I know this is an extremely taboo subject. It is sensitive and close to the hearts of many. I also believe that often passion and conviction blurs into zealotry… where practicality and common sense disappear.
Abortion.
I cannot call it Pro-Choice, even though that's how I feel. But it's a passionate subject that gets the 'spin' of pro-abortion, pro-infanticide, baby-killers, etc. (For the record, I've never killed a baby... that I'm aware of. Though I've often wondered where exactly the line is drawn.) I kid. Levity, folks.
It’s apparently even possible to determine one’s voting preference on this platform alone.
More than once I’ve heard, “I simply cannot support Obama after hearing his Pro-Abortion stance."
Okay, fair enough. I understand the mentality of the ‘Pro-Life’ demographic. I’ve been there, done that. Sang anti-abortion songs, raised my sign defiantly at a march organized by my church. Cried at the thought of all the innocent unborn babies…
I became a teen pregnancy statistic and admittedly, my opinions changed a bit.
I watched a clip about a pharmacy in VA that refuses to sell condoms. Condoms. We’re not talking about any ‘morning-after’ pill here, folks… we’re talking pregnancy PREVENTION, not termination. Yet many of the folks in support of this pharmacy quote a ‘Pro-Life’ conviction.
Seriously?!
If someone doesn’t know the difference between contraception and abortion, I don’t want them having ANY say in medical decisions that affect my daughter.
Which brings me to my second point… Abortion issues do not directly affect me or my body. I have two children. And barring some sort of miracle, I cannot have any more. So, I won’t pretend that I’m concerned about how abortion laws might affect me. I’m concerned about how they affect my daughter. And my daughter’s daughter. Therefore, if it’s not an issue that affects you directly or indirectly; I really don’t want to hear your opinion, Mr. 70-year-old white man.
Next, I’m tired of hearing “It’s a woman’s choice.” I know it’s great for the feminist movement and that it’s lovely when Vagina’s Across America can heed the battle cry for a common cause, but ‘abortion’ is NOT a woman’s choice. It’s the country’s choice. It has been for some time, and it will be for some time to come. Women haven’t always had the right to vote and women’s issues have not even made it to the forefront of our legislative priorities. Sure, we’ve made progress… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Now, those are just my political rants. I don’t like the idea or the thought of abortion. I also know people who have been through the pain and trauma of abortion. None of them were ‘bad’ girls. They were all girls in a rough situation with little or no familial support.
I cannot blame nor judge them. And I won’t.
I’m one of those teens that kept my baby. I didn’t marry his father until I was well into my 7th (almost my 8th) month of pregnancy. So, for many months I attended church alone with my growing belly; hoping to find solace and comfort in God and my extended church family. It wasn’t a time of sunshine and rainbows. I was very lonely… with few friends who would still associate with me, and even family distanced by feelings of confusion and betrayal.
It was already a time in which my choices in life were becoming more and more limited. I will not be responsible for limiting the choices of others.
I embrace the idea that we all have our own path to ‘salvation’. What was ‘right’ for me would not be ‘right’ for everyone in my situation. I’m not so pompous to think that everyone shares my circumstances or my beliefs, nor do I believe in imposing my convictions on others.
As for me, I will be weighing ALL the issues that are important to me. I think I’m capable of handling morality as a personal crusade rather than a political one. That’s a battle that all of America isn’t capable of handling. It would blow our minds.
Peace out.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
Parenting 101
I was reading online news the other day (because I can no longer bear to unfold paper and search for my section unless I'm on the toilet) and I read an article about a 7-year-old who went on some kind of freakish rampage at an Australian zoo.
http://news.aol.com/article/boy-breaks-into-zoo-kills-animals/200065?icid=200100397x1210496518x1200657437
In a nutshell, the kid climbed into the zoo without tripping the security system (presumably because of his size; increasing job security for any B&E specialty midget) and chucked a bunch of lizards to the zoo's crocodile for a morning snack. (Hopping an outer security fence at one point to get closer to the predator.) I suppose the kid showed a bit of mercy in that he bashed a few with a rock to kill them before he tossed them to their dark, toothy end.
Now, I'm the mother of a boy who was 7-years-old not too awfully long ago. I can also say that my son often had issues with erratic behavior and a hair-trigger temper. And while I've shelled out my share of pocket money to replace broken windows or a neighbor's busted toy, NEVER could I imagine this kind of behavior. The zoo is considering legal suit against his parents. I say, "You're damned right!"
Because you know... you KNOW how this would have gone down if the kid had hopped that second security fence and gotten into the jaws of that crocodile. Those parents would be in court, claiming that the zoo's security had failed to keep their child safe from the blood-thirsty beast. Even now, I'm sure the lawyers will try to maintain that the zoo hadn't taken the proper measures to protect themselves.
From a 7-year-old?
Of course I ask where the hell are the parents. I can't imagine my children having the motive to run around killing animals, and furthermore, I can't imagine them having the opportunity.
