Ever since I was a very young child I've had nightmares. I can actually remember some of them in vivid detail, as if they'd happened recently.
There was the one in which we were having a party and monsters were killing all the guests ~ as though it were a party game. There was the one where a neighbor girl was playing in the snow and something reached out of the drift next to her to rip her head off. One of the less gory but still creepy involved muppet-like specters drifting in through my bedroom window then down the hall and into my parents' room.
In January 2000, I was robbed at gunpoint while getting my then 3-year-old out of the car. Very few things are as terrifying as having a gun pointed at the child in your arms. Thankfully, the assailant got spooked when I subconsciously backed into the clearing of the parking lot where anyone driving by could see us and took off with nothing more than my purse. I thought he'd gotten nothing that couldn't be replaced. I was mistaken ~ as I soon realized that peace of mind does not accompany post-traumatic stress syndrome.
As part of PTSS, I suffered some of the most horrific, gory, blood-n-guts nightmares ~ and I dream in color. It was as if I were sitting in a theater watching a hack-em-up without any power to walk away. I saw bodies broken in half and stuffed into very small spaces, people blown up or disintegrated in barrels and bathtubs full of acid, adults hacked to pieces by little kids. Sometimes I was an active participant in the saga, others I was merely a spectator. But in all of them I was horrified.
Eventually, I ended up in therapy for PTSS and my nightmares. Therapy was actually very helpful. Unfortunately, I still suffer periods of nightmares, though the frequency and intensity have diminished over time. Unfortunately, also, I haven't quite figured out all of my triggers. Some of them are obvious ~ a scene in a movie or descriptive visualization in a book or conversation. But other times they come on without warning or obvious provocation.
Over the last year or so, I've had several nightmares involving my late grandmother. My grandmother and I didn't always have the best relationship, but at the time of her passing I believe we were very much at peace with each other ~ so to have nightmares with her confuses me. In one she was pregnant, furthering my confusion, but then most dreams don't make much sense in the waking hours. There was another one in which I was at a family shin-dig and seemed to be possessed my something that caused me to violently scream every time I saw my grandmother. In one scene I even apologized to her before whatever was inside of me took over, causing me to scream with such intensity that my body levitated from the floor.
I've been wicked tired lately ~ can't tell if it's just the craziness of my life or my chronic fatigue kicking into high gear ~ and I've been napping. Can a person have napmares? Or would they be called daymares? In any case, I had a freaky dream involving my grandmother while napping. I didn't even think I was sleeping deeply enough to dream. In the dream, I had just received word of grandma's passing. I walked into the bathroom of her house, where my mother and sister were sitting staring into a bathtub full of murky water. After respecting the silence for a moment or two, I asked if grandma was in the tub. Both my mother and sister said that they didn't know, but they continued to stare with sorrowful expression into the tub as if she were. Okaaaaaaaaaaaay....?
I love my grandmother, even though she is no longer with us. I am sure that she was on my mind because I was talking with a friend very recently about people who have passed and mentioned her. But why I only dream of her in frightening or creepy scenarios when I think of her kindly on a conscious level I don't pretend to understand. And why I dream at all while napping is also puzzlement.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Basic Instructions...
I truly believe I am in one of my happiest states of mind when I am in prison. I love my incarcerated sisters and miss them when I'm on the outside. Unfortunately, by the end of Aug they will be even further away.
I've had the opportunity to be in prison twice this past week. Sunday was the Kairos monthly reunion, and though attendance was WAY low, spirits were high. Wednesday I was blessed to return to this facility for the last time. The ladies were putting on a play, and for folks of limited means, they did a fantastic job! Think about it ~ your resources are slim pickin's in prison. But these ladies made a set, backdrops and costumes (some of which were downright hilarious.)
Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. Sound familiar? This play is about the life of Talia, a fictional character who had been dealt her share of low blows and questioned Christ's presence in her life. The story opens with a scene at a bus stop where Talia is trying to find her next fix, when she is assaulted and shot, crying out to Jesus as she falls. As unconscious Talia lies there, spirit Talia looks down in dismay and is greeted by the Jesus she called out for. Talia accuses Jesus of not being there for her as He had promised and abandoning her in her greatest needs throughout her life. Jesus then walks Talia through her life and shows her how He really was with her all long.
