Edited: Aha...they actually printed my letter and yet, as always, the better bits removed. *sigh* I see they took out the reference to journalist being held at the airports. Hmmm......
http://gulf-daily-news.com/ArchiveNewsDetails.aspx?date=03/03/2011&storyid=300950
Ok, the link isn't working but it's the gulf-daily-news.com March 3, 2011 letters section. Second letter down.
I've been reading a plethora of letters lamenting the one-sided views of recent events in Bahrain as depicted by the world media.
Apparently the writers believe that TV still remains the number one source of "fast breaking news". I would like to introduce these out-of-date writers to two fast breaking sources they may be unfamiliar with - Twitter and Facebook.
Anyone that has had an ounce of interest in what was happening, first in Tunisia, then Egypt, then Bahrain and now Libya, are aware of the power these sites have given the common man on the street - where all the action is taking place. Twitter has been full of people reporting being shot at by police while demonstrating peacefully - while it is happening! They report attacks, beatings, gunfire and so much bloodshed.
Twitter and Facebook are full of videos from the people right there, for the rest of the world to know what is happening.
Twitter followers and Facebook users have sat horrified at computers, watching events unfold as each new story, picture and video has brought to life the horrors the Middle East dictators have unleashed against their citizens.
We don't need BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera, etc to inform us, rightly or wrongly, of anything we can't find out from people there.
No longer can these rulers keep the truth from the world by blacking out the media and telling false stories of how events are unfolding (as they are still trying to do).
We are bystanders to these bloody revolutions going on as I write, but we are also witnesses, who may not be putting our lives in danger by facing trigger-happy government puppets, but we do what we can by sending on these tweets to everyone we can think of by linking our Facebook pages with pictures and videos so that the world can see the truth even if BBC and CNN choose to show something different.
You, as a viewer, have the option of choosing what you watch. If you think these media sources are one-sided, then join Twitter or Facebook if you haven't already and start following the people following those in the middle of the violence.
If you don't believe their first-hand accounts, then watch the videos. It is rather hard to Photoshop them while you are dodging gunfire.
You are not forced to watch these media. I can guarantee that most people around the world who want the truth - not some biased agenda seeking soap box, pearl-clutching version - are not watching them either. Be pro-active about what is unfolding rather than whine and moan about the unfairness of it. These people are protesting and willing to risk their lives due to the fact that "unfairness" permeates their lives. If they can do something about it, so can you. Lee Ann Fleetwood
I still read letters to the local paper in Bahrain and this past two weeks have been nothing but praise for the King and govt. while complaining vehemently about the one-sided media bias they accuse major news channels of displaying. After viewing Reem Antoon's completely clueless ramble in the Comment section of today's GDN http://gulf-daily-news.com/NewsDetails.aspx?storyid=300533 I couldn't maintain myself anymore and pounded out this letter in reply.
Now let's see if the GDN editor allows it. He is known for being a little one-sided himself.
Letter to the Editor
I've been reading the plethora of letters lamenting the one sided view of recent events in Bahrain as depicted by world wide media. Apparently these letter writers believe that T.V. still remains the number one news source for "fast breaking news". I would like to introduce these out of date letter writers to two fast breaking news sources that they may be unfamiliar with. Twitter and Facebook. Anyone that has had an ounce of interest in what was happening first in Tunisia, then in Egypt, and on to Bahrain and now Libya are fully aware of the power these two sites have given the common man or woman on the street. The street being where all the action is taking place. Twitter has been full of people reporting being shot at by police while demonstrating peacefully. While it is happening!!! They report attacks and beatings; gun fire and bloodshed...so much bloodshed. Twitter and Facebook are full of videos from those very same people who are RIGHT THERE and can video exactly what is going on and are demanding the rest of the world know it too. Twitter followers and Facebook users have sat horrified at computers watching events unfold as each new story, pic, and video has brought too life the horrors the dictators of the middle east have unleashed against their citizens. We do NOT need BBC, CNN, Al Jazeera etc to inform us, rightly or wrongly, of anything we can't find out for ourselves from those that are actually there. No longer can these corrupt rulers keep the truth from the world by blacking out news media (as they are still trying to do) and telling completely false stories of how events are unfolding (as they are still trying to do). We are bystanders to these bloody revolutions going on as I write this, but we are also witnesses, who may not be putting our own lives in danger by facing loaded guns and trigger happy government puppets, but we do what we can by sending on these tweets to everyone we can think of. By linking our Facebook pages with pics and videos so that the whole world can see the truth...even if BBC, CNN and, yes, even Bahrain TV, chooses to show something different. You, as a viewer, have the option of choosing what you watch. If you think those media sources are being one sided then take a moment to join Twitter, join Facebook if you haven't already and start following the people who are following those that are right there in the middle of the violence. If you don't believe their first hand accounts then watch the hundreds of videos. It is rather hard to photoshop those while your dodging gun fire.
You are not forced to watch those media sources and I can guarantee that most of the people around the world that really do want the truth and not some biased agenda seeking soap box pearl clutching version of it, are not watching them either. Be pro-active about what is unfolding rather than whine and moan about the unfairness of it all. The fact that these people are protesting and willing to risk their lives is due to the fact that "unfairness" permeates their lives. If they can do something about it so can you.
One more comment to make to Reem Antoon. She asked where all the foreign journalist were. Why we hadn't heard from them while the media was so busy being one-sided. I'm guessing they found it rather hard to report on what was really happening in Bahrain due to the fact they were not allowed to leave Bahrains Airport upon arrival. Yes, they were detained. No, that didn't stop them from telling the world that they were being prevented from entering Bahrain. Go figure. Wonder why that was?
Even one-sided stories have two sides.
Lee Ann Fleetwood
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, February 24, 2011
House Bill 74- Wyomings Anti-Gay Sentiment
UNLESS YOUR GAY!!!
Ask any child that resides in the state of Wyoming today about our state motto and it's fairly certain he or she will give the same answer that has been taught to them since kindergarten; Wyoming is the state of Equality due to the fact that women were given the right to vote in this state before any other state even considered them close to being capable of making such an intellectually challenging choice on election day. Apparently that was the first and last time that word "equality" meant anything other than an easy answer on a grade school government test. Right now Wyoming's Legislature is busy trying to invade our bedrooms and relationships by defining what it means to be a legalized couple in the eyes of the law.
House bill 74 is all about defining what "marriage" means and according to our constitution marriage has always been defined as that existing between "one man and one woman". Those who support this bill love to repeat this phrase over and over again..."marriage is defined as..." as if that is the end of the matter and there is nothing further to say. Here is my question regarding that long held definition. What does a definition of a word really mean at the end of the day?
We humans, in our cerebral capacity, invented language as a means of easier communication. Telling someone what you need is faster and more accurate then subjecting them to a round of charades in which they must spend precious amounts of time trying to understand your arm waving and facial contortions. While we were busy inventing language we also invented the definitions of each word our new language acquired. To have a universal definition for a word facilitated comprehension and communication.