Granted, my children are teenagers now. They have a little more freedom and a little more responsibility (because they weren't the kind of kids that broke into closed works and destroyed property) so I don't keep tabs on them as closely as I used to. (Though it can be argued that with everyone in cell contact, our cyberleashes keep us in closer contact than ever.) But when they were 7??? If they weren't with me or their father, my kids were with family members. Or in school. And typically supervised by an adult in the transportation or exchange between the two.
I'd LOVE to be an 'old-fashioned' parent. But I can't tell my children to 'go outside and play' when they complain of boredom. I don't trust 'outside' these days when I'm nonchalantly informed by my 11-year-old neighbor kid that he has been drinking and smoking weed since he was 9. (But it's okay, 'cuz now he doesn't smoke it, he just sells it. WTF?!?!?!)
I can't say that I've been overprotective of my children. They've gotten quite an education in my care. I kept them close, and attended many a rehearsal with a baby on my back or against my chest in one of those nifty papoose-deals. When most kids would have been watching 'Sesame Street', mine were in the green room singing along with 'Guys and Dolls', 'Little Shop', and 'Victor/Victoria' and learning a whole new vocabulary that didn't include basic Spanish. We brought a Thanksgiving turkey and an Easter ham to the dedicated crew busily stitching at the costume shop. We spent Fourth of July at 'Aunt TJ's'. We hosted Orphan's Thanksgivings and Orphan's Christmases for our extended theatre family.
I'm proud to say that my children know at least half a dozen Shakespeare shows and can usually correct their own English teachers on relationships and plot points. They are bright and intelligent and creative and sensitive human beings. They treasure relationships and they are not quick to judge. I'm thrilled that they don't discriminate against races, religions, sexual orientations, nationalities, or ages. They have an appreciation for art and creativity and beauty... and life.
For everything I've done wrong as a parent, there are some really important parts of child-rearing that have turned out right.
Many of my friends (and even family) have raised an eyebrow at some of my parenting philosophies. I sometimes think I'm just really stubborn with that whole 'I'm-gonna-fix-all-the-mistakes-my-parents-made-with-me' mentality, but that usually flies out the window when I'm staring at the ceiling at night wondering if I made the right decision or phrased something properly. I've always believed that if my kids are old enough to ask the question, they're old enough to get the answer. With my daughter, I've got a special arrangment, though. She understands that some answers have the potential to drastically alter her perspective or lift a 'protective veil'. In those cases, I'm to give her ample warning so she can determine whether or not the subject can wait. In some cases, she chooses to change the subject. In others, she pushes for more information. I like that system. I trust it.
I often feel bad for my father. Genetically, I got my mom's outside (plus two inches in height, go me!) but I sway towards my dad's personality and temperament. He's confident, intelligent, quick-witted, outgoing, uses comedy to diffuse conflict; sarcasm and laughter are his defense mechanisms when he's hurt. We were two peas in a pod, my dad and I. But my dad was one of four boys. And after me, he had three boys. Raising boys, living with boys, 'guy-language', that's what my dad knew. I fear he was a 'fish-out-of-water' where raising a girl was concerned. My mother had learned to internalize her emotions long before I came along, and though I managed to rile her up once in a while, our relationship didn't have the passionate discourse that I sought as my mind raced into adolescence with questions of spirituality, morality, integrity, and hedonism.
But with any dysfunction my family had... and readily admitting that there were many, many, many bugs that we murdered in cold blood... I still maintain that with the surplus of frogs that are irresistible to the hands of rough children that have no concept of fragility, we didn't mean to. I promise.
I cannot say the same for the Australian boy. I'm afraid he can only have a rough road ahead. And so do his parents.
Oy vey.
http://news.aol.com/article/boy-breaks-into-zoo-kills-animals/200065?icid=200100397x1210496518x1200657437
In a nutshell, the kid climbed into the zoo without tripping the security system (presumably because of his size; increasing job security for any B&E specialty midget) and chucked a bunch of lizards to the zoo's crocodile for a morning snack. (Hopping an outer security fence at one point to get closer to the predator.) I suppose the kid showed a bit of mercy in that he bashed a few with a rock to kill them before he tossed them to their dark, toothy end.
Now, I'm the mother of a boy who was 7-years-old not too awfully long ago. I can also say that my son often had issues with erratic behavior and a hair-trigger temper. And while I've shelled out my share of pocket money to replace broken windows or a neighbor's busted toy, NEVER could I imagine this kind of behavior. The zoo is considering legal suit against his parents. I say, "You're damned right!"
Because you know... you KNOW how this would have gone down if the kid had hopped that second security fence and gotten into the jaws of that crocodile. Those parents would be in court, claiming that the zoo's security had failed to keep their child safe from the blood-thirsty beast. Even now, I'm sure the lawyers will try to maintain that the zoo hadn't taken the proper measures to protect themselves.
From a 7-year-old?
Of course I ask where the hell are the parents. I can't imagine my children having the motive to run around killing animals, and furthermore, I can't imagine them having the opportunity.