B.I.B.L.E. (the play) is an original work, written and directed by primary 3 residents ~ but they refuse to take full credit. Each scene was inspired by experiences in the real lives of other inmates, each scene one of many on the path that led them to incarceration. Of course, the free-world community that had been invited in didn't know this at first. We enjoyed the humor and wit with which the play had been written, knowing that these scenes are truth somewhere out there. But my heart broke with the realization that "somewhere" was much closer than I had realized.
Kudos to the ladies of Franklin Pre-Release Center for their wonderful talent and performance!! I love them all, and pray for their continual walk in His grace. They may not be free in this world, but He will see to it that they are free in eternity. I look forward to ministering to them again once the transition to the new facility is complete. Until then, my heart and prayers go with them. To my incarcerated Kairos sisters ~ God Bless!!
I've had the opportunity to be in prison twice this past week. Sunday was the Kairos monthly reunion, and though attendance was WAY low, spirits were high. Wednesday I was blessed to return to this facility for the last time. The ladies were putting on a play, and for folks of limited means, they did a fantastic job! Think about it ~ your resources are slim pickin's in prison. But these ladies made a set, backdrops and costumes (some of which were downright hilarious.)
Basic Instructions Before Leaving Earth. Sound familiar? This play is about the life of Talia, a fictional character who had been dealt her share of low blows and questioned Christ's presence in her life. The story opens with a scene at a bus stop where Talia is trying to find her next fix, when she is assaulted and shot, crying out to Jesus as she falls. As unconscious Talia lies there, spirit Talia looks down in dismay and is greeted by the Jesus she called out for. Talia accuses Jesus of not being there for her as He had promised and abandoning her in her greatest needs throughout her life. Jesus then walks Talia through her life and shows her how He really was with her all long.
B.I.B.L.E. (the play) is an original work, written and directed by primary 3 residents ~ but they refuse to take full credit. Each scene was inspired by experiences in the real lives of other inmates, each scene one of many on the path that led them to incarceration. Of course, the free-world community that had been invited in didn't know this at first. We enjoyed the humor and wit with which the play had been written, knowing that these scenes are truth somewhere out there. But my heart broke with the realization that "somewhere" was much closer than I had realized.
Kudos to the ladies of Franklin Pre-Release Center for their wonderful talent and performance!! I love them all, and pray for their continual walk in His grace. They may not be free in this world, but He will see to it that they are free in eternity. I look forward to ministering to them again once the transition to the new facility is complete. Until then, my heart and prayers go with them. To my incarcerated Kairos sisters ~ God Bless!!
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Weighty Subject
Since I was a teenager I have believed that I was born about 500 years too late. Not only do I love Renaissance music, but the art is fantastic. I absolutely love the models the great artists chose ~ real women. Round, voluptuous, chubby ~ call them what you will, they were real, healthy women. With perfect creamy pale porcelain skin they were the standard of beauty and desirability.
By stark contrast, today's seeming societal standard of beauty is exactly the opposite ~ scrawny, waif-like, hard-bodied and sun baked. During the Renaissance era this body type was turned away from, being the look of poverty, hard work in the blazing sun. The pale, round figure was much more desired being the symbol of wealth and lavish living.
Guess which category I fall into?
I have struggled with weight my entire life. Of 3 kids, I was the chubby one. Both my brother and sister were scrawny bean-poles growing up. And they were relentless at times about pointing out my distinction. I can't remember ever in my young or older adult life being a single-digit size. My one saving grace ~ weight distribution.
Though I have been a plus-size for a decent chunk of my life, most people claim they didn't see it. I see it every time I look in the mirror, try on a pair of jeans or swim suit, or need to be fitted for a bride's-maid dress. The women on my maternal side are all built the same ~ they carry their extra weight in their bellies and butts, with stick legs and arms, looking pregnant when they are not. God is so kind to spare me such a physique. I, thankfully, am built more like the women on my paternal side ~ a little more squared-off, though carrying some extra padding around the butt and thighs. Generally, I am a size smaller on the top half than on the bottom half, which is part of the reason why I buy nothing that is all one piece. (The other part is that I have a long torso, so either the waist doesn't fall where it should or I have a permanent wedgie.)