Here is a fact about our language...it's not as set in stone as some would like to believe. We take on new words and new meanings almost as fast as we take on new fashion trends and bad habits. While we were busy inventing new words we also invented this one particular new word; redefine. Redefining a word means taking one that already exists, such as "marriage", and making it mean something similar but adding a twist so to speak. It still means basically the same thing but due to how our culture changes and how we interact with each other and with the world at large, old words have this ability to take on slightly new meanings. Now, for instance, marriage as defined by the state of Wyoming, means a union existing between one man and one woman; but we must remember that that definition was created by a culture of people that assumed heterosexuality was the only form of sexuality that mattered. Heterosexuals were the "norm" and they happened to also be the ones defining words for us as they created law. Homosexuality was viewed as deviant and abnormal and was commonly thought to be a form of criminal behavior akin to pedophilia and bestiality. Who would even consider defining marriage in such a way to include such pariahs of society? Not the writer's of our constitution obviously; or should I say not the readers of it.
However, while the writer's of our constitution may not have been invisioning a day when acceptable relationships did not mean just one man and one woman, they did make way for the possibility that marriage would some day need to be redefined by including Article 1 Section 2 that states that "all members of the human race are created equal" and Article 1 Section 3 which states that "the laws of this state affecting the political rights and privileges of its citizens shall be without distinction of race, color, or sex...". This leads us back to the definition of marriage that supporters of House Bill 74 are insisting is the only acceptable definition as stated in our constitution. To any casual reader of our constitution this claim cannot stand based only on that "evidence". When we look at the history of Wyoming, or even the history of the United States, we are well aware of how homosexuals have been viewed and treated in the past. Not only was their persecution unconstitutional, they were hounded by the religious establishment as perversions of humanity that were destined for hell and the sooner the better. We also know that most likely how religion has chosen to define words has greatly influenced how laws are made or, at the very least, written. Our forefathers and constitution writers defined marriage in such as way as to exclude and discriminate against and deem unequal in the eyes of the law a certain group of the human race. They also created law that denied them their political rights and privileges and, until now, that definition was never called into question.
We are all aware that homosexuality has come a long way since Wyoming's constitution was written. All though those that do not accept homosexuality as a normal human feeling and trait still abound and are just as busy today trying to send these "perversions of humanity" to hell as in the past, by and large Wyoming residents have accepted that homosexuals do exist and do deserve the same rights and privileges that heterosexuals enjoy. Unfortunately, residents of Wyoming apparently have no say in whether House bill 74 will become law or not.
Here is what I propose to those in our legislature that are so against allowing homosexuals the right to marry, or at the very least to have their marriage recognized in this state upon becoming residents (if they ever choose to subject themselves to that discriminatory proposed law); why not use that word we invented, "redefine", to change what the accepted definition of marrieage means into something different. Why don't you exercise this power and redefine what marriage means in the state of Wyoming to include all those who wish to find comfort in the legalized and state recognized sanctity of their union? Why is it so important to you that the definition of marriage remains that of "one man and one woman" when you are well aware that not every couple consists of that gender binary?
Our constitution declares that NO citizen of this state will be subject to unfair and discriminatory laws and will not be made to feel unequal in the eyes of the law based on race, color, or sex. House Bill 74 is an oxymoron in this regard. By continuing to define marriage in such a way as to legalize and recognize only those marriages you deem valid and acceptable you are not only diminishing and reducing the rights of those that do not conform to your "one man one woman" pair, you are declaring their relationship and desire for commitment as irrelevant and illegal; even those that were performed and legalized in other states.
To add insult to injury, Gov. Matt Mead has openly declared that he is "against gay marriage" which means that the highest elected official of this so called Equality State, obviously does not see the citizens that elected him into that illustrious post as equal in his own eyes. How is it possible he holds the position that he does then? How can we feel assured that he has our, this includes ALL citizens of Wyoming, best interests in mind when he openly declares that he does not?
You do not have to be accepting of gay marriage even while you create law that assures homosexuals equal rights under that law. Gov. Mead's personal feelings towards gay marriage is not only irrelevant when considering this House bill 74 but also crosses the line into invading ones personal lives to the point of excluding them from living a free and full filling one that entitles them to all the rights and privileges our constitution assumingly gives them. If he and other elected representatives can insist on one singular definition of one specific word despite the overwhelming discrimination to a percentage of our population because of it, and despite the fact that we can and do redefine words as the culture surrounding that word changes and flows in a different direction, and despite the fact that he and other elected officials were elected to specifically uphold the rights and privileges of every citizen on this state, they are still arrogantly assuming they and they alone have the power to declare what marriage is...and more importantly what it is not.
As citizens of this Equality State that is fast becoming anything but, it is imperative that we strongly protest this Bill 74 before it becomes a fact because, while this particular bill may not affect those of us that are not gay, the next one might. If we don't unite as citizens and defend the rights of all Wyoming residents how can we cry foul when our own rights are summarily stripped away by those who obviously do not have our collective best interests at heart?
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Anti-Bullying Flashmob January 2011
Sometimes mobs are a good thing and have an important message to spread. Now why don't we do things like this here in Wyo? Oh yeah, I forgot, we are working more in the direction of making sure our children know that if your different (as in gay etc) then you're not equal under the law. Wyoming legislature is working very hard to pass an anti-gay bill which means that homosexual marriages (or any sort of marriage not sanctioned by the state of Wyo, in other words, one man and one woman) is not legally binding in the state of Wyoming. Of course this also means that if you got married to your same sex spouse in a state that DID recognize such unions...then upon taking up residence in our state of "Equality", your marriage now becomes illegal under this proposed legislation.
Why our legislatures have such a vested interest in the married lives(or lack there of) of those that are not JUST LIKE THEM is beyond me. Considering WYO has the highest teen pregnancy rate, highest gun ownership numbers, highest teen suicides AND highest using a gun as a weapon to commit suicide, not to mention our educational system is getting a kick in the ass lately....I'm wondering why our elected officials are putting so much effort into legislating who can marry who? Or making illegal what other states have saw fit to be fair and equitable and make law.
As politicians, is THAT the most important issue that keeps you up at night?
Bullying is an epidemic the entire world has to deal with...and the bullies are not age specific...they can be school ground kids, corrupt leaders of nations...or elected officials in government.
We need more flash mobs like these children...but then again...who is paying attention to them beyond smiling and clapping when they are done?
Being very ignorant of the law here in the states (learning but slowly) I'm trying to understand what others do to take part in being active in government law making...as in protest rallies, petitions etc. I take great strength in what has and is transpiring in the middle east right now. However, being the United States our right to protest is generally not with the knowledge that a bullet might just be the only answer we get. All the more to be impressed and awestruck by the people in the middle east's desire to change their own lives. I sit here feeling rather inept wondering what I can do to facilitate change in my neck of the woods.
These children did something about it...maybe it's not a huge thing given the scale that bullying affects their lives...but I would harbor a guess that it has made them feel useful, empowered, and likely to continue on in their lives being pro-active towards issues they feel emotional about. More schools should get their students involved in just such activities for exactly this reason.
Get them while they are young and you have them hooked for the rest of their lives.
Question: what have any of you done to be pro-active towards political (or any) issues you felt compelled to act upon? I need some ideas and guidance on this matter. Anyone?
Friday, February 18, 2011
Egyptian Revolution 2011- The Most Dramatic Footage From the 18-day Revo...
I dare you to watch this and not cry or be horrified...and then...awestruck by the tenacity and determination of the Egyptian people.
I have had few heroes in my world...now I have a nation of them. Mabruk Egypt!!
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Biting Back. Egyptians and I.
