Don't be a dick

There are times I have a hard time making sense of the world.  I’m not talking about your average, daily waiting at Starbucks, in line, for 30 minutes when the bitch in front of you STILL hasn’t decided what the hell she wants, when grabbing her by the hair and explaining how ALL 50 people behind her NEED coffee seems totally and completely rational .  No, I’m talking more along the lines of why in the hell does bad shit happen.

Granted, Aunt Flow showed up, so I’m my normally, monthly, hormonally, teary-eyed mess.  Its one of those times that “Lilo and Stich” would probably make me cry harder than “Schindler’s List” and that shit lasted days…all ‘cause of that little girl in red.

Anyway, ‘tis the Season, and I’m stressed out, maxed out, tired, and already almost in tears every moment of the day…over sentimental shit, happy shit, sad shit, and the missing-people-that-aren’t-here-anymore shit.

Yesterday, for some reason that verges on crazy and involves estrogen, I was remembering my first Christmas without the Sha.  The first Christmas after my divorce that I faced a Christmas without my baby, when Brian and I lived in that teeny house in Monteview. I got up, turned on the tree lights, and proceeded to bawl my eyes out for hours.  Christmas is about kids, and by God, her not being there just ruined the whole thing.  It was my first “Christmas.Fucking.Sucks.” moment.

My mom-in-love showed up to head to Arco with us, and we spent the day with Buddy and Tammy and my Grandma Jeneane.  I have a picture of us together that day, and I am laughing…which is a good reminder that my day got brighter.  But, it reminded again that Gram J isn’t here; made me wonder how she dealt for years with Christmases alone as her husband loaded up and left to spend the day with his kids and ex-wife; and I remembered her eyes that last Christmas she was here, when she kept nodding off, as she was watching soccer in Spanish, and begging me not to leave.  So, I cried again like I tend to do at the drop of a hat this time of year.

I often go back to that day, thinking of that Christmas I had to spend without Sheridan, and it pales in comparison to the one day, she got up early, a week before Santa came, and I had to tell her her dad was gone…forever.  

I remember it so vividly.  I remember trying to put up the tree.  Trying to wrap presents.  And in the midst of all of it, I realize that the tree, the snow, the presents…none of that shit really matters.

I was hit with this huge ball of selfish guilt.  How you can love someone, then hate them in the marrow of your bones, find forgiveness somewhere, learn to be friends again, and eventually learn, in the scheme of it all, YOU really don’t matter.  Babies matter.  Innocence matters.  Safety matters. LOVE matters.

As an adult, you learn to deal with hurts and heartaches.  You gradually learn that the world can be a fucked up a place.  Bad things happen to good people.  Sometimes, the best and most good, most honest, the things we love the best are jerked away from us.  As we grow we learn this. 

I learned it at 22, again at 31, and most profoundly at 32 and 35.

I didn’t have to learn it at 9 like Sheridan.  I missed a Christmas with her, but she’ll never get another with her dad.  I still have Buddy and Tammy, both.  I have yet to lose a parent, and maybe THAT fear is what brings me to tears every year when I take Sheridan to lay the wreath.  She’s always hated it.  

Yesterday, she asked to go.

So, I woke up this morning, thinking of all the things I had to get done, and I sent my children to school.  I told Schmoo I would pick her up at car line.  We were planning on hanging stockings.  This weekend meant family get-togethers and baking. 

I got my nails done, and when I got in the car, to go shopping after, Brian sent a text telling me to check out the news.  Twenty babies gunned down in school.

Babies who probably wrote letters to Santa and have presents under the tree. 

I drove to the school, 20 minutes early to be first in line.  When I saw my baby run out of the building and laugh and wave at me, I totally, and completely lost it.  I’m still in tears.

I don’t understand it, and I don’t think anyone else does either.  I’ve listened to asshole pundits screaming it’s because we kicked God out of schools and a few dickhead atheists crying it’s all because religion is evil.

Let me be clear, I’ve been on both sides of this fence.

I believe in love. 

I don’t think anyone needs a higher power to have a moral ethic; in fact, if hell is the only reason you do what is right, you lack character.  On the other hand, I know what it’s like to go to my knees and have nothing left but faith in believing things will get better.

And it ALL reminded me of what is wrong with us as a country today.  

I BELIEVE in LOVE.

We have become a people that look too much at our differences instead of looking at our common experiences.  We have become a people that define ourselves not as who we are, but who we are not. Too many of us are ready to pounce on the differences instead of embracing an open and honest dialogue about what we all want out of life.

Babies died today.  The innocence of childhood and a belief in the goodness of humanity was lost today, to young people who had all the optimism in the world before them.

I BELIEVE in LOVE.

I believe everyone that crosses my path has a lesson to teach me.  To open my mind to a new way of thinking, as uncomfortable and asinine as I might have previously believed it to be, is what I owe the world. I owe it to innocence, and hope, and love….and to all that is good in this world, that stands in the face of evil, sick people, to open my mind to other ways of thinking is a duty we all have.

I BELIEVE in LOVE.

Love says not to fear.  Love teaches us compassion.  Love tells us different isn’t bad; it just is.

Tammy used to call me the rainbow child.  I don’t believe any human is instrinsically evil.  Call me naïve, but I refuse to believe it.

I BELIEVE in LOVE.  I believe we all want the best for humanity, we just disagree on the means to get there…and that is why we need an open space to discuss these things together…not polarization and labeling difference as evil.

I come from a long line of outspoken women, and Tammy had this saying when we were growing up that some may find harsh.  She would tell us, a lot, “Don’t be a dick.”

It’s probably some pop-culture thing from the 90’s…remember the shirts?  But, it has stuck with me.  You mouth off...”Don’t be a dick.”  You don’t give up your chair for an elder, and she’ll grab you by those tiny hairs on your neck and whisper in your ear, “Don’t be a dick.” 

Dicks don’t gun down classrooms full of children.  Sick people do.  Dicks attack others for seeking solace and understanding in a crazy world, in a way some view as different.

So, I guess the whole point of this rambling mess is this…believe in love.  Love doesn’t hurt others.  Love discusses things openly and honestly and truthfully.  

Its Christmas.  Saturnalia.  Hannukah. I could give a shit.

Cherish what you have.  Practice love.  Don’t be a dick. Best.Advice.EVER.