Shouldas

I lashed out at Maya this morning.  I feel horrible.  But I'm not surprised by it.  We were trying to get out the door to get her to school and she was not listening to me.  This is not the first time that she has not listened and it will certainly not be the last.  And I am sure it will not be the last time that I yell at her for not listening.

But I know that the anger I displayed this morning is displaced.  I know that the real reason I became upset is the fact that we had to put our cat, Aurora, down on Monday.  She was nineteen years old.  Yes, I know:  she had a good life, we had a good run together, her quality of life was not what it was, she's in a better space--I know that all of those words are said from a good place.  And I agree with them, at least, intellectually.  

But I am mad.  I am mad that I probably did not give Aurora all the attention she deserved.  I am mad that we brought a dog into the house that probably upset her on some level.  But most importantly, I am mad that I am reminded of our lives when we first got her.

We were living in a tiny studio on 90th and Park in the city.  The four of us-- two humans and two cats.  Then we moved to a larger apartment, collected another cat, and then to our first house where we added Maya, and then to a larger house where we added two goldfish and another car.  And life slowly began to get more complex, more costly, more stressful.  Oil bills, sump pumps, fallen trees, flooded basements, new gutters...

And so, as I mourn the loss of my buddy, I also mourn the loss of simplicity.  When and how did we decide that bigger would make us happier?  That more things would put wider smiles on our faces?  I wrote earlier that one of the reasons we purchased this house was that we were at risk of losing Maya and that we could not imagine staying in a house where we would pass an empty bedroom that at one magical time housed her crib, a hand-painted dresser and the home-made drapes (yes, I make drapes).  It would be too painful a life.  So in a scared, panicked,  seemingly preventive measure, we moved.

So here we are today.  The three of us are intact, more or less.  Our cats, Tiger, Anna and Aurora are gone.  The goldfish have been replaced several times over.  Sarah, Maya's dog,  is now part of this household.  But today there is a deafening emptiness that I am experiencing.   We've lost something.  Maybe we lost it long ago and I am now just feeling it as I realize that this is the first time since college that I have not had a cat rubbing up against my legs.

That constant connection of having a cat was a link to my past--the good and the not-so-good.  But it connects me to a time that was just a little easier.  A studio apartment;  a new baby that was not yet affected by her parents fighting absent "relatives" for her right to stay in her new stable, loving home; a time that 911 was just an emergency call and not something more chaotic and sinister.   And I want it back.  And that is why I am mad--I am thinking right now of the "shouldas."

We should have stayed in the old house.  I should have done things differently with my practice and my work.  I should have made more progress in my writing.  I should have worked harder at being a better dad and husband.  I should have....

But what is that going to get me right now?   Not a thing.  Because when I am able to get out of my way, I know that we made choices.  In the moment, we thought they were the best possible--and at the time, they probably were.

But those choices have expired.  You know, the funny thing about being a therapist is that those around me think that I should always have my clinical hat on as I go through my life.  I am always amazed at that.  I have gotten so much grief over the years from certain circles complaining that I did not respond in a way that they would expect from a therapist.  Really?  If I had my therapist hat on 24/7,  I would be in a home drooling, eating my toenails and knocking my head on the toilet.

Nope, I am a flawed, sometimes overly-emotional human being.  But in this body is a heart and mind that wants to desperately hang on to some youthful innocence and pleasure.  And that means to live more simply.

I used to be in retail when I first came to New York.  After several years of doing this work and after several years of having a fairly chaotic and painful personal life, I decided that I needed to get out of my head (again--a recurring theme here) and begin volunteering.  I found refuge at the Manhattan Center for Living, an organization dedicated to helping those living with HIV/AIDS and other life-challenging diseases.  MCFL was founded by Marianne Williamson, who continues to be a source of strength and support for me.  I will bastardize and summarize her message in one word:  LOVE.  It is that simple.

And that is the word I need to keep close to me today as I experience this deafening emptiness.   I don't need to fill this void with a new TV, a new driveway, a new Mac, or even a cat.  No, this needs to be filled with a greater appreciation for the two most important people in my life, who tolerate my over-emotional moments and my OCD as I sometimes put life aside to finish the laundry and organize a closet.  It needs to be filled with an even greater appreciation for my mom who continues to be my biggest cheerleader.  It means remembering and appreciating those members of my life who are no longer with me.  It means paring down on what is not working, what is not adding value.  It means getting in touch more frequently with the guy who is writing what you are now reading. 

