Many of you already know that I was bullied as a child and a teen. Some of you witnessed it. Some of you experienced bullying alongside me. Those of you who have only met me in this space may have read my stories, or other blog posts about my experiences as a child. The thing is, I am not finished writing about them. I may never be finished...those memories still permeate almost every story I write, in one way or another. They creep into my consciousness when I least expect it. They shaped me, in both positive and negative ways, into who I am today.
Like most people, I am appalled by the recent rash of bullying-related suicides. We live in a society that permits children to hate, that condones violence and name-calling because someone is different in some way. But I am guessing that many of my readers, for a variety of reasons, were also bullied as children. I think that even those who were identified as bullies were bullied in some way, by other groups of people, by family members, by the system itself. If this experience is so common, why is it perpetuated, generation after generation? Why is it somehow codified into our education system as "rites of passage" or "hazing" or "initiation" or "freedom of expression" when the very act of singling out an individual or group because they do not conform to an arbitrary standard causes known and lasting damage? Can cause children, who should be safe and accepted for who they are to take their own lives?
Today I want to hear from my readers. What are your stories? Were you bullied as a child? Did it, indeed, get better? I want to start a conversation, and see where it takes us. I allow anonymous comments, so if you are too shy to identify yourself, please leave a comment anyways. But be warned: bullying will not be tolerated in this space.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
why am I here?
This is not an esoteric question.
Here I am, sitting in front of the computer on a Friday night. It's late, I'm exhausted, my throat hurts and I really should be in bed.
My girl is in Toronto.My child is upstairs asleep, at last. The dog is sleeping somewhere in the house, because the crazy cat has given up on chasing him around, for the moment.
I had a reiki session today. I was reminded at the time that the resilient willow has branches that bend and break against strong force, but it is always putting out little shoots of life and beginning anew. On the other hand, an oak tree is strong and sturdy, but when it meets a force greater than itself, it breaks, and does not renew itself so easily. Yielding myself to the situation may be difficult, but I need to remember my resiliency and know that no matter the outcome, I can survive and begin again.
Nothing negative is happening in my life right now. But I've been plagued with doubt....doubts about my own feelings, my own self-worth, and my sense of place. I've come a long way, but I'm still not as open, as open to love as I should be.
I am loved - so deeply that it scares me. What if I can't reciprocate? What if something goes wrong? What if I discover, after all, that she's not the one. I feel like I'm inviting negativity back into my life, that once I speak my fears that I will manifest them. And it's all because I don't want to be broken, and at the same time, I don't want to break anyone else. I forget that I am not the only willow on the riverbank. In fact, the tiny creek beside my house is blessed with dozens of willows, because they are so fruitful, and resilient. Maybe she's a willow, too.
I waited up tonight to get her text message. it's Yom Kippur and my love is away until tomorrow night (partly because she is Jewish and partly because she scored 17th row floor-seat tickets to see The Wall in Toronto on \saturday....I'm not jelaous at all). And I had tears in my eyes when I came home to discover that she had done the dishes, and cleaned the house before she left. Even though she has her own house, and her own domestic things to do. I've been battling some kind of virus since yesterday, and she knows how tired I am.
Here's the thing: two years ago I left an unhappy relationship - I came out as a lesbian, and I became aware of the cost of dependency. The equity in the house was smaller than our debt. I had no job, no income, and no money of my own. I had to begin again - job, housing, car, and coming out to friends and family all at the same time. I can't be dependent in that way ever again. But sometimes I get confused. Dependency is not the same as yielding - allowing myself to receive. I have always taken care of people. It's my job, it's a big part of who I am. And while I was financially cared for in my last relationship, emotionally I was set adrift and left to fend for myself. I was isolated from my friends,and family, and many of the things I loved.
I can't go back there. I'm so hyper-vigilant about remaining independent that I'm poised to refuse all decent offers of help, love and support because I want to make it on my own. This is not a good thing, because I don't want to be alone (well, not all the time, although my solitude is still a precious thing). In order to be a partner - a good one - I have to surrender, allow myself to receive, and remind myself that I am, indeed, worthy of all these amazing things that are filling my life. Truly.
