Today, a tragedy took the life of a dear friend. It's unfortunate incidents like this often make us stop dead in our tracks to evaluate the important things in our lives. Regrettably, I had grown apart from this friend as we became adults and went our separate ways. But I have some great memories with her - some devilish, some heart-warming. I won't divulge many details about those memories here, as she and I went to great lengths to disguise our shenanigans from our parents back in the day (or so we thought).
I tend to spend my time finding the humor in life, but today I will reflect on how we chose what is important to focus our emotional energy on and who we let into the most intimate parts of our lives. Also, because mental illness was the driving force behind this tragedy and I have been touched by this disease as a mother and personally, I want to take the time to provide some education on this often stigmatized, misunderstood disease.
Living far from family and most of my friends I often feel like I am alone when in reality, I am connected to so many great friends who are important to me and who I am important to. I find these relationship worthy of my emotional attention because we have weathered many storms together, they have seen me at my worst, and yet our relationship carries on. They are forgiving, choosing to focus on the things I have to offer rather than my misgivings. They bring comfort and humor to my life, often giving me permission to have my quirks, or as one of my friends said to me my "processes." Things like always putting back at least one item from my cart each time I reach the check-out or my relentless need to have photographic evidence of our time together. When someone who reaches out to me, whether it is for help or to check in or just to say hi, I am reminded that I exist in their world. As you may or may not realize about me, I thrive on my usefulness and importance to others. I think it's the reason I have Cupcake, my 2nd cat who I adopted after fostering her through a false-pregnancy (turns out she was just fat). I don't like long-haired cats and didn't necessarily want another cat. The day I picked her up, she wrapped her little paws around my neck and nuzzled into me. I was her protector, I rescued her from a life of neglect. She made me feel important and useful. (Now she could really care less about me because she is no longer scared). At this time in my life, I was toying with the idea of another child for very similar reasons. Cupcake filled this void for me.
I also have family which are more like best friends and best friends that are more like family. I'm not sure how that happens, but I know this to be true for many people. When we pause in life for whatever reason, we often evaluate those relationship which we may be overlooking or forget to tend to. Thankfully, most of these relationships in my life have been the most resilient of plants -- I could not water them for months or years but they grow back to life and are more beautiful each time.
I am also struggling knowing my friend was in great pain, tormented by her emotions. Some will say this is weakness or a cowardly way out, but as a mother who has held her son as he begged to be let out of his own skin and not hurt anymore, I get it. I've felt the this way before, putting my mother through the same pain I felt when holding Nicolas on so many nights. The fear of reaching out for help because of the very real possibility of being shunned or judged complicates the situation ten-fold. When our society recognizes that mental illness is not a choice, a personal failing, a result of any of our own decisions but rather a brain based disease which we did not create, then people may be comfortable seeking treatment in the same way they would for diabetes or cancer. I have been somewhat reluctant to talk publicly about my struggles with mental illness, but I try to be brave to show people that very real, functional people can be touched by this disease. More importantly, I want to show that recovery is possible, leading to an enjoyable life. I had to come out from behind the curtain after watching Nicolas search for answers about why he was ill, often blaming himself for being "worthless" or a "failure." It was my job to set the example for him that this is nothing to be ashamed of.
If you are reading this, I consider you one of the best parts of my life. You give me purpose, bringing joy into my life when I need it most. Please hug your family & friends, tell them that you love them as much as you can. Rethink your perception of mental illness and emotional struggles, if you haven't already aligned yourself with the understanding of this as a brain-based disease. I can provide research and online resources to help you gain an understanding.
Most importantly, thank you for being my friend.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Thursday, February 16, 2012
Today, I am going to tell you about little Tanner's first experience at the post office. We are going to go waaaaayyy back to when he was 15. Fifteen!! How the heck did he make it fifteen years in his life without knowing how to mail something?? The first clue that he needed this lesson came when he was mailing in a rebate for a drum set he bought. He tried to put the return address on the upper right corner, the recipient address in the middle (1 point, kudos!) and had NO IDEA where the stamp was to go. While he is going through this little exercise, he is baffled as to what to include in the envelope and why the whole process wasn't done online. This makes sense, given he has grown up in a technology saturated generation.
