As I sit here waiting for a former coworker to join me for dinner, I'm finding myself thinking back on many former coworkers. I'm wondering where they are, did they get promoted, did they move on to a new company? What has happened to them? I'm wondering if dinner tonight will be a long discussion on our former joint work place or will we find that we thought we had a friendship to build on and we do! I'm also finding it amazing that I am more curious about former coworkers than high school classmates! Why is that?
For any former coworkers wondering what happened to me, the answer is, well, a lot! But who is that not true for over years? A lot. We've all had a lot. Haven't we? So, I'll stop writing for now. She should be here soon and I'm sure you are desperate to know what kind of a visit it was!
The visit is ended. I'm firmly ensconced in my home. So, what kind of a visit was it? It was a real visit. I found that the friend I thought I had, I have. There was more to us than work. I realize that is not true for many of the people I left behind. I'm sorry for them. I'm sorry for her. It was a terrible place to work. I was not happy there though I had so very much hope when I started, we all did.
We had a great dinner. We talked about family, children, significant others. It was good. It was open. It was sad. It was open. A lot has already happened to both of us in the short time I've been away. I'm glad to know I really did make a friend and that I am taking her with me. It was worth it then. If nothing else, I left there with a real friend.
It got me thinking on others that are still in my life from other jobs. I'm grateful for them. They knew me at a time that is very different than where I am now, and still they are here. I called them on my way home to let them know I am grateful. I am grateful they are still here, that they opened their lives up to me, that they stayed in mine. I am grateful for very much.
And then it hit me. We go to work for a lot of reasons but we don't often think about the thing that matters the most. We walk away, sometimes, with friends. I sit here now typing this and in the dining room is my husband, my son and 3 of our friends. One of these friends my husband made at a former workplace, and here he is, years later. Next to him is his girlfriend, I claim her for mine (even though she is playing the dork game with them!), she is my friend now and I clearly get to maintain custody in the event of a divorce. The third friend, he's the husband of one of my former coworkers. I think my husband claims him as his now, though there would be a serious game of rock-paper-scissors at the divorce proceedings for custody.
The thing is this, we leave work for one reason or another. We do that and think about our resumes and what we are putting on them. We don't realize that sometimes we get so much more than we were ever thinking about or think about now. Thank you former employers for the friends and husband I have. No matter how I felt when I was with you, looking back, it was worth it. I have so much more than you ever intended to give me.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Monday, January 20, 2014
Where Did All This Gray Hair Come From?
Recently I went just a touch too long between colorings. As the roots grew out, I was aghast. Where did I get all this gray? How did it creep up on me? I had no idea it had gotten this bad. It got me thinking. Where does the color go?
My life has been filled with ups and down, happy and sad, grateful and disappointed. None of it really seemed enough to make me so gray at 42 though. So I started to look back. I found the answer in dodgeball.
I loved dodgeball and I was really good at it. Well, that's how I remember it. But maybe I wasn't any good at it. Maybe I didn't love it back then. Maybe all the color in my hair has gone into recoloring my memories to make them better than they were.
My life has been filled with ups and down, happy and sad, grateful and disappointed. None of it really seemed enough to make me so gray at 42 though. So I started to look back. I found the answer in dodgeball.
I loved dodgeball and I was really good at it. Well, that's how I remember it. But maybe I wasn't any good at it. Maybe I didn't love it back then. Maybe all the color in my hair has gone into recoloring my memories to make them better than they were.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Sacrificing the Many for the Few
I have struggled with this topic for many many years. A little background. My Mother is a key player in fighting for the rights of children with special education needs. If you have a child with special needs, you can thank her.
Before my sister was hit by a car, the "special" kids rode on the short bus. They all went to the same school. My neighborhood had 5 elementary schools. All the "special" kids went to one of them. They put them in a room and they made sure nobody hurt anybody else or themselves. It didn't matter if you had down's syndrome, were dyslexic, ADD wasn't invented then, maybe you had muscular dystrophy. You were going in that room. And you were staying in that room. And you weren't going to accomplish anything.
