In 1989 I was 14. I had an adorable baby boy. The above picture was me and him on my graduation from high school 5 years later. September 1st my eldest child will be 33. He has two babies of his own. I just wanted to drop a happy birthday to that little boy…and maybe try not to feel old today.
Lyrics:
Hey, your glass is empty
It’s a hell of a long way home
Why don’t you let me take you?
It’s no good to go alone
I never would have opened up
But you seemed so real to me
And after all the bullshit I’ve heard
Refreshing not to see
That I don’t have to pretend
She doesn’t expect it from me
So, don’t tell me I
Haven’t been good to you
Don’t tell me I
Have never been there for you
Just tell me why
Nothing is good enough
Hey little girl, would you like some candy?
Your Momma said it’s okay
The door is open, come on outside
No, I can’t come out today
It’s not the wind that cracked your shoulder
And threw you to the ground
Who’s there that makes you so afraid?
You’re shaken to the bone
And no, I don’t understand
You deserve so much more than this
So, don’t tell me why
He’s never been good to you
Don’t tell me why
He’s never been there for you
Don’t you know that why
It’s simply not good enough
Oh, so just let me try
I will be good to you
Just let me try
And I will be there for you
I’ll show you why
You’re so much more than
Good enough
So, don’t tell me why
He’s never been good to you
Don’t tell me why
He’s never been there for you
Don’t you know that why
It’s simply not good enough
Oh, so just let me try
I will be good to you
Just let me try
And I will be there for you
I’ll show you why
You’re so much more than
Good enough
My Two Cents- This song stuck with me. The person who I have always thought of when I have heard it is no longer welcome in my life…but the song still stands for the idea that I am enough. I don’t often feel like I am. I struggle with my own worth. I hope that those who are like me and struggle will hear this message. you don’t always see the ones that adore you for the perfect person you are. You are enough. You are more than enough. you are perfect.
Lyrics:
I knew a man, called him Sandy Cane
Few folks even knew his name
But a hero, yes was he
Left a boy, came back a man
Still many just don’t understand
About the reasons we are free
I can’t forget the look in his eyes
Or the tears he cried
As he said these words to me
All Gave Some, Some Gave All
Some stood through for the red, white and blue
And some had to fall
And if you ever think of me
Think of all your liberties and recall
Some Gave All
Now Sandy Cane is no longer here
But his words are oh so clear
As they echo throughout our land
For all his friends who gave us all
Who stood their ground and took the fall
To help their fellow man
Love your country and live with pride
And don’t forget those who died
America can’t you see?
All Gave Some, Some Gave All
Some stood through for the red, white and blue
And some had to fall
And if you ever think of me
Think of all your liberties and recall
Some Gave All
And if you ever think of me
Think of all your liberties and recall
Yes recall
Some Gave All
Some Gave All
My Two Cents- This will post the day after Memorial Day. Those who listen to Country probably know this artist for the hit “Achy Breaky Heart” That song always pissed me off because this was the title track. It is so much better a song. It to me always personified Memorial Day. I debated about using it this week due to the fact that it will post the day after…But really the sentiment is good for any day. Though I have my issues with current American politics…I am a born and bred southern lady from the good ole US of A. My family has been a part of the country for several generations. My Great Grandfather was one of Pershing’s Own. He and my Great Grandmother and their Son Walton (A gentle soul that I loved as a child – Had Down Syndrome and was born during the time that Down Syndrome children were institutionalized. He played guitar and loved to spend time with me.) are buried not far from the tomb of the unknown soldier in Arlington National Cemetary. Great Grandfather was in World War I. By the time WWII came around, he had a family and my Great Grandmother refused to sign the permission slip for him to fight.
My stepfather – Bobby was a merchant marine.
My Aunt Elly was Navy.
My cousin (the eldest of us on my mom’s side) is a Marine.
My grandfather (Mom’s Side) was military – Though I don’t know much about him.
To all who served, and are gone, I remember you. Thank you for your sacrifice.
My dad was a plumber. The majority of his friends were blue collar – construction workers, bikers, and truckers. We had cb radios in the house and in every vehicle. My mom met her second husband on the cb. It was a central part of our lives.
