♫ Wheels On The Bike Go Round And Round ♫

There are some people who just have no business operating machinery. Whether it's the sense of balance that is missing, the naturalness that should come with sitting on a seat that was never intended to cover your undercarriage, or that ones particular foot and brain motion are not in-sync and never will be. There are just some people who were never meant to ride a bicycle. I am one of those people.

Now the first thing you must not do, please do not confuse my self-proclaimed admission that I should not ride a bicycle with the fact that I never owned one. I have in fact, owned several bicycles in my life time. Some of those bicycles I rode successfully, some not. I had regular bicycles, 3 speed bicycles, and the last one being a 10 speed bicycle. Crazily enough, I did just fine riding all the bicycles I owned. It was when I would venture out, experiment, or just borrow someone elses bicycle that the troubles would start.

To set the scene, the year is 1970.  I am seven years old and I am bored out of my mind. My parents are having a business party at our apartment. Complete with wide lapel jackets, bell bottom jeans, big flowing blouses, beehive bouffant hairdo's plied with plenty of hairspray, thick mustaches and widespread sideburns.  Cigarette smoke clouds the air and red Solo cups are in most every hand you pass.

We were new to town and my parents had the party to get to know all the new people that would be working for my Dad. We were living in those apartments until our home all the way across town was built upon completion. We had not lived there very long, but I too, had already met new friends. However on this particular Saturday night, all my friends were out of town. I had no one to play with. As I said, I was bored, so I set about finding me something to do.

One of the best things about these apartments is that part of them sat way high up on a hill. Ours did anyway. And one of the major past times was when new neighbors would move in, the kids would pull their moving boxes back out of the dumpsters, cut them up, make "sleds" out of them and slide like a bullet down our hill. We lived on the top of the hill, and way down on the other side of the "valley" was another set of apartments.

Anyway, no one was moving in, there were no boxes to be had. But...I did have a friend who said I could ride her bike while she was out of town. Now MY bike was just a regular two wheel bike with brakes at the feet on the pedals. Matter of fact, I had not even been riding a bike for any major length of time. But I had mastered mine pretty well. However, my bike was boring. Her's was bigger and cooler. So after it I went.

I drag it out of the cubby under the stairwell and roll it out back. I get at the top of the hill, ready for the speedy, fun ride down. I climb on, get my feet settled, or I try to, I'm not quite tall enough but I think once I get on, I can stretch my legs and it will work. I sling my leg over the bar, teetering as I try and balance on my tip toes, then jump up on the seat and push off.

Now I don't really know just how deep that hill was, because when you're young, everything is larger than life. It could have really been as big a drop as Niagara Falls, or it could have been a small sand hill. But in MY memory, it was a cliff, and I had just jumped off of it on a bike. That bike took off like it had an engine attached to it, down I went, all but free-falling on two wheels. I was trying to stretch my legs to get my feet to the pedals to brake, and I was mashing as hard as I could, but it wasn't stopping. Then I remembered. Those "extra" things on the handles, my friend did something with those when she would stop. I think.

Meanwhile it's summer time, and people are outside everywhere. Grilling, playing with their kids, sitting in lawn chairs, visiting and talking. And I'm still flying at super sonic speed. Down that hill. Headed straight for all those people. The ones grilling and sitting chairs. I can't mash the metal clamps on the handles hard enough to get them to do anything. I'm still flying. My long hair flying, my skinny legs flailing around because finding the pedals that don't work has been forgotten. The scene before me is startling. And to clarify, for those of you who are reading that one sentence, over and over again, yes, I had skinny legs. I was seven for gosh sakes...

Lawn chairs are flying, people are running, grills are being snatched up and rolled out of the way, strollers are being pushed fast and hard and I can hear a lady in the background, screaming, "She's not going to stop, oh my gosh, I don't think she's going to stop!".

Oh I stopped alright. Me and the bike. The bricks on the side of that apartment building took care of all that. I slammed face first straight into the side of that building. I'm lying on the ground, people are standing all around me, looking down at me. I hear talk of a bloody nose and lip, who does she belong to, where does she live? I must not have been unconscious. I must have been able to tell them. Because I find myself being escorted back up the hill to our apartment. The nice strangers knock on our sliding glass door, my Daddy answers, and it's on. All he sees is the blood, the mangled bike, strange people all talking at once about his little girl who crashed into the wall, and our living room full of people whose party has come to a complete standstill.

