12 Summers
On a Monday off from work last month, as I walked Sebastian into school with the sun shining on us, it hit me that it was my first summer since I’d found a new job. Exactly two years ago, I went to a tarot reader to ask when I would find a new job, and she said it wouldn’t be soon but that I did have options. Now, I was finally on the other side of that with a new job. I was immediately filled with joy and had one of the best days ever. My old job was twelve years of most of my adult life, with the end of my time there feeling drained. For the first time, I thought I had moved a mountain, leaving an unhappy situation.
Our First ER Trip
I was in the kitchen washing dishes when I heard a loud crash followed by my son crying. It wasn’t the sort of cry that lasted only a moment meaning his injury was inconsequential; it was the kind of cry that meant he had hurt himself pretty good. For any parent your child getting hurt is a rational fear. After all you’ve been tenderly caring for them since they were an infant neurotically ensuring their safety and well-being. But when your child is non-verbal, which is the case for my 4-year-old son Sebastian, it’s a whole other level of worry.
The House on Spruce Street
Reading Sandra Cisneros’ The House on Mango Street reminded me of when my family and I moved into our first house because the book follows Esperanza Cordero as she and her family move into their first house on Mango Street. I didn’t love The House on Mango Street only because it’s a book of vignettes and I’m more into traditional novels, but I fell in love with the author’s introduction where she talks about becoming an author.
Quantum Leap
While watching an interview with the creator of the television show Workin’ Moms’ Catherin Reitman on BUILD Series, I connected right away with her words when she mentioned the rapid turn-around we often expect when it comes to establishing the life we envision for ourselves. We imagine taking a quantum leap when it comes to achieving our dreams, as if there can only be one fixed outcome and one arbitrary date of when everything must be accomplished.
Anti-Confederate
Early this year while I was walking my Schipperke around my suburban neighborhood, I saw something that struck me so deeply I had to do a double-take. Surely, I hadn’t just seen what I saw: Positioned on the upper right hand corner, on the back windshield of a blue Ford truck, fastened like a badge, was the unmistakable “Southern cross” of the Confederate flag; to add insult to injury, the statement “Never Apologize For Being Right!” was emblazoned across the front.
F.A.I.L.
Fall and Invite Loss. The best piece of advice I never got was to fail and to fail constantly. Lessons I could’ve learned in my adolescence evaded me because I wanted to stay in my shell. I didn’t go through the same experiences as my peers because I was so shy and preferred to stay out of things and be more of an observer. While my friends had jobs in high school and were able to buy the clothes they wanted to wear, which our parents couldn’t afford, I was constantly told I didn’t have to work.
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