Granted, my children are teenagers now. They have a little more freedom and a little more responsibility (because they weren't the kind of kids that broke into closed works and destroyed property) so I don't keep tabs on them as closely as I used to. (Though it can be argued that with everyone in cell contact, our cyberleashes keep us in closer contact than ever.) But when they were 7??? If they weren't with me or their father, my kids were with family members. Or in school. And typically supervised by an adult in the transportation or exchange between the two.
I'd LOVE to be an 'old-fashioned' parent. But I can't tell my children to 'go outside and play' when they complain of boredom. I don't trust 'outside' these days when I'm nonchalantly informed by my 11-year-old neighbor kid that he has been drinking and smoking weed since he was 9. (But it's okay, 'cuz now he doesn't smoke it, he just sells it. WTF?!?!?!)
I can't say that I've been overprotective of my children. They've gotten quite an education in my care. I kept them close, and attended many a rehearsal with a baby on my back or against my chest in one of those nifty papoose-deals. When most kids would have been watching 'Sesame Street', mine were in the green room singing along with 'Guys and Dolls', 'Little Shop', and 'Victor/Victoria' and learning a whole new vocabulary that didn't include basic Spanish. We brought a Thanksgiving turkey and an Easter ham to the dedicated crew busily stitching at the costume shop. We spent Fourth of July at 'Aunt TJ's'. We hosted Orphan's Thanksgivings and Orphan's Christmases for our extended theatre family.
I'm proud to say that my children know at least half a dozen Shakespeare shows and can usually correct their own English teachers on relationships and plot points. They are bright and intelligent and creative and sensitive human beings. They treasure relationships and they are not quick to judge. I'm thrilled that they don't discriminate against races, religions, sexual orientations, nationalities, or ages. They have an appreciation for art and creativity and beauty... and life.
For everything I've done wrong as a parent, there are some really important parts of child-rearing that have turned out right.
Many of my friends (and even family) have raised an eyebrow at some of my parenting philosophies. I sometimes think I'm just really stubborn with that whole 'I'm-gonna-fix-all-the-mistakes-my-parents-made-with-me' mentality, but that usually flies out the window when I'm staring at the ceiling at night wondering if I made the right decision or phrased something properly. I've always believed that if my kids are old enough to ask the question, they're old enough to get the answer. With my daughter, I've got a special arrangment, though. She understands that some answers have the potential to drastically alter her perspective or lift a 'protective veil'. In those cases, I'm to give her ample warning so she can determine whether or not the subject can wait. In some cases, she chooses to change the subject. In others, she pushes for more information. I like that system. I trust it.
I often feel bad for my father. Genetically, I got my mom's outside (plus two inches in height, go me!) but I sway towards my dad's personality and temperament. He's confident, intelligent, quick-witted, outgoing, uses comedy to diffuse conflict; sarcasm and laughter are his defense mechanisms when he's hurt. We were two peas in a pod, my dad and I. But my dad was one of four boys. And after me, he had three boys. Raising boys, living with boys, 'guy-language', that's what my dad knew. I fear he was a 'fish-out-of-water' where raising a girl was concerned. My mother had learned to internalize her emotions long before I came along, and though I managed to rile her up once in a while, our relationship didn't have the passionate discourse that I sought as my mind raced into adolescence with questions of spirituality, morality, integrity, and hedonism.
But with any dysfunction my family had... and readily admitting that there were many, many, many bugs that we murdered in cold blood... I still maintain that with the surplus of frogs that are irresistible to the hands of rough children that have no concept of fragility, we didn't mean to. I promise.
I cannot say the same for the Australian boy. I'm afraid he can only have a rough road ahead. And so do his parents.
Oy vey.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Politics is Subjective.
I've just returned from a road trip that was surreal, bizarre and incredibly entertaining.
My mother has been living in Oregon for the past 7 years or so. That's where she's from (though born in another state.) Several generations of her family made their home in the lush, green foliage of the Pacific Northwest. Her husband retires at the end of this school year with 30 years of teaching under his belt. I've had kids for about 15 years. Two of them, total. He's had in excess of 100 kids a year... for THIRTY years. (Not including his own two kids, four step-kids, their spouses and five grandkids.) That's some long-term tenacity, folks.
His parents (who were also in Oregon) passed away recently. And in the last three years, the Arizona side of the family has grown by three. Three brand-new, precious, sweet-smelling, upchucking, laughing, powder-fresh, soft little grandbabies. Totally irresistible.
So, my mother packed up her entire house in a 26ft truck, a 16ft truck (with a boat hitched to the back) and a Prius (Did I mention two English Bulldogs in the back of said Prius?) with plans for her and Jerry to fly back and forth between now and the end of the school year when he will join her in AZ permanently.
The plan was thus: Two drivers per vehicle. My mom and I teamed up; my brother Chris with his wife, Jihae; and my brother Robert with his kamikaze friend, Jesse. We were going to leave by 9pm on Tuesday, Sept. 30th and drive non-stop to arrive sometime late on Wednesday, Oct. 1st.
The five of us flew out hella early on Tuesday morning and though we each could have had our own row, we ended up sitting together (in the emergency exit row for more leg room, of course) with Robert by the window, myself on the aisle, and Chris sandwiched between us with Jesse in front.