I watch the turmoil in Egypt with a sense of fascination and with a heart beating with anticipation, fear, and hope. I watch those people taking their futures into their own hands and I realize that, for them (as for myself) a certain point had been reached when enough was ENOUGH!! People can sit on the sidelines and ask...what the hell took them so long, but for me that question is irrelevant. Time has no bearing on a person (or persons) in the depths of oppression. It just boils down to one day at a time...one moment at a time...sometimes even your next breath seems questionable. What matters is that the moment has arrived, for whatever reasons, and Egyptians have decided that now is as good a time as any to find that strength they always had but had been taught through oppression that inner strength was best left in the dream world. Well, dreams are all nice and sweet (for the most part) but for them, as for me, it's time to wake up.
I haven't spoken on this blog much about the catalyst that brought about the moment in which I finally realized that enough was enough and I was ending this one way or another. As I watch the unfolding events in Egypt I can't help but look back on that night and for me it really hits home. I see in those people what I saw in myself...either do it now...or let the moment pass and sink into unremitting despair as you realize "this is it" and the rest of your life is just counting the moments until you die. For anyone that has been in that particular situation there are two deaths we can experience in life...permanent death of course is waiting for everyone...but the other death I speak of is more painful, more crushing, and infinitely more destructive then that eternal sleep in the earth. I'm referring to the death of your soul, of your intellect, of your sense of self. Those Egyptians, as I, have decided that they matter, they count, they have purpose and it isn't too grovel at the feet of an uncaring, inhumane dictator whose own self interests are the beginning and end of their existence.
I lived in the middle east for 23 years. Granted Bahrain is nowhere near the oppressive corrupt state that Egypt, or even Tunisia, is but it does have it's dictator and corrupt govt. It also has its prisons that people enter and never exit, without fair trials or even charges. People in Bahrain, like in most (all) Arab countries, disappear...and there isn't much anyone can do about it. Of course this fear of being one of the Disappeared keeps people in a permanent state of suspicion and distrust. It also effectively shuts your mouth as you know that to open it leaves you at the mercy of that corrupt dictator and govt and that to speak out can be the beginning of the end for you. Because of this I was constantly witness to a room full of people laughing, gossiping people having a good time...and then someone mentions the "unmentionable"..aka the King, or even worse, the Prime Minister..and suddenly there is a hush that silences the crowd as effectively as a conductor tapping for attention.
The suspense in the room is palatable. In that moment you wonder if that person will be foolish enough to say something negative (because you never know who the spy among you is) or do the usual ass kissing that all Bahraini's, dare I say all Arabs, do when in a crowded room when you never know where your words will end up? It is at this moment when voices are instantly lowered, tones are neutral, eyes are darting...and everyone waits.
Back in the late 80's when I first arrived in Bahrain this state of fear was more intense then it is now. I didn't understand it fully then because in America we are allowed to speak out, to protest, to accuse our govt. and president of being less than just etc. I actually found it rather humorous to watch a room full of people instantly hush when the King, or rather Sh. Isa (father to King Hamad) was mentioned...and the real fear that was felt when the Prime Minister (same one) was brought up. Now I understand it, of course...now I sympathize with it because I too was in a relationship that forced me to bite my tongue to keep the peace, even when every fiber in my being cried out for me to speak out...NO...to SHOUT OUT that this was fucking wrong!!! I bit my tongue until it bled...until I could bite no more. And then rather than bite my own tongue one more time and risk choking...I "bit" him instead. To say he was surprised is an understatement.
The Egyptian people are biting back with tongues bloody from years, decades, of forced silence. I feel their pain. I taste their blood as if on my own tongue. A familiar taste I never ever got use too...but learned to live with at my own peril.
They are biting back....as did the Tunisians...and the resulting wave of Arab people that are seemingly coming to the realization that they still have power, they still count...they still matter, is an amazing thing to witness.
Tunisians took the first bite...Egyptians saw that it tasted good to the Tunisians and bolstered by the smack of satisfaction resonating from the lips of the victorious Tunisians...have decided they would rather fight for their own futures with lips bloody from a Revolution...then choking from blood filled with fear, oppression, and loss of hope...loss of self.
On my own night in question, after one more battle in a long line of battles that stretched behind me for 20 years...and apparently stretched in front of me for 20 more...I saw my ex standing there, leaning against the wall, casually smoking a cigarette, with a look of complete and utter satisfaction on his face. He had me right where he wanted me. I wasn't going anywhere. His hand held the leash that was around my neck..and he knew it. In his world, all was good, all was as it should be. All was business as usual.
It was at this moment that something clicked in my head. I was almost convinced it was an audible sound it was so loud. I remember looking around to see if my kids (who had to witness that fight...and what was about to happen) had heard it. I looked at him standing there, not a care in the world, not in the least upset about the fight we just had, about the fact that our children had to witness once again him abusing their mother...and then turning around and giving them a lecture on what it means to "be" Muslim. His hypocrisy in their eyes registered not at all in his mind. Things were as they should be...as they had always been...for 20 years.
If he only knew what was coming, what had been a long time coming, he might not have been quite so smug. Again, I can't help but think of Hosni Mubarak right now. Did he never once pause and think...I may have to pay for my oppression of the people some day. If not tomorrow...the day after? Eventually they might realize that when there is nothing left to lose...death is preferable to this life I have forced upon them.
Did that ever cross his mind? Obviously not because he never changed his ways...as did my husband. Promises made. Promises broken in almost the next breath. Every dictator on the planet knows that THEY don't have to change...they are God. The only thing that changes is the size of the oppressed belly as they force themselves to swallow more blood from those bloodied tongues.
So I stood there watching him....hearing that very LOUD click in my mind in which something very fundamental changed in me forever. I realized in that moment that THIS was my life...forever and always. Until either he died or I did (and knowing my luck it would be me first)...this was it. Unless I changed something about ME....it would always be the same...because he wasn't going to change of course. Life for him was good. Life for him was perfect. Life for him was about to change in ways he couldn't even fathom...
I turned and walked into my boy's room...searching for something. I didn't realize what I was looking for until I found it. A baseball bat. I bent over reaching for the handle and it was as if the world had slowed down to the point that every movement was a separate picture taken and viewed from outside myself. My hand grasped the long slender neck and with contact I felt a resolve settle into my heart that I thought impossible. Things were going to change...right HERE and right NOW...one way or another.
I didn't really think about much right then. I can't tell you exactly what I WAS thinking...my mind felt really blank to tell the truth...but at the same time it was abuzz with years of abuse...years of loneliness...Years of Tears. I came out of the boy's room and walked toward him...the bat trailing on the ground beside me. I wasn't even holding it in an aggressive manner I clearly remember. I'm not even sure at this moment what I intended to do with it. It felt good in my hand...it felt right. That was all that was important to me just then.
He turned his head and looked at me coming towards him...at first that damn smug look was still on his face. He probably thought I was coming to make the peace as usual. A necessity when you knew life wasn't going to change and living with an uneasy peace was preferable to an all out war. I can clearly remember the very second when he realized things weren't as they should be. I can only surmise he read something in my face that he couldn't remember seeing before...that he didn't recognize...that he couldn't CONTROL. I'm guessing what he saw was the consequences of his years of abuse walking toward him...with a baseball bat in her hand.
To this day I wonder why he didn't just take the bat from me. He was bigger, stronger...there wouldn't have even been a struggle over it. He could have taken that bat from me and that would have been the end of my "Revolution" of sorts. He could have taken that bat and I would have been right back where I started...which was nowhere. Instead...he ran. There is only one thing a Predator does when the Prey runs...chases after it. For once in MY life...I was the predator and he was the prey. The ever present blood on my tongue from 20 years of biting suddenly felt different...tasted different. Rather than choking me it was urging me on...for once in my 20 year marriage that blood tasted GOOD.
