I had an interesting chat with a self-proclaimed fundamentalist Christian at the local pool this morning. She confessed to reading my columns and liking them, though she was quick to point out that she didn't always agree with them (ummm...no doubt).
During our talk, she mentioned to me that she was a single mother of 8 (!) kids; four are grown and out of the house, 2 are hers, and the other 2 at home are actually her grandchildren of whom she has legal custody. She started talking about one of her grandkids, a 5-year-old boy who shows great athletic promise. Then, she looked me in the eye and with all seriousness said, "His mother says it's because he's half black."
Holy mother of god, I didn't see that coming. There, under the crowded shelter of the public pool, I snorted. Loud. Ear-popping loud, so much so that people jumped. Do people really still attribute natural ability in sports to one's skin...
I just read a news article announcing that the town of Hazleton, PA (a place I know cuz I've been there), recently found a way to restrict immigration by requiring all legal documents to be written in English.
Aside from being impressed that this relatively small town could get its poop in a group to pass this law (4-1), I immediately thought of Windsor, and how we're not even able to develop ordinances to deal with the cats-at-large situation we've got going on.
Both papers in town have run articles about residents who are upset with all the cats that just roam through neighborhoods. One woman even found a cat corpse in her window well! Imagine how that animal suffered, especially in this searing heat we've been experiencing. That cat probably cooked from the inside. Other residents complain of finding cat poop in their sandboxes (been there) and on their lawns (been there, too). And what does our amazingly unenlightened police chief...
So I write a local newspaper column for three years here in Windsor, Colorado. It's popularity grows and my kids get frustrated because we can't go anywhere in town without some reader stopping me to tell me I made her cry or he liked the way I said what everyone in town was thinking but didn't dare say out loud. That column, published in The Windsor Tribune, was called The Family Room.
But then my very excellent editor had a baby and had the audacity to decide to stay home and raise her daughter with her own two hands (imagine!). So I was left with a reporter promoted to editor who I think is a control freak and who wanted to approve the topics I wrote about ahead of time. I got a healthy chuckle out of that idea, said "I don't think so," and wrote my last column for that paper.
Then I walk across the street to Windsor's other local...
Family values. I hate that term. Whenever someone uses it, the listener is supposed to automatically know what is being discussed. It's one of those feel-good terms that is basically meaningless because, well, it has no meaning.
How can any intelligent person expect to coin a phrase like "family values" and expect it to fit all families? I think it's just a propaganda term churned out by the radical right/religious fundamentalists to further their cause against us Commie liberals who believe a woman should have a right to say what happens to her body, that all people should have the right to marry, and that legalized murder in the form of the death penalty is still murder. There is an inherent meaning to the phrase that implies there is just one model of family, that in which the male is supreme and the female inferior.
If there is a hell, then surely it exists here on earth, in a family where the...
As a volunteer who works with students in two elementary school classrooms each week, I'm floored by the number of kids who consistently come to class without having done their homework. And the excuses are, well, inexcusable. "I had to go to my dad's, and he was busy." "We were shopping all night." "I don't get to do my homework until late and I was tired." Usually these excuses come from the kids who truly need work on their skills and knowledge base.
One weekly assignment involves using spelling words in sentences that reflect the students' comprehension of each word's meaning. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you there are 10-year-olds who don't know the meaning of the word "faithful." Others can't seem to keep their eyes open to read to me because they were up until midnight, playing video games. Where are your parents, and what are you doing? It's obvious what you're not doing.
You made the choice to have...
As a toddler, Max earned the nickname Barnacle Boy. I called him that because he was literally attached to me nearly every waking moment. As an infant, I wore him in a sling as I went about my daily routine. When he began walking at 9 months, he’d follow me through the house so closely that when I stopped moving, he’d run into the backs of my legs and fall over from the impact. If we watched a movie together, he was in my lap. We shared a family bed, too, so when I rolled over in the night, Max was right there, snuggled against me. It is not an exaggeration to say I was never without that boy.
Tomorrow, Max turns 13. That’s a milestone birthday, more for a boy, I think, than for a girl (for girls, it’s the Sweet Sixteen). No longer a child, but not yet a man, 13-year-old males are in an amazing stage of life....
Dear Mom,
My first Mother’s Day without you. It’s been 6 months of “firsts,” none of them good. I turned 40 feeling more lost than ever because you were supposed to be here to help celebrate that milestone. Your leaving wasn’t in my plan. There’s still so much I want to share with you, so many things I would have told you had I known that I’d never see you again when I left you standing on the sidewalk last August.
My stomach lurches when I pass a display of Mother’s Day cards. I have no verses to give you, but I have a well-worn, faded magazine clipping you sent me decades ago. It’s a poem called “Only Violets,” and upon reading it all those years ago, I finally realized that you were more than my mom. You were a woman whose dreams and wishes went unfulfilled, despite the fact that you weren’t asking for much. Only violets.
Had I known you were...
Four-year-old Bella and I had a recent conversation following her weekly AWANA (church) meeting that went like this:
Wes: Bell, what happened on Good Friday?
Bella: Jesus died. But he only stayed dead for three days.
Me: Then what happened?
Bella: He came alive again.
Me: Where’d he go?
Bella: Heaven.
Me: Wow! You were a really good listener during the story.
Bella: Yep, I was. (pause) Then I choked a boy.
Me: Bella! Why’d you do that?
Bella: (brief contemplation) I felt like it. But he wanted me to. He said “Thank you for strangling me; it’s a dream come true.”
Her mischievous grin belied the truth. I called her on her fib and she admitted she was kidding. She did halfheartedly attempt to choke a boy, but he didn’t exactly enjoy it. In her defense, she wasn’t serious about cutting off his oxygen supply. Sometimes Bella equates bodily assault with affection. We’re working on that.
Bella goes through life at full throttle from the moment she awakens until she finally...
Big, fat snowflakes were gently falling when I awoke one morning earlier this week. I’ve been sick for what feels like an eternity, but what has actually been merely a couple weeks. I haven’t been this sick since I was a child, and I longed for my mother’s comforting touch.
Something’s been off lately, and it goes beyond the exhaustion of being ill. This sense of the world not being right has its roots in my soul, and it’s left me feeling off balance. After the kids left for school, I sat at the kitchen table and stared out at the glistening blanket of snow that was quickly forming. It was a Christmas Eve-type snowfall, the kind that muffles the sounds of the world outside. And as I waited for my coffee to brew, it slowly dawned on me that I’ve been so focused on the everyday details of life that somewhere between here and Nov. 3 when I got the...
If you listen to the radio, flip through TV channels, or pick up a newspaper, you probably already know that the religious right is warning the public at large about the dangers of SpongeBob Squarepants. Somehow, this innocent yellow sponge has been forced into the ranks of those dangerous rabble rousers known as Barney and Tinky-Winky.
We are to shield our children from the sponge because he is one of hundreds of cartoon characters featured in a video that — horrors! — preaches tolerance. How dare he!
SpongeBob, Arthur, Winnie the Pooh and other beloved cartoon characters are featured in a video — with voice-over provided by Bill Cosby — produced by We Are Family Foundation, a group whose mission is to foster a greater understanding of cultural differences. Those of you who are around my age may remember the disco hit by the same title, performed by Sister Sledge. You’ll recall that there is nothing pro-homosexual about the song. According to...