Amy over at Making Space and I have been trading Ivan Coyote links. It came to my attention yesterday that she and Kate Reid are planning some kind of collaboration. I can't wait - Kate's in SW Ontario this week and I'm heading out to see her tomorrow night. So, in the spirit of joint ventures, I bring you both amazing talents on the same blog page.
One of the things that I love about her is how her landscapes infuse her writing.
This is one of my favourites....hope you like it....
Here I am, sitting in front of the computer on a Friday night. It's late, I'm exhausted, my throat hurts and I really should be in bed.
My girl is in Toronto.My child is upstairs asleep, at last. The dog is sleeping somewhere in the house, because the crazy cat has given up on chasing him around, for the moment.
I had a reiki session today. I was reminded at the time that the resilient willow has branches that bend and break against strong force, but it is always putting out little shoots of life and beginning anew. On the other hand, an oak tree is strong and sturdy, but when it meets a force greater than itself, it breaks, and does not renew itself so easily. Yielding myself to the situation may be difficult, but I need to remember my resiliency and know that no matter the outcome, I can survive and begin again.
Nothing negative is happening in my life right now. But I've been plagued with doubt....doubts about my own feelings, my own self-worth, and my sense of place. I've come a long way, but I'm still not as open, as open to love as I should be.
I am loved - so deeply that it scares me. What if I can't reciprocate? What if something goes wrong? What if I discover, after all, that she's not the one. I feel like I'm inviting negativity back into my life, that once I speak my fears that I will manifest them. And it's all because I don't want to be broken, and at the same time, I don't want to break anyone else. I forget that I am not the only willow on the riverbank. In fact, the tiny creek beside my house is blessed with dozens of willows, because they are so fruitful, and resilient. Maybe she's a willow, too.
I waited up tonight to get her text message. it's Yom Kippur and my love is away until tomorrow night (partly because she is Jewish and partly because she scored 17th row floor-seat tickets to see The Wall in Toronto on \saturday....I'm not jelaous at all). And I had tears in my eyes when I came home to discover that she had done the dishes, and cleaned the house before she left. Even though she has her own house, and her own domestic things to do. I've been battling some kind of virus since yesterday, and she knows how tired I am.
Here's the thing: two years ago I left an unhappy relationship - I came out as a lesbian, and I became aware of the cost of dependency. The equity in the house was smaller than our debt. I had no job, no income, and no money of my own. I had to begin again - job, housing, car, and coming out to friends and family all at the same time. I can't be dependent in that way ever again. But sometimes I get confused. Dependency is not the same as yielding - allowing myself to receive. I have always taken care of people. It's my job, it's a big part of who I am. And while I was financially cared for in my last relationship, emotionally I was set adrift and left to fend for myself. I was isolated from my friends,and family, and many of the things I loved.
I can't go back there. I'm so hyper-vigilant about remaining independent that I'm poised to refuse all decent offers of help, love and support because I want to make it on my own. This is not a good thing, because I don't want to be alone (well, not all the time, although my solitude is still a precious thing). In order to be a partner - a good one - I have to surrender, allow myself to receive, and remind myself that I am, indeed, worthy of all these amazing things that are filling my life. Truly.
Amy over at Making Space and I have been trading Ivan Coyote links. It came to my attention yesterday that she and Kate Reid are planning some kind of collaboration. I can't wait - Kate's in SW Ontario this week and I'm heading out to see her tomorrow night. So, in the spirit of joint ventures, I bring you both amazing talents on the same blog page.
One of the things that I love about her is how her landscapes infuse her writing.
This is one of my favourites....hope you like it....
Thursday, September 9, 2010
can't get enough
of Ivan Coyote.
Watch...and listen
Yesterday I found out that she will be performing in my teeny-tiny hometown in November.
Guess who will be there!