I didn't ride a bike for a long time after that. Matter of fact, I was about 11 years old. I was staying with my babysitter at her house. I wrecked it too. Again, it wasn't my bike.  And now I have  a very large kidney shaped scar on my left knee to prove it. I just have no business on a bicycle. Never have. Never will. I just imagine I'm the type of gal who will always require four wheels instead of just two. For my safety, for your safety, and for the sake of anyone else who is around, safety.Why they waited until I was grown to create those great little helmets I will never know. Granted one of those helmets wouldn't have helped my nose, lip or knee, but a full frontal face mask would have been too scary.
 

You Can't Beat Me....Yet (wink wink)

I must be one of the most predictable people in the world. Surely, everyone that knows me does not already have me figured out. There is just no way, that I am an open book and you don't even have to turn the page to know the rest of my story. Is my plot really that wide open? Have I finally reached that time in my life when I have no surprises left? It surely seems that way sometimes. Just when I think I have the upper hand lately, somebody goes and pulls the rug out from under me. And there I stand, with the joke, all on me.

As I am on my way to the restroom at work yesterday, I round the corner and see this very hot, very sleek, woman. Just standing there, staring at me. Almost daring me to rebuke her sexiness. Her right to stand there. I stopped dead in my tracks and just stood there and stared at her. I quietly let my thoughts process what I was looking at, but I knew, who was at the root of this grand design of humor.  She cannot ruffle me. She can not intimidate me. Hot Mama or not.  She has to go.

I stepped firmly into the doorway, reached over, and snatched her up and carried her straight into the Engineering Dept. The very department whom I know is responsible for having her stand right where they knew I would see her. Right where they knew I couldn't miss her if I tried. No matter how quiet she was, I would know, she was there.

Once I reached my destination, where I knew everyone could see me and hear me, I put her back down. I placed my hands on top of her shoulders, peered around her head, and asked them all, as they stared back at me, just whose bright idea was it to put this half naked, skinny behind woman right in my line of sight before I entered the restroom. I told them all no fat behind woman likes to see the sight of anything as the likes of her right before they go in to take care of their business.

The entire room HOWLED with laughter.  Including myself. They were all talking at once, saying they wondered just how long it would be before I found her. Before I saw her. Before I exploded over the sight of her so obvious prettiness. They said they wondered how long she would have to stand there before I knew. Before I would make the very same grand entrance with her practically thrown over my shoulder, as I had just done.  For two hours, several of the females were pacing, waiting for me to make my entrance, knowing I would eat those guys alive!

So this is the day that I knew. This is the day that I realize I am no longer a secret to be held. I am no longer a closed box whose contents are a mystery. I am simply an old lady who still isn't comfortable enough with herself, or her age, to want to look at such obvious beauty before I enter a closed up room with a mirror that is far too honest. But I am also the old lady that has been around the block a lot more than most of those young whipper snappers I work with every day...and I would get them back..all of them.

But I just want you to know, Princess Leia, that you cannot intimidate me. I'll admit, you almost had me. You and all your "friends" almost took me down. But I'm strong. I will not accept defeat. I will not stop until I have figured out how to win the battle. That is exactly why, for the rest of the afternoon, I plopped your sexy behind right where you belong. In the mens' bathroom, right next to the urinal. And I laughed and laughed for the rest of the day, wondering just how many of those men were too shy to pull their pants down and take care of their OWN business. Cardboard cut out or not...I know they thought twice every time they went to touch their zippers as you stared them down.  GOTCHA!

The Things You Get....BESIDES....A Win

The game was over and our team walked away with the win. A long overdue, hard fought win. After weeks and weeks of playing, practicing, watching game film, and receiving their fair share of constructive criticism and true blue plays that were sure to bring a victory, they have a win on the board.  Each team has met on their respective sides of the field, said their team prayers and have disbursed to mix and mingle, or get back on the bus.

