Dear Mom…Please stop calling me Buddy

Dear Mom picture

Dear Mom,

Please stop calling me Buddy.  I don’t like it.

At first, I was afraid to say anything because you’ve used the nickname since I was little.  Now I’m 9 ½ and Buddy sounds weird.  It’s embarrassing.

I was also worried I would hurt your feelings.  You always seem so excited to call me Buddy.  I can tell it means a lot to you.  I think you think calling me Buddy automatically brings us closer together.

It really doesn’t.

I know you love me when you sing to me in the morning, sneak a hug and a kiss on the corner before school, helped me wash the toenail out of my eye after it shot up off the clipper, taught me how to follow my basketball shot, pay me allowance, cook me perfect pasta, and stay for a cuddle talk at tuck in.

Like you always say, “Actions speak louder than words.”

Another thing; why do you call me Buddy when you’re mad?  Buddies are supposed to make each other happy, but every time you say

“Shut the Wii U off now, Buddy.”

“It’s late, Buddy.  Go back to bed.”

“Buddy come on, you left the student planner in your desk, again?”

with a growl or snake-eyed glare, I only feel scared and to be honest, a little angry myself.  The whole thing doesn’t make sense.

Know what else?  I like my name.  I like when you say my name.  I remember the story of how I got it.  You decided in eighth grade that if you ever had a son you would name him after your grandfather.  And you did.  So why don’t you use it?  You wouldn’t like it very much if I called you Red instead of Mom.  That’s not respectful.

The definition of Buddy is “a close friend.”   For real.  I Googled it.

Mom, I have friends.  I wasn’t a natural at making friends, but you showed me how to introduce myself, share, and speak up.  And when I felt shy about joining classmates in the block center or had a hard time sitting at a crowded snack table in preschool, you got me a helper teacher.  Now I’m good.

William from the baby playgroup, the kids in my class, the boys I have snowball fights with on the walk home from school, and the guys from my team; these are my buddies.

The ladies you meet for lunch and a chit chat, Daddy on date night, and that funny guy who fist pumps and belly dances in an elf hat at CrossFit; those are your buddies.

Maybe when I’m in college or living in my own apartment we will be close friends.

Right now, I need you to be my mom.

So please stop saying Buddy.  I know it’s different and might be a tough habit to break, but you can handle it.

I Love You,

Your son

I never got into the habit of calling my children Buddy.  Bubbe, Big Guy, Skootch, Kiddo, and Bubbeleh yes; but never Buddy.  If I had, I hope that one of them would write me this letter.

 

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Since you asked…The Inspiring Bloggers Award

very-inspirational-blogger badge

Two of my writer friends, Leslie and Katey were kind enough to nominate Red said what? for an Inspiring Bloggers Award.  As such, I am taking a break from the personal essay circuit this month to happily accept their nomination.

Bloggers typically nominate each other for awards to show support and generate interest.  To accept this nomination I am required to:

  1. Display the award badge on my blog…check
  2. Link back to the people who nominated me…check
  3. List 15 blogs that inspire me…check
  4. Share 7 snippets about myself.  Thank you in advance for the indulgence.

In an effort to respect the “award free” policy of some of the below sites, I am sharing them with the hope that someone might also enjoy the content.  To the writers, by all means consider yourself nominated for an Inspiring Blogger Award if you would like to participate.

Blog Inspiration by category…

Health, Fitness, and “Strength”

Catalyst Athletics        Words with Lisbeth

Education, Relationships, & General Good Stuff

A.PROMPTreply        Diane Ravitch

Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner’s Life is an Adventure

life in a flash              Safekeeping Stories        Stacey Wilk

Reading, Writing, & Illustrating

Amalia Hoffman

Gold From The Dust: Bringing Stories to Life

Raising Readers       The Jersey Farm Scribe

Writing for Kids (While Raising Them)         Writing & Illustrating

Z is for Zampetti, L is for Librarian & W is for Writer

7 Snippets…

1.  As a high school senior, I won a $50 prize sponsored by Shop Rite for “Most Personality and Common Sense.”

I think the hairdo gave me an edge...
I think the hairdo gave me an edge..