A couple of months ago I was under the weather, but needed to mail a small package. I was barely able to move, let alone get dressed and go to the post office. So, I enlisted the help of Tanner, my incredibly smart yet clueless about day to day life son. While I stayed in the car in my pajamas and "I slept on my head" hair, I asked him to go inside, use the automated postage machine, and select priority mail. Simple enough, right? I mean, after all, kids his age understand technology and processes which involve as little human interaction as possible. (remember, this is the kid who will text me "good night" from his bedroom upstairs.) He thinks it's a simple enough process too. In he goes, package in hand. Once inside, he is waving at me asking which machine to use because there are two of them. GASP. Two identical machines, so I see how this is a tough decision. After me waving some "I don't give a rat's patooty" gesture (use your imagination kids), he picks a machine. A few minutes later he comes bolting out of the building with a perplexed look on his face. He asks if the package contains liquids or explosives. Are you freakin' kidding me? Yes Tanner, I packaged my own urine with a small explosive inside that little box just for kicks. That's exactly what I do with my time when I'm laying on the couch deathly sick. I'm pretty sure I said something like this in a loving, supportive tone "ARE YOU SERIOUS?? REALLY TANNER?" I think he was paranoid that somehow, he would select the wrong option and we would be added the no-fly terrorist list by his simple mistake.
Back inside he goes, confident he can complete this task. I think we are all set, when I look out the window and see him heading back towards the car, package still in hand. If my head hadn't hurt so bad at this point, I would have beaten it against the steering wheel. He now wants to know if I want to add insurance, because after all, my urine & homemade explosives have so much value we must insure it. I shake my head no and send him back in. This time, he finally manages to get the postage on the package. Hallelujah. I'm one step closer to being back home and in bed. Then he starts the frantic waving again. Crapsicles. He wants to know which slot to put the package in. Now I'm pretty sure he had one of those cube toys as a child where you match up the shape to get it inside the box. And I'm pretty sure he mastered it, figuring out that each piece will only fit in certain slots. But somehow, this connection is not happening for him. He's perplexed and apparently can't decipher the hieroglyphics on the signs above the slots. Out he comes again, as I can't really communicate through the glass window any longer. At this point, I consider going inside myself but the place has become fairly busy. After gently explaining which slot to put the package in ("COME ON TANNER, SURELY YOU CAN FIGURE THIS OUT!! You are a flippity-floppin honor student!" is probably how it went.) he is successful. He comes out with a huge grin on his face as if he expects a "good dog" pat on the head and treat. I'm pretty sure he is exhausted at this point from all of the mental work he just performed. And I'm completely exhausted from worrying that my 15 year old son will never find his way through life once he's an adult without the assistance of Google.
This experience made me realize that a whole generation of kids won't know the importance of the postal system or appreciate the hand written letter that arrives in the mail from a distant friend or family member. They are reliant on instant gratification and convenience mixed with limited human interaction. Tanner was clearly uncomfortable with this level of decision making without the assistance of Google. Everything from banking to buying a car can virtual be done without ever speaking to a human being (heck, you can even "date" online). Does this mean their interpersonal relationship skills are never going to full develop? Will they know how to handle confrontation or know how to interact with store clerks, postal workers, and others who provide services? Will they need step by step instructions when away from their electronic devices?
I'm sure every generation goes through some sort of transformation which has their parents and previous generations scratching their heads. The microwave changed the way we cook, leaving some to wonder if we would ever know how to cook on a stove top or in the oven. I remember when we got our first microwave, my grandpa was reluctant to eat food out of this magical box for fear of what it could do to his body. Boxed mixes and pre-made cookie dough (or other foods for that matter) leave some of us who have never mixed up flour, baking soda, and chocolate chips for a treat.
In the end, I am glad I had this experience with Tanner. While no one likes the "when I was kid" stories, they are important for us to hear and learn from. To see how far we have come and how that changes us and the way we live our lives. Maybe by the time Tanner is a parent (if that ever happens, thanks to the hefty influence of the neighbor kids he babysits) he can find an instruction manual with the help of Google to parent the child.