So, as I mourn for Aurora and I find myself tearing up and breaking down through these days that follow,  I do need to thank her for reminding me that my life is full, and that I can reclaim that Jeff that lived for 5 years at 121 East 90th Street, NYC. 

The framed needlepoint pictured was made for us by my stepmom, Barb.  It as been with us for as long as I can remember.  I cannot tell you today how I feel about that--is it true?  Is it not?  Right now,  I don't know--the answer will eventually appear, I suppose.  I want to fully believe that I can find my "home" again without a cat rubbing up against my legs.  But that, my friends, is all part of the process.

And if I can do this, so can you.

HOW NOT TO QUIT A JOB

I would love to know what goes through her mind.  She is dismissed from class, she walks outside with her teacher and her classmates, and is greeted not by her Dads, but by her sitter. 

Is there a letdown?  A sense of being abandoned?  A sense that she is not loved enough to warrant her parents picking her up?  Madyson’s mom is here, Ethan’s dad is there....

Last week was rough.  She cried one night at bedtime saying that she is the only one in her class who has a sitter picking her up.  Now, I doubt very much if every child is being picked up by a parent.  Most families have both parents working--especially in this town where the property values have sunk and the taxes remain so high.  But this town is also a depressed one where it is quite possible that some of the families are affected by the economy and unemployment. 

She is fortunate in that she has dads who are employed and busy.  Probably too busy.  And who, she feels, may have more of an allegiance to their jobs in New York, than to their lives in Plainfield, New Jersey. 

She has had sitters since she came home from UMDNJ hospital when she was 6 weeks old.  How many have entered her life?  Too many.  Some stay for a year and move on, some last a few weeks like this last one. 

Hello,

I'm writing to let you know that today was was my last day and I will no longer be able to work for you.

I think Maya needs to be in the care of someone who is specialized in childhood behavior. She has a great many issues that need professional help and I am not qualified to give her that. She is very disrespectful, rude, angry, disobedient, and extremely confrontational.

I also believe, from what I have seen, that her difficulty with reading and comprehension stems from more than ADD/ADHD, and that she has other learning disabilities.

I thank you for the opportunity and I wish you the best in finding someone who fits your family well.

Autumn


This is an email I woke up to Saturday morning.  It was sent at midnight. 

What Autumn fails to acknowledge, is her role in all of this.  Maya is 8--she is a kid who is strong-willed, knows what she wants and will try to manipulate a situation to get what she wants.  Pretty typical.  But she is also a child when she feels a connection, will be your best friend and love you unconditionally. 

It is a shame that Autumn did not have the insight to see this.  She was told in the beginning that there would be testing behaviors--she said that she understood.  She was told that it would be challenging in the beginning.  She said that she understood.  She was told that we wanted to be kept in the loop regarding any behavior issues or struggles she was enduring.  She reported nightly that things were “fine.”  I actually came home early on Friday (her secret last day of work) and, again, things were “fine.” 

Autumn is 18.  Friends and family alike have said, “What do you expect?”  She does not go to college, has no aspirations of going to college.  I looked beyond that and felt that perhaps her youth and energy would work well with Maya.  I looked beyond her piercings and the fact that she and her girlfriend participated in the Slut Walk a few weeks back in New York--it was a good cause!

You know, Autumn, my daughter may have some feelings because she would rather be with her Dads at night rather than with a stranger.   That does not warrant a college degree--just some compassion and empathy.  It also gets frustrating for her as well as us that caregivers who “promise” to stay don’t.  I get it--life happens, people need to move on.  But if you are going to work with kids, be true to your word.

Several years ago, my first job out of grad school, I was a Case Manager at Jersey City Medical Center.  My initial role there was working with adults who were living with HIV/AIDS.  A position in the Children’s Clinic opened up and was offerred to me.  I was forewarned by my bosses that if I took it, then I needed to commit to it for a while.  These kids were sick, their parents were traumatized. 