And then a car hit my sister. Nothing was ever the same. I didn't see my Mother much after that. For a long time she was in the hospital with my sister. Then she was fighting the school, the district, the state and finally the federal government. To help my sister. To give her a chance. An opportunity. They said my sister would never walk again, but she did. They said she would never run and play and grow like other children, but she did. They said she couldn't learn like other kids, she would never finish high school. The kid who would never grow got a soccer scholarship. The kid who couldn't learn, well, we call her Dr. now. It was a willpower thing. Tell my baby sister she couldn't do something and she was going to damn well prove you wrong. And she has. Every "professional" who clicked their tongue, shook their head and told my Mother to not expect very much, how's it feel? She did it. You can call her Dr. now, she's got a PhD. Screw you.
I'm proud of my sister. She's accomplished far more than I have and I was the one they were betting on. I can't do what she's done. I don't have the will, or the strength. Just potential that hasn't measured up to much.
What I do have is a son. With special needs.
At first they told me he would not live to see 7. Then they told me, well, he will live, but he will be blind one day. (long back story on that!) As my son is fond of saying "Blind?! Big deal, I can handle that with my eyes closed! It's not like I'm gonna die." It's a thing with us now. Blind we can handle, death is not an option. (Thank you, Mr. William Goldman, we have learned from you well!)
He needed to start Braille lessons, walking with a cane, using a keyboard without a mouse. It was going to be a very busy 2nd grade. I went to my first IEP meeting knowing what I wanted and with a secret weapon. My mother. The child's rights advocate!
The meeting began, I laid out my wishes, I did not introduce my Mother. She sat quietly, letting her daughter navigate the waters. They politely declined my requests. Why did he need Braille? He is fully sighted, mobility, technology, surely not. I persisted, they said no. I pushed, they said no. I got tired. If I had been alone I would have given up. Instead I introduced my Mother. This is what happened:
Me: Maybe it's time for an introduction. This is my son's advocate (insert my Mother's name here).
The Principal's head went down.
The District's Special Ed Director's head went down.
The School's Special Ed Counselor said: "It's very nice to meet you..." At this point the District's Special Ed Director put her hand on the school's counselor and said "Just say yes."
That was the end of opposition. This is the power of my Mother's name. If you are of a certain age group, you are afraid, if you are young, you are simply foolish. You see, my son is not blind, but he MAY be. I know from reading that people who lose their vision lose a minimum of a year of their life learning new skills. I was not going to let my son go into the dark with no preparation. He was not going to lose a year. He would be as ready as possible. My Mother's name made that happen. They never knew he was also her Grandson. They never knew anything.
As the meeting progressed things got out of hand. This is what I wanted:
1. My son to learn Braille, just in case
2. My son to learn to use a cane, just in case
3. My son to learn how to use technology unsighted, just in case
What they offered was all of this, in the mainstream. Are you kidding me? Do you know how loud a Braille writer is? How is an instructor supposed to teach him while a teacher is teaching a whole class?
Ok, let me amend what I wanted. I wanted 1, 2 and 3 and I didn't want them in a regular class. He needed separate time to learn this. He had no right to infringe on the other pupils learning and how was he supposed to learn to read Braille if he's supposed to learn how to do long division at the same time? No. This would not happen during class.
This was my first lesson. Not every child should be in the mainstream. Not when it means sacrificing the other 20 kids in the classroom. (Firsthand experience here, remind me to tell you about being the class parent in a school with 31 kids in a first grade classroom. Another blog, another day)
My lesson continued as we discussed Gym. My son cannot play sports where there is a risk of a blow to the head. (So much for my dreams of raising a pro hockey player but that's another blog to file away for another day too.) The teaching team laid out a plan to redesign the class for his safety. It was tempting. I really didn't want him to be left out, to be put aside, to be....different. But he is. I loved dodge ball. Why should 20 other kids miss out because mine can't play? No. I put it on my 8 year old son. He was there, at the meeting. I asked him what he thought. He said "I can't play that game. But I can keep score." We developed a system from then on. The gym class played, and it was his job to find a way to participate. And he did. He never kept score. He learned the rules and officiated football, soccer, baseball. You name it, he was an awesome referee or ump!