It was a hard fought game, played fair and square. No bad calls, no unsportsmanlike conduct.....just hard, tough, physical playing from both sides of the formation line.Which is how all games should be played.

We're all standing around glowing in the light of the moon, the brightness of the reflection that shining, happy faces bring, and the smell of victory is in the air. We've taken lots of pictures already, in every possible way you can imagine.  Everybody wanting to be in everybody elses pictures.

All of a sudden we hear people in all directions calling his name. Zach's name. Hollering..."Zach Helms..Hey, has anyone seen Zach?" Now there are multiple voices calling out his name and we're all turning around to see what all the commotion is about.  As we turn around, we see a team member from the other team, the team who just took their first loss of this season, walking towards us through the opening of the crowd that surrounded him. He's coming towards Zach, and I'm thinking, what in the world is going on? I'm looking around and the rest of his team is already off the field. We would later find out that he was walking around asking who Number 55 was....and as he was being told, Zach's name was echoing into the night.

He walked firmly and boldly towards my son, stopped in front of him, extended his hand, and said " Hey Man, I just wanted to tell you what a great game you played tonight, I just wanted to meet you and tell you, you held me down all night long, you played a good game, congratulations".  Zach shook his hand and returned the kind words. We all stood there in silence and watched as he walked off the almost empty field, towards his own team bus, as the rest of his teammates were already off the field and boarding the bus. A couple of minutes had passed and I looked at my son and said, "you should probably consider that to be one of the best highlights of your high school football career."

The humbleness and respect with which that young man carried himself and spoke was something every mother wants to know she has taught her child.  He got his behind handed back to him all night long, and that he was man enough to say that, after such a gut wrenching loss was pretty amazing to this mother.

I don't know you're name Number 56, but I want you to know, you've got some proud parents out there somewhere, and they dang well should be.  Last night was just another fine example, of what winning is really all about. The highest number on the scoreboard  sure does feel good, but the feeling from an experience like Zach had last night is next to none. I told my son..this is your opportunity to remember this night, and do what I always hope that he does.....pay it forward.

From Shoestrings to Helmet Straps

Kyle Skipper & Zach

It was just another typical work day. The kind where some things go right, and a lot of others don't. I had worked through part of my lunch, and would still be late getting off at the end of the day. A five o'clock departure wasn't going to happen, and I would once again drive in, tires screaming into the after school care to pick up my eight year old. He would probably give me that "why am I always here last" look, and I would feel guilty. Again.

But instead, this day, I would arrive to find my eight year old sitting in the middle of the floor, tying the shoe strings on the shoes of a little boy who appeared to be about three years old. My eight year old would also be surrounded by about three other little boys, all in the same age range, all patiently waiting their turn to have their shoes re-tied as well. I knew this because as I walked up, my son's back was to me, and I stood there and watched the scene before me, as each one of those little boys scooted in closer, vying for his attention, for each of them to be next, by saying, "I'm next Zach, do mine next".

I stood there while he continued the regime, and as the last shoe was being tied, the little owner of the shoe looked up and said, "Hey Zach, your Mommy is here". Zach turned around, looked at me, turned back around, patted all four little boys on the tops of their heads, tousling their hair as he did, and said to each and every one, "See you later Buddy". He stood up, picked up his book bag, slung it over his shoulder and said "Hey Mama, when did you get here?" and as I looked at my little boy, sounding like a grown boy, I said, "Just now Bud, how was your day?"



As I look at this brand new, very young, Robert F Munroe Football team, these are the memories that flood my mind. The boys have new RFM coaches, albeit veterans in their field, and then they have their own veteran coaches that have remained loyal to our team and teams of past, and a lot of new players. Young or old, when you have a lot of players that are new to one another, it is going to take time to meld and form into a well oiled machine of a team.

Jackson Boone & Zach

Zach understands all of that, as well as the reasoning behind the miles of hard work that is yet to be done. Yes, it would be great to have a Senior year of football where all the players knew one another, knew all the plays and could read each others minds and moves and have all wins on the scoreboard. But the reality is a different story and to be able adjust to that is going to be the secret to their success this year.