I did not stay.  It was not a good fit.  While I loved working with the kids, the politics of the hospital and the job itself were wearing me down.  I gave my notice.  My bosses were furious.  I did not get it at first--turnover was high, I was just another going through that revolving door.  What’s the big deal?

But it was a big deal.  Because I did matter to those kids.  I was more than a worker.  I was Mr. Jeff.  I was the guy who helped them navigate the system, help them out with their medical appointments, make them laugh.  I didn’t get that until I became a parent--and even then, I sometimes forget.

But on a night when my girl is crying because her Dads are not home and she is being cared for by a “stranger”, my role in all of this is crystal clear. 

You know, Autumn, I am angry, too.  I am angry that I cannot put my daughter down to sleep each night and be there like my parents were there for me.  But right now, we are doing the best we can.

"I now hasten my good by picturing it."

These words were spoken by Catherine Ponder in a 1972 lecture that was recorded and that I have been listening to on my Audible Iphone app.  Ponder has been a powerful force for decades in the areas of prosperity and healing and her many books can be found on Amazon.

I began reading Ponder on my recent vacation.  I had gone through a somewhat difficult summer emotionally and financially and reading her words gave me the shot in the arm that I needed in that moment.  Reading does that for me.  Does it do that as well for you?

I think I have mentioned in the past my love for anything Erma Bombeck has written.  Her way of combining both humor and humanity inspire me.  If you take a look at my nightstand, you will find dog-eared copies of several of her books.  I will often grab one before heading off to sleep, open a book to any page and just start reading.  I find myself smiling or laughing at the same passages--the familiarity is comforting.  I'll do the same thing in the morning--it's my little jolt of humor in the a.m.

Words can do that.  Words can comfort and inspire.  Our words are filled with power.   Ponder says, Our words are charged with prospering power."  And they are.  I try, I really do, to create a world for myself that is positive, prosperous and rich.  Some days are better than others.

My challenge is the morning.  I used to be a typical morning person--I would get up, make the coffee and several times a week go for a run.  But with the stress of the summer, the vacation, Maya starting a new school this year, our cat, Anna, passing away, and a new puppy (yes--why not add a little more chaos??)--I have found MANY reasons why I cannot possible take better care of myself physically.

The power of words.  As I look at what I have just typed, I realize that this is all fixable.  None of this is a permanent problem.  "I now hasten my good through picturing it."  The change that has occurred over this summer is over.  It is over. I am now in a new space today.  A prosperous space today.  Ponder says that we need to give ourselves prosperous words every day--even if we don't believe it in the beginning.  Eventually we will.  We will.

I picture myself getting up in the morning, throwing on some running clothes, my sneakers, grabbing my Ipod.  Before I head out, I throw on the coffeemaker, grab Sarah (our dog), and take her with me for a brief run.  And I look forward to getting some exercise, improving my physical and emotional well-being, and looking healthier.  And Sarah gets her exercise for the day as well.  It's a win-win for all.

What do you like to read?  Or watch?  Or listen to?  What inspires you?  Find something if you don't have it.  It's shitty to feel shitty.  You have a choice here.    Hasten your good.  Do it now.

Anna

Anna“Come on, Jeff—pull it together.”
Was that me?
Did I just speak out loud, by myself, in my kitchen?
Yes, I did.
At my feet lies our cat, Anna.  A once-frisky devil of a calico.  It was not unlike her to jump on the kitchen counter and drag off steak, chicken, and other assorted goodies that we were preparing to make for our dinner.  But now, I have just gotten off the phone with the vet.  We have a 10:40am appointment Tuesday the 26th of July to euthanize her.  I have just spent 30-some odd minutes googling to see if Maya should be there.  As I expected, everyone has differing opinions.