You see, this is the thing, the world is not going to bend for my son. He's going to have to find a way to navigate. It's not right for his needs to cause everyone else to change. He's the minority. He's got to find a way in. It hurts, I hate it. I want him to be like everyone else. But he's not. And no matter how much I fight, he's not going to be. I can't dumb everything down for him, because then I'm dumbing all the other children. That's what the school offered me that day. If he had had his Braille lessons in the mainstream it would have slowed everyone else up, don't believe me, try learning Braille, it's not easy! And how is that fair to everyone else? We talk about "being fair". "Oh, it's not fair if this one or that one wins, they should just have fun!" Yeah, try telling that to a manager as he's getting ready to fire you for nonperformance! Or how about "children should not feel badly about themselves, we have to buck up everyone's confidence!" Uh Huh, yeah, try that at your next evaluation when you're not mid to top performing! Fair? "Life isn't fair, Bill. We tell our children that it is, but it's a terrible thing to do. It's not only a lie, it's a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it's never going to be." or, if you don't prefer the literary "Life isn't fair and anybody who says differently is selling something." (Thank you, Mr. William Goldman, wish I had a Miss Roginski or an Edith Neisser, at a minimum I had you and the flu and a Daddy who loved your book!) Point is, life is not fair, better get your child ready for it.
And I'm not always going to be here. I don't know when that's going to happen, but if I don't teach him to navigate for himself, what will he do without me? I want to be here for a very long time, but we get no guarantees. You see, I'm not raising a child. I'm raising an adult.
Before my sister was hit by a car, the "special" kids rode on the short bus. They all went to the same school. My neighborhood had 5 elementary schools. All the "special" kids went to one of them. They put them in a room and they made sure nobody hurt anybody else or themselves. It didn't matter if you had down's syndrome, were dyslexic, ADD wasn't invented then, maybe you had muscular dystrophy. You were going in that room. And you were staying in that room. And you weren't going to accomplish anything.
And then a car hit my sister. Nothing was ever the same. I didn't see my Mother much after that. For a long time she was in the hospital with my sister. Then she was fighting the school, the district, the state and finally the federal government. To help my sister. To give her a chance. An opportunity. They said my sister would never walk again, but she did. They said she would never run and play and grow like other children, but she did. They said she couldn't learn like other kids, she would never finish high school. The kid who would never grow got a soccer scholarship. The kid who couldn't learn, well, we call her Dr. now. It was a willpower thing. Tell my baby sister she couldn't do something and she was going to damn well prove you wrong. And she has. Every "professional" who clicked their tongue, shook their head and told my Mother to not expect very much, how's it feel? She did it. You can call her Dr. now, she's got a PhD. Screw you.
I'm proud of my sister. She's accomplished far more than I have and I was the one they were betting on. I can't do what she's done. I don't have the will, or the strength. Just potential that hasn't measured up to much.
What I do have is a son. With special needs.
At first they told me he would not live to see 7. Then they told me, well, he will live, but he will be blind one day. (long back story on that!) As my son is fond of saying "Blind?! Big deal, I can handle that with my eyes closed! It's not like I'm gonna die." It's a thing with us now. Blind we can handle, death is not an option. (Thank you, Mr. William Goldman, we have learned from you well!)
He needed to start Braille lessons, walking with a cane, using a keyboard without a mouse. It was going to be a very busy 2nd grade. I went to my first IEP meeting knowing what I wanted and with a secret weapon. My mother. The child's rights advocate!