Watch...and listen
Yesterday I found out that she will be performing in my teeny-tiny hometown in November.
Guess who will be there!
Sunday, August 29, 2010
wondering where I've been?
The end is in sight. The end of summer. The end of day trips and music festivals, healthy brown skin, kids playing on the grass in front of my unit, crickets everywhere, sleeping with the window open. It's been a wild and crazy summer, one of the best I've had since I was a kid. You might have noticed - I took a brief, unplanned hiatus from writing of any kind. No blogging, no journals, no stories or poems, and there were days that it was difficult to update my Facebook status. This time, I wasn't depressed, or anxious, or bogged down in worry of any kind. I was out there having fun, and at the same time, fully becoming aware of all the changes that have taken place since April, and all the wonderful things still to come.
Just call me Pollyanna. It's close enough to my given name that I will answer.
Here's a not-so-brief recap. I think my last post was about my birthday, introducing my girl to the family, and preparing for fest. Six weeks ago, or somewhere thereabouts.
Melyssa and I went to Fest - the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival - which was amazing. A whole week together, and we even put up the big-ass tent together without once disagreeing....even though it was almost dark and we'd been cooped up in the car all day long. Emily fared almost as well - she is just not a car kid, but I was so happy that she made the trip without much fussing. Musical highlights - The Indigo Girls! Ferron! Bitch! Holly Near! I discovered some new favourites - right now I can't get enough of Mary Gauthier and her new CD "The Foundling." Emily hung out in Gaia girls most of the time, because she didn't ever want to leave - her caregivers rocked, by the way - and I had time during the day to be alone, think, write and dream.
Yeah, I know I said that I'd taken a hiatus from writing....
I met some wonderful new friends, and had a chance to reconnect with people that I'd met last year. Going to fest with someone was a completely new experience, it felt so much better for me. There was someone to hold me when I cried (yes, I did...feeling safe brings a lot of shit to the surface). I had good company for every concert. Excellent company. The best.
We spent the week blissfully unaware of the outside world, and were feeling safe and supported by one another and our new community when we came home - Monday morning we unloaded the car, and took the camping topper off the roof. I set my bag down to grab the topper (a black canvas bag that I'd bought at fest and stuffed with everything - wallet, passports, camera, phone, ipod) and went inside. Momentarily lost track of the bag - it was in front of my co-op housing unit and I usually feel pretty safe there. Melyssa left because she had a class to teach that afternoon. When I'd rooted through the dozen or so black canvas bags in the house and realized that my bag was still outside (this is Ontario, land of the re-usable shopping bags, and I think there are about 20 bags, all tolled, in my house at any given moment)...I went out to look for it and discovered it was gone. Of course. With everything inside it.
So I lost everything. US dollars, credit cards, bank cards, camera, passports...I had the passports and other ID replaced within 72 hours. That was the easy part. The hard part was realizing that all of our fest photos were on the camera that I lost - all kinds of video of the Indigo Girls, pictures of Emily in the Gaia parade, of friends that we had met...
and I lost my notebooks. The full one and the one I had started at Fest. Six months of writing down the tubes (or very likely, tossed in a dumpster along with anything else that the thief considered garbage). Six months...bits of poetry that I'd wanted to transcribe and save, story ideas, journal entries. The poem that I'd written at Fest that I was going to revise and share at Ferron's open mike the next weekend....it was somewhat devastating.
Okay, it was traumatic. Someone else might have held my notebook, read my words, and probably thought they were so useless that they dumped them. Meanwhile, I struggled with their loss. And had to deal with my own anger - at myself for being so careless. For not recognizing the value of what was held between two spiral-bound covers.
