About a year or two before my grandmother passed away, my aunt began hosting the annual fun-fest.  I say this with tongue-in-cheek as things began changing when my grandmother got sick and could no longer host the family events.  Bitterness set in and that brought lots of bickering.  Since I was a young teen, I was not privy to most of the issues at hand.  One constant was those who presumed they did most of the work were angry that others were partaking without even offering to lend a hand.  Funny, as a child I recall it was Grandmaw who did most of the work, but I do not remember her ever complaining as she enjoyed the time with her family.

I came to dread the holidays and spending time with the family, especially after my grandmother passed.  It seemed the holidays were the appropriate time to bash each other and hurl the worst insults that could be found.  I thought holidays were supposed to bring families together and, especially Thanksgiving Day, finding all the reasons to be thankful.  I must have had a grave misconception in this area.

The happiest Thanksgiving I recall following my grandmothers death was the year my long-time friend Denise invited me to spend it with her and her family.  I was probably about 19 at the time and expected to feel very claustrophobic as she comes from a rather large family.  At the most, growing up, we had about two dozen coming and going from my grandparents home.  With Denise’s parents, siblings, their spouses and children alone they had over two dozen.  Then you sprinkle in an odd uncle and aunt or two.  That is a lot of people.

Denise knew how miserable I was contemplating another Thanksgiving dinner with my family and being the main source of abusive entertainment for everyone.  Therefore, she suggested with an insistent tone that I come to her parents house and spend the day with them.  I knew her family quite well and admired them for their closeness and love for each other so I graciously accepted the invitation.

I walked up the block to the Fulton abode and almost before I could knock on the door I was greeted heartily by a couple of the children.  Everyone else filtered in and made me feel welcome.  One thing I really enjoyed was they treated me, not like a guest, but as they treated each other, like family.  There was no difference with any other time I had been to their home, except ALL of them were there at one time.

Dinner was very animated with all the lively conversation.  It was filled with respect for each other and very comfortable as if they had been acting this way all their lives.  I knew they had, because this is how they behaved any other time of year when I would have the honor of being within the warmth of this home.  Mr. Arness (my name for Denise’s dad due to a photo of him resembling James Arness the actor) reminded me a lot of my grandfather, except he was more vocal than my grandfather.

After the feasting came the festing.  Christmas music was put on and everyone just had fun with each other.  I was sitting there watching the whirlwind of excitement and entertainment going on around me and comparing it to my own family.  Denise came over and grabbed my hands and pulled me to my feet to begin dancing to the upbeat holiday music swelling the air with the lingering aromas of turkey and pie.

As tears fill my eyes remembering times long since committed to the archival parts of my brain, I ponder my more recent Thanksgivings.  I have not had a full thanksgiving dinner since 2005, the last time since being sick that I was still able to cook it.  As this dragon makes life more and more difficult for me, I spend most of my time resting and doing little things.  I also try to use it to get some writing done as I know I will not be receiving IMs or anything from anyone since the majority of my US friends (who all live in my computer) will be with their families and loved ones.

For this Thanksgiving, provide your kin with reasons to be thankful, not regret.  I bid all y’all a wonderful time with your loved ones giving thanks for each other and letting them know you are grateful for them being in your life.

The supermarket can be a bit of a challenge as it is so big and I must make my way around, staggering with my cane and a buggy.  Occasionally I am met with smiles and nods from the front end employees and then by other employees as I make my way around.  Today, it was as if I was invisible.  Not just invisible to employees, but to other customers as well.  I couldn’t help but think as I was struggling in the dairy isle to get an item lower than what I could safely reach.  I saw via peripheral vision a man walk past me as I struggled to keep my balance and remain standing.  Clearly, he had to notice my difficulties, but kept on walking. 