A couple of months ago I was under the weather, but needed to mail a small package. I was barely able to move, let alone get dressed and go to the post office. So, I enlisted the help of Tanner, my incredibly smart yet clueless about day to day life son. While I stayed in the car in my pajamas and "I slept on my head" hair, I asked him to go inside, use the automated postage machine, and select priority mail. Simple enough, right? I mean, after all, kids his age understand technology and processes which involve as little human interaction as possible. (remember, this is the kid who will text me "good night" from his bedroom upstairs.) He thinks it's a simple enough process too. In he goes, package in hand. Once inside, he is waving at me asking which machine to use because there are two of them. GASP. Two identical machines, so I see how this is a tough decision. After me waving some "I don't give a rat's patooty" gesture (use your imagination kids), he picks a machine. A few minutes later he comes bolting out of the building with a perplexed look on his face. He asks if the package contains liquids or explosives. Are you freakin' kidding me? Yes Tanner, I packaged my own urine with a small explosive inside that little box just for kicks. That's exactly what I do with my time when I'm laying on the couch deathly sick. I'm pretty sure I said something like this in a loving, supportive tone "ARE YOU SERIOUS?? REALLY TANNER?" I think he was paranoid that somehow, he would select the wrong option and we would be added the no-fly terrorist list by his simple mistake.
Back inside he goes, confident he can complete this task. I think we are all set, when I look out the window and see him heading back towards the car, package still in hand. If my head hadn't hurt so bad at this point, I would have beaten it against the steering wheel. He now wants to know if I want to add insurance, because after all, my urine & homemade explosives have so much value we must insure it. I shake my head no and send him back in. This time, he finally manages to get the postage on the package. Hallelujah. I'm one step closer to being back home and in bed. Then he starts the frantic waving again. Crapsicles. He wants to know which slot to put the package in. Now I'm pretty sure he had one of those cube toys as a child where you match up the shape to get it inside the box. And I'm pretty sure he mastered it, figuring out that each piece will only fit in certain slots. But somehow, this connection is not happening for him. He's perplexed and apparently can't decipher the hieroglyphics on the signs above the slots. Out he comes again, as I can't really communicate through the glass window any longer. At this point, I consider going inside myself but the place has become fairly busy. After gently explaining which slot to put the package in ("COME ON TANNER, SURELY YOU CAN FIGURE THIS OUT!! You are a flippity-floppin honor student!" is probably how it went.) he is successful. He comes out with a huge grin on his face as if he expects a "good dog" pat on the head and treat. I'm pretty sure he is exhausted at this point from all of the mental work he just performed. And I'm completely exhausted from worrying that my 15 year old son will never find his way through life once he's an adult without the assistance of Google.
This experience made me realize that a whole generation of kids won't know the importance of the postal system or appreciate the hand written letter that arrives in the mail from a distant friend or family member. They are reliant on instant gratification and convenience mixed with limited human interaction. Tanner was clearly uncomfortable with this level of decision making without the assistance of Google. Everything from banking to buying a car can virtual be done without ever speaking to a human being (heck, you can even "date" online). Does this mean their interpersonal relationship skills are never going to full develop? Will they know how to handle confrontation or know how to interact with store clerks, postal workers, and others who provide services? Will they need step by step instructions when away from their electronic devices?
I'm sure every generation goes through some sort of transformation which has their parents and previous generations scratching their heads. The microwave changed the way we cook, leaving some to wonder if we would ever know how to cook on a stove top or in the oven. I remember when we got our first microwave, my grandpa was reluctant to eat food out of this magical box for fear of what it could do to his body. Boxed mixes and pre-made cookie dough (or other foods for that matter) leave some of us who have never mixed up flour, baking soda, and chocolate chips for a treat.
In the end, I am glad I had this experience with Tanner. While no one likes the "when I was kid" stories, they are important for us to hear and learn from. To see how far we have come and how that changes us and the way we live our lives. Maybe by the time Tanner is a parent (if that ever happens, thanks to the hefty influence of the neighbor kids he babysits) he can find an instruction manual with the help of Google to parent the child.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
I Need Insurance....Let's Get Married
In honor of Valentine's Day, when we are all supposed to be magically transformed into romantic couples professing our love for each other, I am reflecting on my relationship with my (mostly) wonderful husband. More specifically, how we become legally bound in a very unconventional way. Let me explain, to me, family is defined by the intimate relationships we have with people who have somehow made a dent in our lives and managed to stick around long enough despite the flaws of the relationship. Biologic ties are important because you can't chose who you are related to so you just find a way to enjoy them for all their quirks and good qualities. But just as important to me are the relationships I have with those who I have chosen to become my family -- they fill a space in my soul like no one else can.
