What if my best friend was a Republican?

     What would I do if my best friend suddenly turned Republican? Perish the thought! But then again...what the Sam Hell is a Republican anyway? Every member of my immediate family considers themselves Republican. Several of my friends are Republican. Some of my most trusted allies at work and at home are dirty, rotten Republican. So what exactly does that mean?
     Tell ya the truth, I don't know. I know that they are the financially secure. Well-some right wingers that I know are dirt poor. (This brings me to a great big WTF? Is there a politically correct term for "redneck?")
     One thing I know for sure is that I don't know anything. I can only know things from my limited perspective, and somehow, that gets me by. Are there bats in my bellfry? Yes. But I doubt that they're Republican.
     My ideas are simple. Peace, love, harmony. Do unto others as you have done unto you. Love one another. But here's where the trouble comes in. I don't have money-so I'm not afraid of poor people taking it. I don't have a great job, so I'm not afraid of losing it to a minority. I'm not a man-so I'm not afraid of losing my power to a woman. And I'm not a married woman-so I'm not afraid of offending a man. Pretty simple. I'm a Democrat. I would like more money. I would like a better job. I would like a relationship built on, and fostered by equality. F@ckin' Republicans. I'm exactly what they're afraid of. So what if my best friend were a Republican? She's really not that far off. And I love her anyway. I always will. I guess a political party doesn't really define us. Not as much as we like to believe it does, anyway. It's just a way we define ourselves-right or wrong-a way to try to see ourselves, even though I'm not sure that we ever really see ourselves for who we are. And whoever my best friend is, I'm glad that she calls herself a Democrat. I'm glad that even when she tells me, "Terese, you do not want a man without a pension," she still defines herself as someone who belongs to the party of humanity and not the one who defines a person by his or her monetary worth. I like my friends rich in character and not shallow in integrity. But once in an everchanging aqua blue moon, I find those qualities in the most unlikely of people-Republicans.
   
    

Here comes the Lies...

     Everyone is getting married! Everywhere I look, someone is getting engaged. It's epidemic. And it bothers me. It bothers me because in all instances but one (Katie and Larry) I think it's an attempt at an economic fix. And I think that the state of our economy is a result of careless, maniacal behavior and the fix is an outdated, patriarchal value that's being forced on a society that has already fought this battle, has already won this war and is being bumped back to square one, like a game from the 70's called Life. Revenge. Go back to the start.
     What exactly do they think will change? You can't just do the same thing over and over and over again and expect the outcome to be better. Marrying for security doesn't work. Security is a very individual commodity. We need to be able to stand alone. Only when that happens can we prosper together. And I'm not saying that we shouldn't lean on each other or have some sort of symbiosis. I'm saying that if one life completely depends on another, the result is something less than ideal. I now pronounce you Parasite and Host. It's not a marriage. It's a disease. 
     Now is the time when we should be commiting to someone because we have examined our dreams and have come to conclusions about what we want from life, and have found the person who fits perfectly into that picture. Ironically, now is also the time when those ideals may be hardest to come by. Women recognise themselves as human-not toy. We want to be respected as capable, intellegent equals, in control of our bodies and reproductive processes. Frankly, we don't want to be told what to do. We want to take care and to be taken care of. We want to be weak at some things and strong at others. In other words, we want to be human. Same thing we want from a man. We don't want gods or fathers. We don't want macho. We want true-the exact opposite of what parents have been teaching their sons. We want it to change. And society wants us to settle; the thought being that things were better when men were men and women were women. Except that that was a lie and it wasn't better. And it didn't work. It would be stupid to go back to an archaic square one, like a game of the 70's called Life. People aren't supposed to travel backward, and in most cases except one, it seems like my betrothed aquaintences are throwing in the towel, not lifting up their wings. It's kind of hard to look at them and wish congratulations when what I really want to say is, "I'm sorry." And that's what I am, if truth be told, I'm sorry. And those are words that you just can't say but if they read my mind, I'm sorry.

Not My Dad

Just a small observation. I work in the detention room at a middle school. I meet lots of troubled kids with a host of different issues.  It's not my habit to pry into their lives but I always offer a shoulder or an ear, and more times than not, they use it. These kids have a lot to say and they tell a lot of stories. Here's one thing though, that  I've never heard. "My dad is nice."  Never.  Not even, "My dad is cool,"  "I love my dad," I need to talk to my dad."  Never.
It is my understanding that that men like to be the "fun parent." They also tend to be the "tough parent." Truthfully, it's not working. Better to be tough on yourself and nice to your kids than to take the easy way out with Disneyworld and a stiff fist. Better to sit down with them for a board game that you don't have to win, where you teach them the value of fair play, common courtesy, and patience. Where you take the difficult road and be nice to your kid. But you know what? Just forget about it. Why waste your time on good parenting when you're already spending more than you can afford to make the brat happy? Crack the whip a little harder, raise your voice a little louder and drink a beer. It's all job security to me. These kids wind up in my detention room, leaning on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. And when I ask them if they have a parent that can help them, the response is pretty consistent. "Not my dad."

