a school for students of both employees as well as parents from abroad (my other BFF was a boy from Japan) studying for their masters/doctorates. It was pre-school through 9th grade, so it was the only few years that I had spent going to school with my older brothers.
So, yes - it must be mentioned that the talent show at University School was a big deal. ALL the older kids would see us! Heather didn't dance as much as I did, so I was mostly nervous that she'd back out on me, even though I thought she was good. My sister helped with the choreography, but it was mostly me and Heather, my first choreographed piece to be performed! I chose Bobby Brown's "Every Little Step" ...and every little step had to be perfect!
At the time, Heather and I did a program called Jump for Heart, where you'd meet after school and jump rope for an hour, collecting donations for the Heart Foundation. We loved jumping rope! I was good and could even criss cross like a pro. I knew I was good *smirk* So, there was a break in the music where Heather and I decided to jump rope.
It was my first show and I wasn't nervous at all. I am still shocked at how me, a shy bookworm that normally kept to herself, got up on that stage and and danced danced danced! I remember vividly how, when Heather and I started jumping rope, the whole front of the auditorium - filled with all my brothers' friends and all the older kids - clapped and cheered loudly for us!!! I realized that they were probably encouraging us since we were so young and they knew I was "The Twins'" lil' sis, but NO they had to recognize - I was criss-crossing like a BOSS on that stage! AND to Bobby Brown.
I never took a dance class.
....but that didn't stop me from auditioning for the middle school dance team in 7th grade. The girl teaching the choreography went to school with my brothers and she encouraged me to try out. The eight 8-counts (a typical try-out routine) we had to learn were HARD. And fast, as it was set to the beat of an Uncle Luke song (looong way away from Bobby now.) Turn, jump, punch, slide... Whew! I rehearsed all day and night until I finally thought I had it.
And.. I nailed it. I was in!! I made the team! I remember feeling nervous about checking the list for my name.. but sure enough, I was on it. I made it for 8th grade too, as well as being Co-Captain. :)
9th Grade meant high school. It meant a bigger and better squad. I almost didn't try out for the Spirettes, the high school dance team. But several of my friends were trying out and I went with them.
Whoa. The choreography was RIDICULOUS. I had to work extra hard on turns and leaps because my technique was sloppy. And to make it even more nerve-wracking, the dances we had to learn were taught by the current girls of the squad - the ones we really wanted to impress. The choreographers were immediately on the squad. No one had to audition again. (That rule was changed later on). And these girls were GOOD.
I remember talking to a guy I had a crush on the night before auditions. I remember, because his words to me pushed me for the next four+ years. I told him I was auditioning in the morning and he said, "Yeah, good luck with that. I don't think you'll make it."
I secretly wanted to cry (mostly because it was a supposed CRUSH that said this to me) but I did the opposite - I said, "I'll prove you wrong."
And not only did I prove him wrong, but I went on to become Captain of the team my Sophomore year and Choreographer my Junior and Senior years. And I did it with my friends right there, dancing beside me.
Our coach for our Freshman year I thought was a complete bitch. She seemed to always be yelling at me - "Work harder! Don't stop moving! It's two turns not one, Sarah! Head UP on SEVEN, not eight!" Just... on and on and on and on. When I made it into my Sophomore year, I realized that her yelling turned to praises of "GOOD, Sarah!! Nice turn!" It was then that I realized that at first I thought she was like my crush - negative. But then I realized, she was just pushing me because she knew I could do better. I could BE better. And I was! THAT was why I was Choreographer. THAT was why my routines became harder and more complex - I continually pushed myself. Because of them.
I didn't try out for the Indiana State's dance team, though I know I could have and would have probably made the team. My creativity went elsewhere - it went to Theater. My love for art will always be apparent. And it was, as I took up a Dance minor, which eventually transferred as Theatrical Dance.
And from there, I performed in several productions, dancing with the Theater's dance company, Fusion.