When Jason & I met, we were both working in the same department which happened to be fairly small. Shortly after he was hired, he informed our boss that he was "something like a job whore" while wearing flip flops and shorts to his first day on the job. One of our initial conversations went something like this: "You know, I'm genius. Really I am." At this point, I didn't know he was trying to impress me. I thought he was just a random weirdo making conversation. Despite the oddity of this conversation, I found myself laughing (Rule # 1 to be in my family -- you must make me laugh & allow me to fill your world with humor). He eventually convinced me that we should hang out and watch tv because he was tired of sitting in his mom's basement at night watching tv by himself. Just to tell you how clueless I was about his interest in me, I wasn't even phased by "I live in my mom's basement" because I wasn't thinking of him as a future partner. He arrived at my house that evening with flowers for me and a gallon of chocolate milk for the boys. To this day I never let him forget that he slammed Nic's fingers in the hinges as he came in the door, something which he adamantly denies.
Fast forward a few years -- we had moved our family to Indianapolis for better jobs and schools. I was making a transition to a new job which did not offer group health insurance. After looking for a few weeks into private health insurance, we realized we couldn't afford the coverage. So what does any rational couple decide? To get married of course. Because we don't believe politicians and antiquated laws should define family, we were not in a rush to make our relationship legally binding before this point. But this changed things -- we had to figure out a way to get married in less than two weeks before my insurance ran out. I was in charge of the arrangements -- something simple with a few family members. Now, here is where things get very interesting. I am horrible with details -- I can write things down and never find them again. And I LOVE shopping the day after Thanksgiving, which happened to be the day we picked to get married. So on the morning of our wedding, I was up at the crack of dawn and out shopping. By the time I came home, I had not allowed enough time to properly prepare for the wedding and was in a rush. We pull ourselves together and bolted out the door to where I thought the wedding was to be held in a local government building. Nope. I was wrong, dead wrong with our parents following along behind us. We drove, and we drove, we yelled and I cried. Finally, we return home to try to figure out what to do. After all, I NEEDED insurance no later than Monday. Mr. Resourceful decided to go to the internet to ordain my mother and his mother to perform the ceremony in our tiny apartment so we could get our marriage on paper. As they prepared for their impromptu role of officiating a wedding, I come out of the bathroom with my dress tucked into my panty hose, marching around the living room ranting & raving about my mistake. My father-in-law was trying very hard to tell me about this faux-pas but I ignored him for a good 3-4 minutes while showing way more than any girl should to their father-in-law. Finally, the phone rings. If we can meet the pastor at the RIGHT building in 30 minutes, he can perform the ceremony. Once we rushed to the court house, my mother-in-law decided she wanted to sit in the judge's chair like Judge Judy to take pictures. Unfortunately, she had purchased a new pair of 4 inch wedge shoes to wear to the wedding and took a flying face-plant onto the stairs as she made her way up to the chair. We are all laughing at this point at the absurdity of this whole event. We go on to say our vows and I somehow forget to add an "s" to the word "arm." Jason still teases me that I only promised to hold him in my "arm." (hey, I may needed to keep my options open and use that arm for someone else later). As we arrive at the part of the ceremony where we kiss, Nicolas becomes enraged (after all, I was HIS, not anyone else's. This was also the stage of budding mental illness for him, and his emotions were on overdrive). He begins pushing and flipping over chairs while yelling like the Hulk. My mom intervenes and crisis is averted while the pastor looks on in horror. I'm sure he was thinking this was a marriage destined for doom. However, in our eyes, this whole crazy event only confirmed we were perfect for each other and as a family.
