Maybe it is my imagination or my paranoid self, but for the last few weeks, I have seen a hearse every moring as I drive my car. It is never in the same place, or same time or even same road, but I can count on sometime during my morning drive and errand running, I will see that hearse.
There is no funeral home directly near my house and we are not near any facility that I imagine would need daily service. So why is this hearse stalking me??
Ok, the usual thoughts such as aging and death come to mind. Or the fact that I haven't been as good with diet and exercise as I am supposed to or that I did forget to immediately clean the counter after breaking eggs, but thats more about salmonella than death.
Maybe its not about physical death. Maybe there is emotional, spiritual or intellectual death occuring.
I know change is occuring. A valued neighbor is moving, my spiritual advisor is leaving to explore new journeys. While I wish him well, it is a big change to lose all he has been to and for me and Sunday mornings will not be the same.
and lets not even get into Oprah and her last season!!
Being at home, I have significantly less adult contact than I did when I was working and sometimes I long for the easy, casual way that colleagues talk to each other. I miss the academic challenge that I used to get from designing courses and workshops and I miss going to trainings.
There are times I think I am psychic. I remember the last times I spent with people, sometimes knowing it was the last time. I even took a picture of my cousin and uncle one time, while saying in my head " this is the last time they will be together like this." Sure enough, 6 months later, my uncle was gone.Granted, this is not a gift I have cultivated or necessarily care to have, but when that pokey feeling comes, I try to be open and aware.
So, what is the significance of the hearse? I have yet to figure it out. I do smile and wave at the driver now. It has become part of my daily landscape much like the joggers and dog walkers. I am open and paying attention , without being too paranoid. All things usually reveal themselves and I have to wait for that unveiling, maybe it will come as just a little prick.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Modern Family
Oh I love Cam on the ABC show Modern Family. He is so loveable, real and ...motherly. And saying that would piss him off. If you saw the mothers day episode, you experienced Cam's upset over his relegation to the role of " Wife" because he is the parent who stays home with the baby. He gets more aggitated when it moves from wife to woman and he is upset to be honored on mothers day as a mother. ( ok, I dvr a lot of tv...it helps when I am up for 2:00 feedings)
I had such empathy for Cam. While he enjoyed his part in the daily pattern and function of his family life, the titles didn't always do justice him. I understand that strange struggle to find nomenclature that fits function, not necessarily form.
In our house, i am " Da" or "daddy'. It just worked out that way as we couldn't find a name that fit me ( mommy, mama, the rest of the girl names just didn't work..besides the wife is clearly " mommy"...make no substitutes) I do have more of a patriarchal role and in our home many of the duties and chores I perform are more traditionally male oriented.
It has been a real challenge being a house butch while taking care of the daughter. I am not an earth mother, Bree, Martha, Erma, or Sally Homemaker. I am challenged in managing time to do laundry, get groceries, plan ,meals, cook meals, clean meals, play with babies, clean babies, entetain babies,clean house.......I would rather be on a ladder with a hammer pounding something or grasping a screw driver while figuring out how something works or can be fixed. I use duct tape as a mandatory fix it tool. I like to move furniture, paint stuff and organize my life.
I am not by nature a mama.
But this role reversal of sorts has been a real trip and has brought many issues and lessons to light. I love the nuturing, cradling, soft, lovey times I get with my daughter. I cherish every story, song and whispered secret my son shares with me. I like being more aware of what food I am eating and appreciative of what it takes to make good choices happen. I get called Mom a lot by others when out with my kids and I just smile.
It is interesting when I pick up my son from school. His friends all know me and when I arrive, they all yell his name and say " Your Da is here"
One day, a new friend was very excited to see me and yelled to my son " Your mom is here" My son rumpled up his nose and gave the friend a nasty look. " Thats not my Mom, thats my Daddy" he replied somewhat defensively. The friend was shocked, " No its not, its your mom" the friend shot back. " No , its my Da, he is a girl." Out of the mouths of babes.
We have talked with our kids about all the different families that exist and that some have girls who are daddies, men who are mommies, and that eeryone has different names for the people who love them; ema, tia, papa, poppo,grada, babba, ....it all adds up to love.