Somehow Chris and I ended up talking politics. To give some background, my brother is a Marine, (once a Marine, always a Marine) having served in crazy-ass countries across the globe, and having personally experienced atrocities of war and inhumanity that I cannot comprehend. He is now a police officer, where he is still exposed to a rather extreme side of human life.
I was a bit of a closet biology nerd and won the chance to sit in on an autopsy once. Facing death (even in a very controlled setting) was initially difficult. I became too scientifically and medically fascinated to get emotional or sick, so I imagine that my brother is able to face his own situations with the same amount of detached (almost clinical) objectivity. But it has to be a fine line to walk... the one of being compassionate without getting too emotionally involved. I can’t imagine how emotionally and psychological complex it is. Regardless, it is too disciplined a lifestyle for me.
I applied for a position in emergency dispatch once. I sat in and listened to an operator take calls. I got a feel for the job… and it was one that piqued my interest. The impersonal screen and the black and white text was enough detachment that I could see myself working successfully along that career track. But decisions I had made prior (like smoking weed and bouncing checks) meant I wasn’t even qualified to dispatch emergency responders from once place to the other. But I digress…
My brother considers me a Liberal. It's only fair, since I do check the box next to 'Liberal' on my MySpace and Facebook profiles. But in all honesty, I don't consider myself a full-fledged liberal. I've always kinda felt like a political mutt. My family is predominantly Christian, conservative, and Republican. My fathers family are mostly accountants or involved in elevated levels of ministry. I am the son of a preacher man's daughter, niece, sister, third cousin... and the list goes on. My brother Robert suggested I just go pick up the marriage certificate and he'd sign it for Jason and I. (My partner of 7.5 years... we are now technically common-law, having lived together in sin... or 'cohabitated' according to the state of AZ for 'in excess of 7 years'.) But I realized that if I was going to have my brother marry us, then I was going to take advantage of some of the whacky and outlandish crap I know he'd do... like marrying us in a helicopter (flown by my other brother Justin, perhaps?) or in togas on the beach in Mexico or in 1940’s Zoot Suits at a bar in Chicago. Or onstage.
I digressed again. Sorry.
In any case, my two younger brothers, my mother, certainly my father, and grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins will all be voting for McCain this election. Hey, we’re from Arizona, right?! (Gack.) The thing is… I hate getting into political debates with people. It makes me feel vulnerable. A political debate is a sneaky way of really digging into one’s personal beliefs and convictions. Now I’ll expose the heck out of a character in front of hundreds of people and I’ll do it with grace and eloquence. But when I’m confronted personally, I stammer and stutter and struggle with the English language. It’s not pretty.
My brother Chris is conservative. Compared to me. And compared to my brother, I’m very liberal. I know Christians that would consider my brother to be incredibly liberal. Just based on who he is and what he does.
*On a side note, I’ve been considering the moral and ethical dilemmas of being an ‘officer of the law’. Like have there been instances where there is question where the law of man has preceded the law of God? Aren’t there instances in which officers must act as ‘temptation’? What does that mean for a Christian cop? In following the ‘letter of the law’, how do you reconcile when the guilty go unpunished or the innocent continue to be victimized? I know… so many questions. In addition to the grilling of ‘How loud can I pump my car stereo?’ and ‘What’s the difference between crack and meth?’ and ‘What kind of strange/bizarre/intense situations have you been in?’ I don’t know if I could ever do a ride-along. It’s too intense for me. But I can listen to my brother’s adventure stories all the live-long day. I know storytelling. It’s what I do.
My brothers are all really phenomenal guys. They are good-looking, intelligent, witty, committed, sensitive, and gracious men. They love talking sports and numbers and the banter between them is always entertaining. I feel a little freakish when I’m with them sometimes, knowing that my life experience and exposure has been so vastly different than theirs. And that based on the knowledge and information I’ve processed and analyzed, I’ve decided that I don’t want laws that govern my body. Or my daughter’s.
I don’t prefer a leader who is better or more experienced in the ‘art of war’. I believe that there is a lot of money to be made from war and that our country has perpetuated the practice of outsourcing for as much possible gain, resulting in businesses and corporations making money by taking advantage of their workers AND their consumers. We are in debt to ourselves in amounts that are grossly disproportionate to how we live. We encourage domination and reform by force. I don’t believe in that.
So, why don’t I move to a sissy peace-mongering nation like Canada or Switzerland or Jamaica?
What? And leave my oh-so-lucrative stage career behind?
As far as national or state politics go, I’d like to see marijuana legalized and taxed already. Get half the Mexican cartels out of business in our country instantly and make three times the money off of it as you do on cigarette and gas taxes combined. We’ve chosen much more destructive means to profit economically as a nation. This one doesn’t include invasion, killing, intimidation or force. Use the funds to crack down on the meth problem that seems to be permeating the current generation. Fund youth programs focused on eradicating our gang problems. Hell, reintroduce the arts and music programs that encourage our children to create. Improve healthcare. Feed the homeless. Well, and if the government starting farming its own weed and marketing hemp as a valuable natural resource and substitute for wood and paper products, we’d create a shitload of American jobs now, wouldn’t we? And some poor single mom wouldn't be turned down for a job because she puffed on a joint that was going around her cast party 3months prior to her screening, testing, qualifying, and interviewing.