So I watch Zach and the other "bigger" boys and how they are handling themselves with the younger, smaller boys. I watch them as they roar as loud as mountain lions when they are trying to get their attention, and I watch as they pat a shoulder or the top of a helmet when they know that some encouragement is needed as well.

Nobody really wants to hear about all the events in your life that can be viewed as character builders or lessons in humility.  Both of those things always seem to imply that your own lessons will have to be learned in order to achieve either one.  But that's exactly what is happening. It's Zach's job if you will, all over again, to sit down on the ground and tie some shoestrings. To watch the younger faces looking back up at him, and show them support, proper leadership and kindness. To pat them on the head and shoulders, and at the end of the season, hand the football over to them and say "See you later Buddy".

Because it will soon be their time. It will be their job to strap on their own helmets and find their own way. But until then, this is Zach's time. John Dayton's time. Jordan's time. And Vince's time. Enjoy what you have, and teach all that you know. And make the best memories you know how, with the time that you have. This year you will need to concentrate on not what you can take with you from this experience, but what you can leave behind. And patiently tie those shoe strings every chance you get, they will never forget you, and you will all be the better for it.

And Men Say We're Moody!

I know I have my days. Days where I'm not fit for sociable company, communication interaction, or days when I don't even like myself. I know what to do for these days as well. I've trained myself. I know myself well enough to know, when I just need to do what is necessary, whatever it takes, to have my mouth remain shut! 

I won't say I always succeed, but I do make the effort. Is it my fault when people cannot see the obvious signs of danger ahead, screaming from my facial expressions?! I'm pretty transparent. Anger, happiness, crazy mad, and joy. None of these expressions look the same, but I wear them all on my face with an obviousness that cannot be missed. My face all but flashes like a neon sign, with the colors anyone would need to be forewarned.

But as life will have it, all of those days don't necessarily fall on the weekends. When it's easier to control myself. Some of those more horrible than life itself days, fall on work days. Days where interaction is not only necessary, it's going to happen. And even though I do my very best to stay to myself, in my own office space, the occasional interlude with people will still take place. I have a lot of scar tissue on my tongue. Because I BITE IT A LOT.

So the question I put before you today, is WHY? Why do men not understand that they are also these people? They also have bad days. Moody days. Grumpy, not happy about anything that comes their way days. Couldn't please them if you tried, days. How can they deny that they can be these people as well. Women are NOT the only ones whose emotions spiral out of control. Man-o-pause exists. Testify ladies, testify.

I just spent over an hour in the grocery house with my husband. And from the time we got in my truck, nothing went right. Why didn't I drive down the other street? He wanted to look at a house that was for sale. Well, I guess I was supposed to already know that, since he had not said a word previously. Why are your brakes making that noise, you must be "braking wrong". What the hell is that? I ask you ladies, how do you "brake wrong?" However, I am a pro at slamming them, I do know how to do that, which I did at the next light, with an "Oops..sorry, did it wrong. Again." ;)


As if the drive wasn't enough, I then spent over an hour in the grocery house with this man, and from the time we walked in the door, and I picked out the wrong buggy, it was on. The wheels are weird he says. Since he's pushing it, I should let him pick one out he says. I smile and say, I'm sorry, see if there's a better one you would rather push. But in my mind I am saying, or a better one that I can shove up your a$$.

The shopping continues. I am making a roast today. I am picking out a package of pre-chopped onions in the produce section. I don't eat them, I don't like that they make my hands stink, so that's what I was buying. And he starts. Why are you wasting money on those when you can just buy one and slice it. I said I can, and I will, if you'll slice it. No return comment from the cheap seats. I roll on to the next aisle.

We don't need anymore lunch meat he says. It gets wasted. I said how do you figure, Zach has been taking his lunch. Well, I haven't see him eat any of it, he said, I said, you're not at school, how would you know. That, and the whole package is gone that I bought last week. Silence again.

I pick up a box of Lucky Charms. I don't know why you keep buying those big boxes of cereal, Zach never finishes it, he says. Again, I say, he eats a bowl every single morning. He repeats, like an broken record, well, I never see it get eaten. And I rewind and say, how would you know, you're already gone to work when he's eating breakfast. My mind says, I can video tape it for you if this is going to court or something.