Taking off the gloves.

I work with 8th and 9th grade students in the disciplinary division of a middle school. That, in itself, is a bit of irony since I am not known for my strengths as a disiplinarian. Rather, the opposite. Oddly enough, it seems to work well here. Most of the students come to me because they have been reprimanded for instances of fighting. Fighting is very popular at this age and although it seems to diminish when the students move on to high school, it appears as if it is a rite of passage that simply cannot be avoided on the journey to adulthood. They love to fight. My job, specifically, is to administer consequenses. Horrible, regret-inducuing consequenses. More often than not, though, the students report that they enjoy spending time in my classroom and look forward to revisiting. It would appear that I am defeating my purpose. But not really. The truth is, the students who are the most common repeat offenders are going to be repeat offenders, regardless of the quality of their stay in the suspension room. Traditional punishment doesn't work. It is never my intent to make the suspension room a comfortable place, but rather, a safe place- a haven. We don't fight here. I don't fight. If a student refuses to co-operate, I infuse a lesson into the refusal. I give them choices. You may do this or you may do this but you may not create a hostile or disruptive environment for the other students. In return, no one may create that for you. I do not challenge them with my authority. In fact, I am fast to point out that I have many weaknesses myself, that my life is constantly a struggle and sometimes, I need to accept that there is plenty of room for improvement. I make lots of mistakes. Sometimes, I have to remove a student. But rather than being a badge of honor that they can display to fellow students, it presents itself as more of embarrassment. It's pretty difficult to get kicked out of the In House room and who would want to? There are several students who stop by the classroom every day, just to say hello. Some ask to stay. Maybe that's not the way it should be but I don't hear the administration complaining. I treat these people the way that I would like to be treated. And at the end of the day I know what I want-a day that I don't have to fight.

Just thinking.

Today I was thinking about how lucky I am. Four hours sleep and I need new tires and my clothes are feeling tight and there's so much housework to do, but man, I know I'm lucky. I'm lucky because I do have two jobs and a car that runs and a house that's warm and some kids. When the ex starts bitching, I can just hang up and yes, it gets lonely but I'm never alone and I could have someone if I wanted but I think I'd like to wait. I think I'll buy a camera, one with a great big lens, but what do I know about lenses-I'll just ask my friend and I know that he'll help me and isn't that the glory that you can ask and they can help and you're both bettter for it in the end? Even the most unruly student in my classroom is sweet today. He's resting on his desk, like a fallen leaf. I let him do this because he needs it and because it's nice to see him still. Tomorrow is another day. I'll take this while I can. My mother is coming over after work and though I'm too tired to visit, I'm happy that she's coming because she wants to give me cookies and I want to take them, if for no other reason than a chance to show gratitude but also because they taste good. And I don't want to go to the store. For dinner, maybe we'll have pizza. No reason for cooking when Little Ceasers does it just fine and everybody likes pizza. Even the kids. They don't do dishes. And neither will I. I'm lucky.

Big fat lie

My friend is dating the man of her dreams. They recently became lovers. But there were stipulations. She is not to expect anything. Not exclusivity, not companionship. Not even a phone call. Nothing. And she agreed. Wholeheartedly-she agreed. So now, he knows that it's okay because she assured him it was okay. But let me tell you something. I know what she told him. And I know what she told me. And it's NOT okay. She doesn't expect him to waltz in and out of her life as he pleases, bringing nothing but his manhood to the occasional table. Not by a long shot. I'm not even gonna tell you you what she's hoping for, but it's a far cry away. And that's not what she told him. I am here to tell you that no matter what anyone says, it's not okay to disrespect another person. You wouldn't want it done to you. Even if you say you would. You may not mind a casual, heartless relationship with someone, but not if you're in love with that person. You wouldn't want it. And I know that. We're not so very different-you and I, and neither are you and my friend, or my friend's friend or you and my friend's friend and I and my friend. None of us want to be treated that way. He should have let her go. Instead of insisting on free sex at no cost ever, no guilt, no repercussions, no drama, no tears, no midnight phone calls, no regret- he should have let her go. But he didn't. 'Cause the man of her dreams is not really a dream at all. He's an opportunistic, self centered creep. My friend just got the man that she wanted. And I feel sorry for her.

Cold

Maybe because it's cold. But today I'm feeling horrible. Everything horrible. I positively detest cowards and maybe more than the weather, that's what's got me in a funk. If I could have the superpower of my choice, it would be to reflect to others, their true selves. What devastation I could do with that. I hate being silenced. I'm not silenced. But I feel like I should be, to keep the peace. What peace? There is no peace. Silence and denial never helped anyone. Unless it's a lie. Then you may as well shut up. Because a bitter silence is better than a beautiful lie. But that's what cowards do. They lie.And I hate those bastards.