I’m not runnin’ around in rasta braids and my hippie skirt (yes, I do own one or two) burning my bra (I prefer the way my boobs look when they’re holstered), chanting with my picket sign, or smokin’ weed behind the local Cheba Hut or in the meditation circle under the big tree next to the college. (I’m making up these possible locations just based on where I live.) But I will vote for reform when it comes around for my opinion to count. Fine. Call me liberal.
But I do figure that politics is subjective. I’m liberal compared to what? Other liberals? Mmmmmnnnn… notsomuch. Compared to conservatives? Absolutely. Compared to Democrats? Maybe not entirely. It’s all subjective.
Merriam-Webster defines the ‘word’ liberal as this:
Main Entry: 1lib·er·al
Pronunciation: \ˈli-b(ə-)rəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin liberalis suitable for a freeman, generous, from liber free; perhaps akin to Old English lēodan to grow, Greek eleutheros free
Date: 14th century
1 a: of, relating to, or based on the liberal arts barchaic : of or befitting a man of free birth2 a: marked by generosity : openhanded b: given or provided in a generous and openhanded way c: ample , full3obsolete : lacking moral restraint : licentious4: not literal or strict : loose 5: broad-minded ; especially : not bound by authoritarianism, orthodoxy, or traditional forms6 a: of, favoring, or based upon the principles of liberalism bcapitalized : of or constituting a political party advocating or associated with the principles of political liberalism ; especially : of or constituting a political party in the United Kingdom associated with ideals of individual especially economic freedom, greater individual participation in government, and constitutional, political, and administrative reforms designed to secure these objectives
So, based on this… I look up ‘liberalism’…
Main Entry: lib·er·al·ism
Pronunciation: \ˈli-b(ə-)rə-ˌli-zəm\
Function: noun
Date: 1819
1: the quality or state of being liberal 2 a:often capitalized : a movement in modern Protestantism emphasizing intellectual liberty and the spiritual and ethical content of Christianity b: a theory in economics emphasizing individual freedom from restraint and usually based on free competition, the self-regulating market, and the gold standard c: a political philosophy based on belief in progress, the essential goodness of the human race, and the autonomy of the individual and standing for the protection of political and civil liberties d capitalized : the principles and policies of a Liberal party
I don't prefer the #3 definition in that I might lack moral restraint... but I suppose my life experience could probably prove that I do, in fact, lack moral restraint in many areas. So, when my brother smirks and calls me a tree-huggin', art-lovin', hippie Liberal, I can't argue.
I guess I am.
I enjoyed debating politics with my brother and sharing what I knew of subculture and legislation. I loved hearing about his life, his job, and his passions. We didn’t get into any big religious debates, which is more along the lines of what I expected from this trip with both him and my youngest brother (‘The Minister’)… Duhn..Duhn..Duhnnnnnn….. but that will probably come with the next adventure in which we find ourselves reunited again and in the same general vicinity for more than an hour or so.
And so it was that 1/2 of the current ‘Watson brood’ ended up in breezy, chilly, overcast Oregon on Tuesday morning. Ready to test our navigation, our driving skills, our patience, our determination, and the effectiveness of canine sedatives… all with the added pressure of sleep-deprivation, doggie farts, separation anxiety, dead batteries, and Jesse’s driving. (Someone had to take the pressure off of Chris.)
Casualties:
A few items left behind (including the dog’s water bowl)
A small tear in the boat cover
(Unknown whether there was any damage from shifting contents in the trucks, but I’m hoping not.)
Mom’s wallet (lost somewhere between the last gas stop in Blythe and home)
Assets:
All 6 persons and both dogs arrived unharmed.
The boat is still intact.
Remember when I said we'd make it into Phoenix by 9pm?
Praise LJ!! (Liberal Jesus.)
My mother has been living in Oregon for the past 7 years or so. That's where she's from (though born in another state.) Several generations of her family made their home in the lush, green foliage of the Pacific Northwest. Her husband retires at the end of this school year with 30 years of teaching under his belt. I've had kids for about 15 years. Two of them, total. He's had in excess of 100 kids a year... for THIRTY years. (Not including his own two kids, four step-kids, their spouses and five grandkids.) That's some long-term tenacity, folks.
His parents (who were also in Oregon) passed away recently. And in the last three years, the Arizona side of the family has grown by three. Three brand-new, precious, sweet-smelling, upchucking, laughing, powder-fresh, soft little grandbabies. Totally irresistible.
So, my mother packed up her entire house in a 26ft truck, a 16ft truck (with a boat hitched to the back) and a Prius (Did I mention two English Bulldogs in the back of said Prius?) with plans for her and Jerry to fly back and forth between now and the end of the school year when he will join her in AZ permanently.