There were others as well that seemed to do this.  It was as if they made eye contact they would be obliged to assist me and they were far too busy to show compassion or kindness to a fellow human being.  I just couldn’t help but think about the myth of the ostrich burying his head in the sand.  Pliny the Elder once wrote, “imagine, when they have thrust their head and neck into a bush, that the whole of their body is concealed.”  This is to believe to be the source of the myth regarding the ostrich.  Humans are a lot like this though.   Not that by hiding their heads they believe their entire body is hidden, but if they cover their eyes, then the ugliness and ailments of their fellow human beings does not exist.

Too often, we cover our eyes or put on blinders to the outside world hoping that what is wrong with it will just go away and cease to exist.  We hope that the poor soul struggling to keep herself on her feet to finish her shopping will just disappear because we are too busy and too important to stop for just 30 seconds to assist someone else.  Or by putting a blindfold on the bruises and cuts on the child next door will fade and never return because we just can’t take a minute of our own time to at least look that child in the eye and show them that there is something other than the pain they feel.  Our own lives and families are far more important than to get involved with the likes of that.

Sometimes just one moment is all it takes to show another human being the kindness and compassion we all deserve.  After I left the supermarket and was driving home I continued to let this subject twirl in my mind.  I knew I was already worn out and didn’t feel like preparing food upon arriving home.  I stopped by my local Hardee’s (yes, the same one where I called the employees a bunch of plebeians) to pick up a burger, fries and a lemonade.  It was 1040 and I knew they were already serving lunch.  My order was taken at the drive-thru and I pulled up.  There were two vehicles in front of me.  The car ahead of me stopped briefly at the window and then pulled up to a space apparently to await a staff member bringing his food to him.

Being hearing impaired I watch the window till someone arrives.  I saw two employees pointing at a monitor and eventually the young girl I saw there came to the window and asked if I was the one who ordered the two sausage biscuits.  I said no and advised I ordered a burger.  She apologized and left the window.  Upon returning she opened the window and I could hear a female voice verbally assaulting her.  She said it would be a few minutes and asked if I could pull up or she could just return my money.  I asked how long and she went to check.  She returned to tell me one minute and thirty seconds would be my wait.  At that moment a very rude woman pushed into the window demanding to know what the problem was.  The young girl told her I was waiting for my burger and trying to decide if I wanted my money back due to the wait.  The other woman snapped at the girl and said my order was ready.

Due to the other woman’s behavior I was ready to just ask for my money back.  When the girl returned with my food I asked who the woman was and was advised she was the General Manager of the store and the girl said she just got into trouble due to my order.  I was not happy at this point and asked if that woman’s supervisor was around, however seeing she was the General Manager, she was the top of the food chain here.  I told the girl that she was the only reason I was not asking for my money back.  If it had just been for the other person, I would ask for my money in a heartbeat and leave.  I further told this girl that she remained calm and reasonable even though it was apparent the manager was losing her self-control.

Normally I would praise someone like this in front of them to their supervisor.  This time, I knew that was not an option.  This manager seemed the type who would retaliate against the girl.   As I praised her, I saw her demeanor change.  She felt much better than when I first pulled up.

It only takes thirty seconds to make someone’s day.  It takes just a short amount of time to help a person who needs it.  Human compassion and kindness should be demonstrated, not only to those we know and feel have earned it, it is something that should be part of our daily lives toward strangers who may never cross our paths again.  Burying your head in the sand or putting blinders on does not make life’s ugly struggles go away.  Taking a few meager moments of your valuable time, however, can make it go away, or at the very least make things easier.

I spent last night in and out of sleep.  When I was out of sleep I was thinking about everything that still has to be done.  I woke up thinking about this post.

There are those who will wonder why I didn’t come to them with all of this.  Well, how could I bring you my tears when you didn’t want to share in my laughter?  In my life I have had one thing in my heart that I have striven to bring forth to the world in my meager words and that is peace through understanding and acceptance.  The world has not listened.  My heart is not to be heard.  The world is not ready to hear what is in my heart, for it would rather hold onto its anger and hatred.