From this point forward, our lives have been filled with unbelievably crazy moments. There was the time Jason tied our king-size mattress to the top of our mini-van so we didn't have to rent a moving truck; a trip to the middle of Ohio to pick up a vehicle we purchased off eBay (that's another story altogether) only to arrive and see several of the features of the vehicle were mysteriously "stolen" the night before. Then there are the tours of timeshares I always manage to talk Jason into in Vegas, just to score free stuff. We play this game of good cop-bad cop just to toy with the salesman's emotions. During one of our "performances" the only way I could break Jason's insistence that we were most definitely buying the timeshare was to blurt out "I'm pregnant." He knew I had won this round of good cop-bad cop. The look on the salesman's face was priceless because he was caught in this make-believe awkward moment that he didn't know was make-believe (he was also missing his front tooth which he claimed had fallen out of his dentures only earlier that morning). We spent the entire bus ride back to the Strip laughing uncontrollably, while the rest of the bus watched as if we were a tragic train wreck they couldn't look away from.
So there you have it. That is how Jason became my family. Maybe, just maybe, I will finally commit and give him my other arm this year. No promises though, I heard Donnie Wahlberg may be calling.
When Jason & I met, we were both working in the same department which happened to be fairly small. Shortly after he was hired, he informed our boss that he was "something like a job whore" while wearing flip flops and shorts to his first day on the job. One of our initial conversations went something like this: "You know, I'm genius. Really I am." At this point, I didn't know he was trying to impress me. I thought he was just a random weirdo making conversation. Despite the oddity of this conversation, I found myself laughing (Rule # 1 to be in my family -- you must make me laugh & allow me to fill your world with humor). He eventually convinced me that we should hang out and watch tv because he was tired of sitting in his mom's basement at night watching tv by himself. Just to tell you how clueless I was about his interest in me, I wasn't even phased by "I live in my mom's basement" because I wasn't thinking of him as a future partner. He arrived at my house that evening with flowers for me and a gallon of chocolate milk for the boys. To this day I never let him forget that he slammed Nic's fingers in the hinges as he came in the door, something which he adamantly denies.
Fast forward a few years -- we had moved our family to Indianapolis for better jobs and schools. I was making a transition to a new job which did not offer group health insurance. After looking for a few weeks into private health insurance, we realized we couldn't afford the coverage. So what does any rational couple decide? To get married of course. Because we don't believe politicians and antiquated laws should define family, we were not in a rush to make our relationship legally binding before this point. But this changed things -- we had to figure out a way to get married in less than two weeks before my insurance ran out. I was in charge of the arrangements -- something simple with a few family members. Now, here is where things get very interesting. I am horrible with details -- I can write things down and never find them again. And I LOVE shopping the day after Thanksgiving, which happened to be the day we picked to get married. So on the morning of our wedding, I was up at the crack of dawn and out shopping. By the time I came home, I had not allowed enough time to properly prepare for the wedding and was in a rush. We pull ourselves together and bolted out the door to where I thought the wedding was to be held in a local government building. Nope. I was wrong, dead wrong with our parents following along behind us. We drove, and we drove, we yelled and I cried. Finally, we return home to try to figure out what to do. After all, I NEEDED insurance no later than Monday. Mr. Resourceful decided to go to the internet to ordain my mother and his mother to perform the ceremony in our tiny apartment so we could get our marriage on paper. As they prepared for their impromptu role of officiating a wedding, I come out of the bathroom with my dress tucked into my panty hose, marching around the living room ranting & raving about my mistake. My father-in-law was trying very hard to tell me about this faux-pas but I ignored him for a good 3-4 minutes while showing way more than any girl should to their father-in-law. Finally, the phone rings. If we can meet the pastor at the RIGHT building in 30 minutes, he can perform the ceremony. Once we rushed to the court house, my mother-in-law decided she wanted to sit in the judge's chair like Judge Judy to take pictures. Unfortunately, she had purchased a new pair of 4 inch wedge shoes to wear to the wedding and took a flying face-plant onto the stairs as she made her way up to the chair. We are all laughing at this point at the absurdity of this whole event. We go on to say our vows and I somehow forget to add an "s" to the word "arm." Jason still teases me that I only promised to hold him in my "arm." (hey, I may needed to keep my options open and use that arm for someone else later). As we arrive at the part of the ceremony where we kiss, Nicolas becomes enraged (after all, I was HIS, not anyone else's. This was also the stage of budding mental illness for him, and his emotions were on overdrive). He begins pushing and flipping over chairs while yelling like the Hulk. My mom intervenes and crisis is averted while the pastor looks on in horror. I'm sure he was thinking this was a marriage destined for doom. However, in our eyes, this whole crazy event only confirmed we were perfect for each other and as a family.