The plan was thus: Two drivers per vehicle. My mom and I teamed up; my brother Chris with his wife, Jihae; and my brother Robert with his kamikaze friend, Jesse. We were going to leave by 9pm on Tuesday, Sept. 30th and drive non-stop to arrive sometime late on Wednesday, Oct. 1st.
The five of us flew out hella early on Tuesday morning and though we each could have had our own row, we ended up sitting together (in the emergency exit row for more leg room, of course) with Robert by the window, myself on the aisle, and Chris sandwiched between us with Jesse in front.
Somehow Chris and I ended up talking politics. To give some background, my brother is a Marine, (once a Marine, always a Marine) having served in crazy-ass countries across the globe, and having personally experienced atrocities of war and inhumanity that I cannot comprehend. He is now a police officer, where he is still exposed to a rather extreme side of human life.
I was a bit of a closet biology nerd and won the chance to sit in on an autopsy once. Facing death (even in a very controlled setting) was initially difficult. I became too scientifically and medically fascinated to get emotional or sick, so I imagine that my brother is able to face his own situations with the same amount of detached (almost clinical) objectivity. But it has to be a fine line to walk... the one of being compassionate without getting too emotionally involved. I can’t imagine how emotionally and psychological complex it is. Regardless, it is too disciplined a lifestyle for me.
I applied for a position in emergency dispatch once. I sat in and listened to an operator take calls. I got a feel for the job… and it was one that piqued my interest. The impersonal screen and the black and white text was enough detachment that I could see myself working successfully along that career track. But decisions I had made prior (like smoking weed and bouncing checks) meant I wasn’t even qualified to dispatch emergency responders from once place to the other. But I digress…
My brother considers me a Liberal. It's only fair, since I do check the box next to 'Liberal' on my MySpace and Facebook profiles. But in all honesty, I don't consider myself a full-fledged liberal. I've always kinda felt like a political mutt. My family is predominantly Christian, conservative, and Republican. My fathers family are mostly accountants or involved in elevated levels of ministry. I am the son of a preacher man's daughter, niece, sister, third cousin... and the list goes on. My brother Robert suggested I just go pick up the marriage certificate and he'd sign it for Jason and I. (My partner of 7.5 years... we are now technically common-law, having lived together in sin... or 'cohabitated' according to the state of AZ for 'in excess of 7 years'.) But I realized that if I was going to have my brother marry us, then I was going to take advantage of some of the whacky and outlandish crap I know he'd do... like marrying us in a helicopter (flown by my other brother Justin, perhaps?) or in togas on the beach in Mexico or in 1940’s Zoot Suits at a bar in Chicago. Or onstage.
I digressed again. Sorry.
In any case, my two younger brothers, my mother, certainly my father, and grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins will all be voting for McCain this election. Hey, we’re from Arizona, right?! (Gack.) The thing is… I hate getting into political debates with people. It makes me feel vulnerable. A political debate is a sneaky way of really digging into one’s personal beliefs and convictions. Now I’ll expose the heck out of a character in front of hundreds of people and I’ll do it with grace and eloquence. But when I’m confronted personally, I stammer and stutter and struggle with the English language. It’s not pretty.
My brother Chris is conservative. Compared to me. And compared to my brother, I’m very liberal. I know Christians that would consider my brother to be incredibly liberal. Just based on who he is and what he does.
*On a side note, I’ve been considering the moral and ethical dilemmas of being an ‘officer of the law’. Like have there been instances where there is question where the law of man has preceded the law of God? Aren’t there instances in which officers must act as ‘temptation’? What does that mean for a Christian cop? In following the ‘letter of the law’, how do you reconcile when the guilty go unpunished or the innocent continue to be victimized? I know… so many questions. In addition to the grilling of ‘How loud can I pump my car stereo?’ and ‘What’s the difference between crack and meth?’ and ‘What kind of strange/bizarre/intense situations have you been in?’ I don’t know if I could ever do a ride-along. It’s too intense for me. But I can listen to my brother’s adventure stories all the live-long day. I know storytelling. It’s what I do.
My brothers are all really phenomenal guys. They are good-looking, intelligent, witty, committed, sensitive, and gracious men. They love talking sports and numbers and the banter between them is always entertaining. I feel a little freakish when I’m with them sometimes, knowing that my life experience and exposure has been so vastly different than theirs. And that based on the knowledge and information I’ve processed and analyzed, I’ve decided that I don’t want laws that govern my body. Or my daughter’s.
I don’t prefer a leader who is better or more experienced in the ‘art of war’. I believe that there is a lot of money to be made from war and that our country has perpetuated the practice of outsourcing for as much possible gain, resulting in businesses and corporations making money by taking advantage of their workers AND their consumers. We are in debt to ourselves in amounts that are grossly disproportionate to how we live. We encourage domination and reform by force. I don’t believe in that.
So, why don’t I move to a sissy peace-mongering nation like Canada or Switzerland or Jamaica?
What? And leave my oh-so-lucrative stage career behind?