Perhaps in my next life, the world will be ready to hear what is in my heart.  I believe that the intent of the heart follows you into your next life, so perhaps I have been trying to get the world to hear my heart for generations.  Not this life, but hopefully the next.  If you desire to me honor after I am gone, then remember the message of my heart and learn to accept others no matter the differences and understand that everyone is a human being above all else.

True peace will come when people move beyond the fears of what is different and accept everyone as individual human beings without the anger and hatred that continues to bind this world through ignorance.

This morning I was watching Good Morning America and took a breath to sip coffee whilst Robin was interviewing Gayle King regarding the upcoming issue of O Magazine.  This made me think of recent news casts on my local stations and how segregation still exists in the United States.

Hit the Pause button before you snap my head off.

In the recent past here in the south there have been some semi-major issues regarding the flying and wearing of the confederate rebel flag also known as Stars And Bars.  While it is not necessarily displayed as a racial evince, there are those who do take offense with it because of historical connotations.  I can understand this as I have issues with the swastika.  I am not making an attempt to get inside the mind of anyone else and try to figure out why they do the things they do.  I just want to look at blatant segregation that is usually not viewed as such.

When the word segregation is used, most people think about the Civil Rights movement regarding the segregating of blacks and whites.  The word segregation means to separate, usually with regard to race, class or ethnic group.  So where is my mind going?  Walk this way, please…..

There is  new segregation in the United States to go along with the obvious racial segregation I have already alluded to.  I want to bring this up before I move further into the heart of the motivation for this post.  Homosexuality is the new racial issue.  I grew up being told that homosexuality is wrong and I should have nothing to do with anyone who practices this. (Mind you I was also told that I should have nothing to do with anyone who was black other than allowing them to breath the same air I breath)

I have a good number of those I claim as associate, acquaintance and even friend who are homosexual.  I am proud to claim these relationships and know in my heart that they are some of the best human beings I know.  So why is the United States trying to segregate them?

Human beings are human beings.  You have those who are downright wicked and evil and you have those who are everything good and kind and then there are those who reside in the middle.

Back to segregation.

I have noticed, mostly on local news casts, that it seems to be okay for a black reported to cover the occasional “white” story, but only black reporters cover “black” stories.  What’s with this?  Robin Roberts was the one to interview Gayle King.  This is national news coverage.  Is a white reporter incapable of interviewing a black person?  It has become predictable on my local news.  If there is a story about to air regarding a black person, church, etc I am assured that a black reporter will cover it.  However, I rarely see the same black reporters covering local stories about white people, churches, etc.

This is blatant segregation.  The back reporters are just as qualified as the white reports and perhaps more so.  They should be able to cover every story as well. I am not saying this is what happened this morning on GMA as I am sure the story would have been covered just as well had George conducted the interview, it is just that it drew my attention to the more local issue.

Homosexual couples are more and more in the news and how the “church” is trying to keep them from having rights that are afforded to all other couples.  This is a form of segregation.  We are separating these vital people and telling them they are not allowed to exist in this country the way everyone else does.  They have to conform to what we want them to be or they have to leave.  As a country we did this to the Indians and blacks in a major way.

This is also being done to other “minority” groups in the form of bullying.  Living peaceful means we accept all other human being for the sheer reason that they are human beings.  Every person is different and deserves the same respect as everyone else.  Segregation needs to be abolished, not the people that are segregated.  Stop hating and start imagining everyone else as if their insides were on their outside.  Then there are no differences except the heart of the person with their loves.

Those who live in what is known as the “free world” don’t always have an understanding of how others around the world live.  Visiting a third-world country can only give  a brief surface visual of how people live day-to-day.  Things that are taken for granted in many parts of the world are but a dream in these countries.  While many juggle two and tree smart phones there are millions who can’t even afford a land-line that could ultimately save their life.  There are many who sit within the comfort and protection of their locked doors while so many can’t even lock their door to the government who can go in at will and have what they desire.