Anyone remember Get In Shape Girl!? I was probably one of their first customers. I had every kit they made ~ the book, the audio cassettes (yes, this program is that old), the hollow dumbbells that you added water or sand to in order to customize your program, the jump-rope, the ribbon-wand ~ I had and religiously used every one. And I was probably 10-years-old. The war on weight begins young for most girls. Is it any wonder so many of them end up with eating disorders?
And the war rages on. The weapons have changed over the years ~ cycling, Nordic Track, running, kick boxing, Latin dancing, Zumba, weight training, South Beach Diet, calorie counting ~ you name it, I've probably tried it. And at this writing I am still about 15lbs over weight and a size above where I was 18 months ago.
Yo-yoing is such a treat. I have bounced all over between a size 10 and 18. I will start to make some real progress, feel pumped about loosing a few pounds... and then I either get sick or hurt myself, fall of the wagon and choke on the dust as it blazes off without me. Catching up to it is hard enough, but getting back on is even harder, because by the time I get to it, it's doubled back to the starting line.
Despite it all, I am comfortable in my skin. There is certainly room for improvement, and frustration is always with me, but being chubby isn't all bad. My husband absolutely loves my body, just as it is. In fact, he gets upset if my hind-side looses roundness when I ever do loose weight. There are a great number of men out there, specifically within certain ethnic groups, that find the round, curvy female figure incredibly attractive. One woman told me that her son-in-law was concerned that her daughter was loosing too much weight after having a baby. Her daughter and I share a very similar build.
So take heart, all you who wage the weight war with me, and seek out men with (really) old fashioned standards.
By stark contrast, today's seeming societal standard of beauty is exactly the opposite ~ scrawny, waif-like, hard-bodied and sun baked. During the Renaissance era this body type was turned away from, being the look of poverty, hard work in the blazing sun. The pale, round figure was much more desired being the symbol of wealth and lavish living.
Guess which category I fall into?
I have struggled with weight my entire life. Of 3 kids, I was the chubby one. Both my brother and sister were scrawny bean-poles growing up. And they were relentless at times about pointing out my distinction. I can't remember ever in my young or older adult life being a single-digit size. My one saving grace ~ weight distribution.
Though I have been a plus-size for a decent chunk of my life, most people claim they didn't see it. I see it every time I look in the mirror, try on a pair of jeans or swim suit, or need to be fitted for a bride's-maid dress. The women on my maternal side are all built the same ~ they carry their extra weight in their bellies and butts, with stick legs and arms, looking pregnant when they are not. God is so kind to spare me such a physique. I, thankfully, am built more like the women on my paternal side ~ a little more squared-off, though carrying some extra padding around the butt and thighs. Generally, I am a size smaller on the top half than on the bottom half, which is part of the reason why I buy nothing that is all one piece. (The other part is that I have a long torso, so either the waist doesn't fall where it should or I have a permanent wedgie.)
Anyone remember Get In Shape Girl!? I was probably one of their first customers. I had every kit they made ~ the book, the audio cassettes (yes, this program is that old), the hollow dumbbells that you added water or sand to in order to customize your program, the jump-rope, the ribbon-wand ~ I had and religiously used every one. And I was probably 10-years-old. The war on weight begins young for most girls. Is it any wonder so many of them end up with eating disorders?
And the war rages on. The weapons have changed over the years ~ cycling, Nordic Track, running, kick boxing, Latin dancing, Zumba, weight training, South Beach Diet, calorie counting ~ you name it, I've probably tried it. And at this writing I am still about 15lbs over weight and a size above where I was 18 months ago.
Yo-yoing is such a treat. I have bounced all over between a size 10 and 18. I will start to make some real progress, feel pumped about loosing a few pounds... and then I either get sick or hurt myself, fall of the wagon and choke on the dust as it blazes off without me. Catching up to it is hard enough, but getting back on is even harder, because by the time I get to it, it's doubled back to the starting line.
Despite it all, I am comfortable in my skin. There is certainly room for improvement, and frustration is always with me, but being chubby isn't all bad. My husband absolutely loves my body, just as it is. In fact, he gets upset if my hind-side looses roundness when I ever do loose weight. There are a great number of men out there, specifically within certain ethnic groups, that find the round, curvy female figure incredibly attractive. One woman told me that her son-in-law was concerned that her daughter was loosing too much weight after having a baby. Her daughter and I share a very similar build.
So take heart, all you who wage the weight war with me, and seek out men with (really) old fashioned standards.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
What's In a Name?