2.  During college, I worked in the library’s periodical department.

3.  With the exception of Rhythm Nation, I have seen Janet Jackson on tour every other time.

4.  Margarita.  Straight up.  No salt.

5.  Play the “right song,” and I will bust out the dance moves; anywhere, anytime.

6.  Favorite CrossFit movement?  The overhead squat.

Unfortunately, not me.

Unfortunately, not me.

7.  I know how to fire a musket.

Still not me, but it could be.

Still not me, but could be.

Please contribute to the pool of inspiration.  Take a minute to comment and share:

1 personal snippet (I figured 7 would be over kill)

and/or

1 blog, website, article or book that inspires you.

C’mon… indulge.

Thank you Lisa and Katey.  And thank you Red said what? readers for inspiring me to write what feels right.

DAN SAID WHAT?…Distant Cousins

Guest blogger, Dan was inspired to write this piece after attending an interfaith service memorializing the Israeli and Palestinian teenagers murdered during the summer of 2014.  Although the event took place several months ago, his thoughts are relevant today.

Courtesy of Interfaith Alliance

Courtesy of Interfaith Alliance

On July 30, 2014 my brother and I attended an Interfaith Memorial Service at Manhattanville College.  The purpose of the service was to memorialize the mutual loss of life on both sides of the current conflict between Israel and Hamas; a conflict ignited by the brutal and senseless murder of three Israeli teenagers, Naftali Fraenkel, 16, Gilad Shaar, 16, and Eyal Yifrach, 19 and the horrific torture and revenge killing of a sixteen-year-old Palestinian Boy, Mohammed Abu Khieder.

All four victims were innocent of any crime or offense… real or perceived.

The Memorial was a non-political, truly interfaith gathering; there were both religious and non-religious community leaders present.  Rabbis, Priests, Ministers, Imams and various local civic leaders and politicians were scheduled to speak to the human side of the conflict and to the roughly 250 people in attendance.

A Jesuit Priest, Faculty member of Manhattanville College and co-organizer of the Memorial began with the following introduction:

“Throughout history, there have been countless atrocities carried out in the name of religion.  Here, today, let’s show the world that religion can be a vehicle of peace, compassion and understanding.”

A strong opening.  I was impressed.  There was a genuine air of frankness and heartfelt sincerity to him in particular, and to the service in general.

The Memorial Service continued with various speakers:  Rabbis, Imams, Priests and Ministers.  Each of them took a turn quoting their individual faith’s scripture parts regarding the sanctity and value placed on peace, compromise and compassion.   Around the middle of the memorial, my brother’s friend and neighbor, a Jerusalem-born Palestinian, got up to chant from the Quran.  It was beautiful and strangely familiar.   As soon as she finished, my brother leaned over to me and said, “That sounded a lot like when we read from the Torah.  We Jewish people have more in common with Muslims than any other people…”

A light bulb went off in my head, “EXACTLY!”  My mind began to race and I found it difficult to focus on the other speakers.

I thought, How have things deteriorated this far?

Muslims and Jews share a common ancestry, a common Patriarch (Abraham), similar dietary laws, a similar language and the same homeland.  We are cousins!  “Shalom Aleychem” and “Salaam Alaykum” could easily be mistaken for the same language; both mean “Peace Be Upon You”.

I became frustrated by my inability to answer a question that has plagued the Middle East for decades in the 10 minutes that had passed since my bother’s left-hook of an observation.

And so I refocused my attention to the Memorial Service just as a Presbyterian Minister, a denomination with no particular skin in the game offered an outstanding, intelligent, yet emotional, plea for prayer and more importantly, serious call to action.

Various community leaders went on to speak, sharing the minister’s sentiments and suggesting ways in which they planned to act locally and think globally; a realistic and doable task which could be accomplished by individuals from different faiths simply talking to one another in their neighborhoods.

The Memorial Service concluded with two minutes of silent prayer.  I was surprised when the Quaker representative leading it broke in with “Thank You” to conclude the ceremony.  Two minutes felt like 10 seconds.

Interfaith memorial service photo

My brother and I made the 15-minute drive home, chattering non-stop about the similarities between Muslims and Jews and our individual solutions to the crisis in the Middle East.  Our solutions were not plausible or realistic.  We resembled two infants pondering Einstein’s Theory of Relativity.

