secret cheerleader

There's a family in my neighborhood who are, how can I say this nicely...real D-bags. We're talking milking the system, cops there weekly, proven to be linked to criminal activity, loud, street arguing, fist-fighting on the front lawn and disruptive types of people. Those who know me know that I say hello to everyone when I am out for walks, especially in my own neighborhood. Though I won't go into details, the adults in this household make it clear that they want nothing to do with us or anyone else in the neighborhood except the house across the street from them in which their relatives reside (the other D-bags but add to the aforementioned list: drug dealers). To each his own but I still say hello, particularly to the kids who are much more receptive to friendly gestures.

In the household, there are three (or four or five depending on the day) children middle school age and under. Over the last year and a half I have witnessed these children start talking and behaving more and more like the adults that surround them. I have witnessed the older one using language that could melt paint off a car. Cursing worse than a truck driver, demeaning the younger ones and ranting with such anger it is heartbreaking. I see glimmers of hope when they are outside simply playing like children. If only they had someone, anyone that would take them under their wing and give them the chance of fostering the growth of that beautiful childlike side of them that still exists.

Yesterday, the middle school boy was outside by himself playing basketball. This poor kid often looks so sad, lonely, and sometimes angry. I had run outside to bring the garbage can out to the curb before the truck got to my street. Still in my pajamas and just focused on my task at hand, I hear an enthusiastic "Hi!" being shouted my way. Looking down the street it was the boy waving with a big smile on his face. I waved back with a "Hi. How are you today?" The boy said he was good and then went back to shooting hoops but now with a slight smile on his face. There was another day that I was working in the front yard and the kids were riding bikes. He went out of his way to bike over and say hi. All I have ever been able to do is say "hello" and "how are you?" with a smile on my face when I see him and the other kids. That little bit of positivity brings out the good in such impressionable children. Sadly, such little gestures are not likely to counteract the negativity that surrounds them, but there is still hope and with proper attention they could turn out okay. I know that the family would not allow me to engage the children any more than I already do but I will continue to show them a friendly smile no matter what. I know that I am planting small seeds of positivity and I want to do that, especially for the boy. I hope that at some level this kid knows I am rooting for him.

thoughts without a thinker

I've been thinking a lot about things lately; more so then usual. I've been thinking a lot about my grandmother...how she lived so long on her own, independent, self sufficient and full of life....how she moved into assistant living and had to be put in the Alzheimer's unit, not because she has Alzheimer's but because she kept leaving the building unassisted in an attempt to walk the un-walkable distance to my parents' house. I've been thinking about what goes on in her mind now that she does not reportedly recognize any of us any more. I think about how, between her moments of fear, she still has moments where her smile beams and her face lights up. I wonder if she has memories from this life or if she is very much in the here and now, and is perhaps feeling Zen-like without even trying. I wonder if my grandfather is watching over her, waiting for her to embrace her again. I wonder if she has moments where she sees angels preparing her to be ready to move on and be free from the physical that is slowly failing her. I wonder, when I helped her sit in my mother's car to take her home and I told her I love her and kissed her soft cheek, if she sensed how much I truly love her.

I've been thinking about how difficult this is for my mother; the strong woman who takes everything on with little support, less help and even less complaining. I wonder what I can do to take some of the pain away from her. I wonder where she gets her strength from. I wonder if she knows how much I admire her and am grateful that she is my mother. I think about how much my grandfather is probably surrounding her with love and support since he is definitely her guardian angel.

I wonder if I can get my shit together or at least temporarily pack it aside in order to be more present in what is going on with both of them. I think about doing all that I can to not have any regrets like the one I have from when my "2nd mother" passed away. It is not so much a regret, as it was a lost opportunity.

I have been thinking about love and family. I have been thinking about life and the future. I have been remembering joyful memories. I have been thinking about marriage and children. I have been pondering the differences and similarities between giving up and letting go. And I have come to the conclusion that I am enough, no matter what I am and where I am at.

they caught her red-chalk handed

I just had to laugh in uncomfortable disgust after reading an article in NY Daily News about a mother who received a form letter from the city regarding the graffiti her kid posted on their front stoop. DARN YOU DELINQUENT SIX-YEAR-OLDS AND YOUR EVIL CHALK GRAFFITI!!! Yes, that's right, delinquent kindergartners running rampant, tagging their own front stoops with chalk art that gets washed away by the next rain has got to stop! Children creatively expressing themselves through pink, chalky flowers and houses with yellow sunshines smiling upon them...Sheesh! Kids today!! Yeah, take responsibility of your evil corrupt child and do a rain dance, mom!

Okay, it is not the fact that the city sent the "remove graffiti or face fines" letter. That is their response when anyone calls in graffiti to the city's 311 complaint line. It is just standard procedure, an automatic, knee-jerk response. What amazes me is that a neighbor actually called in to 311 to complain about a little kid innocently making sidewalk art with chalk. Ridiculous! It is bad enough that kids grow up too fast and creative arts programs are the first to go with budget cuts, but now a kid cannot be a kid in their own neighborhood. Every time I see some kid art on the sidewalk, it makes me smile. I even enjoy jumping through a hopscotch board every now and then. What kind of a bitty curmudgeon would call in an actual complaint about such an innocent childhood activity? Perhaps they would lighten up if they got a bucket of sidewalk chalk and went nuts with their bad selves on the sidewalk.