So, I wish I had more photos, but allow me to share my dancer side with you.
(Eventually, I'll find or "steal" some photos from friends, but I used to have tons of photos from productions and basketball games!)
I never took a single dance class growing up. For strange reasons, I was too scared to have my mom drop me off somewhere and leave me for the hour. But I loved to dance! I would dance for hours in my room by myself. My brothers would stand there at the door when I wasn't looking and laugh at me. I didn't care. I'd slam the door in their faces and continue to dance. (After screaming, "MOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!! THEY'RE BOTHERING ME!!!")
I remember in 2nd Grade me and my best friend at the time, Heather, signed up for the talent show. As a side note, I'd like to mention that the school my brothers and I attended was part of Indiana State University - called, appropriately enough, University School. Our mother worked there for some time and it was a school for students of both employees as well as parents from abroad (my other BFF was a boy from Japan) studying for their masters/doctorates. It was pre-school through 9th grade, so it was the only few years that I had spent going to school with my older brothers.
So, yes - it must be mentioned that the talent show at University School was a big deal. ALL the older kids would see us! Heather didn't dance as much as I did, so I was mostly nervous that she'd back out on me, even though I thought she was good. My sister helped with the choreography, but it was mostly me and Heather, my first choreographed piece to be performed! I chose Bobby Brown's "Every Little Step" ...and every little step had to be perfect!
At the time, Heather and I did a program called Jump for Heart, where you'd meet after school and jump rope for an hour, collecting donations for the Heart Foundation. We loved jumping rope! I was good and could even criss cross like a pro. I knew I was good *smirk* So, there was a break in the music where Heather and I decided to jump rope.
It was my first show and I wasn't nervous at all. I am still shocked at how me, a shy bookworm that normally kept to herself, got up on that stage and and danced danced danced! I remember vividly how, when Heather and I started jumping rope, the whole front of the auditorium - filled with all my brothers' friends and all the older kids - clapped and cheered loudly for us!!! I realized that they were probably encouraging us since we were so young and they knew I was "The Twins'" lil' sis, but NO they had to recognize - I was criss-crossing like a BOSS on that stage! AND to Bobby Brown.
I never took a dance class.
....but that didn't stop me from auditioning for the middle school dance team in 7th grade. The girl teaching the choreography went to school with my brothers and she encouraged me to try out. The eight 8-counts (a typical try-out routine) we had to learn were HARD. And fast, as it was set to the beat of an Uncle Luke song (looong way away from Bobby now.) Turn, jump, punch, slide... Whew! I rehearsed all day and night until I finally thought I had it.
And.. I nailed it. I was in!! I made the team! I remember feeling nervous about checking the list for my name.. but sure enough, I was on it. I made it for 8th grade too, as well as being Co-Captain. :)
9th Grade meant high school. It meant a bigger and better squad. I almost didn't try out for the Spirettes, the high school dance team. But several of my friends were trying out and I went with them.
Whoa. The choreography was RIDICULOUS. I had to work extra hard on turns and leaps because my technique was sloppy. And to make it even more nerve-wracking, the dances we had to learn were taught by the current girls of the squad - the ones we really wanted to impress. The choreographers were immediately on the squad. No one had to audition again. (That rule was changed later on). And these girls were GOOD.
I remember talking to a guy I had a crush on the night before auditions. I remember, because his words to me pushed me for the next four+ years. I told him I was auditioning in the morning and he said, "Yeah, good luck with that. I don't think you'll make it."
I secretly wanted to cry (mostly because it was a supposed CRUSH that said this to me) but I did the opposite - I said, "I'll prove you wrong."
And not only did I prove him wrong, but I went on to become Captain of the team my Sophomore year and Choreographer my Junior and Senior years. And I did it with my friends right there, dancing beside me.