From this point forward, our lives have been filled with unbelievably crazy moments. There was the time Jason tied our king-size mattress to the top of our mini-van so we didn't have to rent a moving truck; a trip to the middle of Ohio to pick up a vehicle we purchased off eBay (that's another story altogether) only to arrive and see several of the features of the vehicle were mysteriously "stolen" the night before. Then there are the tours of timeshares I always manage to talk Jason into in Vegas, just to score free stuff. We play this game of good cop-bad cop just to toy with the salesman's emotions. During one of our "performances" the only way I could break Jason's insistence that we were most definitely buying the timeshare was to blurt out "I'm pregnant." He knew I had won this round of good cop-bad cop. The look on the salesman's face was priceless because he was caught in this make-believe awkward moment that he didn't know was make-believe (he was also missing his front tooth which he claimed had fallen out of his dentures only earlier that morning). We spent the entire bus ride back to the Strip laughing uncontrollably, while the rest of the bus watched as if we were a tragic train wreck they couldn't look away from.
So there you have it. That is how Jason became my family. Maybe, just maybe, I will finally commit and give him my other arm this year. No promises though, I heard Donnie Wahlberg may be calling.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Better late than ...I was too busy putting an ABP out on Manning to get to posting this before the SB hoopla started. Enjoy!
In a few days, the unimaginable will happen. Something I somehow never thought of as a possibility, yet it was a strong probability all along. And I'm dreading it like I've never dreaded something before. The world's most over rated and ugliest quarterback of all-time will arrive in Peyton's house. He will pee in Peyton's toilet and probably wipe his sweaty man giblets with Peyton's towels. I despise Tom Brady and the entire notion of the Patriots. Since last Sunday when they won the AFC championship and I realized Tom & Co. would be invading Indy, I have cringed. Not simply in a "oh I don't like this" kind of way. It's a skin-crawling, constant agitation I feel about this and I dread it. Let's put it this way -- I would rather give birth to an elephant while getting a root canal surrounded by a ginormous fish tank than think about the Patriots coming to town for the Super Bowl. I've been trying to figure out why the mere mention of Brady & the Patriots gets me so riled up, why it makes my blood boil and I become fiercely territorial (note - if you see me peeing on anything in the next few days, you will know I'm just marking what's mine and NOT his). So between my seething rants about my displeasure of the Patriot invasion, I think I figured out what's going on. Normally, I am a middle of the road person - I avoid taking sides because I dislike arguments and jockeying for position. Don't get me wrong, I hold my own opinion about everything, but I respect that it's only my opinion and everything is multidimensional making various opinions valid. But I am steadfast on my love of Peyton & all things Colts (except Jim Caldwell, but that's another story) and proudly tell anyone who will listen. Then today as I drove past my long-time bank, I figured it out. I defend Peyton (and the Colts) because my nature is to be loyal, to stand behind those things which are important in my life regardless of their successes and shortcomings. Now, let me circle back to why my bank sprung this crazy discovery today. We have banked at Fifth Third since moving to the Indianapolis area 6+ years ago simply as a matter of convenience. Since my current employer has apparently never heard of anything electronic (don't you know simply checking your account online means the whole world can rob you blind?) I trek down to the local branch once a week, see familiar faces and go on my way. A few years ago, Jason suggested we change banks due to better incentives, rates, etc. and I balked... a lot. You see, every year on May 3rd the teller with the bad kindergarten bangs smiles out the window at me and tells me "Happy 5/3 day" while sending out a 100 Grand candy bar. Now I know they do this to every customer, but in my jacked up little world this is only for me. It's my special day, that silly teller somehow saying thank you for Jada N. Svoboda's business. It's like I'm in a special club because I AM SPECIAL darn it! And that was my argument to Jason as to why we couldn't change banks. Who would that teller give her candy bar to on May 3rd? Would the new bank appreciate me like this? I had to be loyal to my bank, it was the right thing to do.
