Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Now that the school year has started, there will naturally be more posts about school and my students. I would in no way mention any child specifically and, as always, the reason why I write about these things is because (what an ego) I don't think that these kinds of things touch just me, but many of us. And I for one love to feel that I am not alone in my thoughts, concerns and interests; moreover, I love when people comment with their insights and observations, which enriches my life and understanding.

One of the first things that I have my students do at the beginning of the year is fill out a student information form so that I can get an idea of their interests, lives, and goals (whether formulated or not). It helps me, as an English teacher, know if a child wants to be a writer or an architect. So, the other day I was stopped in my tracks--literally--when I read one boy's responses. To the questions regarding what college he wants to go to and what he wants to study he talked about military college and military strategy. Okay, in this area many parents are in the military. But, in response to "what do you want to do when you finish school and work" his answer was just too blunt and too upsetting. He responded that he wants to shoot people. His response jolted me. Another teacher was in the room and after I read it to her, she said that I need to contact his counselor, which I did immediately.

I live in Virginia, and the shootings at Virginia Tech a year and a half ago impacted my school community. But it’s not just the proximity to that shooting tragedy that made his response so upsetting, it’s that this boy somehow thinks that it’s a valid career choice to kill people. Now maybe he is one of the few students who is aware that we are fighting a war in Iraq and a war in Afghanistan, or maybe he plays a lot of video games, or maybe he does have a parent or a sibling in the military who needs to shoot people, but my goodness, doesn’t he want to at least consider something more positive for himself? I had a discussion last year with some students (whose parents were in the military) who emphasized how much good they were doing helping people in Iraq. He does not, however, seem to be coming from this vein of understanding that the military is a service organization.

Hopefully it will come to pass that this was a taunt of a response, or that he really does need to work on his writing because this is not what he meant to say. I will keep my sensors up with his writing and in-class responses. And, perhaps, his vision of himself will change, and he will see himself in a more positive light.

So what do we read first this year? We start off with a short story about killing people for sport. Hmm, maybe I should change that. 
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Influences

Do you seek ways to help those around you? What do you feel most comfortable doing?

King of the Castle

Lying in bed, I look out the window to the darkened sky and listen to the radio. I need the radio on when I go to sleep; I am so alone, lonely, especially in bed, that it comforts me, makes me feel less alone—less abandoned.

When my husband comes in he closes the shutters, tells me to turn off the radio (even though I am sleeping), and tells me my breathing is too loud or some other inane comment that seems, in hindsight, another way to ensure that his word is last and his needs first.

He is getting ready to go to bed, and must arrange the room to suit his needs, never does he adjust to mine. The shutters must be closed tightly when he changes, but it makes me feel isolated. He says that he will reopen them when he is done, but rarely does, and so I get up from the midst of my never heavy-enough sleep to open them after he has fallen asleep. Those closed shutters make me feel closed in—with him.

Then the radio, no matter how low, is always cause for complaint. I try to keep it on “another five minutes,” but it is never enough to lull me back to sleep before the next “turn it off” is uttered.  It is so hard to constantly fight for…air?

And then, there is the consideration of which is better, to upset him in bed or let him go to sleep quickly and undisturbed? There is always a balance that needs to be struck, that I need to find, between maintaining peace between us, and peace within. Giving in repeatedly, which is what I have done, even if for a good cause, has battered me down. Sadly, he didn’t noticed what he has been doing to me, or that his behavior was in any way wrong. Maybe that’s why my stating that I want a divorce was so hard on him. It seems natural to him to tell me what to do at home (what temperature the house should be, what pictures we should buy, what programs we should watch) and at work (not to work late, not to work from home, not to work on Saturdays), that he never noticed that I was agreeing in order not to argue, not because I agreed.

It’s funny, but I realize now that the only thing we had in common was that we liked the same foods. While that might be the basis for a good date, it is not the basis of a strong marriage.

He really does think he is more important than me. And for a long time, too long, my actions clearly showed that I agreed.
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Today, when playing "Two Truths and a Lie" (an ice breaker) in class, one of my students said "my parents are divorced." This turned out to be the lie. "They're married," she said, "but they hate each other." So, staying in the marriage for the kids is a good thing? This girl must be in so much pain to say this in front of her peers who she barely knows.

Enjoy foreplay.

Dread foreplay. But no worry, this never happens any more anyway. (Did it ever, really?)

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Moments

How did you touch someone’s life today?

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I am the mother of two girls, one a teen and one a teen-to-be oh so soon, so I exhibit the ying and yang of patience and impatience. I say "Sweetie" and then I am told "Don't call me Sweetie." I say "I love you" and they close the door on me. I say "I'm home" and they say, "Yeah, so?" Yes, you can see that I try to exhibit the patience but inside the discontent brings on the impatience that occasionally flares up. Ah, motherhood, what a joy. It is life distilled, and it is how I deal with life. There are the ying moments and the yang moments. I just wish I would get more of a blend from them--now--not just in ten years when they grow up (as I have been convinced will happen).