I found Anna on a bitter cold rainy evening in early 2001 when we were living in Jersey City.  We rented a garage space from a guy around the corner.  As I pulled the Jeep in, I caught glimpse of a tiny, frail-looking kitten.  I ran back to our apartment and grabbed a green recycling bin in the hope that I could rescue her.  Keep in mind that we already had 2 cats at home who were perfectly content with the arrangement and I do not think that they wanted their space further cramped.  But, I am a sucker for at-risk animals and I am going to honestly say that I did not take Tiger and Aurora’s feelings into account.   Approaching this kitten carefully, who had now found refuge in a box full of damp newspapers, I was able to scoop her into the green bin and run home.  She was terrified.  I felt her little body jumping up wildly trying to escape.  She continued this as I raced into my building, up the stairs and released her in our bathroom.  I have never seen a cat jump as high as this one was.  Nor make the sounds that she was.   I had a few moments of terror, thinking that maybe she was rabid, or psychotic, but with some food and water, she slowly settled down.  And after the initial vet visits, including spay that had to be done twice, she slowly began to trust her new surroundings and Aurora and Tiger grudgingly welcomed her into the fold. 

The incident is lovingly referred to as “The escape.”    We were moving from our apartment in JC to a home in Plainfield.  The cats were in the bathroom, locked away.  The movers were instructed not to open the door.  There was even a note on the door.  A big note.   Of course, one of them opened the door.  Anna bolted out of the bathroom, down the hall, out of the apartment door, down the stairs and onto the street.  I was on the street and saw her race around the corner.  “If I lose her, I am fucked.”  Those were my thoughts at the time.  And so began my amazing chase through the neighborhood.  Clearly she forgot that she almost perished when she lived out in the streets.  After about an hour or so of chasing her through numerous yards in the neighborhood on a sweltering August afternoon, I felt that I finally had my chance of getting her.  She was resting under a rose bush.  I got on my stomach, crawled slowly toward her, and grabbed her.  And instantly experienced pain that cannot be translated into words.  The hind legs flailing wildly, scratching my forearms drawing immense amounts of blood.  Her teeth grabbing my thumbs and fingers, trying desperately to get out of my grip.  Oh, and there was the rose bush.  That fucking rose bush. I was eventually able to grab her by the scruff, which calmed both of us.   Walking back to the apartment, bleeding, dirty and sweaty, holding a tiny kitten by the neck, it reminded me of the end of one of those Mel Gibson style Apocalypse movies.  I had “won”.  But Anna continued to have the adventurer in her.  While she never escaped into the wilds of the suburbs, she did get herself stuck in various crawl spaces around the house resulting in unique challenges to rescuing her.

But these little episodes pale in comparison with my endless memories of her and Maya together.  Maya’s first task in the morning has been to track Anna down and carry her through the house, hugging and kissing her.  Anna has enjoyed being Maya’s rag doll—they are quite the team.  They have breakfast and dinner together, they are together as we watch Modern Family, they sleep together.
We lost Tiger a few years ago.  Maya and Tiger were close, but I feel that Maya and Anna kind of grew up together.  And as I feel mortality being more of a presence in my life these days, this appointment tomorrow is really so much more than my pet being euthanized.  It’s a call to make these days and these relationships mean more.

I’ve been on edge a bit more over the last few days.  And I give myself permission to be this way.  I know it won’t last.  I know I will “pull it together.”  But this cat has tugged at my heartstrings for over 10 years.  And I know she has impacted my daughter more than she can or chooses to verbalize.
I’ve been trying, gently, to talk to her about this.  It’s hard—“Dada, she’ll get better.”
“You know, babe, she’s not going to get better.  Her little body cannot fight this disease anymore.  No medicine can help her now.  We need to understand that she can’t live this way anymore.  Her little legs cannot hold her up.  She’s whimpering, her eyes look so sad.  So we’ve made a decision—the doctor can give Anna a special shot that will help her die peacefully.  She won’t be in this pain anymore.  And we will be able to say goodbye to Anna in our own way.  And we can be together as a family when this happens.  It’ll be okay.  She will be at peace.  She won’t be sad anymore.  Does this make sense to you?”
We haven’t had this conversation yet.  We may say all of this to her, we may say some of it.  But it’s gonna be hard.  But it will bring us all even closer.  With all the sadness that death brings, it also brings us opportunities to come closer.
Thanks, Anna.  I do love you. We all do.

Happy Pride Month! ...for some.