The next weekend Melyssa and I actually made it back to Michigan. This time for FenFest. Wow. Just wow. Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I met Ferron at one of her writing workshops two years ago, and I have been to all three FenFests. They keep growing - in both audience numbers and in performer quality. This year: Bitch, Nervous But Excited, Susan Morris, Tret Fure, Holly Near (Yes!) Emma's Revolution, Bob Vance (an incredible poet) and Ferron herself. Since Ferron has limited her performance schedule it's one of the few places that you can actually hear her perform - and what a way to hear her - outdoors, in her back yard with the crickets singing along. It is one of the most intimate musical experiences that I have ever had - first of all, sitting ten feet away from the stage, and second of all, being able to access these amazing musicians as they wandered the land, and sat at the campfire post-performance.
You know, I actually did work this summer. And loved every minute of it! I went home from FenFest, worked for a week and went back to Michigan for another week. Really. We met up with a friend that we met at Fest who works in a nature preschool - my goddess, if I didn't have family and health care in ontario I'd be scheming for ways to get my green card - that preschool was one of the most amazing early childhood sites I have ever visited.
I love my job. Love it. So now I want to move the preschool to Ontario. Or at least try to find ways to incorporate more of their principles into my program.
Then Melyssa and I went back to the Fen. No FenFest or writers' workshop this time. Just the two of us doing our quiet thing. Walking the land, talking. Playing Scrabble (she kicked my ass) and Trivial Pursuit (I kicked her ass) at night, when we weren't out looking at the stars. I followed the boardwalk down to the river once, twice, three times a day with my notebook in hand.
And I wrote. It was hard at first - writing takes the discipline of daily practice, and that's what I had dropped first. So hard to make those words sing when you are just not used to moving the pen across the page...but with each visit to the notebook it got a wee bit easier. And then, on the day before we left, I felt that creative urge resurface, and it all came back to me. That I write and write well. That I love writing. That I must write, always, every day, and make it my calling.
And we had time for a little visit with Ferron....
and we are going back before winter. There's so much to do at home - we are both gearing up for a new school year (in very different ways), the tomatoes are ripe and asking to be picked and canned, I have a ton of projects to finish at home. But I need that creative jump start every once in a while and I am going to take advantage of it - I love the land at the fen, the energy of that beautiful house in the trees. It's like my other home. But in the meantime, I will keep the words flowing.
Expect to see me here more often, now that my crazy summer is drawing to a close. I promise.
Did I mention I'm going camping next weekend?
Just call me Pollyanna. It's close enough to my given name that I will answer.
Here's a not-so-brief recap. I think my last post was about my birthday, introducing my girl to the family, and preparing for fest. Six weeks ago, or somewhere thereabouts.
Melyssa and I went to Fest - the Michigan Womyn's Music Festival - which was amazing. A whole week together, and we even put up the big-ass tent together without once disagreeing....even though it was almost dark and we'd been cooped up in the car all day long. Emily fared almost as well - she is just not a car kid, but I was so happy that she made the trip without much fussing. Musical highlights - The Indigo Girls! Ferron! Bitch! Holly Near! I discovered some new favourites - right now I can't get enough of Mary Gauthier and her new CD "The Foundling." Emily hung out in Gaia girls most of the time, because she didn't ever want to leave - her caregivers rocked, by the way - and I had time during the day to be alone, think, write and dream.
Yeah, I know I said that I'd taken a hiatus from writing....
I met some wonderful new friends, and had a chance to reconnect with people that I'd met last year. Going to fest with someone was a completely new experience, it felt so much better for me. There was someone to hold me when I cried (yes, I did...feeling safe brings a lot of shit to the surface). I had good company for every concert. Excellent company. The best.
We spent the week blissfully unaware of the outside world, and were feeling safe and supported by one another and our new community when we came home - Monday morning we unloaded the car, and took the camping topper off the roof. I set my bag down to grab the topper (a black canvas bag that I'd bought at fest and stuffed with everything - wallet, passports, camera, phone, ipod) and went inside. Momentarily lost track of the bag - it was in front of my co-op housing unit and I usually feel pretty safe there. Melyssa left because she had a class to teach that afternoon. When I'd rooted through the dozen or so black canvas bags in the house and realized that my bag was still outside (this is Ontario, land of the re-usable shopping bags, and I think there are about 20 bags, all tolled, in my house at any given moment)...I went out to look for it and discovered it was gone. Of course. With everything inside it.