Then I started thinking of my other, um, obsessions which I have stood by in good times and bad. Now some may say I can't let go of the past, but you see, it's not about that. It's about my loyalty. Back in 1989, I stood on the steps of Deer Creek music center (now Verizon Wireless) in my frosted denim shorts & bad-screen print, over priced concert tee proclaiming my undivided love to five men. (Ok, they were boys back then, but let's not argue trivial points.) As I jumped up and down with my famous red "Sally Jesse Rapheal" glasses on, I screamed "I LOVE YOU [insert one of five names here]" repeatedly until I lost my balance and fell down the steps, and then I simply got back up and did it some more. From that day forward, I was devoted to those five men, even when it wasn't popular. Life happened, kids came along and my focus shifted so I thought I was "over" these imaginary relationships I had created in my mind. Then along comes 2009, a reunion tour, and it all came flooding back with more intensity than I ever imagined. In fact, I may or may not have dribbled a little bit in my pants when I they came within 10 feet of me while singing in the audience. I am only slightly embarrassed by my cyber-stalking of all things NKOTB, of my endless vault of knowledge of their every move and of the hundreds of dollars (okay, we are over the $1k mark, but let's not tell Jason) I have spent to show them my loyalty as their #1 fan.
My loyalty isn't universal - for example, I am not loyal to a brand of shampoo or a particular restaurant. In fact, in non-people relationships I like change... a lot. But I am fiercely loyal to people in my life, those who I personally know and those who are on my imaginary BFF list. I dream of moving to a warmer place, but want to care for my parents as they age like they took care of me growing up; I have two very close friends from my childhood who have drifted in & out of my life over the years, but would lay down in front of a train to protect them (or just to amuse them) on any given day regardless of how long it has been since we last talked. I wrestle for weeks, sometimes months before "breaking up" with a hair stylist. I once continued my relationship with a stylist for over a year after she unintentionally cut my hair into a buzzcut (literally). You see - it's not about change or familiarity. Loyalty to me is about a continuation of a relationship with another human being; an acknowledgement that either they enrich your life in some way or there is a mutual benefit of the relationship. Loyalty means I scream "I LOVE YOU DONNIE WAHLBERG" so much at commercials that my 10 year old honestly believes I love Donnie more than him (as of the time of this blog, I cannot confirm or deny my son's allegations). Loyalty is my comfort blanket, my honor, my word. It's doing what is right because that's how I want people to treat me. It's about being the same for someone whether it's pouring down rain or sunny & warm; whether they make your day or hurt your feelings. It's feeling proud of someone simply for who they are rather than what they do or don't do on that particular day. It's why in the end, I will always love Peyton, regardless of how many interceptions he throws, the name of the teams he plays for, or how many times he fails to call me after a game to thank me for being his biggest fan.