And I wanted more.
I went after him...and the rest..as they say...is history. Here I sit some 3 and a half years later with my freedom...with my children safe from him...with MY future in MY hands...and the blood on my tongue has all but dried up. The memory of it is not gone though. I keep it. Turn it over in my mind. Remind myself that I will never go back to that state of having to swallow my tongue to keep things easy for HIM.
Mubarak is looking out his window (if he dares go to any window just now) and is seeing something on the faces of HIS people. They are tasting a new sort of blood on their tongues. One that is unfamiliar but welcome all the same. He is standing there looking...and I'm quite positive he is thinking...what the hell is wrong with these people? Who do they think they are? How dare they assume their lives are worth anything more than what I choose to give them.
I know he is thinking this...because all dictators think that. All abusers think that. And the only thing that changes that mindset...is that audible click in the mind of the oppressed...and the realization that either we lay down and die (our souls) or we bite down harder on our blood filled tongues and taste a new kind of blood. The blood of Revolution.
Run Mubarak...cause they are coming for you. And after the Egyptians have their day...I hope other oppressed countries feel emboldened to become Predator...when before all they knew was life as Prey.
My heart beats for you Egypt. My tears fall for you. My hope grows for you. My soul, once nearly dead, cheers for you. Stand fast and stand strong. 30 years of oppression and pain is about to end...it's so damn worth it. You can't imagine how good Freedom taste.
I haven't spoken on this blog much about the catalyst that brought about the moment in which I finally realized that enough was enough and I was ending this one way or another. As I watch the unfolding events in Egypt I can't help but look back on that night and for me it really hits home. I see in those people what I saw in myself...either do it now...or let the moment pass and sink into unremitting despair as you realize "this is it" and the rest of your life is just counting the moments until you die. For anyone that has been in that particular situation there are two deaths we can experience in life...permanent death of course is waiting for everyone...but the other death I speak of is more painful, more crushing, and infinitely more destructive then that eternal sleep in the earth. I'm referring to the death of your soul, of your intellect, of your sense of self. Those Egyptians, as I, have decided that they matter, they count, they have purpose and it isn't too grovel at the feet of an uncaring, inhumane dictator whose own self interests are the beginning and end of their existence.
I lived in the middle east for 23 years. Granted Bahrain is nowhere near the oppressive corrupt state that Egypt, or even Tunisia, is but it does have it's dictator and corrupt govt. It also has its prisons that people enter and never exit, without fair trials or even charges. People in Bahrain, like in most (all) Arab countries, disappear...and there isn't much anyone can do about it. Of course this fear of being one of the Disappeared keeps people in a permanent state of suspicion and distrust. It also effectively shuts your mouth as you know that to open it leaves you at the mercy of that corrupt dictator and govt and that to speak out can be the beginning of the end for you. Because of this I was constantly witness to a room full of people laughing, gossiping people having a good time...and then someone mentions the "unmentionable"..aka the King, or even worse, the Prime Minister..and suddenly there is a hush that silences the crowd as effectively as a conductor tapping for attention.
The suspense in the room is palatable. In that moment you wonder if that person will be foolish enough to say something negative (because you never know who the spy among you is) or do the usual ass kissing that all Bahraini's, dare I say all Arabs, do when in a crowded room when you never know where your words will end up? It is at this moment when voices are instantly lowered, tones are neutral, eyes are darting...and everyone waits.
Back in the late 80's when I first arrived in Bahrain this state of fear was more intense then it is now. I didn't understand it fully then because in America we are allowed to speak out, to protest, to accuse our govt. and president of being less than just etc. I actually found it rather humorous to watch a room full of people instantly hush when the King, or rather Sh. Isa (father to King Hamad) was mentioned...and the real fear that was felt when the Prime Minister (same one) was brought up. Now I understand it, of course...now I sympathize with it because I too was in a relationship that forced me to bite my tongue to keep the peace, even when every fiber in my being cried out for me to speak out...NO...to SHOUT OUT that this was fucking wrong!!! I bit my tongue until it bled...until I could bite no more. And then rather than bite my own tongue one more time and risk choking...I "bit" him instead. To say he was surprised is an understatement.
The Egyptian people are biting back with tongues bloody from years, decades, of forced silence. I feel their pain. I taste their blood as if on my own tongue. A familiar taste I never ever got use too...but learned to live with at my own peril.
They are biting back....as did the Tunisians...and the resulting wave of Arab people that are seemingly coming to the realization that they still have power, they still count...they still matter, is an amazing thing to witness.
Tunisians took the first bite...Egyptians saw that it tasted good to the Tunisians and bolstered by the smack of satisfaction resonating from the lips of the victorious Tunisians...have decided they would rather fight for their own futures with lips bloody from a Revolution...then choking from blood filled with fear, oppression, and loss of hope...loss of self.
On my own night in question, after one more battle in a long line of battles that stretched behind me for 20 years...and apparently stretched in front of me for 20 more...I saw my ex standing there, leaning against the wall, casually smoking a cigarette, with a look of complete and utter satisfaction on his face. He had me right where he wanted me. I wasn't going anywhere. His hand held the leash that was around my neck..and he knew it. In his world, all was good, all was as it should be. All was business as usual.
It was at this moment that something clicked in my head. I was almost convinced it was an audible sound it was so loud. I remember looking around to see if my kids (who had to witness that fight...and what was about to happen) had heard it. I looked at him standing there, not a care in the world, not in the least upset about the fight we just had, about the fact that our children had to witness once again him abusing their mother...and then turning around and giving them a lecture on what it means to "be" Muslim. His hypocrisy in their eyes registered not at all in his mind. Things were as they should be...as they had always been...for 20 years.
If he only knew what was coming, what had been a long time coming, he might not have been quite so smug. Again, I can't help but think of Hosni Mubarak right now. Did he never once pause and think...I may have to pay for my oppression of the people some day. If not tomorrow...the day after? Eventually they might realize that when there is nothing left to lose...death is preferable to this life I have forced upon them.
Did that ever cross his mind? Obviously not because he never changed his ways...as did my husband. Promises made. Promises broken in almost the next breath. Every dictator on the planet knows that THEY don't have to change...they are God. The only thing that changes is the size of the oppressed belly as they force themselves to swallow more blood from those bloodied tongues.
So I stood there watching him....hearing that very LOUD click in my mind in which something very fundamental changed in me forever. I realized in that moment that THIS was my life...forever and always. Until either he died or I did (and knowing my luck it would be me first)...this was it. Unless I changed something about ME....it would always be the same...because he wasn't going to change of course. Life for him was good. Life for him was perfect. Life for him was about to change in ways he couldn't even fathom...
I turned and walked into my boy's room...searching for something. I didn't realize what I was looking for until I found it. A baseball bat. I bent over reaching for the handle and it was as if the world had slowed down to the point that every movement was a separate picture taken and viewed from outside myself. My hand grasped the long slender neck and with contact I felt a resolve settle into my heart that I thought impossible. Things were going to change...right HERE and right NOW...one way or another.
I didn't really think about much right then. I can't tell you exactly what I WAS thinking...my mind felt really blank to tell the truth...but at the same time it was abuzz with years of abuse...years of loneliness...Years of Tears. I came out of the boy's room and walked toward him...the bat trailing on the ground beside me. I wasn't even holding it in an aggressive manner I clearly remember. I'm not even sure at this moment what I intended to do with it. It felt good in my hand...it felt right. That was all that was important to me just then.