So I lost everything. US dollars, credit cards, bank cards, camera, passports...I had the passports and other ID replaced within 72 hours. That was the easy part. The hard part was realizing that all of our fest photos were on the camera that I lost - all kinds of video of the Indigo Girls, pictures of Emily in the Gaia parade, of friends that we had met...
and I lost my notebooks. The full one and the one I had started at Fest. Six months of writing down the tubes (or very likely, tossed in a dumpster along with anything else that the thief considered garbage). Six months...bits of poetry that I'd wanted to transcribe and save, story ideas, journal entries. The poem that I'd written at Fest that I was going to revise and share at Ferron's open mike the next weekend....it was somewhat devastating.
Okay, it was traumatic. Someone else might have held my notebook, read my words, and probably thought they were so useless that they dumped them. Meanwhile, I struggled with their loss. And had to deal with my own anger - at myself for being so careless. For not recognizing the value of what was held between two spiral-bound covers.
The next weekend Melyssa and I actually made it back to Michigan. This time for FenFest. Wow. Just wow. Those of you who have been following me for a while know that I met Ferron at one of her writing workshops two years ago, and I have been to all three FenFests. They keep growing - in both audience numbers and in performer quality. This year: Bitch, Nervous But Excited, Susan Morris, Tret Fure, Holly Near (Yes!) Emma's Revolution, Bob Vance (an incredible poet) and Ferron herself. Since Ferron has limited her performance schedule it's one of the few places that you can actually hear her perform - and what a way to hear her - outdoors, in her back yard with the crickets singing along. It is one of the most intimate musical experiences that I have ever had - first of all, sitting ten feet away from the stage, and second of all, being able to access these amazing musicians as they wandered the land, and sat at the campfire post-performance.
You know, I actually did work this summer. And loved every minute of it! I went home from FenFest, worked for a week and went back to Michigan for another week. Really. We met up with a friend that we met at Fest who works in a nature preschool - my goddess, if I didn't have family and health care in ontario I'd be scheming for ways to get my green card - that preschool was one of the most amazing early childhood sites I have ever visited.
I love my job. Love it. So now I want to move the preschool to Ontario. Or at least try to find ways to incorporate more of their principles into my program.
Then Melyssa and I went back to the Fen. No FenFest or writers' workshop this time. Just the two of us doing our quiet thing. Walking the land, talking. Playing Scrabble (she kicked my ass) and Trivial Pursuit (I kicked her ass) at night, when we weren't out looking at the stars. I followed the boardwalk down to the river once, twice, three times a day with my notebook in hand.
And I wrote. It was hard at first - writing takes the discipline of daily practice, and that's what I had dropped first. So hard to make those words sing when you are just not used to moving the pen across the page...but with each visit to the notebook it got a wee bit easier. And then, on the day before we left, I felt that creative urge resurface, and it all came back to me. That I write and write well. That I love writing. That I must write, always, every day, and make it my calling.
And we had time for a little visit with Ferron....
and we are going back before winter. There's so much to do at home - we are both gearing up for a new school year (in very different ways), the tomatoes are ripe and asking to be picked and canned, I have a ton of projects to finish at home. But I need that creative jump start every once in a while and I am going to take advantage of it - I love the land at the fen, the energy of that beautiful house in the trees. It's like my other home. But in the meantime, I will keep the words flowing.
Expect to see me here more often, now that my crazy summer is drawing to a close. I promise.
Did I mention I'm going camping next weekend?
Sunday, August 1, 2010
vacation vacation
I'm off to Michfest.
Some of you might remember my trip to Michfest last year. This time it's different.
I'm bringing The Girl. And my six year old.
The summer is flying by. I've been so busy. I've also been struggling with a serious case of writer's block. Hopefully I can break out of it soon and be back to regular blogging.
Some of you might remember my trip to Michfest last year. This time it's different.
I'm bringing The Girl. And my six year old.