Our coach for our Freshman year I thought was a complete bitch. She seemed to always be yelling at me - "Work harder! Don't stop moving! It's two turns not one, Sarah! Head UP on SEVEN, not eight!" Just... on and on and on and on. When I made it into my Sophomore year, I realized that her yelling turned to praises of "GOOD, Sarah!! Nice turn!" It was then that I realized that at first I thought she was like my crush - negative. But then I realized, she was just pushing me because she knew I could do better. I could BE better. And I was! THAT was why I was Choreographer. THAT was why my routines became harder and more complex - I continually pushed myself. Because of them.
I didn't try out for the Indiana State's dance team, though I know I could have and would have probably made the team. My creativity went elsewhere - it went to Theater. My love for art will always be apparent. And it was, as I took up a Dance minor, which eventually transferred as Theatrical Dance.
And from there, I performed in several productions, dancing with the Theater's dance company, Fusion.
(I'm in the middle - Fusion: Dance of the Sun rehearsal)
I learned to push myself even further with dance - in the above picture, my "spirit animal" for the show was a polar bear. So I studied heavy movement in different martial art forms to move like my given animal. I also performed in a Commedia Del'Arte style mask production (along with a class we had to take to be in it) and I learned how to express certain emotions through body language, conveying messages that a particular mask evoked. That is how I became the love-crazed, wanna-be flamenco dancer, Escondida:
(Escondida - Pageant of Wonders, part of Poison, Poets and Other Wonders)
I took dance classes in college, but mostly because I had to (for more than obvious reasons). But my love for dance will forever live deep inside me and I will always, always, always be that girl dancing in the darkness of her room, where no one can see.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Attack of the Umbrellas
I'm walking. It's quite cold out, so I bundle up the best that I can - hat, coat, scarf wrapped around about ten times, and decent shoes. The wind is chilly and whispers to my bones that it will break me if it must. Oh, and it's raining. A freezing rain dropping from the heavens. It's not a light mist of rain, which I can handle (with an extra scarf) - it's a downpour of God's piss threatening to drench me regardless of what I'm wearing.
I must carry an umbrella.
Now, I don't have many umbrellas - a couple of "I can get the job done" umbrellas. Nothing spectacular (though I thought about getting one that looks like a samurai sword. Sweeeet.... *nerd out moment*). Just a plain, ol' umbrella.
I open it and walk a few steps. The wind feels me on the move and seems angry. *Swoosh* The pressure of the wind blows directly up into my umbrella (almost like it was coming from the ground somehow..) and I look up just in time to see the metal breaking under its strength. *Swoosh* It flies upward.
Sigh.
Not to be defeated, I grab the umbrella with one hand and force it back into place. I whisper, "Let's get the job done, friend... For the love of all that's holy and pure, DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, PLEASE."
I walk a block and feel another gust of wind. *Swoosh* This time, Umbrella and I were ready. En garde! I lower my umbrella directly against the wind and rain coming at me and it blows against the umbrella - the correct way! Yes!
I walk a few blocks more, feeling confident that I will possibly make it home. I stop at the stoplight and push the walk button and wait. This isn't so bad...
*Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh* The wind must have extra wind friends that we don't know about because it was relentless. Up goes the umbrella for the second time. By now, I'm already soaked, cold as ice cubes in an alley, and my umbrella is screaming, "PLEASE put my ass away!"
Will do. I fold up the umbrella and hold it under my arm. Still walking, I struggle against the rain and wind to strategically tie my scarf over my hat, while shielding my phone/earbuds and purse.
Dear Umbrella,
It is with my deepest regret to inform you that I have to let you go. I need to find some other way to protect myself against the elements and, quite frankly, you suck at your job.
Sincerely,
Sarah
I must carry an umbrella.
Now, I don't have many umbrellas - a couple of "I can get the job done" umbrellas. Nothing spectacular (though I thought about getting one that looks like a samurai sword. Sweeeet.... *nerd out moment*). Just a plain, ol' umbrella.