He turned his head and looked at me coming towards him...at first that damn smug look was still on his face. He probably thought I was coming to make the peace as usual. A necessity when you knew life wasn't going to change and living with an uneasy peace was preferable to an all out war. I can clearly remember the very second when he realized things weren't as they should be. I can only surmise he read something in my face that he couldn't remember seeing before...that he didn't recognize...that he couldn't CONTROL. I'm guessing what he saw was the consequences of his years of abuse walking toward him...with a baseball bat in her hand.
To this day I wonder why he didn't just take the bat from me. He was bigger, stronger...there wouldn't have even been a struggle over it. He could have taken that bat from me and that would have been the end of my "Revolution" of sorts. He could have taken that bat and I would have been right back where I started...which was nowhere. Instead...he ran. There is only one thing a Predator does when the Prey runs...chases after it. For once in MY life...I was the predator and he was the prey. The ever present blood on my tongue from 20 years of biting suddenly felt different...tasted different. Rather than choking me it was urging me on...for once in my 20 year marriage that blood tasted GOOD.
And I wanted more.
I went after him...and the rest..as they say...is history. Here I sit some 3 and a half years later with my freedom...with my children safe from him...with MY future in MY hands...and the blood on my tongue has all but dried up. The memory of it is not gone though. I keep it. Turn it over in my mind. Remind myself that I will never go back to that state of having to swallow my tongue to keep things easy for HIM.
Mubarak is looking out his window (if he dares go to any window just now) and is seeing something on the faces of HIS people. They are tasting a new sort of blood on their tongues. One that is unfamiliar but welcome all the same. He is standing there looking...and I'm quite positive he is thinking...what the hell is wrong with these people? Who do they think they are? How dare they assume their lives are worth anything more than what I choose to give them.
I know he is thinking this...because all dictators think that. All abusers think that. And the only thing that changes that mindset...is that audible click in the mind of the oppressed...and the realization that either we lay down and die (our souls) or we bite down harder on our blood filled tongues and taste a new kind of blood. The blood of Revolution.
Run Mubarak...cause they are coming for you. And after the Egyptians have their day...I hope other oppressed countries feel emboldened to become Predator...when before all they knew was life as Prey.
My heart beats for you Egypt. My tears fall for you. My hope grows for you. My soul, once nearly dead, cheers for you. Stand fast and stand strong. 30 years of oppression and pain is about to end...it's so damn worth it. You can't imagine how good Freedom taste.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Who Has the Right to Choose?
My first born, my daughter, was born in Oct of 87 and her birth was the brightest spark in my otherwise rather bleak world...up until that point. From the moment I realized I was pregnant it was always a "baby" inside me. In my mind this baby was never a zygote, and embryo, a fetus etc...it (she) was a fully formed baby...just very tiny...waiting to be born. Every single one of my pregnancies were met with the same feeling..that I was suddenly pregnant with a baby....and couldn't wait for his or her entrance into the world.
When my daughter was barely 2 months old I found myself pregnant again. At first I was shocked to realize I would be a mother again so soon but I quickly accepted the fact and looked forward to this new arrival just as I had my daughter. I never for a moment considered this new pregnancy an inconvenience or a difficulty (all though I never particularly liked being pregnant) and so thoughts of it being too early or how will I manage were fleeting at best. I prepared for the rest of the pregnancy while still getting use to my newborn.
Just over a month later I had a miscarriage. I was 3 months pregnant by this time and didn't really understand what was happening when I first started spotting. My husband took me to the hospital and it was confirmed that I was having a miscarriage.
I felt devastated. I felt guilty..I must have done something wrong to cause this. I felt like I was being punished in some way and the penalty was my child. As I laid on the cot waiting for my D&C to scrape the remains of my child from my womb...I was in no pain. Not even cramps signaled the loss of a living breathing life within my body. This made the guilt even worse...as if the passing of this life from my body wasn't significant enough to cause me any discomfort. I laid there and apologized over and over again to this angel that would never be born.
As I waited my turn in this busy ward of chaos and mayhem...I was in the hallway on a gurney at the time...I shared the space with another woman on another gurney a few feet away. As we waited patiently (she appeared to be in no pain either though I had no idea what was wrong with her just then)...a small boy kept coming to her from the waiting area down the hall. It was her son and he appeared to be no older than 4 or 5. Each time he told her his father had sent him...each time she told him to go back to his father. This happened at least a dozen times in the course of the hour and a half we laid there. (while patients and staff passed us by...seemingly not seeing us)
Finally a doctor came and examined the woman and it was then I learned that she too was having a miscarriage...but she was further along than I at 5 months. I was horrified to hear the doctor say that the babies feet were protruding from the mothers body at this point...and all the while she laid there patiently without making a sound. They quickly wheeled her away and as she passed by she gave me a sympathetic smile..and I returned it...two mothers sharing a horrible situation. United by blood and loss.
When my turn finally came I was wheeled into an exam room before heading for the operating room. It was at this point that I heard a word that absolutely made me balk and cringe at it's very utterance. "Abortion"...said the nurse to the doctor that came sweeping in. This patient is having an abortion at 3 months.
Abortion? I wasn't having an abortion. Abortions were for unwanted babies...abortions were something some women chose to do when they cared nothing for the life that grew within them. Abortion was when a "mother" chose to kill her child. I didn't choose this. I didn't want this to happen. I would have given anything to stop what was happening and let this baby continue on growing until she finally emerged wet and crying into the world.
I felt like the nurse had slapped my face. I felt like she had judged and labeled me a killer of babies. I was made to feel ashamed for something I had not done. I was humiliated and shaking with outrage. I wanted this baby...how dare you say I don't and call this an abortion.
As the nurse and doctor shared information and spoke over my head about ME and MY body, never once asking me anything about ME...I heard the word "abortion" spoken several more times. Eventually I had had enough and interrupted them mid speak.
"Excuse me," I said still shaking, "but I'm not having an abortion...I'm having a miscarriage."
They both stopped and looked at me...as if finally realizing there was an actual human being on the table and not just an "abortion" in progress.
The doctor smiled and said..."Of course it's not an abortion technically...but is referred to as a spontaneous abortion (whatever that means)...don't worry about it, dear." Then went back to ignoring me as she conversed with the nurse.
I was wheeled into the operating room and my never to be born child was vacuumed from my womb. Later that evening I was allowed to go home and I arrived into my MIL house without fanfare or a "to do" being made about it. Everyone went about their business as I hobbled upstairs to lie on the bed...and begin my grieving process.
This happened 22 years ago...and still I think about this unborn child. I wonder about him. I imagine what she would have looked like. These thoughts are always in my mind but usually I keep them safely tucked away in a box...only to bring them out on occasions when I feel especially melancholy and tortured with the "what if" game.
I have come to realize..and I learned this lesson right off that bat once I came home from the hospital...that people don't want to talk about miscarriages. They seem unable to bring themselves to say anything beyond, "it's for the best". Best for who? What most people fail to realize is that...whether or not you miscarry at 3 months or 5 months...it was still a living breathing human being that died. I lost a child. In my mind I lost a child...yet nobody else seemed to feel this way. I merely had a medical procedure...I had a bump in the road...I had a misfortune that was corrected by God. I had a lot of things according to those around me...whenever they could bring themselves to mention it at all...but what I didn't have was a baby.