So, this upcoming Fathers Day,a little boy will make a card for his girl Dad and he will be so happy to celebrate his family and we will wish happiness for all families, modern, traditional, unorthodox, alien, whatever...just don't tell a kid that the person he or she loves is not the name they call them....that hurts more than just a little prick.
I had such empathy for Cam. While he enjoyed his part in the daily pattern and function of his family life, the titles didn't always do justice him. I understand that strange struggle to find nomenclature that fits function, not necessarily form.
In our house, i am " Da" or "daddy'. It just worked out that way as we couldn't find a name that fit me ( mommy, mama, the rest of the girl names just didn't work..besides the wife is clearly " mommy"...make no substitutes) I do have more of a patriarchal role and in our home many of the duties and chores I perform are more traditionally male oriented.
It has been a real challenge being a house butch while taking care of the daughter. I am not an earth mother, Bree, Martha, Erma, or Sally Homemaker. I am challenged in managing time to do laundry, get groceries, plan ,meals, cook meals, clean meals, play with babies, clean babies, entetain babies,clean house.......I would rather be on a ladder with a hammer pounding something or grasping a screw driver while figuring out how something works or can be fixed. I use duct tape as a mandatory fix it tool. I like to move furniture, paint stuff and organize my life.
I am not by nature a mama.
But this role reversal of sorts has been a real trip and has brought many issues and lessons to light. I love the nuturing, cradling, soft, lovey times I get with my daughter. I cherish every story, song and whispered secret my son shares with me. I like being more aware of what food I am eating and appreciative of what it takes to make good choices happen. I get called Mom a lot by others when out with my kids and I just smile.
It is interesting when I pick up my son from school. His friends all know me and when I arrive, they all yell his name and say " Your Da is here"
One day, a new friend was very excited to see me and yelled to my son " Your mom is here" My son rumpled up his nose and gave the friend a nasty look. " Thats not my Mom, thats my Daddy" he replied somewhat defensively. The friend was shocked, " No its not, its your mom" the friend shot back. " No , its my Da, he is a girl." Out of the mouths of babes.
We have talked with our kids about all the different families that exist and that some have girls who are daddies, men who are mommies, and that eeryone has different names for the people who love them; ema, tia, papa, poppo,grada, babba, ....it all adds up to love.
So, this upcoming Fathers Day,a little boy will make a card for his girl Dad and he will be so happy to celebrate his family and we will wish happiness for all families, modern, traditional, unorthodox, alien, whatever...just don't tell a kid that the person he or she loves is not the name they call them....that hurts more than just a little prick.
To Sir; with love.
Lulu sang her heart out in praise of teacher Mark Thackery whom she respectfully called " Sir". Yes, it was a movie, but it reflected a time when teachers were honored, even revered. Though I missed the exact date, Teacher Appreciation Day should have no expiration date and as such I wish to pay tribute to the teachers who shaped my life.
I wish I could say that elementary teachers stand out for me. Sadly I have nothing but negative memories and that said, I will not dwell here. I will say that I am so glad my son has had nothing but wonderful Early Childhood experiences and so have we as parents. I will just say Bravo to the Cantilacian Center.
The first teacher who always stands out for me from high school is my Home Ec. Teacher Cynthia Fredricks. She had a way of embracing ( literally anf figuratively) her students. She loved them all and taught life lessons along with life skills. She was the embodimemt of everything I have come to believe a teacher should be and I have tried to pay tribute and honor to her all my professional life.
I was lucky to go to a HS that had a great English dept and because I loved reading so much, it made it easy to enjoy these teachers skills. John Scott, Kathryn Chesley and Bernadette Lewis. Oh Miss Lewis. She started every class with an S.A.T. word and I still remember the first word she taught us, gauche.
I also had an amazing math teacher, Paul Schweigerling. He taught a class in applied mathmatics that also taught daily life skills. It was an elective for non regents students, but he challenged us, loved us, taught us to play paperwad volleyball using statistics and prodded us to be our best self.
I also had a Social studies teacher who let me explore social issues outside the boundaries of suburbia. Thank you Linda Willard!