I open it and walk a few steps. The wind feels me on the move and seems angry. *Swoosh* The pressure of the wind blows directly up into my umbrella (almost like it was coming from the ground somehow..) and I look up just in time to see the metal breaking under its strength. *Swoosh* It flies upward.
Sigh.
Not to be defeated, I grab the umbrella with one hand and force it back into place. I whisper, "Let's get the job done, friend... For the love of all that's holy and pure, DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, PLEASE."
I walk a block and feel another gust of wind. *Swoosh* This time, Umbrella and I were ready. En garde! I lower my umbrella directly against the wind and rain coming at me and it blows against the umbrella - the correct way! Yes!
I walk a few blocks more, feeling confident that I will possibly make it home. I stop at the stoplight and push the walk button and wait. This isn't so bad...
*Swoosh, swoosh, swoosh* The wind must have extra wind friends that we don't know about because it was relentless. Up goes the umbrella for the second time. By now, I'm already soaked, cold as ice cubes in an alley, and my umbrella is screaming, "PLEASE put my ass away!"
Will do. I fold up the umbrella and hold it under my arm. Still walking, I struggle against the rain and wind to strategically tie my scarf over my hat, while shielding my phone/earbuds and purse.
Dear Umbrella,
It is with my deepest regret to inform you that I have to let you go. I need to find some other way to protect myself against the elements and, quite frankly, you suck at your job.
Sincerely,
Sarah
Monday, September 24, 2012
Seeing (the board) is Believing (in yourself)
My
father had a beautiful mind. He could work math problems in his head
like it was nothing, play cards and usually tell you what you had in
your hand (a gift from his dad) and he could play chess, a strategy gift that I recently discovered he passed on to me.
I have secretly had a mental love/hate relationship with the game of chess. When I was younger, maybe eight or nine, a kid that was over at our house beat me (with the help of an adult! Gangin’ up on me!) horribly in chess. I only knew how the pieces moved, and just barely. That game still haunts me. I vowed to never play that game again.
As the years went by though, I noticed that I had a higher level of respect for those that could play the game and play it well, my father, of course, being one of them (my brother also plays). I even dated a guy that liked to play. He played my dad a couple of times and I remember how impressed I was as I sat there and watched them, not fully understanding the thought process that went into the game. They stalemated their first game. (My memory is that of an elephant’s)
Anytime anyone asked if I played, I immediately got nervous and would mumble, “No... no. I wish I could, but I can’t.” (The difference between “Can’t” and “Won’t” coming soon!) Thinking about playing chess made me feel stupid - moronic, even. I assumed I could never and would never understand the game. The strategy was beyond me. *cue dramatic eye roll and dismissive hand gesture*
Several months ago, I learned of a co-worker at the Public Library that plays chess regularly and is, in fact, quite good - notably so. The stories that patrons and co-workers would weave about him were intriguing to me. Is he that good? He seemed nice enough, but many made it sound like he was a beast on the board and the thought of it made me want to duck my head and run for cover.
Eventually, I mentioned to a couple close co-workers/friends that I might want to learn to play. Slowly.... very slowly, I would learn. They would tell me, “Oh, ask N* to teach you! He would be the one!” Yeah. I knew they would say that. I cringed inwardly and secretly wondered if there was a lesser known player that would be willing to teach me. Or a book.
I found a book while working one day, called Portable Chess Coach by Judee Shipman (great find/read, btw, if anyone is interested!). The Chess Genius happened to be walking by when I found it and I blurted out, “Hey look what I found!” (while mentally running and hiding) He looked through it and, lo and behold, it was a good beginner’s guide! I told Chess Genius I might play him one day when I learned a bit more about the game. He seemed encouraging enough.
One day...
So, like, four months later (ha!) I had just barely cracked this book open (I still have it checked out - I need to just dish out the money to buy my own copy) and I get up the courage to 1. download the Chess With Friends application on my phone and 2. Initiate a chess duel with Chess Genius. NO, I was not drinking, thank you very much.