Once again I was made to grieve the loss of life that was important to me...alone.
22 years later I have grown a lot. I have experienced a lot. I have witnessed a lot. The word "abortion" rankled me that day because I was feeling vulnerable, I was hurt and emotional and guilt was raging through my body...but I didn't feel then and I don't feel now that the word abortion...nor the act of abortion...is something I can judge other women over. I myself would never consider an abortion (at least I don't think I would) but I can only see from my eyes and live in my shoes. I have no way of knowing how another woman feels about her pregnancy...whether it is a blessing or a curse to her. I cannot judge her or her decisions. The choice is hers as far as I am concerned...sometimes the choices we make are not the right ones (or even the wrong ones) but we don't know that until the full effects of those choices are made obvious to us at some point in time.
I was reading on a website today about abortion and there were so many many hateful disgusting comments aimed at women who go through with abortions...and at those who accept it as a choice she has a right too...and it amazed me how complete strangers feel they have the right to demand you submit to their ideas of what is right and wrong...simply because they say so. It seems abotion critics seem to believe that women who opt for abortions make the decision flippantly and without much emotional turmoil...and I would have to admit that maybe some of them do...but as a woman and mother I would firmly argue that a majority of women do not make that decision lightly at all. Whether they do though is not for the rest of us to judge in my opinion. If YOU don't believe in abortion...than don't have one.
Similar is the argument against homosexuality. They believe it is wrong so it is wrong. Period. If YOU don't believe in being gay...then don't be gay...but why point a judgmental finger at others who might believe or accept it? I don't understand that.
Anyhow, the reason for this post is because, one, I was feeling rather melancholy as my box of memories was left ajar it seems and I couldn't close it fast enough to stop the "what if" game from taking hold. And, two, I was reading that post as I said and I couldn't help but feel outraged at the Holier Than Thou attitude that others feel they have a right too concerning other people's bodies.
I'm not sure one topic has anything to do with the other but I felt the need to write and so I did.
When my daughter was barely 2 months old I found myself pregnant again. At first I was shocked to realize I would be a mother again so soon but I quickly accepted the fact and looked forward to this new arrival just as I had my daughter. I never for a moment considered this new pregnancy an inconvenience or a difficulty (all though I never particularly liked being pregnant) and so thoughts of it being too early or how will I manage were fleeting at best. I prepared for the rest of the pregnancy while still getting use to my newborn.
Just over a month later I had a miscarriage. I was 3 months pregnant by this time and didn't really understand what was happening when I first started spotting. My husband took me to the hospital and it was confirmed that I was having a miscarriage.
I felt devastated. I felt guilty..I must have done something wrong to cause this. I felt like I was being punished in some way and the penalty was my child. As I laid on the cot waiting for my D&C to scrape the remains of my child from my womb...I was in no pain. Not even cramps signaled the loss of a living breathing life within my body. This made the guilt even worse...as if the passing of this life from my body wasn't significant enough to cause me any discomfort. I laid there and apologized over and over again to this angel that would never be born.
As I waited my turn in this busy ward of chaos and mayhem...I was in the hallway on a gurney at the time...I shared the space with another woman on another gurney a few feet away. As we waited patiently (she appeared to be in no pain either though I had no idea what was wrong with her just then)...a small boy kept coming to her from the waiting area down the hall. It was her son and he appeared to be no older than 4 or 5. Each time he told her his father had sent him...each time she told him to go back to his father. This happened at least a dozen times in the course of the hour and a half we laid there. (while patients and staff passed us by...seemingly not seeing us)
Finally a doctor came and examined the woman and it was then I learned that she too was having a miscarriage...but she was further along than I at 5 months. I was horrified to hear the doctor say that the babies feet were protruding from the mothers body at this point...and all the while she laid there patiently without making a sound. They quickly wheeled her away and as she passed by she gave me a sympathetic smile..and I returned it...two mothers sharing a horrible situation. United by blood and loss.
When my turn finally came I was wheeled into an exam room before heading for the operating room. It was at this point that I heard a word that absolutely made me balk and cringe at it's very utterance. "Abortion"...said the nurse to the doctor that came sweeping in. This patient is having an abortion at 3 months.
Abortion? I wasn't having an abortion. Abortions were for unwanted babies...abortions were something some women chose to do when they cared nothing for the life that grew within them. Abortion was when a "mother" chose to kill her child. I didn't choose this. I didn't want this to happen. I would have given anything to stop what was happening and let this baby continue on growing until she finally emerged wet and crying into the world.
I felt like the nurse had slapped my face. I felt like she had judged and labeled me a killer of babies. I was made to feel ashamed for something I had not done. I was humiliated and shaking with outrage. I wanted this baby...how dare you say I don't and call this an abortion.
As the nurse and doctor shared information and spoke over my head about ME and MY body, never once asking me anything about ME...I heard the word "abortion" spoken several more times. Eventually I had had enough and interrupted them mid speak.
"Excuse me," I said still shaking, "but I'm not having an abortion...I'm having a miscarriage."
They both stopped and looked at me...as if finally realizing there was an actual human being on the table and not just an "abortion" in progress.
The doctor smiled and said..."Of course it's not an abortion technically...but is referred to as a spontaneous abortion (whatever that means)...don't worry about it, dear." Then went back to ignoring me as she conversed with the nurse.
I was wheeled into the operating room and my never to be born child was vacuumed from my womb. Later that evening I was allowed to go home and I arrived into my MIL house without fanfare or a "to do" being made about it. Everyone went about their business as I hobbled upstairs to lie on the bed...and begin my grieving process.
This happened 22 years ago...and still I think about this unborn child. I wonder about him. I imagine what she would have looked like. These thoughts are always in my mind but usually I keep them safely tucked away in a box...only to bring them out on occasions when I feel especially melancholy and tortured with the "what if" game.
I have come to realize..and I learned this lesson right off that bat once I came home from the hospital...that people don't want to talk about miscarriages. They seem unable to bring themselves to say anything beyond, "it's for the best". Best for who? What most people fail to realize is that...whether or not you miscarry at 3 months or 5 months...it was still a living breathing human being that died. I lost a child. In my mind I lost a child...yet nobody else seemed to feel this way. I merely had a medical procedure...I had a bump in the road...I had a misfortune that was corrected by God. I had a lot of things according to those around me...whenever they could bring themselves to mention it at all...but what I didn't have was a baby.
Once again I was made to grieve the loss of life that was important to me...alone.
22 years later I have grown a lot. I have experienced a lot. I have witnessed a lot. The word "abortion" rankled me that day because I was feeling vulnerable, I was hurt and emotional and guilt was raging through my body...but I didn't feel then and I don't feel now that the word abortion...nor the act of abortion...is something I can judge other women over. I myself would never consider an abortion (at least I don't think I would) but I can only see from my eyes and live in my shoes. I have no way of knowing how another woman feels about her pregnancy...whether it is a blessing or a curse to her. I cannot judge her or her decisions. The choice is hers as far as I am concerned...sometimes the choices we make are not the right ones (or even the wrong ones) but we don't know that until the full effects of those choices are made obvious to us at some point in time.
I was reading on a website today about abortion and there were so many many hateful disgusting comments aimed at women who go through with abortions...and at those who accept it as a choice she has a right too...and it amazed me how complete strangers feel they have the right to demand you submit to their ideas of what is right and wrong...simply because they say so. It seems abotion critics seem to believe that women who opt for abortions make the decision flippantly and without much emotional turmoil...and I would have to admit that maybe some of them do...but as a woman and mother I would firmly argue that a majority of women do not make that decision lightly at all. Whether they do though is not for the rest of us to judge in my opinion. If YOU don't believe in abortion...than don't have one.