Back at the house, my brother, sister-in-law, and I talked well into the evening about the Memorial Service and their neighbor who chanted from The Quran.  We said our goodnights and I built my bed on the sofa.  The sofa was comfortable, but I couldn’t sleep.

That was last summer, and to be honest, I’m still having trouble sleeping.  This Memorial Service has brought into question my typically unwavering and staunch sense of justice regarding my personal “reality” about the conflict between Jews & Muslims in the Middle East.

Do not misunderstand me; I still believe that Hamas is a terrorist organization.  There cannot be a lasting peace in the Middle East with Hamas as the ruling power in Gaza under its current charter (unwillingness to recognize the State of Israel) and leadership.

I also believe with every fiber of my being that The State of Israel does not only have a right to exist, it NEEDS to exist.  The pogroms of the late 19th and early 20th centuries across Eastern Europe are NOT ancient history.  Some Jews have grandparents who are still alive and able to share their memories and horrors of the Holocaust with younger generations.

You don’t even have to go back that far…

TODAY, there are Jews in France who have taken down the mezzuzot from their front door frames and have stopped wearing their Judaic jewelry in public, out of fear of personal, violent, acts of anti-Semitism.  Yes, in my heart of hearts, I believe now more than ever:  Am Yisrael Chai! (The People of Israel Live!).

Furthermore, it takes a lot of chutzpa for people living in the relative peace, security and cozy cocoon of a Western Democracy to judge Israel and criticize how it protects its citizens and borders while Hamas fires rockets from Palestinian homes and invades Israel’s territory through the use of an intricate and extensive tunnel system.

With that being said…

There are difficult truths, which Israel and Jews need to confront, both as a nation and as a people.

When sixteen year-old Khieder was tortured and murdered by extremist Jewish Israelis, the media questioned Israeli officials after the suspects were apprehended and had confessed to the brutal crime.  The Israeli officials stated that they were ‘shocked that Jews would commit such a heinous crime.’

When Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin was gunned down by a Jewish extremist due to his willingness to accept and work toward a Two-State Solution, Israeli officials were questioned as to why more protection was not afforded their Prime Minister in such a volatile and critical time.  Their response: ‘It never occurred to us that a Jew would commit such a heinous crime.’

In order for a lasting peace to have a chance, this ridiculous and self-righteous brand of ignorance has to end.

The bottom line is that both parties are right and both parties are wrong.

Both Jews and Muslims have carried out many horrific acts, going back well before 1948 (the year of Israeli Statehood) and both Israelis and Palestinians have a right to a safe and secure homeland.  The reality of this situation, much like the border between Israel and Palestine is not transparent.

Two days before the Memorial Service, I was at a Pro-Israel Rally outside the UN in Manhattan.

Pro Israel picture

I found myself getting caught up in the “oneness” of the event.  We were 15,000 in attendance and felt strong; we were mishpocha (family).  The heavy hitters on the podium kept repeating Prime Minister Netanyahu’s rock-star sound byte:

“Israel uses rockets to protect its citizens and Hamas uses its citizens to protect its rockets.” 

I liked it and I agreed with it, but I had a hard time SAYING it.  I didn’t know why until now.  The reason it sticks in my throat is because it is RHETORIC.  The last thing this conflict needs at this serious and critical stage is more rhetoric.

Golda Meir once said, “There will not be peace with the Arabs until they love their children more than they hate us (Israelis).”

Perhaps there’s some truth to this.  Assuming there is, let’s hope someone, very soon, adds:

‘…And Israel firmly embraces a real and lasting Two-State Solution; a shared homeland in partnership with the Palestinian People.’

And most importantly, let’s hope there are people on both sides, distant cousins, who are ready, able and willing to build trust, understanding and a lasting peace.

It’s time we moved beyond catchy sound-bytes and crowd-pleasing propaganda.  There is hard work to be done by serious people and it’s getting late.

Salam Alaykum.  Shalom Aleychem.

Two Sides of a Coin

Beach picture of the boys

Bubbe and The Skootch are two sides of a coin.

Bubbe, now a smidge under nine was the two year old who got off the classroom rug at dismissal only after he knew the other children had a place to go and the little guy who sat in the corner and covered his ears at birthday parties.  He is the child who relishes in engineering golf courses and marble runs out of anything he can get his hands on and the boy who recently told me after I advised him to push back as needed, “Mom, I’m not that kind of kid.”