The meeting began, I laid out my wishes, I did not introduce my Mother. She sat quietly, letting her daughter navigate the waters. They politely declined my requests. Why did he need Braille? He is fully sighted, mobility, technology, surely not. I persisted, they said no. I pushed, they said no. I got tired. If I had been alone I would have given up. Instead I introduced my Mother. This is what happened:
Me: Maybe it's time for an introduction. This is my son's advocate (insert my Mother's name here).
The Principal's head went down.
The District's Special Ed Director's head went down.
The School's Special Ed Counselor said: "It's very nice to meet you..." At this point the District's Special Ed Director put her hand on the school's counselor and said "Just say yes."
That was the end of opposition. This is the power of my Mother's name. If you are of a certain age group, you are afraid, if you are young, you are simply foolish. You see, my son is not blind, but he MAY be. I know from reading that people who lose their vision lose a minimum of a year of their life learning new skills. I was not going to let my son go into the dark with no preparation. He was not going to lose a year. He would be as ready as possible. My Mother's name made that happen. They never knew he was also her Grandson. They never knew anything.
As the meeting progressed things got out of hand. This is what I wanted:
1. My son to learn Braille, just in case
2. My son to learn to use a cane, just in case
3. My son to learn how to use technology unsighted, just in case
What they offered was all of this, in the mainstream. Are you kidding me? Do you know how loud a Braille writer is? How is an instructor supposed to teach him while a teacher is teaching a whole class?
Ok, let me amend what I wanted. I wanted 1, 2 and 3 and I didn't want them in a regular class. He needed separate time to learn this. He had no right to infringe on the other pupils learning and how was he supposed to learn to read Braille if he's supposed to learn how to do long division at the same time? No. This would not happen during class.
This was my first lesson. Not every child should be in the mainstream. Not when it means sacrificing the other 20 kids in the classroom. (Firsthand experience here, remind me to tell you about being the class parent in a school with 31 kids in a first grade classroom. Another blog, another day)
My lesson continued as we discussed Gym. My son cannot play sports where there is a risk of a blow to the head. (So much for my dreams of raising a pro hockey player but that's another blog to file away for another day too.) The teaching team laid out a plan to redesign the class for his safety. It was tempting. I really didn't want him to be left out, to be put aside, to be....different. But he is. I loved dodge ball. Why should 20 other kids miss out because mine can't play? No. I put it on my 8 year old son. He was there, at the meeting. I asked him what he thought. He said "I can't play that game. But I can keep score." We developed a system from then on. The gym class played, and it was his job to find a way to participate. And he did. He never kept score. He learned the rules and officiated football, soccer, baseball. You name it, he was an awesome referee or ump!
You see, this is the thing, the world is not going to bend for my son. He's going to have to find a way to navigate. It's not right for his needs to cause everyone else to change. He's the minority. He's got to find a way in. It hurts, I hate it. I want him to be like everyone else. But he's not. And no matter how much I fight, he's not going to be. I can't dumb everything down for him, because then I'm dumbing all the other children. That's what the school offered me that day. If he had had his Braille lessons in the mainstream it would have slowed everyone else up, don't believe me, try learning Braille, it's not easy! And how is that fair to everyone else? We talk about "being fair". "Oh, it's not fair if this one or that one wins, they should just have fun!" Yeah, try telling that to a manager as he's getting ready to fire you for nonperformance! Or how about "children should not feel badly about themselves, we have to buck up everyone's confidence!" Uh Huh, yeah, try that at your next evaluation when you're not mid to top performing! Fair? "Life isn't fair, Bill. We tell our children that it is, but it's a terrible thing to do. It's not only a lie, it's a cruel lie. Life is not fair, and it never has been, and it's never going to be." or, if you don't prefer the literary "Life isn't fair and anybody who says differently is selling something." (Thank you, Mr. William Goldman, wish I had a Miss Roginski or an Edith Neisser, at a minimum I had you and the flu and a Daddy who loved your book!) Point is, life is not fair, better get your child ready for it.