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet."
~ Juliet in Romeo and Juliet
Working in customer service for a few years, I came across some very interesting and unique names. Some of my favorites: Dr. Mi Kwak, Dr Payne, and Dick Withers. Then there were the foreign names that I did not even attempt to pronounce, and the one that had 22 letters and only 2 vowels.
But what is a name, really? Is it a title to live up to? Is it something to strike fear in our hearts upon hearing in its entirety? Is it a torture tool for cruel children (and some very immature adults)? My kids both have monosyllabic names so that I don't trip too much over my tongue when yelling at them. The name given to a child has the potential to be detrimental to social and emotional health and must be considered with great care.
For those who don't know, my full name is Ariel Paige Sebastian Boyer. Growing up, I wasn't impressed with my name. It was far too easy to make fun of. The Smurfs were popular in my young years and I was frequently called Asreal. Then there was the less imaginative Air-head, and probably my brother's favorite, Scary-smell. In addition to hating my sibling-given nicknames, having Paige for a middle name always make me feel like a book ~ "Ariel" and "Sebastian" were the covers and "Paige" was in the middle.
And then, the absolute worst thing for name happened ~ Disney released The Little Mermaid. As if sharing my first name with the main character wasn't bad enough, my last name shared the limelight in the movie as well. Let the mermaid jokes begin. In high school I made a bet with my friends that I would give $50 to anyone who could tell me a mermaid joke I hadn't already heard. I have yet to pay out. I have often joked (only half-joked, really) that I would love to sue Disney for pain and suffering. As a performing artist (in high school, at least) I should have at least gotten a job at Disney with no questions asked. The name Ariel was in the movie Footloose and in Shakespeare's Tempest but does anyone make that association? I hated wearing my name tag at my after-school job because anyone who came in with a little girl would bend low to their daughter and say, "Guess what her name is!" Can I tell you how happy I was to marry young and change at least my surname? What was once a beautifully unique name has become as common as next, high schools and college campuses are teeming with Ariel's, and we owe all thanks to Mr. Disney.
There is another lesser known, yet very popular, place to find the name Ariel. Isaiah 29:1 says, "Woe to you Ariel, Ariel, the city where David settled." Yes, Ariel is in the Bible as an alternate name for Jerusalem, God's chosen city, the City of David. (Granted, the city is being cursed in this verse, but if you take a moment to read the chapter, there is a happy ending.) Jerusalem was the city God chose for his permanent earthly dwelling, where Solomon built the Lord's temple. It was in Jerusalem that the Lord saw fit to fill the temple with His glory. It is an interesting parallel that Christ has chosen me, Ariel the person, in which to make an earthly dwelling, as well.
In it's original Hebrew, Ariel means "lion of God". The city Jerusalem was in the land of Judah ~ Jesus is often referred to as the "lion of Judah". I like the idea that I have this tie to Christ. The lion is king of the jungle, Christ is King of His followers, and my name suggests that I have very large paw-prints to fill. Taking a female slant, the lioness is the huntress, the fighter and protector of her pride (family). That doesn't sound like me, does it? Yet, the lioness submits to her mate, the ultimate head of the pride, the lion ~ just as I, a believer, am to submit to my King.
All things considered, Ariel is a great and powerful name, one to be worn with grace and pride. Hopefully, I can live up to it.
By any other name would smell as sweet."
~ Juliet in Romeo and Juliet
Working in customer service for a few years, I came across some very interesting and unique names. Some of my favorites: Dr. Mi Kwak, Dr Payne, and Dick Withers. Then there were the foreign names that I did not even attempt to pronounce, and the one that had 22 letters and only 2 vowels.
But what is a name, really? Is it a title to live up to? Is it something to strike fear in our hearts upon hearing in its entirety? Is it a torture tool for cruel children (and some very immature adults)? My kids both have monosyllabic names so that I don't trip too much over my tongue when yelling at them. The name given to a child has the potential to be detrimental to social and emotional health and must be considered with great care.
For those who don't know, my full name is Ariel Paige Sebastian Boyer. Growing up, I wasn't impressed with my name. It was far too easy to make fun of. The Smurfs were popular in my young years and I was frequently called Asreal. Then there was the less imaginative Air-head, and probably my brother's favorite, Scary-smell. In addition to hating my sibling-given nicknames, having Paige for a middle name always make me feel like a book ~ "Ariel" and "Sebastian" were the covers and "Paige" was in the middle.