College brought some awesome teachers, Joeclyn Hughes, Sr.Alberta, Dr. Stein, but the greatest of all was Sr. Adrian. She was a devout Polish nun from Pennsylania dutch country, with an accent to boot. She would admonish us to stand " side by each children , side by each" on the field trips she would arrange for us. She was a fascinating teacher who was equally fascinated by the sociology of the world. And she loved us. She really did. We were her children. Until the day she died, if you asked her about any sociolgy class she had taught, she could rattle off the year, semester and alphabetical listing of her class. And she kept track of us too.
Grad school had a few standouts. H. ( we never knew what the " H" stood for..we thought Hell On Wheels) Jayne Vogan, Dr. Stevic and probably the most thought shaping, challenger to my way of looking at the world, words, law and the human condition Dr. Wade Newhouse, professor emeritus at UB Law. He pushed me like no other teacher had or could and I am a better person today for all he taught me.
There are also teachers who show up in other forms; colleagues, friends, advisors and advisaries. I am constantly amazed at the gift of learning that comes from these sources and people such as Margaret, Mary Jo, Bridgette, Beth, Ann, Joel, Jan, Josephine, Jim, Rick, Maureen, and ...well this tribute would never end if I listed everyone I have eer known, so we will just end with a sigh, a smile and...just a little prick
I wish I could say that elementary teachers stand out for me. Sadly I have nothing but negative memories and that said, I will not dwell here. I will say that I am so glad my son has had nothing but wonderful Early Childhood experiences and so have we as parents. I will just say Bravo to the Cantilacian Center.
The first teacher who always stands out for me from high school is my Home Ec. Teacher Cynthia Fredricks. She had a way of embracing ( literally anf figuratively) her students. She loved them all and taught life lessons along with life skills. She was the embodimemt of everything I have come to believe a teacher should be and I have tried to pay tribute and honor to her all my professional life.
I was lucky to go to a HS that had a great English dept and because I loved reading so much, it made it easy to enjoy these teachers skills. John Scott, Kathryn Chesley and Bernadette Lewis. Oh Miss Lewis. She started every class with an S.A.T. word and I still remember the first word she taught us, gauche.
I also had an amazing math teacher, Paul Schweigerling. He taught a class in applied mathmatics that also taught daily life skills. It was an elective for non regents students, but he challenged us, loved us, taught us to play paperwad volleyball using statistics and prodded us to be our best self.
I also had a Social studies teacher who let me explore social issues outside the boundaries of suburbia. Thank you Linda Willard!
College brought some awesome teachers, Joeclyn Hughes, Sr.Alberta, Dr. Stein, but the greatest of all was Sr. Adrian. She was a devout Polish nun from Pennsylania dutch country, with an accent to boot. She would admonish us to stand " side by each children , side by each" on the field trips she would arrange for us. She was a fascinating teacher who was equally fascinated by the sociology of the world. And she loved us. She really did. We were her children. Until the day she died, if you asked her about any sociolgy class she had taught, she could rattle off the year, semester and alphabetical listing of her class. And she kept track of us too.
Grad school had a few standouts. H. ( we never knew what the " H" stood for..we thought Hell On Wheels) Jayne Vogan, Dr. Stevic and probably the most thought shaping, challenger to my way of looking at the world, words, law and the human condition Dr. Wade Newhouse, professor emeritus at UB Law. He pushed me like no other teacher had or could and I am a better person today for all he taught me.
There are also teachers who show up in other forms; colleagues, friends, advisors and advisaries. I am constantly amazed at the gift of learning that comes from these sources and people such as Margaret, Mary Jo, Bridgette, Beth, Ann, Joel, Jan, Josephine, Jim, Rick, Maureen, and ...well this tribute would never end if I listed everyone I have eer known, so we will just end with a sigh, a smile and...just a little prick
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
honor your truth
Such an Oprah statement, in fact thats where it came from. I was watching the Chaz Bono interiew and that was the closing sentiment that summed up the discussion and Chaz's journey in transitioning to a man.
I watched this show with the morbid curiosity that one usually associates with a car accident. Maybe because thats kinda how I felt about the hype for it on the commercials. But I also had another, less kind reason for watching.
I wanted to make sure I didn't look like him.
A few years ago when Chaz had first told the world that he was transitioning, there was a picture published in the paper that someone said to me " Hey, you look like her". I got upset because being a strongly identified butch lesbian, it always makes me cringe when someone assumes that one must be transgendered if one is more masculine.