A young man in Egypt had the notion to use modern technology in a way that no one had ever seen.  He began posting in a social network to gather Egyptians to rally and move in a peaceful demonstration to bring change in their country.  Eighteen days later, Mr. Mubarak resigned after a 30 year reign.   While there were those who took advantage of the movement to loot and wreak havoc, the ones rallying for change remained as peaceful as they could.  There are still many days to come that will be venturing into the unknown for the Egyptian’s, but they are on their way as long as they do not lose focus of why and how this all began.

Since this success there have been other countries following the same route; Libya, Yemen, Iran, and still other Arab countries.  These are not covered by the media as well as the Egyptian rally was covered, but it should by no means be swept under the carpet.  While it seems that many of these rallies are more violent it is difficult to tell by the lack of coverage if the violence is coming from the protesters or the government.

The writing was on the wall as eyes were glued to see the outcome of the Egyptian rallies.  It was only a matter of time before others followed through and began their own demonstrations for decency and dignity.   History is being made in the world as we become spectators within the virtual realm watching and waiting.  The dominoes were set up many years ago and last month a young Egyptian man tipped the first one and brought light onto the darkened stage and now we watch the dominoes fall and land as they will.

No one has the right to berate and cause another person to live in a manner that is less than the same dignity that he would have for himself.

From then on I was mostly with my grandparents.  They nurtured me and plied me with this love that seemed so foreign.  I grew and kept the faith.  I shared this love with all, even those who taught me that love had to hurt.  Yes, there were times when I doubted, when the old definition seemed more plausible.  Still, I kept on, even when my mother disowned me, looked me in the face and told me I was “a damned Jew”, just like my father.  That was the first time I ever heard this.  I felt relief and understanding.  It was as if every question I ever had was answered.  I embraced this and went on.

Twice I have gone to foreign lands to share my faith and this wonderful love.  When I wanted to do this full-time, I was told that I wasn’t good enough.  They cited the abuse I received as a child was something I could not overcome enough to be trusted in the field.  I still kept on.  Then on the day I wake up to find I have a disease that has no known cause, no known cure.  I kept going as best I could.  As time wore on, I could no longer do the things I used to do.  It seemed those I used to do things with no longer wanted me around if I could not fully participate.  The congregation I attended told me I could come to them and they would pray over me.  It’s funny, when I would minister to people, I would go to them.  I would see a need and I would fill it as best I could.  Now that I need it I am told to come and they will pray.  It has been since July 28, 2007 that I have been able to attend congregation.  the driving is difficult and I have made this known.  A few said they would call and then come fetch me for study.  I haven’t heard from them since.  The congregational leaders haven’t even cared enough to come and visit.  I seem to recall a passage in the scriptures where Messiah was averring “I was sick and in prison and you did not come to visit me”.

More than 30 years of faithfulness gives me the reward of a disease that devastates my life and no one around to help me through.  After all those years of faithfulness and when I need it returned, I am met with emptiness.

It must be so easy for some people to sit on the outside looking in with judging eyes as I cry out in pain and tell me to just get over it and move on.  No empathy.  No sympathy.  Perhaps they are letting me know in their own way that I am not worthy of anything more than ridicule after I have been there for them with understanding and kindness.  No need to walk a mile in my shoes as I have difficulty just getting from the apartment to the car.  However, I can no longer be faithful to the one who has deserted me after my lifetime of devotion.

I was recently reading the article “Private Places” in the March/April edition of Sierra  Magazine.  It was about a handful of vets on an Outward Bound expedition in the Sierra mountains.  The article began with a quote by one of the vets stating not to ask if any of them had ever killed anyone.  I pondered this and considered past stories I have heard.  The WWII vets weren’t commemorated with a memorial, WWI vets waited till late in life (Harry Patch didn’t speak till he was 100 years old) to tell their stories and now the current war in Iraq have all produced veterans not desiring to speak about what happened.  In part PTSD is accountable, but also (I speak only from what I have seen and imagine I would feel as I have never fought in a war) wanting to spare innocents from the hell of war,

Many in the media like to press and try to force the vets to talk openly about their experiences.  I think those so-called journalists should be put on the front lines with only their pencil and a tablet of paper and no journalist credentials.  If they make it back alive, allow their fellow journalists to force them to talk.