Well, it's June in New York and this great city is covered in rainbows. And for the most part, it's really a non-event. The way it should be......but elsewhere.... (can you hear the ominous music?) In the Great City of Richmond:  "The Federal Reserve Bank of Richmond ran a rainbow flag up its flagpole last week and has been hearing about it ever since. From conservative groups who are outraged. From gay rights groups who are pleased. And from state lawmakers on both sides who just cannot seem to stop talking about it. The bank unfurled the flag on June 1, at the request of a group of gay and lesbian employees in honor of gay pride month. One day later, Bob Marshall, a Republican in the House of Delegates and an outspoken opponent on gay rights issues, was moved to write a letter to the bank's president, saying that the flag was inappropriate for a quasi-governmental entity.   "Dear President [Jeffrey M.] Lacker," wrote state Delegate Bob Marshall, "Flying the homosexual flag just under the American flag outside Richmond's Federal Reserve Bank building is a serious deficiency of judgment by your organization." Gay and lesbian "behavior," he wrote, "undermines the American economy, shortens lives, adds significantly to illness, increases health costs, promotes venereal diseases," among other things." (for more of the story, click here http://www.nytimes.com/2011/06/11/us/11flag.html) Oh, Bob, get a life. Go to the movies. Stop watching Sarah, and Glenn and Ann, and Pat and....my God--there's so many. Get yourself educated. Get a date. So, let me lose myself in Lady Gaga for a moment: I'm beautiful in my way ‘Cause God makes no mistakes I'm on the right track, baby I was born this way. This is all kind of cool. Although 70% of The Rivers Flow practice serves the GLBT community, I've had so many straight clients reference this song in their sessions with me, underscoring the fact that this message is , indeed, universal. And that gives me a smile. Part of the challenge with serving the LGBT community is having a clinical staff that understands, empathizes and identifies with the struggle, the process, the journey and has an idea of how the story should end. We can look at the Bob Marshalls' of the world and shake our heads with amazement and disgust. But, unfortunately, there is at least 1 Bob in every GLBT client. Someone who said ‘you weren't good enough, smart enough, normal enough.' And as clinicians, it is our job to reign Bob in, take away his power, and help our clients understand that God (or some other entity) makes no mistakes. But that Bob sometimes lingers like a pesky fly buzzing around your head on a hot, humid New York City afternoon. I've had my Bob moments. Those days when I don't feel as confident, as sure of myself, as emboldened. And this could be related to lack of sleep, exercise, or some stress in my relationships--personal or professional. Or maybe I'm just not regular. But like an actor, we sometimes need to act "as if". There are those days when I need to fight and force myself to show up. It's not easy, it can be exhausting, but it's worth it in the end. So if it is forcing myself to go for a run, or a hard workout, or have a quiet moment to lessen the noise in my head, I will do it. And for me, music is the perfect remedy. It may not be a Lady Gaga song, it may be a Motown song, it maybe (forgive me) a showtune. Whatever, genre or artist, if I find something to connect with that will lift me up, give me some confidence and hope, then I know I will be okay. Now, as far as Bob goes--there's always going to be a Bob. And I don't know if that is necessarily a bad thing. If it weren't for Bob, then would we ever feel fully empowered? Would we keep fighting? Or would we get lazy? I don't know. Happy Pride. Be safe. Be well.  Words for thought : "How does religion play into your personal or professional therapy? We love religion in therapy, but how do we love religion when we, or our clients, blame -- "God." Become our fan and see our page on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Rivers-Flow/475740140726   Follow us on Twitter: http://twitter.com/theriversflow

A little Twitter never hurts, does it?

I haven't created a post in quite a while.  Mark O'Connell has written several thought-provoking pieces over the last few months.  There have been many times that I have thought, "Oh, that would make for interesting reading."  But the idea, unfortunately, never made it to my laptop screen.  So here goes several  months of built-up thoughts, ideas, and maybe a touch of angst.

I have become a devotee of Twitter ever since the Tahrir Square uprisings in Cairo.  I followed these heroes as they steadfastly refused to allow an autocratic ruler to remain in power.  I marveled at their tenacity, their bravery, their love for their homeland.  As a result, I now am following the additional protests in Libya, Iran, Yemen, and the others.  It is inspiring, yet frightening.

I look to Wisconsin, to Ohio where union rights are being challenged.  I look to Texas and many other states where a woman's right to choose is being more and more restricted.  I look to the Congress where the President's attempt to scrap the DOMA is, naturally, being vigorously challenged by the right.  I look to so many states where funding for those less privileged are being cut to the bone.