And then, the absolute worst thing for name happened ~ Disney released The Little Mermaid. As if sharing my first name with the main character wasn't bad enough, my last name shared the limelight in the movie as well. Let the mermaid jokes begin. In high school I made a bet with my friends that I would give $50 to anyone who could tell me a mermaid joke I hadn't already heard. I have yet to pay out. I have often joked (only half-joked, really) that I would love to sue Disney for pain and suffering. As a performing artist (in high school, at least) I should have at least gotten a job at Disney with no questions asked. The name Ariel was in the movie Footloose and in Shakespeare's Tempest but does anyone make that association? I hated wearing my name tag at my after-school job because anyone who came in with a little girl would bend low to their daughter and say, "Guess what her name is!" Can I tell you how happy I was to marry young and change at least my surname? What was once a beautifully unique name has become as common as next, high schools and college campuses are teeming with Ariel's, and we owe all thanks to Mr. Disney.
There is another lesser known, yet very popular, place to find the name Ariel. Isaiah 29:1 says, "Woe to you Ariel, Ariel, the city where David settled." Yes, Ariel is in the Bible as an alternate name for Jerusalem, God's chosen city, the City of David. (Granted, the city is being cursed in this verse, but if you take a moment to read the chapter, there is a happy ending.) Jerusalem was the city God chose for his permanent earthly dwelling, where Solomon built the Lord's temple. It was in Jerusalem that the Lord saw fit to fill the temple with His glory. It is an interesting parallel that Christ has chosen me, Ariel the person, in which to make an earthly dwelling, as well.
In it's original Hebrew, Ariel means "lion of God". The city Jerusalem was in the land of Judah ~ Jesus is often referred to as the "lion of Judah". I like the idea that I have this tie to Christ. The lion is king of the jungle, Christ is King of His followers, and my name suggests that I have very large paw-prints to fill. Taking a female slant, the lioness is the huntress, the fighter and protector of her pride (family). That doesn't sound like me, does it? Yet, the lioness submits to her mate, the ultimate head of the pride, the lion ~ just as I, a believer, am to submit to my King.
All things considered, Ariel is a great and powerful name, one to be worn with grace and pride. Hopefully, I can live up to it.
Friday, July 1, 2011
Daddy Dearest
"You need a license to buy dog or drive a car, hell, you need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt reaming asshole be a father." ~ Todd (Keanu Reeves) in Parenthood
Harsh words, but only because they are true. Think about all the stories of dead-beat dads out there. Some of you might even know some of these guys. Someone said, "Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Dad."
Growing up, I had a great dad. He was my biggest fan and cheerleader ~ almost to the point of embarrassment. He did his best to raise 3 kids at the poverty level, and yet managed to give us many of the extras kids love. Dad did everything he could to be at the events that were important to me and supported everything I pursued, even when the distance was considerable.
And then, I grew up.
When we moved over 150 miles away from my dad, and my kids were very young, I tried very hard to visit as often as was possible. It is important to me that my kids know their family. But after years of being the one to make the 320+ mile round trip and making all the phone calls, I got tired. The highways and phonelines run both ways, last time I checked. So I took a break and was no longer the one to initiate contact. Which is to say that there was no contact ~ for almost a year.
Then my dad decided to remarry and I became pregnant with my second son, and I thought it was important to keep the relationship intact. But it was more of the same one-way effort, which again became tiring.
One Halloween, the family was at my brother's house for Trick or Treat. Dad had to drive through my town to get to my brother's place, but he never let me know that he was passing through. Ok. He knew he would see us there. I told Dad that there was only weekend in Dec that I could come up for the holidays and asked if he would be around. That was hunting season, but he was usually back from the woods by afternoon. We were staying with Josh's sister anyway, so we could get together with Dad for a late lunch or dinner and not interrupt anyone's plans.
The week before we were supposed to visit, I called Dad to make sure everything was still a go. No response. I tried again a few days later. Again, no response. Dad finally called when we were enroute to my sister-in-law's house to say that he had been hunting with my brother all week and he could save me a trip by stopping by on his way home. That would have been a great plan ~ had he told me when I first called him several days earlier. Or I could have taken the boys over to my brother's house any day that week to not only see their grandfather, but also their cousins. Instead, we were carrying on with the plans that were originally made (since other family was expecting us) and we never did see Dad for Christmas that year.