Now we're on the vegetable aisle, I'm gathering up two HUGE industrial size cans of green beans. It's my turn to help cook for the football team this week. He "advises", I don't know why you're getting all those beans, those boys won't eat all of that. Folks, he liked to have got two cans of green beans upside his head like a pair of symbols. If I could have picked up both and slammed at the same time...well...

The entire rest of the grocery house visit went exactly the same way. EXACTLY. So to report how many other times he came close to being poisoned (on the insect repellent aisle) or rapped in the head (on the mop and broom aisle) would really just be redundant information.


We have paid our bill, which is "astronomical" as he says, we've loaded the truck, and we are on the way home. The conversation is the same all the way back, except he is having to talk to himself, because I no longer trust myself to speak to his behind. We get to the house, and the first words out of his mouth were, I guess we'll be unloading these ourselves, I'll guarantee that boy ain't even up yet (we left Zach in bed asleep). Well, low and behold, before I could get to the back door, "the boy" was opening it up and coming out to help. Another opportunity to gripe, grump and be a jackass blown! Dang it! How did something go right?!
 
My girlfriends and I went to see Hope Springs yesterday. To keep it brief I will just say that the basic jest was that an older couple had lost their spark and were trying to find it again. I thought to myself several times that the movie was a good refresher course for young and old couples alike. To remember that the small things matter, the light touches as you walk by, the simple and small comments that may seem mundane, but are still necessary.

But today, I have spent the better part of my morning thinking I should have taken Mims with me to see that movie instead of going with my Movie Club group. Today, he not only needs a refresher course, he needs to be dipped in a vat of sugar, and re-dipped for good measure. How the rest of our day will go is questionable to be sure. But I have hidden all sharp objects from myself, and locked up the shed where all the shovels and hatchets are stored. This should keep him safe, and me out of jail. For another day.

If It Were Only That Easy

I guess it never goes away. It never stops. It may very well, never change. The absolute agonizing, crippling fear. The anxiousness and anxiety that fills your veins with a potion of adrenaline so strong and so high, that you are always hyper-aware. Overly sensitive to your surroundings. Every noise. Every leaf that crackles as you walk. Was that your footsteps or the footsteps of possible danger.

I can't imagine living my life in constant constriction. Taking spewed insults as you walk down a public sidewalk, from a moving vehicle full of Frat boys. Or girls. Constant looks of revulsion. Of hatred. Pure vicious hatred.

He suffers from Anxiety Disorder. He's been medically diagnosed. From the time he entered Junior High and on through High School, it never seemed to stop. He's so strong, and he made it through all of that, but not without damage. Hidden damage that most never see, and only he can feel.

So that now, in his third year of an MFA program, he is still scared to walk across a dark campus at night, from classroom to his vehicle, is so wrong, on so many levels. That I still talk to him on the phone, as he walks, because I am scared, that he is scared makes me sad. That parents worry about their children when they leave home for college and then they grow up, and the basic worrying is over, seems somehow, unfair. For I will never stop worrying, I will always be fearful, because he will always be in potential danger.

Hatred is such a strong emotion. Hatred for another human being whom you don't even know is unreasonable and there is nothing about that I will ever understand. That I don't walk in his shoes does not make me feel better, it makes me wish his shoes fit my feet.

As he talked to me tonight, of the fears he still has, the things that still happen that he never talks about anymore, I hung up the phone and cried. He is twenty six years old and this is his life. He was thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sixteen, and that was his life. When can he hold hands with the love of his life and not be in fear of ugliness, hatred, and possible harm?

He doesn't whine, he doesn't complain, these are facts for him. As I said, it's his life. He has good days, where everyone he passes smiles and occasionally says good morning, or hello. And he has bad days, where a perfect stranger walks by and calls him a Faggot. What? Because he's by himself, and he looks like one? Because he is comfortable enough in his skin to be himself in real life, instead of hiding?