It is no news to you that our access to information is both a blessing and a curse.  A blessing because we can get answers and viewpoints within seconds.  A curse because if we just keep taking in all of this information through a little screen, our level of hope can begin to fade away.  We need human interaction.  We need laughter, activity, love, touch, and yes, tears.

I left my computer yesterday and went for a run in the morning.  I played with my daughter in the afternoon.  I went for a walk around the neighborhood with my family at dusk.  And the three of us cuddled up on the couch last night and watched movies together.

Twitter has its place.  But I cannot let it re-place those things that are precious to me.

The Power: The Voice

I have had many people tell me over the years that when confronted with some sort of crisis or dilemma, my voice pops into their head.

I'm sorry, but WHAT?
When I first heard this, I admit to being shocked--what am I saying that is so profound to be creeping into their lives outside of therapy? 
Then I felt flattered.  Why shouldn’t my voice be present?  At times, I can say some pretty good things in session!!
And then I realized this has nothing at all to do with me.

We all have them.  Those voices that enter the fray, suggesting that we can or cannot do something.  The Critic who pops up and suggests that you really aren’t that great a candidate for the new job.  The Critic who says that he really didn’t enjoy the date. The Critic who says that this holiday season is going to be just as miserable as the last one.

Hey, shut up! 

There is a movement in the therapy world called Internal Family Systems.  In a nutshell, we can look at the Individual as a sum of the parts:  The Critic, The Nurturer, the Pragmatist, and so on.  By identifying the various parts that comprise us (and we can determine for ourselves how we want to label these parts of us!), we can make conscious, rational decisions as to who we want to be in charge.  For many of us, especially those who have a Wounded Child as part of the mix (and who doesn’t?), we may have been allowing the kid to “drive the car” for most of our lives.  IFS says, “Hey kid--not so fast.  Let Jeff, the adult, take over.  I appreciate all you have done for me thus far, but this is my road trip now.  Let’s work on getting you healed.   In addition, let’s identify what parts are working together as a team, and which little rebels are being, well, rebellious and not helpful.”  This is 1 way for us to begin healing.

There have been many times, past and present, where others’ voices have come to me at critical times.  Here are a few:

The voice of my Human Behavior professor in Grad School:  “The first and foremost role of the social worker is to instill hope.”

The voice of my first therapist, an analyst:  “Jeff, you just need to forgive your father--he is just not emotionally capable.”

The voice of my father, a few months before he died:  “Jeff, I know that I have not always been the best dad, but I do want you to know that I love you.”

The voice of my daughter, “Dada, I love you.”

I hold these close--these sustain me.  There are others, of course, that pop up here and there throughout my days and weeks.   And they show up when I need them most:  when I am feeling challenged--emotionally, physically, spiritually; when I may be having a blue day; when I am feeling frustrated professionally or personally.  Sometimes I need to rally myself to bring the voices up to consciousness, and other times they appear freely.  But they do show up.

It is so important to show up.  So if my voice should show up in another’s internal dialogue, then I applaud the person for allowing another point of view or belief to enter their sphere.  I challenge you to do the same with those in your lives.  You do not have to be a therapist--you just need to display kindness, compassion and the willingness to take a moment for someone else. 

In a political season that has been ravaged by shortsightedness, ignorance and hate, it is time to display our best to those in our worlds and trust that the goodness will spread. Don’t let the outside voices contaminate the beauty we all have to offer, regardless of our differences.  And maybe we will begin to value our differences rather than denigrating them.  Maybe. Hopefully.

I HATE YOU--AGAIN AND AGAIN

A while back, I wrote a blog on hate.  I guess, then, it’s appropriate at this time to do another since some politicals and the media seem to be spreading the hate message even more.  Let’s consider:
The building of new mosques in Tennessee and New York.
The planned burning of the Quran on September 11th.
The attack on all things Muslim.
The attack on all things gay.
The attack on all things left-of-center.
The attack on all things right-of-center.
                                           The attack on eggs.

It’s just endless.  I guess the positive out of all of this is that eventually, ALL of us will find ourselves in some group that is being targeted to hate.  And then, we will be at peace.  But until then, let’s examine the origins of all of this.