As far as national or state politics go, I’d like to see marijuana legalized and taxed already. Get half the Mexican cartels out of business in our country instantly and make three times the money off of it as you do on cigarette and gas taxes combined. We’ve chosen much more destructive means to profit economically as a nation. This one doesn’t include invasion, killing, intimidation or force. Use the funds to crack down on the meth problem that seems to be permeating the current generation. Fund youth programs focused on eradicating our gang problems. Hell, reintroduce the arts and music programs that encourage our children to create. Improve healthcare. Feed the homeless. Well, and if the government starting farming its own weed and marketing hemp as a valuable natural resource and substitute for wood and paper products, we’d create a shitload of American jobs now, wouldn’t we? And some poor single mom wouldn't be turned down for a job because she puffed on a joint that was going around her cast party 3months prior to her screening, testing, qualifying, and interviewing.
I’m not runnin’ around in rasta braids and my hippie skirt (yes, I do own one or two) burning my bra (I prefer the way my boobs look when they’re holstered), chanting with my picket sign, or smokin’ weed behind the local Cheba Hut or in the meditation circle under the big tree next to the college. (I’m making up these possible locations just based on where I live.) But I will vote for reform when it comes around for my opinion to count. Fine. Call me liberal.
But I do figure that politics is subjective. I’m liberal compared to what? Other liberals? Mmmmmnnnn… notsomuch. Compared to conservatives? Absolutely. Compared to Democrats? Maybe not entirely. It’s all subjective.
Merriam-Webster defines the ‘word’ liberal as this:
Main Entry: 1lib·er·al
Pronunciation: \ˈli-b(ə-)rəl\
Function: adjective
Etymology: Middle English, from Anglo-French, from Latin liberalis suitable for a freeman, generous, from liber free; perhaps akin to Old English lēodan to grow, Greek eleutheros free
Date: 14th century
1 a: of, relating to, or based on the liberal arts
So, based on this… I look up ‘liberalism’…
Main Entry: lib·er·al·ism
Pronunciation: \ˈli-b(ə-)rə-ˌli-zəm\
Function: noun
Date: 1819
1: the quality or state of being liberal 2 a:often capitalized : a movement in modern Protestantism emphasizing intellectual liberty and the spiritual and ethical content of Christianity b: a theory in economics emphasizing individual freedom from restraint and usually based on free competition, the self-regulating market, and the gold standard c: a political philosophy based on belief in progress, the essential goodness of the human race, and the autonomy of the individual and standing for the protection of political and civil liberties d capitalized : the principles and policies of a Liberal party
I don't prefer the #3 definition in that I might lack moral restraint... but I suppose my life experience could probably prove that I do, in fact, lack moral restraint in many areas. So, when my brother smirks and calls me a tree-huggin', art-lovin', hippie Liberal, I can't argue.
I guess I am.
I enjoyed debating politics with my brother and sharing what I knew of subculture and legislation. I loved hearing about his life, his job, and his passions. We didn’t get into any big religious debates, which is more along the lines of what I expected from this trip with both him and my youngest brother (‘The Minister’)… Duhn..Duhn..Duhnnnnnn….. but that will probably come with the next adventure in which we find ourselves reunited again and in the same general vicinity for more than an hour or so.
And so it was that 1/2 of the current ‘Watson brood’ ended up in breezy, chilly, overcast Oregon on Tuesday morning. Ready to test our navigation, our driving skills, our patience, our determination, and the effectiveness of canine sedatives… all with the added pressure of sleep-deprivation, doggie farts, separation anxiety, dead batteries, and Jesse’s driving. (Someone had to take the pressure off of Chris.)
Casualties:
A few items left behind (including the dog’s water bowl)
A small tear in the boat cover
(Unknown whether there was any damage from shifting contents in the trucks, but I’m hoping not.)
Mom’s wallet (lost somewhere between the last gas stop in Blythe and home)
Assets:
All 6 persons and both dogs arrived unharmed.
The boat is still intact.
Remember when I said we'd make it into Phoenix by 9pm?
Praise LJ!! (Liberal Jesus.)
My First Blog Post
Yay!
I have unsuccessfully blogged for about two years. I say unsuccessfully because I apparently suffer from some kind of bloggers ADD. I 'sometimes' blogged on MySpace, I randomly blogged on two minor blog sites, and I still post every once in a while on forums and newsgroups that I belong to.
I lack discipline.
Don't get me wrong... I can be very structured and disciplined. In my 'realm', I'm successful because I have a strong sense of commitment and focus.
Now, I'm an actress. Not the glamorous overpaid kind of actress, but the Ramen-eating stage-pounding kind of actress. I rarely miss rehearsals. I've never missed a performance. I've performed with pnuemonia, bronchitis, sinus infections and an abcessed tooth. 'The show went on' with sprained and dislocated joints, broken bones, bleeding, bruised, jetlagged, underrehearsed and concussed.
It hasn't come without it's own set of compromises, though. I've missed family weddings, funerals, reunions, births, graduations...
