Needing a Bridge
First a confession. I’ve been selfishly bitter lately. I hid it with intentions of public protection, but really I was wallowing in bitterness to my molester.
The story all started a few weeks ago when I was told that the guy who molested me- who is listed on the Canadian sex offender registry and living under release conditions that prohibit his contact with minors- is now a Counselor. Yes, you read that right. But the info wasn’t quite right- he wasn’t a counselor yet, he was doing a practicum as part of his Masters in Counseling studies. The clinic he was doing the practicum at did a heck of a sales job bragging up how great a guy the rapist is. They bragged about his successful career as a teacher (which he lost due to his crimes), his successful career as a teacher(which he started when he lost his teaching job, and lost when he was convicted and sentenced), and on and on.
For any who’ve read some of my previous posts (like this) this won’t come as a major surprise. I flipped!! I called my brother who’s been with me in this from the start, and over the next few days we called everyone we could think of:
– the police who after a lot of checking said “wish we could stop this cause it’s sick, but he’s not breaking any laws.”
– the counseling clinic who’s owner said “he’s a good guy who served his time, he deserves a second chance, and just wants to help people”
– the university he’s studying at, talked to the dean of the counseling program, who consulted with their lawyer, who then wrote a carefully worded letter saying that they only care about academic performance.
To us, he’s just carrying on his trend of looking for vocations which will put him in one-on-one situations with vulnerable people.
Now that I’ve got that off my chest, I NEED TO LET IT GO!! I can’t let the bitterness over what happened yesterday ruin my today. And so, as I turn these words over to cyberspace, I turn vengeance over to God. I can’t do anything (legally) about him. And I can’t dwell on it anymore. So now, as I BRIDGE to tomorrow, I need to set boundaries, so that when anyone wants to talk about “him who will no longer be talked about”, I can change the subject of conversation.
So help me God!
Sweet Mistakes, Such Sweet Mistakes.
As a divorced dad, there’s people who ask what I’d do different if I could do it over. They suggest that having married my kids’ mom was a mistake. And maybe in a lot of ways it was. But, Oh, what a sweet mistake. Because of that “mistake” I have three beautiful, sweet daughters that I love deeply and I know they love me too. Besides that, there was a lot of good to that marriage, and never minding the things that ended it, I try to remember with pleasure the good that came from that “mistake”.
But, let’s set me aside for a couple minutes here. I’m sure all of my readers know somebody who was born as a “mistake”, right? I mean, some people say they were a “surprise”, or an “accident”, but we all know what that means- their mom made a mistake, and had a child. What a sweet punishment for having a mistake, right? I’m not seeking to minimize the hardships of unplanned pregnancy, or single motherhood, or any of those things. We all know that is an incredibly tough row to hoe. But who can hold a baby, then watch them grow, and call that precious life a “mistake”?
I’d love to hear it if you think I’m nuts…that would just be another mistake to lear from, eh?
via Daily Prompt: Mistake
Today’s post is prompted by the Daily Prompt: Fifty, but totally inspired by the great Alberta Singer/ Songwriter Ian Tyson. This old song of his titled “Fifty Years Ago” rolls through my mind every once in a while, and the soundtrack played instantly through my mind when I saw the word “fifty”. Maybe I have an old soul, ’cause I sure don’t remember anything from fifty years ago. Heck, I don’t even know if my dad had dreamed of having a boy named Duane fifty years ago yet. But yet, the almost haunting reminiscent tone of this song has caught me since I was not even half of fifty yet. And now, 80% of the way to fifty, it still speaks the same.
Here is the Chorus:
And the sighing of the pines
Up here near the timberline
Makes me wish I’d done things different
Oh, but wishing don’t make it so
Oh the time has passed so quick
The years all run together now
Did I hold Juanita yesterday
Or was it fifty years ago.
And if you’ve ever heard the song, I bet you were singing it in your head just now.
I’ll include a youtube link for anyone who wants to hear this tune:
via Daily Prompt: Fifty
Only “as old as I act”? Or is it “as old as I feel”?
I prefer “As YOUNG as I wanna be”!
I’m too young for questions that complicated. Ya right! But I did have a lot of fun hanging out with my kids this week, and not acting my age. I guess to someone in their fifty’s, in forty is the prime of youth anyway, right? It was a lot of fun to go on amusement park rides that my logical mind told me I’d have to be insane to do. It’s a lot easier to keep up to a seven year old who’s not fond of crazy rides than it is to keep up to a thirteen year old who thinks “the crazier, the better”.
Go out, and celebrate your youth, in whatever way you can, with whatever youth you have in your heart!
via Daily Prompt: Youth
OK, so this title is not very original- it’s based on a chapter in the book I’m reading (Conversations with a Rattlesnake by Fleury and Barthel). Chapter 9 in that book is titled “Learning to sit with Your Shit”. It’s a fascinating read about a part of emotional healing that I have to really work on.
The idea is to let oneself sit and feel the emotion of what is going on, no matter how shitty (Okay, I’ll try stop using the “s” word now) it is. The concept behind this, and I know it works for me, is that by allowing the emotions to flow, and trying to interact with my own emotions, I can actually deal with and understand what I’m feeling. This tends to- when I remember to use this technique- really help me get all the way through what I’m feeling and why, instead of just quelling it and running from my emotions.
It’s a real STRUGGLE most of the time though. Really, who wants to sit in THAT???
And to be fair, there are many emotions that I am grateful to have had the opportunity to have had professionals force me to “sit in it”. There are some things that I definitely shouldn’t process on my own, although that is a smaller and smaller part of my emotional reportoire these days, as I get more and more comfortable with myself.
I’d love to hear anybody else’s experiences with “sitting in it”
Written in response to today’s daily prompt:Struggle
Ah, the relativity of it all
One loves it, but it can cause another’s fall
“This whiskey is so smooth”, they say
And I enjoyed a sip yesterday
Like all good things, moderation
Is the key, or this libation
Could be a nasty master indeed
As could a little rolled up weed
And when my life is going smooth
And I’m not looking for a soothe
I do enjoy a glass of something smooth.
Written as a response to today’s daily prompt of “smooth”. When I read the word, Chris Stapleton’s voice singing “Tennessee Whiskey” popped into my head. And I know whiskey doen’t taste smooth to everyone, but it is a pleasure I enjoy.
Oh, my mind is blank,
It’s like an empty tank,
drained by this day,
But tomorrow’s a new day.
I open up my journal,
today’s entry is infernal,
this day, it kind of stank,
but tomorrow’s page is blank!
So todays daily prompt word is “Orderly”. I’ve never written a post in response to a daily prompt, but since I just wrote a blog on the use of “I” vs. “you”- Language- You vs. I – the idea of order kind of caught my fancy. See, a lot of my life has not gone according to what many would consider to be good order. Maybe even disorderly would be a better way to describe a lot of my life. Now, to be fair, most of the disorder wasn’t created by me, nor would I wish it on anyone.
However, when I own the disorder in my past, I give my life a chance to gain order. Blaming others for the disorder only helps me to wallow in self pity, whereas owning the fact that this happened, enables me to ponder- now how can I turn the lemons into lemonade, the disorder into order. I think the disorder from my past has made me a stronger person, and now I can enjoy a more orderly life.