I lost that game. And about a couple dozen more games that very same week. But by game two I realized 1. I’m not that horrible at it and 2. Chess Genius really was genius - his teaching techniques are subtle, similar to my own when I teach dance.
Now, a little over a month after that first game, I have found a new love that is quickly rivaling my love for dance, shockingly enough! I always wanted to learn but wasn’t sure if I would catch on and the thought of actually playing terrified me, but how much can you really learn from a book? Again, similar to dance - you just have to TRY it. Get up and go. Go hard or go the hell home!
Chess is constantly compared to life. I have found that chess, like life, is revealing to yourself. I have made the same mistakes on the board as I have in life. We’ll always make mistakes in life and no one is perfect on the board, not even Chess Genius, who I have dubbed Cheebo, the Chess Deebo, his bully alter ego coming out of him as he schools relentlessly on the board.
It was never that I couldn’t play chess, it’s that I wouldn’t. I didn’t believe enough in myself, in my mental capabilities, to just try it. I don’t want to get out there and compete necessarily, I just want to play. I want to play because I enjoy it. Not to win (though yes, my first checkmate was thrilling!), but to gain more knowledge on myself. My vision is clearer. I see my path. I see the board.
To N (*name withheld), Chess Genius, Cheebo, BlakkDynamite, Chess Coach Extraordinaire (if you’re reading this) - A heartfelt thank you for being an amazing coach and putting up with my own mental frustrations with myself. You’re helping me to carry out and pass along what my father gave me, something that no one can take away from me - the ability to be a freethinker, a mental rebel.
“I play my enemies like a game of chess....” ~ Lauryn Hill
(This blog entry has not been fully edited. My apologies)
I have secretly had a mental love/hate relationship with the game of chess. When I was younger, maybe eight or nine, a kid that was over at our house beat me (with the help of an adult! Gangin’ up on me!) horribly in chess. I only knew how the pieces moved, and just barely. That game still haunts me. I vowed to never play that game again.
As the years went by though, I noticed that I had a higher level of respect for those that could play the game and play it well, my father, of course, being one of them (my brother also plays). I even dated a guy that liked to play. He played my dad a couple of times and I remember how impressed I was as I sat there and watched them, not fully understanding the thought process that went into the game. They stalemated their first game. (My memory is that of an elephant’s)
Anytime anyone asked if I played, I immediately got nervous and would mumble, “No... no. I wish I could, but I can’t.” (The difference between “Can’t” and “Won’t” coming soon!) Thinking about playing chess made me feel stupid - moronic, even. I assumed I could never and would never understand the game. The strategy was beyond me. *cue dramatic eye roll and dismissive hand gesture*
Several months ago, I learned of a co-worker at the Public Library that plays chess regularly and is, in fact, quite good - notably so. The stories that patrons and co-workers would weave about him were intriguing to me. Is he that good? He seemed nice enough, but many made it sound like he was a beast on the board and the thought of it made me want to duck my head and run for cover.
Eventually, I mentioned to a couple close co-workers/friends that I might want to learn to play. Slowly.... very slowly, I would learn. They would tell me, “Oh, ask N* to teach you! He would be the one!” Yeah. I knew they would say that. I cringed inwardly and secretly wondered if there was a lesser known player that would be willing to teach me. Or a book.
I found a book while working one day, called Portable Chess Coach by Judee Shipman (great find/read, btw, if anyone is interested!). The Chess Genius happened to be walking by when I found it and I blurted out, “Hey look what I found!” (while mentally running and hiding) He looked through it and, lo and behold, it was a good beginner’s guide! I told Chess Genius I might play him one day when I learned a bit more about the game. He seemed encouraging enough.
One day...
So, like, four months later (ha!) I had just barely cracked this book open (I still have it checked out - I need to just dish out the money to buy my own copy) and I get up the courage to 1. download the Chess With Friends application on my phone and 2. Initiate a chess duel with Chess Genius. NO, I was not drinking, thank you very much.