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I watched a butterfly, its wings feverishly fluttering in the wind, as the rest of its body seemed to be calmly suspended in air as it fed from a flower. Am I like that butterfly?

Contrary to prior pronouncements, on Saturday I “consulted” Craig’s List personals. My intense feeling of being beaten down, of not being in control of my life, of needing to be outside of my box in even a small way, caused this pledge breaker. I answered one ad, because there was only one that seemed to correspond with a man who might be, well, a decent human being.

No, I am not interested in being spanked. No, I am not interested in dominating you. No, I am not interested in your dominated me. No, I am not interested in your need to bring passion to your life because you are in a passionless marriage. No, I am not slender. No, I do not come without baggage. No, I am not interested in going on a ride on your bike. No, I am not fascinated by your need to write a full-page ad about how wonderful you are.

And when I un-ranaway on Saturday, I had a response from that possibly decent man. And following through on this need of movement, the correspondence was brief and to the point. We set up a date for coffee on Sunday afternoon. When he suggested that we go to the coffee shop I had mentioned off-handedly, I was tempted to say “No, no you can’t come to my place.” But I decided to go with the flow here; why not meet in my favorite coffee shop? Will he stalk me for ever after? Again, trusting my ability to know when to flow, I flowed and agreed to meet there.

When I walked in at precisely the right time, he was sitting there, with a cup of coffee in front of him. Oy. I was ready to leave.

My last date also had his coffee before I got there. What is with these men? Mr. Previous waited at the table outside of Panera’s as I went in and got my lemonade. Yes, I eschewed coffee. I wanted to have some tartness in my drink, at least, for all hope of a charming date had flown the coop with that cheap maneuver. I admit it, I am a feminist, except when it comes to men paying on a date, at least in the beginning. If he can’t rise to the occasion for a $2 cup of coffee or lemonade, what hope is there for the future? Generosity of spirit has got to start somewhere.

I’m not sure if my face fell or if I was able to hold it up, but to his credit he got up immediately and offered to get me something. (There is still the strike of impatience that is being held against him, but I don’t hold grudges for too long.) Yes, I permitted him to buy me a cup of iced coffee. And then we sat outside and talked for an hour and a half. And I was not tempted in the least to provide a point-by-point account against the ex, I just didn’t want to, it was—is—not who I am now. And as my friend said to me the next day when I told her this, “good for you;” I am glad that I no longer define myself through that experience.

When we walked back inside the coffee shop to go potty, there was a friend’s husband (thankfully he was not at my usual table). The man, my friend and I discovered in very heart-wrenching discussions, is my ex’s twin. A man who could go count for count opposite my ex in behavior toward his wife and daughters. Ugh. What a way to end a date.

Outside, the hopefully decent, yet impatient man, told me how much he enjoyed our date and how attractive I am. Did I say anything about his being impatient? I meant to say that he is perceptive. And he asked if I would like to go out for dinner on Friday. Sounds nice to me. 

Remembrances

Do you have a memory whose very presence lifts your spirits? Why does it bring you such joy?

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I broke up with potato chips on Saturday. As I sat on my soggy log and looked out into the forest of trees in various stages of life and death, I had my lunch: barbeque potato chips and water. I sat there staring out, not really concentrating on anything (which makes sense after a two-hour drive) and put orange potato chip after orange potato chip into my mouth. And it occurred to me that I have eaten enough potato chips for a lifetime. Been there done that. There was no excitement any more. There wasn’t even satisfaction. It was rote eating. And that was what made me realize that this has got to stop. I don’t want to ruin my health and my appearance because of a habit.

By the time I got home I had decided that saying NO to potato chips was not enough. It has now been forty hours since I have sworn off white starches. I have said no to bagels (sniff sniff), no to potatoes of any kind (gasp), no to pasta (pause pause pause breathe). No more, no more, no more. And I passed the first two stress tests. I did not break down and have a bagel for breakfast (my breakfast of choice of a lifetime). For lunch, I prepared linguine and pesto for my daughters, and I did not even eat the piece of pasta I bit into for testing purposes—I spit it out.

Surprisingly, I don’t feel deprived, as if I am missing out on something important to life as I know it. Maybe it’s because I have eaten so much white starch already that my entire system is not just saying Okay, we can do this, but It’s about time!

And yes, Mom, I know you told me to do this five years ago, but now I have reached my potato chip limit. Now I am beyond satiated. Then I wasn’t ready. I truly hope I am now. 

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