And I'm not always going to be here. I don't know when that's going to happen, but if I don't teach him to navigate for himself, what will he do without me? I want to be here for a very long time, but we get no guarantees. You see, I'm not raising a child. I'm raising an adult.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Forgive Me, I Have Too Much
We had a lovely evening. Dinner with our cousins, the food was delicious. I only hope they really enjoyed the lemon meringue pie I made, but who knows, people are polite.
All day I knew I was running out of cigarettes. I went to the store twice. I racked up some serious bargains for the little girls in our family both times for christmas next year, but I didn't buy cigarettes. I didn't know why I slacked off, until late tonight.
On our way home from a great dinner I reminded my oh-so-grumpy spouse that we needed to stop off on our way home. It was midnight and he has to work tomorrow and he's tired, I can't blame him. (Note to self, open the vent in the office since he's working from home tomorrow so he'll have a warm office. Ok. Done.) And so we did, at the same Get-Go we always go to. I went in. There was a young man behind the counter, Brandon. I made small talk, as I always do. It was -5 below zero when I went in. Tomorrow morning it will be between -9 and -11. Here is the conversation:
Me: It sure is cold out there.
Brandon: Yes it is
Me: When do you get off?
Brandon: 6am
Me: I hope you have a hat and gloves
Brandon: I don't, but I'm more worried about the homeless Vet who lives in our parking lot.
Me: What do mean? He lives here?
Brandon: Yes, he lives in the white station wagon. He comes in for coffee every day. He lives in his car. I'm really worried about him in this weather.
Me: I'll be back.
I paid for my cigarettes. I came home. I grabbed a blanket, hats, gloves, scarves, some cash (about 5 bucks) I had in my purse and an old Get-Go gift card that probably had about 3.00 on it. I drove back. I gave Brandon a brand new Scarf and Glove set that's been sitting in my closet for about 2 years.
Brandon: Is this for me?
Me: Yes. I have other things for the man in the car, show me where he is.
Brandon: (As he points to a remote part of the parking lot) He's right there. Is this really for me?
Me: Yes. You stay warm in the morning.
I left the store and drove to the car he pointed out. I knocked on the door and a man opened it.
Me: This is for you, keep warm.
The Vet: If people keep giving me things there won't be room for me!
Me: I don't care about that. I care that you're here tomorrow.
The Vet: Thank you
Me: You're welcome, and here (as I gave him the money) you get some breakfast in the morning.
The Vet: Thank you! I will!
I drove back to the Get-Go.
I wanted to do 2 things. 1. I wanted to thank Brandon for the opportunity to help someone. (when I went in, Brandon was already wearing the scarf I gave him tied around his neck.) And 2. I wanted to fill out a comment card. I know that this is how people working at the Get-Gos and Giant Eagles get recognition. No comments, no recognition.
I talked to Brandon. I told him I was grateful that he let me know about the Vet so I could help. Brandon just kept thanking me for the scarf and gloves and telling me how worried he was about the Vet. How the Vet is wearing sandals and is a size 9 and how he's sneaking some shoes from his dad tomorrow because his dad is a size 9. How he's worried about that Vet, he's told a couple of customers about him, but he doesn't know if anyone is helping him. I turned the conversation to Brandon. He told me about his niece Buffy and his nephew Chance that he is helping to raise. He showed me their pictures, cute little toddlers. For a moment we were two people just sharing. It was beautiful. I am grateful. I am grateful that I could do something kind for two people. I am grateful that I shared something with them. I am grateful that as I go to sleep tonight I will be praying for two people that maybe need some help. But I am truly grateful that when Brandon and I were almost done talking this is the conversation:
Me: Brandon, I know it's hard for you. Sometimes you do so much and wonder "When is it my turn"
Brandon: (interrupting and pulling on the scarf I gave him) This is my turn. Sometimes people don't realize it's the little things that make a person feel big. Thank you.