I lost that game. And about a couple dozen more games that very same week. But by game two I realized 1. I’m not that horrible at it and 2. Chess Genius really was genius - his teaching techniques are subtle, similar to my own when I teach dance.
Now, a little over a month after that first game, I have found a new love that is quickly rivaling my love for dance, shockingly enough! I always wanted to learn but wasn’t sure if I would catch on and the thought of actually playing terrified me, but how much can you really learn from a book? Again, similar to dance - you just have to TRY it. Get up and go. Go hard or go the hell home!
Chess is constantly compared to life. I have found that chess, like life, is revealing to yourself. I have made the same mistakes on the board as I have in life. We’ll always make mistakes in life and no one is perfect on the board, not even Chess Genius, who I have dubbed Cheebo, the Chess Deebo, his bully alter ego coming out of him as he schools relentlessly on the board.
It was never that I couldn’t play chess, it’s that I wouldn’t. I didn’t believe enough in myself, in my mental capabilities, to just try it. I don’t want to get out there and compete necessarily, I just want to play. I want to play because I enjoy it. Not to win (though yes, my first checkmate was thrilling!), but to gain more knowledge on myself. My vision is clearer. I see my path. I see the board.
To N (*name withheld), Chess Genius, Cheebo, BlakkDynamite, Chess Coach Extraordinaire (if you’re reading this) - A heartfelt thank you for being an amazing coach and putting up with my own mental frustrations with myself. You’re helping me to carry out and pass along what my father gave me, something that no one can take away from me - the ability to be a freethinker, a mental rebel.
“I play my enemies like a game of chess....” ~ Lauryn Hill
(This blog entry has not been fully edited. My apologies)
Monday, August 20, 2012
BFF
Some people probably wonder why Hip Hop means so much to me.
Well, I love the music, but it was through music (Hip Hop) that I met my best friend, Erica.
About 17 years ago, I tried out for the Sarah Scott Middle School dance team. Erica and I both made the team - so yes, this means I also owe a thanks to dance as well.
(Middle school - carefree days. I'm on the far right in a blue shirt that I don't remember owning..)
Erica said she eventually noted me as the "white girl that could move", so she asked if she could get together with me and work on one of our routines together. For some reason, I knew there was something else about her that I liked, but I couldn't put my finger on it...
We ran the dance several times, joking and laughing, while also trying to find things we had in common. We went to my room and she saw all of my cassette tapes and gasped.
"You have this?! I've been looking for this!"
(Exhibit A. "This")
And then she asked....
"Do you mind if I ... borrow it?"
Hmmm... Good question.
She reached in her pocket and said, "All I have... is this..."
Me: "Oh... my god. I'VE been looking for THAT!!!"
(Exhibit B. "That")
We stared at each other for what seemed like decades and finally she said, "This is my absolute favorite. But because I've been looking for Feel Me Flow for awhile, I'll.... trade you. For now!"
Trust, my friends. That's the rooting of friendship: Trust. We trusted each other with Naughty By Nature and Warren G. We shared a love. And we had what the other wanted. So a trust formed.
It lasted through high school -
...and continues to this day.
Which reminds me - I need to call her.
(Insert of joke only E would "get")
Well, I love the music, but it was through music (Hip Hop) that I met my best friend, Erica.
About 17 years ago, I tried out for the Sarah Scott Middle School dance team. Erica and I both made the team - so yes, this means I also owe a thanks to dance as well.
Erica said she eventually noted me as the "white girl that could move", so she asked if she could get together with me and work on one of our routines together. For some reason, I knew there was something else about her that I liked, but I couldn't put my finger on it...
We ran the dance several times, joking and laughing, while also trying to find things we had in common. We went to my room and she saw all of my cassette tapes and gasped.
"You have this?! I've been looking for this!"
And then she asked....
"Do you mind if I ... borrow it?"
Hmmm... Good question.