Now, I don't need a lecture on the clinical definition of transgender, but I do think the days of the gallant swashbuckling, strong, swaggering butch are in peril when the world does not see that you can just be a gay woman with a strong male sense who is at heart a woman.
Ok, perhaps that was a bit strongly opinionated. But I do feel that there is too much conjecture on what someone is or should be.
That said, I absolutely believe that one should honor their truth. And I am glad I watched, because I learned it is very hard for many to know what their truth is, much less live it.
Finding passion, finding soul, finding happiness, finding truth is a long and often unrealized ambition for many.
So, how does my Oprah watching have anything to do with blogging?
Because I have always wanted to be a writer.
I have and am many things, but when I wrote that first blog after a long time of only writing in my mind or in notebooks, I felt alive. My mind was on power juice and I had thoughts and dialogues unlike any I had ever had before.
It has been a pleasure and a burden to write out everything in my mind. The burden being finding time around diapers, groceries, cleaning, laundry, cooking, soothing, playing, reading, and maybe a little sleeping.
When I missed a few days of writing and posting, I felt miserable. I kept trying to get to the computer, to draft what I could, but it just didn't feel right. I often write in my head and when I sit down to the conputer I just pour out what in my brain and edit for grammar. I know thats a gift and I am grateful. It is also amazingly painful to carry several days of writing material around in my craw and not release it to print.
So, I make a promise to myself that as I endeavor to be more concientous with testing and meal planning to address sugar intake, I will plan a time to write so that very important part of my truth is not repressed.
So, thank you Chaz Bono. Even though I don't think I look like you, I feel like you...in needing to honor the best truth inside of us, be it gender or creativity. It took your brave story to motivate me and ....just a little prick
I watched this show with the morbid curiosity that one usually associates with a car accident. Maybe because thats kinda how I felt about the hype for it on the commercials. But I also had another, less kind reason for watching.
I wanted to make sure I didn't look like him.
A few years ago when Chaz had first told the world that he was transitioning, there was a picture published in the paper that someone said to me " Hey, you look like her". I got upset because being a strongly identified butch lesbian, it always makes me cringe when someone assumes that one must be transgendered if one is more masculine.
Now, I don't need a lecture on the clinical definition of transgender, but I do think the days of the gallant swashbuckling, strong, swaggering butch are in peril when the world does not see that you can just be a gay woman with a strong male sense who is at heart a woman.
Ok, perhaps that was a bit strongly opinionated. But I do feel that there is too much conjecture on what someone is or should be.
That said, I absolutely believe that one should honor their truth. And I am glad I watched, because I learned it is very hard for many to know what their truth is, much less live it.
Finding passion, finding soul, finding happiness, finding truth is a long and often unrealized ambition for many.
So, how does my Oprah watching have anything to do with blogging?
Because I have always wanted to be a writer.
I have and am many things, but when I wrote that first blog after a long time of only writing in my mind or in notebooks, I felt alive. My mind was on power juice and I had thoughts and dialogues unlike any I had ever had before.
It has been a pleasure and a burden to write out everything in my mind. The burden being finding time around diapers, groceries, cleaning, laundry, cooking, soothing, playing, reading, and maybe a little sleeping.
When I missed a few days of writing and posting, I felt miserable. I kept trying to get to the computer, to draft what I could, but it just didn't feel right. I often write in my head and when I sit down to the conputer I just pour out what in my brain and edit for grammar. I know thats a gift and I am grateful. It is also amazingly painful to carry several days of writing material around in my craw and not release it to print.
So, I make a promise to myself that as I endeavor to be more concientous with testing and meal planning to address sugar intake, I will plan a time to write so that very important part of my truth is not repressed.
So, thank you Chaz Bono. Even though I don't think I look like you, I feel like you...in needing to honor the best truth inside of us, be it gender or creativity. It took your brave story to motivate me and ....just a little prick
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Gleeful Youth
Tuesday, Tuesday, Tuesday!!! In my house it means GLEE is on! I am a little late to join the party of fans, but I must admit, I love GLEE! So much so, my wedding anniversary gift is going to be the dvd's of season 1 and 2 , maybe a bonus of the greatest songs.