Part 1:  What’s it like to be not liked? 

There was this kid who sat behind me in 7th grade homeroom who did not like me.  He used to wet his forefinger and middle finger and whack me on the back of the neck with his wet, slimy, skinny digits.  I do not know why he did it.  I do not know why he did not like me.  We had gone to to totally different grade schools--this was our first year in junior high.  Why did he want to spoil it for me? 

Part 2:  Why should we care?

7th grade is such an awkward time.  We want to be liked, we want to fit in.  To be targeted in such a visible manner made me appear weak and vulnerable.  I was not a fighter, in fact, I was a pretty shy kid.  I am sure I asked him to stop and I am sure he responded by coating his hands with even more saliva.  I did not go to the teacher because I did not want to appear weak and vulnerable and be considered a tattler.  So, I suffered in silence until he eventually grew tired of my non-responses.   But throughout the entire time he was slapping the back of my neck, I just kept thinking, “All I want is to be liked.”

Part 3:  Repercussions

Two students were shot the first day of school in Detroit at Mumford High School.  I am not sure if police have discovered a motive, but safe to say, someone had a grudge.  And a gun.

Part 4:  Prevention

I love the cartoon The Berenstain Bears that appears on PBSKids Sprout network.  It’s a family of bears that is presented with a conflict and, by the end of the show, thanks usually in part to the guidance and wisdom of the parents and/or the entire family working together, the crisis is resolved.   It speaks a wonderful message. 

I was reading a Bears’ book to Maya the other night and the notion of gratitude came up.  The idea that even though we may live in a world where some people are spewing out some pretty vile things about others, if we are able to bring the focus down to the micro level and be grateful for each other, the family unit, the fact that we have food and shelter and a car and the ability to go to school--that goes a pretty long way.

And if we are able to be grateful that we can love and accept others with little or no judgement--well, that goes even further. 

And if we can do that, then we won’t need to burn Qurans, or trash others whose lifestyles/political convictions do not mesh with our own. 

Can’t you just hear the quiet?

Hair.

So, my hair was growing a bit on the sides that I did not like.  So I went into my cabinet in the bathroom and took out my electric clippers and started shearing.

Well, if you were a client of mine last Wednesday, you would have seen some pretty messed up patches on the side of my head.  Or maybe not--I worked very hard to try to keep my head faced forward.  How screwy is that??

I am not a hairstylist/barber.  I am a therapist.  I know (intellectually) that I have limitations.  But still, with those electric clippers in my hand, I was powerful. 

Or so I thought.

I looked at myself in the mirror--with another mirror at a screwy angle--and I knew that I messed up my hair.  It was beyond embarrassing.   There was a strip on both sides of my scalp that were sheared and were uneven.  And there was a patch on the right side of my scalp that was virtually naked---come on, Jeff--you can’t get a haircut from a professional?

So I went to Great Clips on University, confessd my sins and asked for forgiveness.  The woman cutting my hair jokingly asked me if I was trying to take away her job--I replied that I was not. 

But as she was repairing me, I was laughing.   None of this was life threatening--it was just hair.  How stuck do we get on appearances?  When I was with my clients that day were they concerned that I could not deliver because I had a patch missing from the side of my scalp?  Doubtful.

But was I concerned that I could not deliver?  Maybe. 

Everything is fixable.

Rejoice.

I am ashamed of myself.

Today is August 15, 2010.  This is a special day for my family and we forgot.

This is the day we picked up our daughter, Maya, from UMDNJ Hospital and welcomed her into our family.  Or, rather, she welcomed us.

Why or how could we forget?  Because of the chaos surrounding her adoption, which I have already written about.   That’s how I reason this.  Not a great excuse.

How often do we forget those special dates because of outside interferences?  The first time we met?  The first date?  The first time we made love?  The first time we said “I love you”?

Don’t let the craziness of the world get in the way of your joy.  If there is a date that resonates with you, then CELEBRATE it!  You don’t have to have a significant other, or have a child--if this is the day you gave up smoking or drinking, or if this is the day you said to yourself that you would treat yourself better, then rejoice. 

Rejoice.  It’s a pretty cool feeling.