In a few days, the unimaginable will happen. Something I somehow never thought of as a possibility, yet it was a strong probability all along. And I'm dreading it like I've never dreaded something before. The world's most over rated and ugliest quarterback of all-time will arrive in Peyton's house. He will pee in Peyton's toilet and probably wipe his sweaty man giblets with Peyton's towels. I despise Tom Brady and the entire notion of the Patriots. Since last Sunday when they won the AFC championship and I realized Tom & Co. would be invading Indy, I have cringed. Not simply in a "oh I don't like this" kind of way. It's a skin-crawling, constant agitation I feel about this and I dread it. Let's put it this way -- I would rather give birth to an elephant while getting a root canal surrounded by a ginormous fish tank than think about the Patriots coming to town for the Super Bowl. I've been trying to figure out why the mere mention of Brady & the Patriots gets me so riled up, why it makes my blood boil and I become fiercely territorial (note - if you see me peeing on anything in the next few days, you will know I'm just marking what's mine and NOT his). So between my seething rants about my displeasure of the Patriot invasion, I think I figured out what's going on. Normally, I am a middle of the road person - I avoid taking sides because I dislike arguments and jockeying for position. Don't get me wrong, I hold my own opinion about everything, but I respect that it's only my opinion and everything is multidimensional making various opinions valid. But I am steadfast on my love of Peyton & all things Colts (except Jim Caldwell, but that's another story) and proudly tell anyone who will listen. Then today as I drove past my long-time bank, I figured it out. I defend Peyton (and the Colts) because my nature is to be loyal, to stand behind those things which are important in my life regardless of their successes and shortcomings. Now, let me circle back to why my bank sprung this crazy discovery today. We have banked at Fifth Third since moving to the Indianapolis area 6+ years ago simply as a matter of convenience. Since my current employer has apparently never heard of anything electronic (don't you know simply checking your account online means the whole world can rob you blind?) I trek down to the local branch once a week, see familiar faces and go on my way. A few years ago, Jason suggested we change banks due to better incentives, rates, etc. and I balked... a lot. You see, every year on May 3rd the teller with the bad kindergarten bangs smiles out the window at me and tells me "Happy 5/3 day" while sending out a 100 Grand candy bar. Now I know they do this to every customer, but in my jacked up little world this is only for me. It's my special day, that silly teller somehow saying thank you for Jada N. Svoboda's business. It's like I'm in a special club because I AM SPECIAL darn it! And that was my argument to Jason as to why we couldn't change banks. Who would that teller give her candy bar to on May 3rd? Would the new bank appreciate me like this? I had to be loyal to my bank, it was the right thing to do.
Then I started thinking of my other, um, obsessions which I have stood by in good times and bad. Now some may say I can't let go of the past, but you see, it's not about that. It's about my loyalty. Back in 1989, I stood on the steps of Deer Creek music center (now Verizon Wireless) in my frosted denim shorts & bad-screen print, over priced concert tee proclaiming my undivided love to five men. (Ok, they were boys back then, but let's not argue trivial points.) As I jumped up and down with my famous red "Sally Jesse Rapheal" glasses on, I screamed "I LOVE YOU [insert one of five names here]" repeatedly until I lost my balance and fell down the steps, and then I simply got back up and did it some more. From that day forward, I was devoted to those five men, even when it wasn't popular. Life happened, kids came along and my focus shifted so I thought I was "over" these imaginary relationships I had created in my mind. Then along comes 2009, a reunion tour, and it all came flooding back with more intensity than I ever imagined. In fact, I may or may not have dribbled a little bit in my pants when I they came within 10 feet of me while singing in the audience. I am only slightly embarrassed by my cyber-stalking of all things NKOTB, of my endless vault of knowledge of their every move and of the hundreds of dollars (okay, we are over the $1k mark, but let's not tell Jason) I have spent to show them my loyalty as their #1 fan.
My loyalty isn't universal - for example, I am not loyal to a brand of shampoo or a particular restaurant. In fact, in non-people relationships I like change... a lot. But I am fiercely loyal to people in my life, those who I personally know and those who are on my imaginary BFF list. I dream of moving to a warmer place, but want to care for my parents as they age like they took care of me growing up; I have two very close friends from my childhood who have drifted in & out of my life over the years, but would lay down in front of a train to protect them (or just to amuse them) on any given day regardless of how long it has been since we last talked. I wrestle for weeks, sometimes months before "breaking up" with a hair stylist. I once continued my relationship with a stylist for over a year after she unintentionally cut my hair into a buzzcut (literally). You see - it's not about change or familiarity. Loyalty to me is about a continuation of a relationship with another human being; an acknowledgement that either they enrich your life in some way or there is a mutual benefit of the relationship. Loyalty means I scream "I LOVE YOU DONNIE WAHLBERG" so much at commercials that my 10 year old honestly believes I love Donnie more than him (as of the time of this blog, I cannot confirm or deny my son's allegations). Loyalty is my comfort blanket, my honor, my word. It's doing what is right because that's how I want people to treat me. It's about being the same for someone whether it's pouring down rain or sunny & warm; whether they make your day or hurt your feelings. It's feeling proud of someone simply for who they are rather than what they do or don't do on that particular day. It's why in the end, I will always love Peyton, regardless of how many interceptions he throws, the name of the teams he plays for, or how many times he fails to call me after a game to thank me for being his biggest fan.
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