My sense of family is a bit skewed, I suppose. I left my own family at a young age. I left physicially when I was 18, which is completely normal. But I think I abandoned my family emotionally sometime between 16 and 17. I could say it was the typical scenario where my parents divorced and I was disenchanted with the institution of marriage and felt I'd been hand-fed lies about relationships all my life. I sought solace in a physical relationship with my boyfriend and was 3 months pregnant at my high school graduation. But I won't discount my own responsibility for what was going on during that time. I was unfocused, frivolous, selfish, and completely irresponsible. It wasn't the first time I had identified those qualities in myself, and it wouldn't be the last.
Though my father and I went through a conflict that really never fully healed, (a big big big crack in our intricate and fragile relationship vase) I relied on my mother and my brothers a lot. My brothers were all very young when I became a mother. I was raising babies when they started High School, had girlfriends, attended proms, graduated, enlisted, etc... and I missed out on a lot of their transition from boys to men. I'm sometimes saddened by this, but don't question that my babies and my husband had to be top priority. Even though my new extended family wasn't exactly warm or welcoming under the circumstances.
Shotgun wedding, anyone?
Yes... they do exist. But even in Arizona, shotgun-wielding fathers with dusty boots are a thing of the past. Instead, I stared down the cold barrel of morality facing a barrage of bullets bearing names like 'Dishonor.' 'Shame.' 'Guilt.' 'Sin.' My father wasn't involved in my decision to marry 'mah baby daddy'. God held the ultimate shotgun.
I did what I thought was 'right'.
Which led me through a most intense and unexpected emotional and spiritual journey that lasted... well... it has been ongoing for about the past 15 years. And I don't see an end to my discoveries any time soon.
So, while this post itself may seem a bit random and ADD itself, I'm really just setting the stage for where I come from, where I've been, and who I am today. Perhaps it will invite some interesting thought or pervasive dialogue where one may learn... or laugh... or both.
It will be a challenge to progress through my observations and bring everything current, but I'm hoping to instill a little more focus and discipline in my personal life. And it's not a bad time to start documenting, anyhow. :)
On that note, welcome to my first blog post and thanks for reading. :)
I have unsuccessfully blogged for about two years. I say unsuccessfully because I apparently suffer from some kind of bloggers ADD. I 'sometimes' blogged on MySpace, I randomly blogged on two minor blog sites, and I still post every once in a while on forums and newsgroups that I belong to.
I lack discipline.
Don't get me wrong... I can be very structured and disciplined. In my 'realm', I'm successful because I have a strong sense of commitment and focus.
Now, I'm an actress. Not the glamorous overpaid kind of actress, but the Ramen-eating stage-pounding kind of actress. I rarely miss rehearsals. I've never missed a performance. I've performed with pnuemonia, bronchitis, sinus infections and an abcessed tooth. 'The show went on' with sprained and dislocated joints, broken bones, bleeding, bruised, jetlagged, underrehearsed and concussed.
It hasn't come without it's own set of compromises, though. I've missed family weddings, funerals, reunions, births, graduations...
My sense of family is a bit skewed, I suppose. I left my own family at a young age. I left physicially when I was 18, which is completely normal. But I think I abandoned my family emotionally sometime between 16 and 17. I could say it was the typical scenario where my parents divorced and I was disenchanted with the institution of marriage and felt I'd been hand-fed lies about relationships all my life. I sought solace in a physical relationship with my boyfriend and was 3 months pregnant at my high school graduation. But I won't discount my own responsibility for what was going on during that time. I was unfocused, frivolous, selfish, and completely irresponsible. It wasn't the first time I had identified those qualities in myself, and it wouldn't be the last.
Though my father and I went through a conflict that really never fully healed, (a big big big crack in our intricate and fragile relationship vase) I relied on my mother and my brothers a lot. My brothers were all very young when I became a mother. I was raising babies when they started High School, had girlfriends, attended proms, graduated, enlisted, etc... and I missed out on a lot of their transition from boys to men. I'm sometimes saddened by this, but don't question that my babies and my husband had to be top priority. Even though my new extended family wasn't exactly warm or welcoming under the circumstances.
Shotgun wedding, anyone?
Yes... they do exist. But even in Arizona, shotgun-wielding fathers with dusty boots are a thing of the past. Instead, I stared down the cold barrel of morality facing a barrage of bullets bearing names like 'Dishonor.' 'Shame.' 'Guilt.' 'Sin.' My father wasn't involved in my decision to marry 'mah baby daddy'. God held the ultimate shotgun.
I did what I thought was 'right'.
Which led me through a most intense and unexpected emotional and spiritual journey that lasted... well... it has been ongoing for about the past 15 years. And I don't see an end to my discoveries any time soon.
So, while this post itself may seem a bit random and ADD itself, I'm really just setting the stage for where I come from, where I've been, and who I am today. Perhaps it will invite some interesting thought or pervasive dialogue where one may learn... or laugh... or both.
It will be a challenge to progress through my observations and bring everything current, but I'm hoping to instill a little more focus and discipline in my personal life. And it's not a bad time to start documenting, anyhow. :)
On that note, welcome to my first blog post and thanks for reading. :)
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