Four year old Skootch, on the other hand, is a one speed, rock and roll, let me smell you ninja machine.  He is the kid who proudly wakes his parents at two in the morning to show us the late night grape juice he poured for himself, the child who sings loudest at birthday parties, the one who pops a balloon and tries to fix it, and the boy who loves a good boxing match.

On a recent family outing, we found ourselves here;

stepping_stones_museum_children

The Celebration Courtyard of a nearby children’s museum.

I’m pretty certain this foamy, cerulean hued open play area is meant to encourage calm but on this particular Saturday it looked more like a loony bin for babes.

Bubbe naturally made a beeline for the blocks.  Swarms of children surrounded the construction materials, moving in and out, taking them at will.  He tried to grab what he could, but the other children kept getting there first.

The biggest boy of the bunch became a regular culprit.  Not a caregiver in sight, this young Lummox grabbed at our son’s small stash again and again without so much as asking.

Bubbe began to hold his temples in distress; his thoughts piercing the cerulean calm.  “What am I going to do; how am I going to manage this problem?”  Thirty seconds of frozen agony seemed like a lifetime for the poor boy.

Our golden-haired fire hydrant watched Bubbe desperately trying to get his bearings, sensed the angst, and swooped in for the rescue.  He marched right up to the Lummox who was twice his size, waved a southpaw, pudgy finger up at him and yelled, “Hey this is our space and you don’t take anything from here!”  Then he stepped in and offered a right hook.

The Lummox jumped back, recoiled, and found a new space from whence to steal.

As soon as The Skootch was confident that Bubbe’s artistic space was clear and safe, he asked his brother, “Ok, now what?”

Bubbe gave the order.  “Go get a couple of blocks.”

“Alright,” The Skootch scurried off and successfully returned with the coveted blue, foamed mass.

For a serious ten minutes, Bubbe constructed and sent The Skootch into the wild as the little boy happily obliged his big brother’s instructions.

Together they created quite the structure.

Too pooped to pop, Skootch lied down in the center of the masterpiece.  “Thank you for building my castle,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” Bubbe replied.

We never expected to have two children; Mac and I were content with one, healthy Bubbe.  The Skootch was a happy accident.  We wouldn’t have it any other way.  Our sons, these brothers, are a gift; to us and to each other.

They are most certainly two sides of a coin, but together their value is immeasurable.

Six ways to 65 years; Relationship Advice from a Platinum Couple

Grandparents' wedding picture

At my grandparents’ golden wedding anniversary party, my new fiancé, Mac gave an impromptu toast to the happy couple.  Fifteen years later, we never imagined we would once again be celebrating with Joe and Dot for their 65th anniversary.  Last month, we were lucky enough to do just that.

My grandparents are part of The Greatest Generation.

He, a World War II Navy veteran saw The Battle of Normandy in the Atlantic, Okinawa in the Pacific, and lost his parents and almost his own life in a tragic accident all before the age of twenty-one.  A devoted husband and well-meaning father with a strong work ethic who can fix anything, Joe greets life with a smile.  My grandfather is a youthful, spirited song and dance man, musician and opera lover who has serenaded and entertained generations of children.

She, a family and community matriarch who experienced divorce, fierce sibling rivalry, and an alcoholic, estranged father during her youth is a compassionate but no nonsense lady with strong opinions who keeps emotions close to the vest.  A church elder, domestic financier, caregiver, therapist, hostess, Frank Sinatra enthusiast and rabble rouser, Dot has raised, fed, housed, guided and knit elaborate sweaters for generations of children.

Joe and Dot are salt of the earth folk who grew up only a few miles from each other.  They met at work after the war, fell in love and married in four short months.  In their hometown, they raised three children in a modest, two-family house where they still live today.  Now in their late eighties, while the rest of us are busy reading up on which way to lean, they are quietly leaning on each other; much more now it seems than days long ago.