I love the music, the dancing, Coach Sue, the slushies, Will's butt chin, Holly Holiday (" stripper or drag queen?" what a great line) but what I love most is the human stories.
Its the background character plots that made me cry when Kurt sang " I want to hold your hand' or when Santana and Brittany sang " Landslide". I cheered when they sang " Loser like me' or who will ever forget Blaine and the Warblers singing " Somewhere only we know"
I suppose I have now lost any reader who doesn't follow Glee. But if you have stuck around, you don't need to watch Glee to see the beauty of youth expressing themselves.
Its there everyday if we just slow down a little to see it.
Last Sunday I had a great experience watching the youth group at the UU present their service.
I will admit I have avoided Youth Group services in the past. The few I did attend were too in your face, too loud, too irreverant and too abrassive. So I have no idea why I went to this one, but I am so glad I did.
These kids presented their most soulful, sincere selves. It was obvious they had taken a lot of time to craft a presentation that included readings and songs along with their own sermons that reflected their faith, their beliefs and their concerns. It was the most honest prayer time I have had the honor to experience from layette ministers. It was real because the youth boldly told their truth, their human stories.
At first I started comparing my favorite Glee characters to the personalities of the youth presenters. " Oh , that one is just like Rachel Barry and that one reminds me of Puck and he reminds me of Finn" After a few moments of this, I realized that comparisond were absolutely inaccurate and demeaning. Glee is characters; entertaining characters portrayed by professional actors. These were children, children of my faith community, children who will be the community....no wait, thats not right either, ....children who are the community, and who were letting the community know who they are and what they believe. Real children who really made an impact on those who heard them speak and sing.
The most touching part was a young woman who sang " Imagine" . She started out hesitant and slow and as she sang , all of the youth group gathered around her and sang as one, still in support of the lead singer. It was the most beautiful thing and it made everyone in the church imagine; imagine those children leading us, healing us, touching us with their bold, raw, true expressions of faith.
I still can't wait to see Glee on Tuesday. It entertains me. But I will hold the feeling of pride, hope, love and community that those UU youth gave me and the congregation. It feeds me. And it was in no way...just a little prick.
I love the music, the dancing, Coach Sue, the slushies, Will's butt chin, Holly Holiday (" stripper or drag queen?" what a great line) but what I love most is the human stories.
Its the background character plots that made me cry when Kurt sang " I want to hold your hand' or when Santana and Brittany sang " Landslide". I cheered when they sang " Loser like me' or who will ever forget Blaine and the Warblers singing " Somewhere only we know"
I suppose I have now lost any reader who doesn't follow Glee. But if you have stuck around, you don't need to watch Glee to see the beauty of youth expressing themselves.
Its there everyday if we just slow down a little to see it.
Last Sunday I had a great experience watching the youth group at the UU present their service.
I will admit I have avoided Youth Group services in the past. The few I did attend were too in your face, too loud, too irreverant and too abrassive. So I have no idea why I went to this one, but I am so glad I did.
These kids presented their most soulful, sincere selves. It was obvious they had taken a lot of time to craft a presentation that included readings and songs along with their own sermons that reflected their faith, their beliefs and their concerns. It was the most honest prayer time I have had the honor to experience from layette ministers. It was real because the youth boldly told their truth, their human stories.
At first I started comparing my favorite Glee characters to the personalities of the youth presenters. " Oh , that one is just like Rachel Barry and that one reminds me of Puck and he reminds me of Finn" After a few moments of this, I realized that comparisond were absolutely inaccurate and demeaning. Glee is characters; entertaining characters portrayed by professional actors. These were children, children of my faith community, children who will be the community....no wait, thats not right either, ....children who are the community, and who were letting the community know who they are and what they believe. Real children who really made an impact on those who heard them speak and sing.
The most touching part was a young woman who sang " Imagine" . She started out hesitant and slow and as she sang , all of the youth group gathered around her and sang as one, still in support of the lead singer. It was the most beautiful thing and it made everyone in the church imagine; imagine those children leading us, healing us, touching us with their bold, raw, true expressions of faith.