I love history and believe everyone should tell their stories.  However, there are certain lines that should never be crossed.  Asking someone if they have ever killed another human being (except for police questioning regarding murder) is just wrong.  Asking how it felt to take another human life, just to get a story should never be allowed.  Encouraging vets to tell their stories is well worth it.  Being able to take down the history of what happened can be passed on to future generations instead of having false information come in to play decades later such as has happened with the American Revolution, the creation of the first flag, the American Civil War, etc.   However, you do not need to record the number of people one soldier has killed nor the method and how they felt about killing another person.

During the local Independence Day telecast, the news anchors interviewed a local soldier just returned from the war.  The first question asked was “How was that for you?”  I was amazed at that, although I don’t know why.  Give veterans a bit of breathing room when they return.  Have respect for what they have just experienced knowing that they are forever changed.  When they are ready to talk, ask.  But, don’t ask if or how they have killed someone.  That is one experience no one should have to live through the first time, let alone reliving it to satisfy your morbid curiosity.

Random House begins their definition as such; “Reliance on the integrity, ability, etc. of a person or thing.”  But, doesn’t reliance mean trust?  OY!  The English language is confusing.  Maybe the part I have trouble with in this definition is “of a person…”  Roget didn’t even attempt to tackle the word trust.  They went from ‘truss’ straight to ‘trustee’.  Smart people they have working for them.

Trust is so overrated.  People use the word without really understanding it, like ‘love’.  They say “just trust me” or “you have to trust me”.  Why?  Every time I have put blind trust into another person, I alone have been hurt.  One should be able to trust the folks who gave them life.  Mine abused me physically and emotionally; and they allowed another parental figure to physically, emotionally and sexually abuse me.  Why trust?

I trusted my grandparents who had me most of my childhood.  They protected me until they wanted to make it permanent.  When they were denied this by my mother, they too gave me away.  They gave me back to the very person who wanted nothing more than to hurt me.  Why trust?

I trusted a man.  I gave him my heart and two years.  However, after a year and a half engagement, he decided to marry someone he knew for only two weeks, pretty much leaving me at the alter by sending me a letter one week and three days prior to our wedding.  Why trust?

I have trusted doctors who wrongly diagnose me and put me on medication that I do not need and which causes other more severe problems.  Doctors think they have all the answers and look at me as a troublemaker of sorts because I know more about me than they do.  Just be cause you have a degree is not a reason for me to trust you.

I used to trust myself.  But now Meniere’s is in play.  I never know if I am going to have a bout of vertigo or perhaps a drop attack.  I stagger along my way running into walls and furniture.  I can’t trust me or my body to do what I want them to do.   How can I trust me when I am laying sprawled out on the floor in pain from an illness that I cannot control nor vanquish.

Long ago, I would trust those who were, or at least seemed, different from my parents.  Until they proved I couldn’t trust them.  Now I trust no one.  I try to, but it just never comes.  I am finding more and more that there is a lot to be said for cynicism.  Maybe there is a future in it.  Or perhaps just a nice side venture till I can at least trust me once again.

So, why trust?  I still have not found any truly viable reason to trust flesh and bones.  When I have to rely on others, I suffer and always feel that it is not from goodness that they help me, it is for good old fashioned currency or some other form of repayment.

WHY TRUST?

I don’t remember the last time I fully grieved.  Maybe it was in 1981 when Grandmaw died.  I remember the pain when I went through it and how stifling it was.  Now I remember Grandmaw and I am sad because I still miss her, however, the memories are sweet.