She reached in her pocket and said, "All I have... is this..."
Me: "Oh... my god. I'VE been looking for THAT!!!"
We stared at each other for what seemed like decades and finally she said, "This is my absolute favorite. But because I've been looking for Feel Me Flow for awhile, I'll.... trade you. For now!"
Trust, my friends. That's the rooting of friendship: Trust. We trusted each other with Naughty By Nature and Warren G. We shared a love. And we had what the other wanted. So a trust formed.
It lasted through high school -
...and continues to this day.
Which reminds me - I need to call her.
(Insert of joke only E would "get")
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Confused much?
First post on social media site:
UGH! If you're ugly, you need to stop posting shit about finding a man. For real. No one wants your ass.
Second post on social media site:
Man, fuck that bitch! I will fuck her UP the next time I see her!
Third post on social media site:
Jesus is my Lord and Savior! I am blessed to be alive!
......
.......
.......
Me:
( o . O )
If any of this looks even remotely familiar to you, you might want to get your priorities straightened out. Or just curse me out. (I honestly don't care. ROFLMAO)
Your post to me on social media site:
This bitch thinks she knows me! She can take her nasty ass and her blog and go f*(K herself.
Me:
Then:
Haaaaaa! Oh and:
Thank you and... God Bless :)
UGH! If you're ugly, you need to stop posting shit about finding a man. For real. No one wants your ass.
Second post on social media site:
Man, fuck that bitch! I will fuck her UP the next time I see her!
Third post on social media site:
Jesus is my Lord and Savior! I am blessed to be alive!
......
.......
.......
Me:
( o . O )
If any of this looks even remotely familiar to you, you might want to get your priorities straightened out. Or just curse me out. (I honestly don't care. ROFLMAO)
Your post to me on social media site:
This bitch thinks she knows me! She can take her nasty ass and her blog and go f*(K herself.
Me:
Then:
Haaaaaa! Oh and:
Thank you and... God Bless :)
Friday, May 25, 2012
Fallen Comrade
“Our fallen comrade” - That’s what the men
from the Veterans of Foreign Wars had called my father. Those words rang in my
head for days. Fallen: He was now gone from our lives, no longer joking with us
or fighting battle after battle, whether it be in Vietnam or with lung cancer.
Comrade: He was very much a part of a lot of people, not just the VFW. They
knew him as a soldier, we knew him as our father; my mother - her husband. Her
companion. Her comrade in matrimony.
I felt numb during the Mass; it had been years since my siblings and I had attended and now it was at our dad’s funeral. We sat there, uncomfortable, not sure what to do but just follow the motions and the chants as we would when we were children. We were numb until those words were spoken.
The Veterans went outside. We heard authoritative shouts and then
*BOOM*
the first shot of the 3-volley salute sounded and my heart jumped. Seven men shooting off rifles were honoring my father.
My nostrils burned from the lingering smell of incense. I sniffed. My pulse was quickening, anticipating the other loud assaults on my eardrums. Seven rifles going off at once echoed through the giant Catholic Church.
*BOOM*
I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I glanced over and saw my brothers hugging their wives, my sister, the oldest, was already distraught from giving the eulogy. My brother served in the Navy along with his wife. They were both tearing up and I knew at that moment that we all understood what this meant - for us, as well as my father. The intensity of the past week was pulled out of us by the shots being fired. Everything had happened so quickly that, only now, were we forced to feel the affects.
*BOOM*
And it was over. The 3-volley salute, the Mass, and my father’s funeral. His urn looked at us from the front, surrounded by the red, white, and blue flowers, with the rainbow floral arrangement that my sister and I fell in love with hugging him.
But there was something else; something rather significant that the ceremony needed that we knew was coming.
The men marched back inside the church and walked up to the front, turning to my mother, and explained that “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.” He handed her a folded flag, as well as a small red bag. He leaned close to her and told her that inside the bag she’ll find the shell casings from the 3-volley salute. I could see the wheels in my Mom’s head spinning. She wasn’t listening. She was probably trying to figure out where she could safely keep and show off the folded token of appreciation in her home.