Similar is the argument against homosexuality. They believe it is wrong so it is wrong. Period. If YOU don't believe in being gay...then don't be gay...but why point a judgmental finger at others who might believe or accept it? I don't understand that.
Anyhow, the reason for this post is because, one, I was feeling rather melancholy as my box of memories was left ajar it seems and I couldn't close it fast enough to stop the "what if" game from taking hold. And, two, I was reading that post as I said and I couldn't help but feel outraged at the Holier Than Thou attitude that others feel they have a right too concerning other people's bodies.
I'm not sure one topic has anything to do with the other but I felt the need to write and so I did.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Diamond in the Rough
My 16 year old daughter has seemingly made it her life's ambition to befriend the sort of children that others see as odd or different...the sort that don't fit into the generic teenage mold and thus are labeled "outsiders". She brings them home and introduces them to me expecting the same sort of judgement by me that others have always given them. Now and then she does bring someone home that I just don't cotton on too very well and I let her know that. Nothing more than a feeling that makes me pause and think...hmmmm...but most of the time they are good kids (for the most part) they just choose to dress differently, style their hair differently, pierce body parts that make others cringe...things like that. Look past all that outer decoration and there is still a teenager in there with all the normal teenage angst and drama. From all the ones she has brought home, one has stood out and has become a regular visitor and occasional overnight guest. His name is Kelian.
Kelian is 15 years old and a giant among most of the other 15/16 year old he's surrounded by at high school. When I first met him he had long crazy hair that was a different color nearly every other week. He is sweet, has a beautiful smile, and is one of the most helpful boys (teens) I've ever had the pleasure of being around. His laughter is contagious and he abhors wearing shoes. It's not unusual to see him outside in 3 feet of snow wearing flip flops. Yes, his feet are cold and yes he bitches about it...but he won't go put shoes on no matter how cold they get. Don't ask me...I don't understand it either.
Kelian's home life is not an easy one. His mother drinks a lot. (one of my regulars) and his step father is abusive. Both of them are heavy into the biker culture so there are tattoos, piercings, metal studs, lots of leather, and big biker boots as part of the ensemble. His step father is well over 6 feet tall and his mother is around 5'3" and so Kelian is somewhere in the middle of these two in height. He also cares for his mother a lot when she is drunk and the step dad has left the house. The stories he has told me leaves me shaking my head (as if I don't have my own stories but I'm not a child anymore and he is) and I so much want to do something for this boy that is getting a shitty start in life.
Did I mention he has been in and out of boys homes, been on probation, has had run ins with the law? All of this was before we met him (though he was still on probation then) and most of it can be attributed to a child left on his own to entertain himself how he chose. He chose to shoplift...and drink his mother's alcohol. I decided the best way I could help this boy was to invite him into our family...give him a little "normal" (whatever normal means) and give him a place where he can let his guard down and just be himself.
One more thing I forgot to mention about Kelian. He is gay.
Kelian knew he was gay since around age 10 when he realized he just didn't care much for girls and always seemed drawn to boys. Of course growing up in a house with a biker Harley Davidson gang member was hard enough all by itself...but trying to convince his step dad that being gay was in any way a viable option in his life was something else. His step father threatens to "make him a man" by way or another all the time. Not sure what he means by that. He shaved Kelian's long beautiful hair as an act of punishment a few months ago claiming that men don't have long hair...conveniently forgetting that his own hair is well down his back. The hypocrisy is not lost on Kelian.
His mother says little in front of her husband but has told me during a drunken moment that she only wants Kelian to find someone to love and be happy with...and she doesn't care if that is with another man. I felt she was divulging a deep secret of hers that the alcohol loosened up...in the end most mothers realize they still love their child no matter the life choices they make. Some mothers...not all.
Since Kelian has been spending time with us he appears to have blossomed (at least in my eyes). He loves to come over here and just be himself. Nobody makes fun of him here. Nobody averts their eyes away from him. Nobody whispers after he has walked by. He watches T.V. with us and shares our dinner and goes to the movies with us. He sleeps on our couch when he doesn't want to go home...and wakes up in the morning in a bright mood. I find it hard to equate him with the kid that is failing school, fighting with anyone that looks sideways at him, or hates to mention his family to anyone but us...because I believe he now sees us as his family as well...extended family at any rate. We are his and he is ours...generally speaking.
And though it was my original intent to help Kelian..he has also helped us grow in many ways that previously we couldn't. My children grew up in a culture in which being gay is a serious offense. Not to say there are no gay people in Bahrain, of course there are, but they keep their sexual identity a secret knowing what can happen if the truth were out. My older boys especially had a harder time adjusting to Kelian's "defect" as one son first shockingly referred to it. After a lecture from me...he was sullen for awhile...but now seems to have gotten past it. Even if he doesn't accept it inside himself...he knows better than to say it out loud around me. This is my house...and my guests are treated with respect. I might add that this is a good way to get your children to be more accepting of people that are "different" etc...invite them over and befriend them. Kelian is a sweet lovable kid with us...and he happens to be gay. It's hard to be hateful and prejudiced against the known (someone that is gay)...as opposed to the unknown (the mere concept of being gay as a form of deviance).
When I asked Kelian how he met my daughter he told me that he saw her in the hall at school a few times...but it wasn't his nature to approach strangers...fearing judgement...but to his surprise one day she marched up to him and introduced herself. They have been good friends from the start. I have seen him stand by her during her most trying times when school bullies were calling her and her brother terrorists etc. I've seen him literally hold her hand and drag her in to the doctors office to get a shot because she is terrified of needles...and not letting it go even though she squeezed so hard his fingers were red. I've seen him help her and all the while I know (because I have been there) his mind is busy with his own problems, his home life, his "chosen" lifestyle that makes his world pain filled and miserable. He has told me that she helps him as well. In school she is the first to stand beside him when others dare to point a finger. He declares her willingness to "take a bullet for him" as he describes it "totally awesome". My daughter has never been one to shy away from telling someone exactly how she feels. (stories there people...stories there)
I tell you this story about Kelian for two reasons. I want to shine a light on a boy that has forever had the light taken away merely because he is different. He was labeled a loser, a reject, a lost cause by those whose signature apparently matters...and he craved someone to just look at him...really look AT him rather than his file full of his failures...and see the boy that lives inside. When I first met him I could see how he prepared himself for my rejection, it was a fleeting look on his face that he quickly covered with his usual bravado and "I don't give a shit" demeanor...and was left without words when I smiled (a rarity for me, ask anyone) and welcomed him into my home....and then welcomed him to come back anytime. In those early days he was constantly ready to be pissed off and find reasons to leave...but now...even when he gets pissed..or my daughter gets pissed (they do argue now and then)...they separate for awhile....then it's back together again. And I think that is the absolutely best thing for him...to realize there is someone ready to stick with him through the rough shit as well as the fun.
The second reason is because I was an abused child..my children were abused. For most of my life I couldn't help myself or them due to location and laws...but now I can...and I do. I told myself some time back that if I were in a position to help a kid that clearly needed it...even if it was to just open my home and our lives too that kid and give them a place away from the drama and abuse...just for awhile...then I would.