And all I'm left with is: Thank Brandon. That was a big thing you did for me. You reminded me that people can be beautiful.
Please, go out into the world, my friends, and be beautiful.
All day I knew I was running out of cigarettes. I went to the store twice. I racked up some serious bargains for the little girls in our family both times for christmas next year, but I didn't buy cigarettes. I didn't know why I slacked off, until late tonight.
On our way home from a great dinner I reminded my oh-so-grumpy spouse that we needed to stop off on our way home. It was midnight and he has to work tomorrow and he's tired, I can't blame him. (Note to self, open the vent in the office since he's working from home tomorrow so he'll have a warm office. Ok. Done.) And so we did, at the same Get-Go we always go to. I went in. There was a young man behind the counter, Brandon. I made small talk, as I always do. It was -5 below zero when I went in. Tomorrow morning it will be between -9 and -11. Here is the conversation:
Me: It sure is cold out there.
Brandon: Yes it is
Me: When do you get off?
Brandon: 6am
Me: I hope you have a hat and gloves
Brandon: I don't, but I'm more worried about the homeless Vet who lives in our parking lot.
Me: What do mean? He lives here?
Brandon: Yes, he lives in the white station wagon. He comes in for coffee every day. He lives in his car. I'm really worried about him in this weather.
Me: I'll be back.
I paid for my cigarettes. I came home. I grabbed a blanket, hats, gloves, scarves, some cash (about 5 bucks) I had in my purse and an old Get-Go gift card that probably had about 3.00 on it. I drove back. I gave Brandon a brand new Scarf and Glove set that's been sitting in my closet for about 2 years.
Brandon: Is this for me?
Me: Yes. I have other things for the man in the car, show me where he is.
Brandon: (As he points to a remote part of the parking lot) He's right there. Is this really for me?
Me: Yes. You stay warm in the morning.
I left the store and drove to the car he pointed out. I knocked on the door and a man opened it.
Me: This is for you, keep warm.
The Vet: If people keep giving me things there won't be room for me!
Me: I don't care about that. I care that you're here tomorrow.
The Vet: Thank you
Me: You're welcome, and here (as I gave him the money) you get some breakfast in the morning.
The Vet: Thank you! I will!
I drove back to the Get-Go.
I wanted to do 2 things. 1. I wanted to thank Brandon for the opportunity to help someone. (when I went in, Brandon was already wearing the scarf I gave him tied around his neck.) And 2. I wanted to fill out a comment card. I know that this is how people working at the Get-Gos and Giant Eagles get recognition. No comments, no recognition.
I talked to Brandon. I told him I was grateful that he let me know about the Vet so I could help. Brandon just kept thanking me for the scarf and gloves and telling me how worried he was about the Vet. How the Vet is wearing sandals and is a size 9 and how he's sneaking some shoes from his dad tomorrow because his dad is a size 9. How he's worried about that Vet, he's told a couple of customers about him, but he doesn't know if anyone is helping him. I turned the conversation to Brandon. He told me about his niece Buffy and his nephew Chance that he is helping to raise. He showed me their pictures, cute little toddlers. For a moment we were two people just sharing. It was beautiful. I am grateful. I am grateful that I could do something kind for two people. I am grateful that I shared something with them. I am grateful that as I go to sleep tonight I will be praying for two people that maybe need some help. But I am truly grateful that when Brandon and I were almost done talking this is the conversation:
Me: Brandon, I know it's hard for you. Sometimes you do so much and wonder "When is it my turn"
Brandon: (interrupting and pulling on the scarf I gave him) This is my turn. Sometimes people don't realize it's the little things that make a person feel big. Thank you.
And all I'm left with is: Thank Brandon. That was a big thing you did for me. You reminded me that people can be beautiful.
Please, go out into the world, my friends, and be beautiful.
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