This is not a story about acceptance or non-acceptance. This is a story about my beautiful son, who simply wants to live like everyone else. Without fear and horror simply for who he is and who he loves. And his mother who would like for him to always, be as happy as he can possibly be, without the fear and horror because of who he is and who he loves.

It's story about sad phone calls, tense filled phone calls, and the distance in between where he is and my safety net for him which no longer reaches as far. It's not about who eats where, who thinks what, and who believes in what. Or how many people can cram cars into a drive thru food establishment to represent the idea and make a public statement of who they think should be married or not. The First Amendment is vitally important. And it applies to everyone. It's not about me pointing a finger at anyone. Or accusing anyone. If my story makes you uncomfortable, then maybe you have some unresolved issues within yourself. Within your heart. This story is about a Mama's love for her child. No matter what. Ever.

My God loves everybody. Every sinner. Every saint. I know a lot of sinners, can't really say I know many saints. So I figure, we're pretty much all even. We all have the same line to stand in, to get in that gate. We all have our trespasses to admit and explain. No one sin is greater than another. There is no point system. There is no 1-10 scale of good and bad. He will judge all the same. And my beautiful, compassionate and loving son, will probably pass through that gate, long before I do, even though I will have already been far ahead of him in the line.

Buckle Up And Enjoy The Ride

There are times in everybody's lives they should stop and take accountability. Take responsibility for themselves and anyone they may have influenced along the way. We all make choices. Some have good results and some lack the initial integrity in which we made the decision. I believe the ratio for intentional wrong doing is marginally low. However, I also believe the ratio for first decisions being the wrong one, is incredibly high.

With that in mind, when I began dating again some fifteen odd years ago, I made up my mind to never settle for less than what I believed to be right, good, and lasting. I had several hit and misses along my journey. But with age, comes a swifter understanding of what is acceptable and what is not.

I stumbled across my most lasting partner by accident and quite frankly, by surprise. He was not what I would have been looking for, even if I stretched my imagination of where I was willing to go, as far as it would reach. In many ways we were made alike, and in so many others, we were absolutely nothing even close.

We spent seven and a half years trying to figure out between us, if this were it. If we were the ones for each other, forever and ever amen. If you ask me do I believe in love at first sight, I would tell you no. I believe in delight at first sight. But that deep, dark, gut wrenching pain and glorious love that comes only with time..no...you do not find that at first sight.

We still have our days. The days of no one saying the right words at the right time with the right tone. Or reactions to circumstance being slower than expected and less than what we desire. When the constant reminders of lights being left on, his tools left out, and his gas can still sitting under the carport after he asked three times for it to be put up, are more than you want to hear after your awful day at work.

As I said earlier, you have to take accountability. Take note of the positive and negatives. Keeping in mind, your partner may have a list of their own, and you should only be willing to list as much as your willing to fix.

Does he help clean the kitchen as much as I would like?
No, but I don't work in the heat or cold of a joist shop for nine hours a day, every day of my life.

Does he apologize as quickly as he should?
No, but he does apologize now. When I met him, he never did.

Does he know how to cook or offer to learn?
No, but he never lets a meal go by that he doesn't kiss me on the cheek and tell me he enjoyed it, whether he really did or not. And he never hesitates paying for take out, when I say I'm just too tired to cook.

Is he tighter with money than makes me happy some days?
Yes, but he has helped pay for the education and well being of two children that are not even his blood.

We have been together since December of 1998. Our first date was December 12th of that year. We married with family and a few friends bearing witness on July 2, 2006. I count all of those 13+ years as our anniversary every year. All of those years, good and bad, make us what we are to each other today.

Was he the right choice? There are those who would say no. Was he the best choice? There are those who would argue that. But he was my choice then and he is my choice now. Whether it's his corny sayings that I never get tired of hearing, his humor that is like none I have ever known before, his slow and steady temperament that calms most situations, or simply that he still makes my insides feel gushy when he takes his shirt off some days...all of those things matter. They all create what he is to me. Why I am here. And why I have dedicated the rest of my life to making this thing we call marriage....work.

Happy Anniversary 13th/6th Anniversary Mims....we've still got a long way to go. So buckle up and enjoy the ride.