That radio has been featured in a couple of stories over the years. Once when I was 10 or 11 Daddy had a bunch of friends over. I was bored and trying to find trouble as all kids do. I snuck into one of the cars and got on the cb. My handle – the name you use on the cb – was/is Sasssy Suzy.
One of the guys who was visiting heard me on the cb flirting with anyone who would talk to me. He proceeded to get on and inform the audience of my age. The radio went silent.
The first time I met my Pop – mom’s second husband – he was talking to me on the cb. He called me honey and I was sure that he was thinking that I was Mama. He chuckled and said that he knew who he was talking to cause he was outside and mama was with him. Man…I miss him.
Remember my handle? The first year I was dating Joe, we were messing around on the cb. Joe has been a trucker for most of our lives together. I started flirting as I was prone to do on the cb. I still remember the response. Some dude I didn’t know came back announcing that he knew Sassy Suzy and she had an ass the size of a 747. I don’t think my backside is or was ever quite so large. It did offend me enough to stop the flirting and caused Joe fits of laughter.
That cb was a feature of so many other stories. Too many for a single blog post. I may tell a few more tomorrow.
A quarter of a century ago I lived in the garage behind my current home. The house belonged to the grandmother of my boyfriend. We have been dating since we were 21. I moved into the garage with him after only knowing him for a week. It never occurred to me that I was being impulsive.
That door covers a smaller door into the small space that was our home. His grandmother put a bathroom on the back porch of the house – where the laundry room is now. We had a fridge and a gas stove. We slept on a couch against the back wall of the garage.
We would play D&d and hang out and live our lives in that garage. One night the boys got me laughing. I threw my head back in laughter. The garage is made of porcelain brick. I cracked one with my head when I threw my head back laughing. (nice little concussion)
Now that garage is behind my home. sometimes the little changes are huge.
I have a huge family. My parents were each from families of five children. So there were lots of cousins. My grandmother wanted my brother and me to know our cousins. So every summer for a few years – I believe it was like five but the memories are so infused into my childhood that I am not sure, she would drive us out to my aunt’s farm to visit. Mom has three sisters and a brother.
Her brother was into cosplay before cosplay was cool. He did his costumes without a pattern. I used to have pictures of him in his spiderman costume with Stan Lee. He was one of my childhood heroes. Mostly because of how creative he was. I had a lot of childhood heroes that I could look up to. Still, he lived close so he was not involved in our trips.
One of the sisters was Navy. She lived in Florida and still does. She did not choose to have children till later in life. My cousins on that front are amazing, but closer in age to my son. So they were not around when we were doing these trips.
The trips, and the cousins, were based in Michigan. A gorgeous small community near the Canadian border…Boyne City. My one aunt had a farm and though I don’t know what the other aunt did, she lived nearby. The farmer had two boys, one close to me in age and one closer to my little brother. The other aunt had a boy and a girl. The boy is elder than I, I am not sure by how much, and her daughter was my age. We stayed at the farm when we went. I remember drinking milk straight from the cow and riding ponies. I remember my cousin telling me dirty jokes in the barn. I remember all of us kids playing in the coal shute – it looked like a black sandbox. Then we were all thrown in the bath together because we were covered in coal dust. The summers there were amazing.
Now this story is about one of those trips. We lived somewhere between Virginia and Maryland. Grandma lived in Alexandria. She lived in basically the same place my whole childhood. That is why I often claimed her place was home. She had a station wagon…much like the one pictured on the top of the post. The trip between home and my aunt’s farm was a long one. We would drive up and back. On that particular trip, we were somewhere in Ohio on the way to the farm. Grandma was having trouble with the car, and she never did…but it was not acting right.
I remember her deciding to get off at an exit that was coming up. She took the exit ramp, and it was one of those that turned around and went in a circle. She was going slow, because it was an exit ramp, and thank goodness she was. I remember her cursing…mind you when I say she rarely did. The next thing I saw looking out the window was the passenger side rear axle and wheel rolling away ahead of us down the exit.