But then, this was not the first holiday season that we missed visiting my dad. There was the year that he changed his phone number and didn't tell me. When I called the number I'd be using for him I reached a bowling alley. I sent him a card wishing him happy holidays and letting him know that I no longer had his number ~ only then did he call me. And he makes a few visits to my brother's house every year ~ once again, he has to pass through my town to get to my brother ~ yet, he never thinks to let me know that he is passing through, never asks if he could stop by to see his grandkids, never suggests that we meet up at my brother's house.
I haven't seen my father since that Halloween, nor have I talked to him since that Christmas. I have made the obligatory phone calls on his birthday and Father's Day, but had to leave messages. He did call to wish me a happy birthday this year, but he has a habit of calling late and I was already in bed. Have I gotten a phone call just because he hasn't heard from me? Have my boys gotten Christmas or birthday cards? Have my brother's kids? Hmmm.
This all sounds like jealousy, and maybe that's a miniscule piece. But it's more my spiteful nature getting the upper-hand. Do I love my father? Absolutely. But, my father doesn't seem to care to make the effort to keep the relationship going, why should I be the only one to work at it?
Harsh words, but only because they are true. Think about all the stories of dead-beat dads out there. Some of you might even know some of these guys. Someone said, "Any man can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Dad."
Growing up, I had a great dad. He was my biggest fan and cheerleader ~ almost to the point of embarrassment. He did his best to raise 3 kids at the poverty level, and yet managed to give us many of the extras kids love. Dad did everything he could to be at the events that were important to me and supported everything I pursued, even when the distance was considerable.
And then, I grew up.
When we moved over 150 miles away from my dad, and my kids were very young, I tried very hard to visit as often as was possible. It is important to me that my kids know their family. But after years of being the one to make the 320+ mile round trip and making all the phone calls, I got tired. The highways and phonelines run both ways, last time I checked. So I took a break and was no longer the one to initiate contact. Which is to say that there was no contact ~ for almost a year.
Then my dad decided to remarry and I became pregnant with my second son, and I thought it was important to keep the relationship intact. But it was more of the same one-way effort, which again became tiring.
One Halloween, the family was at my brother's house for Trick or Treat. Dad had to drive through my town to get to my brother's place, but he never let me know that he was passing through. Ok. He knew he would see us there. I told Dad that there was only weekend in Dec that I could come up for the holidays and asked if he would be around. That was hunting season, but he was usually back from the woods by afternoon. We were staying with Josh's sister anyway, so we could get together with Dad for a late lunch or dinner and not interrupt anyone's plans.
The week before we were supposed to visit, I called Dad to make sure everything was still a go. No response. I tried again a few days later. Again, no response. Dad finally called when we were enroute to my sister-in-law's house to say that he had been hunting with my brother all week and he could save me a trip by stopping by on his way home. That would have been a great plan ~ had he told me when I first called him several days earlier. Or I could have taken the boys over to my brother's house any day that week to not only see their grandfather, but also their cousins. Instead, we were carrying on with the plans that were originally made (since other family was expecting us) and we never did see Dad for Christmas that year.
But then, this was not the first holiday season that we missed visiting my dad. There was the year that he changed his phone number and didn't tell me. When I called the number I'd be using for him I reached a bowling alley. I sent him a card wishing him happy holidays and letting him know that I no longer had his number ~ only then did he call me. And he makes a few visits to my brother's house every year ~ once again, he has to pass through my town to get to my brother ~ yet, he never thinks to let me know that he is passing through, never asks if he could stop by to see his grandkids, never suggests that we meet up at my brother's house.
I haven't seen my father since that Halloween, nor have I talked to him since that Christmas. I have made the obligatory phone calls on his birthday and Father's Day, but had to leave messages. He did call to wish me a happy birthday this year, but he has a habit of calling late and I was already in bed. Have I gotten a phone call just because he hasn't heard from me? Have my boys gotten Christmas or birthday cards? Have my brother's kids? Hmmm.
This all sounds like jealousy, and maybe that's a miniscule piece. But it's more my spiteful nature getting the upper-hand. Do I love my father? Absolutely. But, my father doesn't seem to care to make the effort to keep the relationship going, why should I be the only one to work at it?
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