The summer is flying by. I've been so busy. I've also been struggling with a serious case of writer's block. Hopefully I can break out of it soon and be back to regular blogging.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
someone please tell me
What was I so afraid of?
My 45th birthday has come and gone. Okay, well it's not quite gone because the mystery weekend starts Friday. But my actual, official birthday is over.
I decided a few weeks ago that if I had a family birthday party, that the girl would be there with me - if she wanted to be there. My superficial reasoning was that if I couldn't invite my girlfriend to the party, then I didn't want to be there. But the logic behind my desire is deeper.
You see, for the past two years my family and I have drifted apart. This was my choice - not so much because I want to distance myself from their beliefs or behaviours, but because I realized that they were only seeing the smallest part of me, the me they knew 10, 15, 20 years ago. The person who couldn't cook, the person who wandered cluelessly through relationships because she didn't know who she was. They were seeing the old me, because that's all I was revealing of myself. The hardest transition to make was to be open in front of my family. I'm still working on it...it will be much easier to be open at work, especially now that I've shoved the door aside, with creaking hinges and all. But my family - I chose to keep my real authentic life away from them - the life I treasure, the life I gain the greatest pleasure from. I am a woman who loves another woman.
I reached an epiphany the other day, with the help of a good friend. Not only do I deserve to be open about my relationship, my family deserves it, too. They deserve to see who I really am, to know and love the person that I have become over the past two years. Because I am strong, artistic, talented, funny and wise. And sharing myself with anyone is a gift, for them and for me.
My sister ( I am out to my sister, and able to be completely open with her, she has shared almost every aspect of this journey with me, bless her) called my youngest brother and explained my dilemma - because I had hesitated about even setting a date for a family birthday. I wanted a party, I wanted my family to celebrate with me, but I also wanted my girlfriend there.
As far as he was concerned it was no problem. He and my parents share a duplex, and we could use the back yard, and my parents' house, which has central air. Or so he said - whatever doubts he had about inviting her were set aside in order to make me feel more comfortable.
Still, I was oh-so-nervous. So was the girl. How would they react when they actually saw us together?
I arrived late, because I do that. And discovered that in addition to my family (minus parents, who are off on a retirement travelling adventure) my best friend from high school (whom I was not out to) and assorted, non-related kids were also there. Increase of nervousness...
I introduced her. We were all casually polite with one another as the awkwardness seeped in. We went inside to eat lunch, because it was too hot out...and I made a point of sitting beside the girl. Because she's my girl. And because there she was, in a sea of family members, including my middle brother - have I mentioned that my little brother is one year away from ordination as a catholic priest? So things went along swimmingly, if rather awkwardly...
until my sister in law accidentally threw a grape at my bff from high school. Being the mature, reasonable adults that we are, we proceeded to have a food fight.
A small one - but see what happens when your parents are away? All hell breaks loose. The last time we had a party when my parents were on vacation, we were much younger, and there was a lot more alcohol involved, but still, a food fight?
It broke the ice. She was a lot more comfortable after that, seeing that my family was a bit kooky and sort of fun. Sort of the kind of people you'd want to have around...they have accepted anyone I've introduced with open arms up until now, but I was so afraid it would be different this time. It wasn't.
A while later, my oldest brother reminded me that his birthday bash (annual big party) was coming up - his birthday is just after the Girl's, and I looked at her in confusion - I wanted to go, but I want time with her, and our summer is so busy...My SIL looked at her and said "You are coming too, aren't you?" I said "Well, her birthday is two days before" and she replied "That's fine, we can add her name to the cake."
There you go.
All that angst for nothing. I have given them lots of time to get used to things - and maybe they're not so sure about what's happening with me, but I know one thing. We are still family, and we are as tight as we used to be.
Just one question remains...do I look 45 to you? I feel like I'm about 29.
Me and the Girl at Toronto Pride.
My 45th birthday has come and gone. Okay, well it's not quite gone because the mystery weekend starts Friday. But my actual, official birthday is over.