Grandparents 65th anniversary picture

And so with sixty-five years of couple hood under their belt, I asked my grandparents to share six pieces of relationship advice, one for each decade of marriage.  Here is what they had to say:

  1. Have your own friends, take time to socialize individually with them, and be supportive when your partner does as well.  Trust each other; jealousy is not love.
  1. Swallow your pride.  Even when you know you’re in the right; let your partner think he is the right one every now and again.
  1. Let the person who is committed to and better at saving money be in charge of the finances.  Then try and save as much as you can.
  1. Life is a bowl of cherries; some picks are sweet, others rotten.  Always try to keep a cool, level head when snacking.
  1. Sing to your child if you have one, especially as he awakes in the morning.  If singing isn’t for you, create a daily ritual; he will always remember it.  And when your child does something wrong, don’t always tell your partner.  Sometimes too many cooks in the kitchen complicate things.  Work it out one on one with your kid; he’ll remember that too.
  1. At the day’s end, take time to decompress and give your partner time to do the same.  Be thoughtful and aide the process; have a cocktail ready for her when she gets home from work.

6 ½.   Follow your heart, stand by your love, and keep promises to each other.  If you have second thoughts or believe you can’t keep your word, don’t get married.

As the eldest grandchild who lived with them until I was five and then again at twenty-two with countless visits in between and thereafter, I had a ringside seat to much of Joe and Dot’s relationship.  My take away from watching them?

Flirt, dance, sit outside, visit, celebrate, play cards, laugh, argue, reconcile.  Life is a fast and fleeting ride so keep the relationship as interesting as you collectively see fit and be sure to have a good time.

Couple hood is complicated work; everybody has their stuff and it’s not all moonlight and canoes.  But if you go by Joe and Dot, trust, compromise, balance, communication, support, love, honesty, commitment, cocktails and a song go a long way.

Gram and Pop dancing

A Great Hill

Sharing resolutions and lesson learned from a personal experience with the hope that it might one day help someone.

Sharing resolutions and lesson learned from a personal experience with the hope that it might one day help someone.

“After climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb.”
Nelson Mandela.

Eleven years ago today, I climbed a great hill.

Sitting in the mall parking lot in the passenger’s seat of my mother’s white Oldsmobile, I told her the family secret that I had harbored for over twenty years; that her then husband of twenty five years sexually abused me as a child.

When the words finally came out, my body decompressed like a flattened tire.  I thought I was done, fixed, as if sharing this piece of information would easily mend everything and solve all problems.  That New Year’s Eve morning I stood at the top of my great hill expecting to see a welcoming horizon.  And at first, I did.  But understanding that I couldn’t stand in one spot forever, I continued on my way.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones.  I was born into a generation of women and men who, when experience trauma, are often encouraged to talk about it and seek help.  I eventually had someone to tell and immediately had someone who believed me.  I had the guidance of a talented, dedicated professional who worked tirelessly to give me the tools I needed to work through the rises and falls.  And I have a husband who has supported me every step of the way.  Even the bad guy went to jail for a short time.

These fortunate circumstances coupled with determination to live clean, if you will, helped me to move forward.   As a result, I have been able to scale more overgrown, rocky, and unmarked hills than I thought existed.  And although I couldn’t reach the top every time, I’m content with where I ended up.

However, one of many things I’ve learned in the last ten years is that there are consequences to pursuing one’s truth.  Expecting people to reflect, discuss, and perhaps change is a tall order.  Maintaining thin relationships, living in a box, and avoiding issues are seemingly much easier paths to take.

So why rock the boat?  Because as I started to value myself, I realized that regardless of what I was going to get back, I had to let people know where I was coming from.  Several times I’ve been pleasantly surprised; other times, not so much.  I’ve had family members haul off like a Real Housewife of New Jersey, friends just throw in the towel, and to mourn relationships of key people who weren’t able to meet me half way.  It’s unfortunate and sad but as my grandfather says, “That’s the way it goes.”

I’ve often wondered if it is worth some of this residual agida to continue my version of clean living.  It may sound reminiscent of a Kelly Clarkson song, but for someone who lived the first third of her life putting up walls, keeping things surface, and feeding the elephants in the room, I intend to spend the next two thirds of it living the most honest, genuine, meaningful, loving, and forthright way that I can.  For myself, loved ones, husband and most importantly our children; this I resolve to do.

As we welcome a new year, I wish you a year filled with health, truth, cleanliness, and the courage to climb.