It hasn't all been easy. I had a rather scary evening with his mother over him one night...and he does have issues to work through (don't we all) but for the most part I think it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Kelian is a joy to be around and he has taught us so much about taking people for who they are...and incorporating that into a friendship with a little something extra.
I realize that helping a troubled teen can have it's serious consequences...they are volatile emotional creatures that are likened to a ticking time bomb seconds from going off at any given moment...but the reward for me has been well worth it....and I hope for Kelian it has meant something too.
When I was growing up I wanted someone, anyone, to look at me and give me a moment of their time because it can make all the difference. Someone did actually and I will write about him in a future post...but for now..I want to know...is there a Kelian in your life or do you know of someone like him that could use a Big Brother/Big Sister (or mother...lol)? If there is..did you hold out your hand to help..or wish you had? If you did...what was the result?
Kelian is 15 years old and a giant among most of the other 15/16 year old he's surrounded by at high school. When I first met him he had long crazy hair that was a different color nearly every other week. He is sweet, has a beautiful smile, and is one of the most helpful boys (teens) I've ever had the pleasure of being around. His laughter is contagious and he abhors wearing shoes. It's not unusual to see him outside in 3 feet of snow wearing flip flops. Yes, his feet are cold and yes he bitches about it...but he won't go put shoes on no matter how cold they get. Don't ask me...I don't understand it either.
Kelian's home life is not an easy one. His mother drinks a lot. (one of my regulars) and his step father is abusive. Both of them are heavy into the biker culture so there are tattoos, piercings, metal studs, lots of leather, and big biker boots as part of the ensemble. His step father is well over 6 feet tall and his mother is around 5'3" and so Kelian is somewhere in the middle of these two in height. He also cares for his mother a lot when she is drunk and the step dad has left the house. The stories he has told me leaves me shaking my head (as if I don't have my own stories but I'm not a child anymore and he is) and I so much want to do something for this boy that is getting a shitty start in life.
Did I mention he has been in and out of boys homes, been on probation, has had run ins with the law? All of this was before we met him (though he was still on probation then) and most of it can be attributed to a child left on his own to entertain himself how he chose. He chose to shoplift...and drink his mother's alcohol. I decided the best way I could help this boy was to invite him into our family...give him a little "normal" (whatever normal means) and give him a place where he can let his guard down and just be himself.
One more thing I forgot to mention about Kelian. He is gay.
Kelian knew he was gay since around age 10 when he realized he just didn't care much for girls and always seemed drawn to boys. Of course growing up in a house with a biker Harley Davidson gang member was hard enough all by itself...but trying to convince his step dad that being gay was in any way a viable option in his life was something else. His step father threatens to "make him a man" by way or another all the time. Not sure what he means by that. He shaved Kelian's long beautiful hair as an act of punishment a few months ago claiming that men don't have long hair...conveniently forgetting that his own hair is well down his back. The hypocrisy is not lost on Kelian.
His mother says little in front of her husband but has told me during a drunken moment that she only wants Kelian to find someone to love and be happy with...and she doesn't care if that is with another man. I felt she was divulging a deep secret of hers that the alcohol loosened up...in the end most mothers realize they still love their child no matter the life choices they make. Some mothers...not all.
Since Kelian has been spending time with us he appears to have blossomed (at least in my eyes). He loves to come over here and just be himself. Nobody makes fun of him here. Nobody averts their eyes away from him. Nobody whispers after he has walked by. He watches T.V. with us and shares our dinner and goes to the movies with us. He sleeps on our couch when he doesn't want to go home...and wakes up in the morning in a bright mood. I find it hard to equate him with the kid that is failing school, fighting with anyone that looks sideways at him, or hates to mention his family to anyone but us...because I believe he now sees us as his family as well...extended family at any rate. We are his and he is ours...generally speaking.
And though it was my original intent to help Kelian..he has also helped us grow in many ways that previously we couldn't. My children grew up in a culture in which being gay is a serious offense. Not to say there are no gay people in Bahrain, of course there are, but they keep their sexual identity a secret knowing what can happen if the truth were out. My older boys especially had a harder time adjusting to Kelian's "defect" as one son first shockingly referred to it. After a lecture from me...he was sullen for awhile...but now seems to have gotten past it. Even if he doesn't accept it inside himself...he knows better than to say it out loud around me. This is my house...and my guests are treated with respect. I might add that this is a good way to get your children to be more accepting of people that are "different" etc...invite them over and befriend them. Kelian is a sweet lovable kid with us...and he happens to be gay. It's hard to be hateful and prejudiced against the known (someone that is gay)...as opposed to the unknown (the mere concept of being gay as a form of deviance).
When I asked Kelian how he met my daughter he told me that he saw her in the hall at school a few times...but it wasn't his nature to approach strangers...fearing judgement...but to his surprise one day she marched up to him and introduced herself. They have been good friends from the start. I have seen him stand by her during her most trying times when school bullies were calling her and her brother terrorists etc. I've seen him literally hold her hand and drag her in to the doctors office to get a shot because she is terrified of needles...and not letting it go even though she squeezed so hard his fingers were red. I've seen him help her and all the while I know (because I have been there) his mind is busy with his own problems, his home life, his "chosen" lifestyle that makes his world pain filled and miserable. He has told me that she helps him as well. In school she is the first to stand beside him when others dare to point a finger. He declares her willingness to "take a bullet for him" as he describes it "totally awesome". My daughter has never been one to shy away from telling someone exactly how she feels. (stories there people...stories there)
I tell you this story about Kelian for two reasons. I want to shine a light on a boy that has forever had the light taken away merely because he is different. He was labeled a loser, a reject, a lost cause by those whose signature apparently matters...and he craved someone to just look at him...really look AT him rather than his file full of his failures...and see the boy that lives inside. When I first met him I could see how he prepared himself for my rejection, it was a fleeting look on his face that he quickly covered with his usual bravado and "I don't give a shit" demeanor...and was left without words when I smiled (a rarity for me, ask anyone) and welcomed him into my home....and then welcomed him to come back anytime. In those early days he was constantly ready to be pissed off and find reasons to leave...but now...even when he gets pissed..or my daughter gets pissed (they do argue now and then)...they separate for awhile....then it's back together again. And I think that is the absolutely best thing for him...to realize there is someone ready to stick with him through the rough shit as well as the fun.
The second reason is because I was an abused child..my children were abused. For most of my life I couldn't help myself or them due to location and laws...but now I can...and I do. I told myself some time back that if I were in a position to help a kid that clearly needed it...even if it was to just open my home and our lives too that kid and give them a place away from the drama and abuse...just for awhile...then I would.
It hasn't all been easy. I had a rather scary evening with his mother over him one night...and he does have issues to work through (don't we all) but for the most part I think it was one of the best decisions I have ever made. Kelian is a joy to be around and he has taught us so much about taking people for who they are...and incorporating that into a friendship with a little something extra.
I realize that helping a troubled teen can have it's serious consequences...they are volatile emotional creatures that are likened to a ticking time bomb seconds from going off at any given moment...but the reward for me has been well worth it....and I hope for Kelian it has meant something too.
When I was growing up I wanted someone, anyone, to look at me and give me a moment of their time because it can make all the difference. Someone did actually and I will write about him in a future post...but for now..I want to know...is there a Kelian in your life or do you know of someone like him that could use a Big Brother/Big Sister (or mother...lol)? If there is..did you hold out your hand to help..or wish you had? If you did...what was the result?
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