There are so many that I have lost since Grandmaw, but I don’t remember fully grieving.  I remember the pain at the loss, but when I try to go further in my memories there is anger – so I stop.  I stop and bury the feelings.  Yes, I know everyone has a right to their feelings and they should be expressed, but not me.

To be the good one, I always desired, but never was.  I have, through the years, learned to repress my feelings.  When I was angry, I was punished.  When I would cry because I was unhappy, I was punished.  When I would be happy, I was turned away.  When I would show love or affection, I would be hurt.  So the easy thing to do was to repress.  The English have it right – don’t display what you feel.  This I can do.

I am neither a masochist nor a sadist.  I have virtually no tolerance for pain, nor do I enjoy inflicting pain, especially on myself.  This is reason enough for me not to grieve.  If I start, I may not stop at this point.  And then again, there is no one there to catch me as I fall.  So I repress.

Recently I have discovered a new tool to add to my repertoire –cynicism.  Although I am new to this concept I am finding it to be just another useful mechanism to keep from dealing with the hurt, pain and anger that keeps coming my way.  When posed with the age old question “is the cup half full or half empty?” I would always respond half full!  Now I retorted, “It’s not my cup.  I don’t care.”

I can cry. I do cry — when I am alone. I scream -– when I am alone.  I yell and fuss — when I am alone.  To bring my anger against me means much frustration. To bring my anger against others could mean they retaliate and well… So I remain angry and frustrated while displaying to the world that all is well. It has to be.  Debbie is always fine.  Debbie needs no one.  Debbie will always be fine. At least that is what the world will always see.

Pain, I am resolved, will always be part of my life.  My deductions for now are that I am only meant for pain; be it physical or emotional.  So, for now at least, cynicism is a means to escape the pain, anger and drudge of life.

Will this to become my sole way of dealing with things?  Probably not. Will cynicism always be in my life?  Probably not.  However, for now it is useful.  Maybe someday someone will enter my life and I will be able to trust them enough to let them be there as I open the floodgates and feel the pain. For now, the cup it isn’t mine, find the owner yourself.

Later last night I was taken back in my feelings to when I was a kid.  My pulse was racing and I was quite flustered.  I made it through the event and then somehow, I made it through the night.  When I finally got out of bed and turned on the news I heard another disturbing story.  It was reported, for the second time in a week, that a teen had committed suicide due to teasing and bullying.  Everything from the night before and from my youth came flooding back to me.  It seems we don’t usually hear about it in the news that a child has been tormented and teased unless they deal with it outwardly by taking a gun and shooting those who have terrorized them.  We tend to ignore or sweep under the rug those who can take no more of the teasing (even if it is said to be done in fun) and they take their own life.

Jokes and pranks should not hurt or harm.  Comedy is the same.  But it seems more and more (especially in the United States) that the only way to have a laugh is to cause pain to someone else.  I try to just roll with it when others find they need to disrespect me or do things they know I do not like.  I do this because all my life those who cause me pain follow my complaints with “you need to lighten up” or “we are just having fun and joking”.  In other words, the person being tormented is accused of causing the pain because the terrorists mean it as a joke only.  Double whammy.  How is it funny when you cause another human being to cry themselves to sleep?  How is it funny if the one you torment has finally had enough and returns with a gun to make the pain (you) go away?  How is it funny when the one being tormented has finally stepped over the edge and they take away your source of entertainment by eliminating themselves?

Jokes and having fun should not be at the expense of someone else and their feelings.  Let me repeat that.  Jokes and having fun should NEVER be at the expense of someone else and their feelings.  If you see what you presume to be a weakness in another person, it is your duty as a human being to help that person to strengthen it and build them up.  But instead, you find it funny to use that weakness against them.  Just because they don’t like your abuse and terrorizing ways does not make them less a person then you.  Try complimenting and treating others with respect, the same respect you demand for yourself.  No, I do not like April 1st.  Too many fools think they have free license to torment and terrorize other human beings and those human beings are supposed to accept it and like it because it is in the name of fun and April Fools Day.