I decided a few weeks ago that if I had a family birthday party, that the girl would be there with me - if she wanted to be there. My superficial reasoning was that if I couldn't invite my girlfriend to the party, then I didn't want to be there. But the logic behind my desire is deeper.
You see, for the past two years my family and I have drifted apart. This was my choice - not so much because I want to distance myself from their beliefs or behaviours, but because I realized that they were only seeing the smallest part of me, the me they knew 10, 15, 20 years ago. The person who couldn't cook, the person who wandered cluelessly through relationships because she didn't know who she was. They were seeing the old me, because that's all I was revealing of myself. The hardest transition to make was to be open in front of my family. I'm still working on it...it will be much easier to be open at work, especially now that I've shoved the door aside, with creaking hinges and all. But my family - I chose to keep my real authentic life away from them - the life I treasure, the life I gain the greatest pleasure from. I am a woman who loves another woman.
I reached an epiphany the other day, with the help of a good friend. Not only do I deserve to be open about my relationship, my family deserves it, too. They deserve to see who I really am, to know and love the person that I have become over the past two years. Because I am strong, artistic, talented, funny and wise. And sharing myself with anyone is a gift, for them and for me.
My sister ( I am out to my sister, and able to be completely open with her, she has shared almost every aspect of this journey with me, bless her) called my youngest brother and explained my dilemma - because I had hesitated about even setting a date for a family birthday. I wanted a party, I wanted my family to celebrate with me, but I also wanted my girlfriend there.
As far as he was concerned it was no problem. He and my parents share a duplex, and we could use the back yard, and my parents' house, which has central air. Or so he said - whatever doubts he had about inviting her were set aside in order to make me feel more comfortable.
Still, I was oh-so-nervous. So was the girl. How would they react when they actually saw us together?
I arrived late, because I do that. And discovered that in addition to my family (minus parents, who are off on a retirement travelling adventure) my best friend from high school (whom I was not out to) and assorted, non-related kids were also there. Increase of nervousness...
I introduced her. We were all casually polite with one another as the awkwardness seeped in. We went inside to eat lunch, because it was too hot out...and I made a point of sitting beside the girl. Because she's my girl. And because there she was, in a sea of family members, including my middle brother - have I mentioned that my little brother is one year away from ordination as a catholic priest? So things went along swimmingly, if rather awkwardly...
until my sister in law accidentally threw a grape at my bff from high school. Being the mature, reasonable adults that we are, we proceeded to have a food fight.
A small one - but see what happens when your parents are away? All hell breaks loose. The last time we had a party when my parents were on vacation, we were much younger, and there was a lot more alcohol involved, but still, a food fight?
It broke the ice. She was a lot more comfortable after that, seeing that my family was a bit kooky and sort of fun. Sort of the kind of people you'd want to have around...they have accepted anyone I've introduced with open arms up until now, but I was so afraid it would be different this time. It wasn't.
A while later, my oldest brother reminded me that his birthday bash (annual big party) was coming up - his birthday is just after the Girl's, and I looked at her in confusion - I wanted to go, but I want time with her, and our summer is so busy...My SIL looked at her and said "You are coming too, aren't you?" I said "Well, her birthday is two days before" and she replied "That's fine, we can add her name to the cake."
There you go.
All that angst for nothing. I have given them lots of time to get used to things - and maybe they're not so sure about what's happening with me, but I know one thing. We are still family, and we are as tight as we used to be.
Just one question remains...do I look 45 to you? I feel like I'm about 29.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Our Big Gayborhood - July post
You can read it here.
I have a lot to write about but less time than I would like. Between work, witchcamp, tantruming children and having a girl to spend time with, I am not here as much as I should be. But I will be back! I have photos of Toronto Pride to post! It was awesome! See you soon!
I have a lot to write about but less time than I would like. Between work, witchcamp, tantruming children and having a girl to spend time with, I am not here as much as I should be. But I will be back! I have photos of Toronto Pride to post! It was awesome! See you soon!
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