A reflection for the Bird

I tend to get a bit stressed at times. And when I get stressed I rant.

I don't really have a healthy outlet for my stress, although I must have looked pretty hilarious the other day as I was taking my dog for a walk and started dancing when "Black Betty" came on my Ipod. That's a good feeling for me because it has literally been years since I have danced. I don't think anyone saw me but a couple of red squirrels and a bunny rabbit, but even if another human being did see me and thought, What the hell is that woman doing? It wouldn'na made me no never mind.

Finally, I feel like me. That is such an amazing feeling. I am not the person I wanted to be. Hell no! I wanted to be articulate, professional, not a hair out of place, a c-cup, 24-inch waist, quick-witted - You know Cybil Shepard on Moonlighting, for those of you old enough to remember that show. But it ain't me. I can't remember the word for refrigerator half the time. I am not even going to go into bra size. I will just say it has been a cause for embarrassment for the greater part of my life. Professional - PFFFTTT! Oh, I do try, I want nothing more than to be a professional, and I just thought that the rules would be so absolute for professionalism, not so - not so. My quick wit comes anywhere from five minutes to three weeks too late. Dammit! But the great thing is that I am learning and that is the fine thing - I AM learning.

Therefore, no rants here, not tonight. I have almost completed the second semester of my Master's degree. I doubt my grades will reflect the actual learning that I have done. They won't be the grades that I want. These past two semesters have been challenging, understatement of the year, but nonetheless, they are behind me, I will learn from them and move forward. I am pleased with what I have accomplished in my first year as a graduate student. I have grown intellectually leaps and bounds in the past year. I have made decisions, I have faced losses, I have managed major live transitions all while undertaking graduate level courses and managing to grasp most of the difficult concepts that come from those courses.

I don't like sounding my own bell. But today I danced.

Dodgeball is one of the stupidest sports ever invented.

There are memories that I have tried to put to rest. Things I just absolutely abhor to remember, and boom there it is. All of the sudden. No warning. The memory of a skinny black kid named Anthony, and the geeky PE teacher Coach Evans all up in my memory's grille.

When I was in high school I didn't necessarily know that I was a nonviolent type. I was too busy just gettin' through my days at Corrigan-Camden High School. I would like to say that I did not protest much, but I was quite a complainer.

This is probably why Coach Evans rolled his eyes at me when I stomped up to him red-faced and ired and demanded that he tell Anthony "to stop throwing the ball at me." There were, in my head, several expletives that accompanied that adamant request, but I did manage to keep those on the inside.

Coach Evans curt reply only fueled my hatred for him. "I will not tell Anthony to quit throwing the ball at you. That is what he is supposed to do. We are playing dodgeball. Now get out there!"

During my brief encounter with the Coach, Anthony was carefully eyeballing me, gently tossing the red dodge ball from right to left, left to right -- smiling. He seemed to know that Coach Evans was going to take his side.

With a huge frown, a heavy stomp and a hefty swing that nearly dislocated my right shoulder, practically in tears at the injustice of it all, I returned to the court. Anthony was gleaming. His pearly whites screaming at me through his smile - "This is what happens to girlies who tattle tell." His teeth were the biggest part of Anthony. I know I outweighed him by thirty pounds, but I couldn't come close to lobbing a dodge ball with the strength and precision that he did.

Whomp! There it was. I didn't know how such a small being could put so much force behind that red foam rubber ball, but damn - he nailed me. I felt the sting of the dodge ball once again. The welt was already forming on my thigh.

The only thing I could do was cast a desperate glance at Coach Evans - who only shrugged and smiled and walk off the court deflated and defeated. My only recourse was spitting out "I hate you!" as I passed Anthony.

It wasn't Anthony that I hated.

It was the game of dodge ball.

Dodge ball that day was just one more reminder of how little control I had over my life. I was forced to participate in this barbaric game where the opponents had the obvious physical advantage, only to be once again humiliated by the sting of an unfair ambush. No matter how hard I tried to throw that ball, I could never inflict the pain onto others that I felt.

I hated dodge ball then, and I hate it today. It is not a game that teaches children any sense of morality or good sportsmanship. It teaches boys to be predators and girls to be victims.

Dodge ball be damned!

It was just about thirteen years ago that I took my only daughter to her first day of kindergarten. I went to work and was a wreck. I was petrified for her. I couldn't protect her from the evil forces of the world. I cried all day long. One of my co-workers, a young man with no children, made a comment about how silly I was being. I told him when he had kids, he would understand.

All went well. She had a blast that first day of kindergarten, and she has been a fan of school since and an excellent student.

Today, I dropped her off for her last day of high school. There was no crying today. My tears had already been shed last night. I hid in my bedroom and wept inconsolably into my husband's chest for what seemed like forever because "things will never be the same." My emotions run the gamut. I am so happy for my daughter who has blossomed into a beautiful, confident, and intelligent young lady. She has well-laid plans to begin college in the fall. Still, I am afraid. My role in her life is drastically altered. I don't know what that means, and I am just as afraid for myself as I am for her.

It was just over six months ago that I married the man who held me in his arms and told me that things will be different, but they the future is very promising. The most profound thing that he did for me was to say that he understood why I was so upset. "There were times when it was just you and Celia against the world." Yep! He said let me know it was ok to feel the overwhelming emotion that I was feeling.

I am still emotional, but I know that today marks the first day of the rest of our lives - mine and Celia's. I know they are going to be full and wonderful lives.

This post was originally aired on Facebook as a note on May 29th 2009. This is life. I was so afraid to let my little girl go. Well here we are almost three years later and we are both doing fine.

Celia is not quite the fan of school that she used to be, but she is doing alright. She is studying to be a counselor and I know she is gonna be great.

The man I mentioned above, still holds me when I cry. He also is the father of my only son, and it is comforting to know that this man will be by my side when my little boy goes to kindergarten and then to college.

This is my life and my beautiful family.