She somehow managed to get us pulled off of the ramp into the grass. This was way before cell phones…and she had two little children with her. My brother was a toddler. I am seven years older than he, and we stopped those trips around the time I turned eleven or twelve. I am not sure but I believe that this was on the last one. If it was I really can’t blame grandma. We walked to the nearest place where grandma could call for help.
She was good at handling emergencies. Obviously, we survived, but I remember it being a huge thing. I remember the fear when we saw the axle and the wheel rolling away. Yes, It was worse because it wasn’t just the wheel. Somehow just the wheel would have been comedic. This felt like we were in real danger because it was more than the wheel.
So many of my memories from childhood are based around trauma, mostly because that is what cemented the memories into my brain. This one is both different and not. Though the fear was there… I knew I was safe. This one has all of the wonderful memories of the trips attached. The cousins that I got to visit and know because of them. Two of those cousins are gone now. The little farm boy who told me dirty jokes lost his life on a snowmobile. The daughter of my aunt passed away as well – due to more natural causes. So all I have left of those cousins are the memories of summers spent in childhood. If you can, let your cousins know you love them. I am lucky enough to still have the cousins on my dad’s side.
Well, this was not supposed to be a dark story. I was trying to tell it for the fun oh my goodness type tale it used to be. Now I am melancholy at the loss of the cousins. So I will leave the blog well enough alone, maybe tomorrow I will go back to posting the normal stuff. It depends on how I feel in the morning.
To start this story I need to explain something. I lived in a two-bedroom trailer with often ten or more people. We did not have running water. We lived a mile back in the woods. There were always animals…dogs, birds, cats…But this story focuses on one cat. The cat that left a lifetime mark on me. B.c. which was short for bad cat. He wasn’t bad. He was amazing. I did not have a bedroom. Mom and Pop had one, and my two stepbrothers had the other. My little brother and I slept on couches in the living room. There was another couch that whoever was staying over slept on. And we had a weird guy in a tent outside for most of my preteen years. Sometimes somebody in a camper outside as well. The people who slept on that couch had a few things in common. Usually, they were male. Often they were seen as trustworthy. They were not always.
We moved in there when I was eleven. I however have had an adult-shaped body since I was 8-9. Many of the men would try to make sure I knew that they wanted more from me than I was willing to give. Well BC was my defender. Those that crossed lines with me would often find that they woke to cat poop on their chests. He did not do it with everyone…and I did not control him. But it felt like He was always taking care of me.
Now anyone who has a cat will tell you that they bring you presents. BC was no exception. I often received dead mice. bird or lizard carcasses. I got very used to just using a paper towel and throwing them away.
I started ninth grade late…it was October when I started school that year because I had my son on the first of September. I was fourteen. So I had a lot of kids who picked on me. I was just as weird in high school as I am now, if not more so. And I had a kid. It was no secret. So one of the freshmen during my sophomore year thought that he could make a name for himself by pranking me. He just choose a poor prank considering my life. He saw a dead mouse laying outside the cafeteria. I had a bad habit of leaving my stuff at the table when I went through the line for breakfast. It wasn’t like I owned anything worth stealing. My purse at the time would have had my nail polish, an electric blue or black color, my wallet which was always empty, my hairbrush, a pen and notepad, and maybe some chapstick. On the rare occasion I would have my prized possession, a mini-cassette recorder my grandmother had bought me. So I would dump that and my backpack on the table and go get in line for my free breakfast.
The boy chose to put the mouse corpse in my purse. I discovered it in first-period Biology class when I went looking for my pen. I just calmly did what I always did with such things, believing it to be a gift from BC. I used a paper towel and disposed of it. The boy had expected a scream. I didn’t. So he approached, apologized, and became a friend. It was decided that I would be called Mouse due to the incident, and it stuck…I am still mouse at 47, the nickname was assigned when I was 15.
Bc left that winter. He never came back. I am aware that cats will go find someplace to die. But we never found him or his body…and I believe in the fae. So I can tell myself that the fae stole him because he was too smart for the human world. And I can enjoy the memories of the cat that got into so much mischief that it became his name.
I am not sure if I will do the proper posts tomorrow or another of my stories from childhood…I will have to decide then. Thank you for your patience with my whims.