I still can't wait to see Glee on Tuesday. It entertains me. But I will hold the feeling of pride, hope, love and community that those UU youth gave me and the congregation. It feeds me. And it was in no way...just a little prick.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Yom HaShoah
I did not want to go to Temple on Friday night. I was tired, the daughter was irritated from her 6 month shots, the son was not acting right; in other words, a recipe for disaster! The wife was insistent that we go and that is what happened. Sometimes in the face of impending doom, a miracle occurs.
Grouchy, visably moody and slightly gassy from not eating a proper meal, I settled into my seat and prayed for a quick service. The daughter was already crying and the son was getting tired and anti social. Great!
The Rabbi approached me and asked if I would do one of the evenings readings. Glancing at the snipet and seeing the name of a politican I abhor, I politely declined. "Oh No"said the Rabbi " You are not reading his words, this was his part at the ceremony today, he has nothing to do with what you will read" " Ok" I said.
Putting the paper with the words down on a nearby seat, I did a half glance to see what it was about. The words talked of freedom and liberation and thanking of soldiers for humanness. I am not very familar with Yom HaShoah. I have a short cut version for most Jewish holidays and festivals " Some one did us wrong, we killed them, then we ate." But this not a holiday or a festival. It is a remembrance, a sad but important rememberance of enslavement, inhumaity, evil and the eventual victory of the human spirit for good.
The piece I was to read was touching in the way it recognized the soldiers for their job of liberation. I could almost see the joy on the face of the writer in welcoming the troops who brought freedom. And as soon as I did that, I saw my Uncle Billy.
My uncle was a soldier during that time and one of his duties was the liberation of the camps. As a child, I was never told of his role and as an adult, it was simply "something he doesn't like to talk about". I wish now he had, because I feel such kinship to the Jewish faith by my marriage and children . My mother would only say that he saw great horrors and it is best not to ask or talk about it. Thats the stoic Irish way of dealing with bad things. But for all he saw, my uncle was the most compassionate, faithful and honest man I knew. He was a bit of an icon to all the kids because of his public service as a police officer and the way he dealt with everyone in a dignified, humble manner.
He also showed that he could see the big picture in life. Just before his death, a few years ago, he lay on his death bed going over the status of all the kids, wanting to be assured that all were well. When he got to me, my aunt and cousins stumbled a little because they did not want to talk about the strife that being gay and married to a Jew had caused. He didn't want to hear of it. He instructed them to make sure I knew that he gave me his blessing and that he wished he had met my son.He also wanted anyone who wanted to make trouble to know that as far as he was concerned, love was all that mattered and if I had created a family with love at its root, thats all he ever wanted for me. Gay or not, Jew or not. Quite a death bed blessing from an consersvative Catholic. The cousins and my aunt could not wait to be the first to tell me of this conversation and this is the first time I have spoken of that publicly.
So it was with gripping emotion that I embraced this short but powerful quip that I felt in some way was also a fitting respect for my uncle. But my emotional uneasiness was about to get a greater test.
As I finished reading the piece, I noticed who the author was. My eyes brimmed with tears, my throat waffled with emotional swallowing. The author was Gerda Weissman Klein. My personal hero.
Oh my god, there was no way I was going tp be able to read this piece.
Mrs. Klein is a Holocaust Survivor. But to me and millions of readers, she is the author of many books. The one that touched my life and directed me into a life of Special Education service is " The Blue Rose", the first picture book for children on the subject of develpomental disabilities. From that book I read all her others. The most note worthy " All but my life" the chronical of her life in and out of Nazi labor camps.
One of my most cherished possesions is my first edition copy of " The Blue Rose" that my Aunt Mary gave to me and which Mrs. Klein signed for me 20 years after I recieved it. I used to bring that book with me to her lectures and after one at U.B., some years ago, I reminded her of how much the book had meant to me, how my Aunt had given it to me and had given me other books of Mrs. Klein and that she, Gerda, was my hero.She stopped me mid sentence and said " Your Aunt is a hero for giving you books to read and encouraging the reading of a child"
So here I was with this big emotional basket of memories, meanings and lets not forget, I really didn't want to go to Temple this night.