These men, taking time out of their day to honor my father, someone they didn’t know but had a connection to through a brotherhood of sorts - the United States Army - reminded me that having strong bonds with people in your life is important. So very, very important. My dad had that bond with people, sometimes strangers. He’d joke and laugh with anyone. The times when I miss him the most is when I hear a joke that I think he’d find funny. His sense of humor was always his strong point.
I have changed drastically with my “Mentality on Friendship” since his death. My heart is wide open. If you want to be a part of my life, wonderful. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Life really is too short to take anything for granted. When I see someone mourning a loss, my main thought is that I hope they had the chance to tell that person how much they meant to them. My father and I became a lot closer in his last few years. I sometimes doubt my direction in life but I secretly know that, at the end of the day, Dad was proud of me.
If you are reading this, know that I love and respect you. You are obviously a part of my life somehow and, even if we’ve never met, you are reading a piece of me and I appreciate it. More than you know.
Life is beautiful, comrades.
I felt numb during the Mass; it had been years since my siblings and I had attended and now it was at our dad’s funeral. We sat there, uncomfortable, not sure what to do but just follow the motions and the chants as we would when we were children. We were numb until those words were spoken.
The Veterans went outside. We heard authoritative shouts and then
*BOOM*
the first shot of the 3-volley salute sounded and my heart jumped. Seven men shooting off rifles were honoring my father.
My nostrils burned from the lingering smell of incense. I sniffed. My pulse was quickening, anticipating the other loud assaults on my eardrums. Seven rifles going off at once echoed through the giant Catholic Church.
*BOOM*
I felt tears starting to sting my eyes. I glanced over and saw my brothers hugging their wives, my sister, the oldest, was already distraught from giving the eulogy. My brother served in the Navy along with his wife. They were both tearing up and I knew at that moment that we all understood what this meant - for us, as well as my father. The intensity of the past week was pulled out of us by the shots being fired. Everything had happened so quickly that, only now, were we forced to feel the affects.
*BOOM*
And it was over. The 3-volley salute, the Mass, and my father’s funeral. His urn looked at us from the front, surrounded by the red, white, and blue flowers, with the rainbow floral arrangement that my sister and I fell in love with hugging him.
But there was something else; something rather significant that the ceremony needed that we knew was coming.
The men marched back inside the church and walked up to the front, turning to my mother, and explained that “This flag is presented on behalf of a grateful nation and the United States Army as a token of appreciation for your loved one's honorable and faithful service.” He handed her a folded flag, as well as a small red bag. He leaned close to her and told her that inside the bag she’ll find the shell casings from the 3-volley salute. I could see the wheels in my Mom’s head spinning. She wasn’t listening. She was probably trying to figure out where she could safely keep and show off the folded token of appreciation in her home.
These men, taking time out of their day to honor my father, someone they didn’t know but had a connection to through a brotherhood of sorts - the United States Army - reminded me that having strong bonds with people in your life is important. So very, very important. My dad had that bond with people, sometimes strangers. He’d joke and laugh with anyone. The times when I miss him the most is when I hear a joke that I think he’d find funny. His sense of humor was always his strong point.
I have changed drastically with my “Mentality on Friendship” since his death. My heart is wide open. If you want to be a part of my life, wonderful. Friendship is a beautiful thing. Life really is too short to take anything for granted. When I see someone mourning a loss, my main thought is that I hope they had the chance to tell that person how much they meant to them. My father and I became a lot closer in his last few years. I sometimes doubt my direction in life but I secretly know that, at the end of the day, Dad was proud of me.
If you are reading this, know that I love and respect you. You are obviously a part of my life somehow and, even if we’ve never met, you are reading a piece of me and I appreciate it. More than you know.
Life is beautiful, comrades.
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