Ok. I am doing this as a personal project. I am putting together my grandmother’s stories and poetry my boyfriend’s grandmother wrote. But I want it to reflect the wisdom of all grandmothers. So here is my request.
Do you have a story that you remember your grandmother (abuela) telling? Or a bit of poetry they wrote that you would love to see in print? Try submitting it for this anthology. I am busier than I have any reason to expect – so I am setting the deadline for December first with a expected publishing date of the first of January.
I am also accepting art. I only ask that it is from your grandmothers. And that you are able to give consent for me to publish it.
To submit email the creation and a small introduction (preferred with a picture) of your grandma who created it. The address for this is authorpoetpatriciaharris@gmail.com
The above image will be the cover. I realize that this is gender biased. I feel like I have more from the amazing women who I am decended from than I do the men. And since I have been wanting to honor my maternal grandmother… This was born. Maybe I will someday do a call for grandfather lore… But first I need to do this.
Also… Notice that this is not a Fae Corps Inc project. There is a couple of reasons. One – this is a very personal project. I have been wanting to do it for a little while. Two – Fae Corps Inc has projects planned for the next two years. I will be posting the next call for submissions for them in November. The deadline for it will be after the first of the year. I want to release this with the new year.
I have never made secret of the fact that I am a survivor of childhood sex abuse. And yesterday was a very emotional day.
Survivors know that most monsters wear human skin. My monster was a quiet man that everyone believed was a good person. He told me that no one would believe me if I told about how he hurt me. He made me believe that I deserved the pain. That is what monsters do. They convince you that you deserve every bit of what they do. Even in death he haunts me, as I find myself feeling like a bad person for enjoying the fact that he committed suicide.
Monsters are among us. And now the world has one less. Though I am relieved I will not celebrate any farther. I will instead work on creating beauty to combat the monsters that remain in this world. I will be an advocate for those who have had their voice stolen.
This means that I am going to need to step back and breathe, I need to calm the emotional roller-coaster this has created. I will be back on Monday. Until then, avoid the monsters and be kind
Lyrics – “Buy Me A Rose”
He works hard to give her all he thinks she wants
A three car garage, her own credit cards
He pulls in late to wake her up with a kiss good night
If he could only read her mind, she’d say:
Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life
Now the days have grown to years of feeling all alone
And she can’t help but wonder what she’s doing wrong
Cause lately she’d try anything to turn his head
Would it make a difference if she said:
Buy me a rose, call me from work
Open a door for me, what would it hurt
Show me you love me by the look in your eyes
These are the little things I need the most in my life
And the more that he lives the less that he tries
To show her the love that he holds inside
And the more that she gives the more that he sees
This is a story of you and me
So I bought you a rose on the way home from work
To open the door to a heart that I hurt
And I hope you notice this look in my eyes
Cause I’m gonna make things right
For the rest of your life
I’m gonna hold you tonight
Do all those little things
For the rest of your life.
My 2 cents – The death of Kenny Rogers has hit me hard. Music when I was a child was not as much of a variety. Daddy enjoyed rock(like the Stray Cats and such) but Mama was more stubborn when it came to music. When she was around… It was only country music. I see music as another expression of art. I always have. So I have been more attracted to the way the song made me feel than the genre that the song is in.
Kenny Rogers songs always made me feel. Even more so as I aged… Because I gained wisdom.
In many ways, this has always been my favorite of his songs. Followed closely by Coward of the county. I came from a broken home. My parents loved each other once. In the way you love the image of someone. Both were not seeing the other. And neither were willing to fight for the other. They were children having children and it really wasn’t long before they drove each other away.
I’m not telling you that to condemn them or upset you. I’m telling you that because it is truth and it goes along with the chosen song. Romance is not what the books say… There is no immediate knowing how to make it work. I have been with the same guy for 24 years come May. Some days I am the asshole. Some days he is. We hurt each other. We heal each other. We communicate. We are still together, not because of what we can get each other, but because we are willing to do the effort. I am a firm believer in the idea that romance is based upon the effort you put into it.
So, with this I say goodbye to Kenny. Hopefully his memory will always comfort a word brighter for having known him. And may the game of the afterlife come up nothing but Aces for him.
Pattimouse 