But I summoned all I could to do proper justice to Mrs. Kleins words, my uncles memory and to all who fight for the liberation of the oppressed. I got through it, a little teary and wavering as I said her name as the author. But my pain was nothing in comparison to all those who did and do struggle for freedom. May we all know peace, justice, safety and resolvement and may it never hurt more than....just a little prick.
Grouchy, visably moody and slightly gassy from not eating a proper meal, I settled into my seat and prayed for a quick service. The daughter was already crying and the son was getting tired and anti social. Great!
The Rabbi approached me and asked if I would do one of the evenings readings. Glancing at the snipet and seeing the name of a politican I abhor, I politely declined. "Oh No"said the Rabbi " You are not reading his words, this was his part at the ceremony today, he has nothing to do with what you will read" " Ok" I said.
Putting the paper with the words down on a nearby seat, I did a half glance to see what it was about. The words talked of freedom and liberation and thanking of soldiers for humanness. I am not very familar with Yom HaShoah. I have a short cut version for most Jewish holidays and festivals " Some one did us wrong, we killed them, then we ate." But this not a holiday or a festival. It is a remembrance, a sad but important rememberance of enslavement, inhumaity, evil and the eventual victory of the human spirit for good.
The piece I was to read was touching in the way it recognized the soldiers for their job of liberation. I could almost see the joy on the face of the writer in welcoming the troops who brought freedom. And as soon as I did that, I saw my Uncle Billy.
My uncle was a soldier during that time and one of his duties was the liberation of the camps. As a child, I was never told of his role and as an adult, it was simply "something he doesn't like to talk about". I wish now he had, because I feel such kinship to the Jewish faith by my marriage and children . My mother would only say that he saw great horrors and it is best not to ask or talk about it. Thats the stoic Irish way of dealing with bad things. But for all he saw, my uncle was the most compassionate, faithful and honest man I knew. He was a bit of an icon to all the kids because of his public service as a police officer and the way he dealt with everyone in a dignified, humble manner.
He also showed that he could see the big picture in life. Just before his death, a few years ago, he lay on his death bed going over the status of all the kids, wanting to be assured that all were well. When he got to me, my aunt and cousins stumbled a little because they did not want to talk about the strife that being gay and married to a Jew had caused. He didn't want to hear of it. He instructed them to make sure I knew that he gave me his blessing and that he wished he had met my son.He also wanted anyone who wanted to make trouble to know that as far as he was concerned, love was all that mattered and if I had created a family with love at its root, thats all he ever wanted for me. Gay or not, Jew or not. Quite a death bed blessing from an consersvative Catholic. The cousins and my aunt could not wait to be the first to tell me of this conversation and this is the first time I have spoken of that publicly.
So it was with gripping emotion that I embraced this short but powerful quip that I felt in some way was also a fitting respect for my uncle. But my emotional uneasiness was about to get a greater test.
As I finished reading the piece, I noticed who the author was. My eyes brimmed with tears, my throat waffled with emotional swallowing. The author was Gerda Weissman Klein. My personal hero.
Oh my god, there was no way I was going tp be able to read this piece.
Mrs. Klein is a Holocaust Survivor. But to me and millions of readers, she is the author of many books. The one that touched my life and directed me into a life of Special Education service is " The Blue Rose", the first picture book for children on the subject of develpomental disabilities. From that book I read all her others. The most note worthy " All but my life" the chronical of her life in and out of Nazi labor camps.
One of my most cherished possesions is my first edition copy of " The Blue Rose" that my Aunt Mary gave to me and which Mrs. Klein signed for me 20 years after I recieved it. I used to bring that book with me to her lectures and after one at U.B., some years ago, I reminded her of how much the book had meant to me, how my Aunt had given it to me and had given me other books of Mrs. Klein and that she, Gerda, was my hero.She stopped me mid sentence and said " Your Aunt is a hero for giving you books to read and encouraging the reading of a child"
So here I was with this big emotional basket of memories, meanings and lets not forget, I really didn't want to go to Temple this night.
But I summoned all I could to do proper justice to Mrs. Kleins words, my uncles memory and to all who fight for the liberation of the oppressed. I got through it, a little teary and wavering as I said her name as the author. But my pain was nothing in comparison to all those who did and do struggle for freedom. May we all know peace, justice, safety and resolvement and may it never hurt more than....just a little prick.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)