I'm Sorry - Pride 2013

Yesterday afternoon I took part in my first Pride Parade.  

The lead-up to it has been years in the making.   

Though I have never had homophobic thoughts, feelings, or attitudes -

I am part of something bigger that has.

The church universal has a long and sordid history of shaming, hurting, rejecting, limiting, judging, and in some cases, even hating, members of the LGBTQ community.  Though much of this has taken place in conversations and sermons, letters and Bible Studies, some of it has been done with words printed on signs.  Words of hatred and venom.  (Fred Phelps, anyone?)

This was the second year that a group of Winnipeger's decided to physically make the presence of the church known at a Pride event.  Not to say, "you're wrong", or "if you'd change....", or something even stronger and much more hurtful.  The point was to say, "We're Sorry".  We're sorry for the way the church has hurt you.  We're sorry for the way Christians have used the Bible as a weapon against you.  We're sorry for putting conditions on you.  We're sorry for standing in judgement of you and making you feel afraid, shameful, or "less than".   On behalf of the church... we're sorry.

Parades are celebrations.  And so this motley group of Winnipeger's met up on Saturday night at our friends Jamie and Kim Arpin-Ricci's and the hub of Little Flower's Community and shared a meal together.  We ate, we played, we talked, and we got our craft on and made some signs.  Everyone who wanted to be was included.  Even our girls.  And though they personally have nothing to be sorry for, they understand how words can hurt, debilitate and immobilize you.  

We met up at the Legislative grounds on a beautiful sunny afternoon, and got ready to take our place as the parade passed us by.  

It really was a celebration.

As soon as the parade began, I was significantly impacted by what I saw and experienced.

Near the beginning, there were two middle-aged women walking hand in hand.  One had her head on her partner's shoulder and was openly sobbing as she passed us by.

There were huge crowds of people walking together.  A mish-mash of members of the LGBTQ community, allies, family members and friends.

There were older people and teenagers.  Lots of teenagers.  Amazingly, there were plenty of GSA's represented which made me so proud.  Despite all of the controversy, fear, anger, and disapproval, they were strong and brave enough to walk tall in the parade.

There was creativity.

There were high-fives and smiles.
Lots of waves and "thank you's".
Free hugs were also in abundance.

Parade-walkers snapped pictures.  I hope to think they wanted a memory of the words - the apology, and the spirit from which  they came.

There were babies and dogs and toddlers.   I was thrilled to see lots of school-age kids.
Imagine the different world our kids are going to be growing up in!

There were friends that I could call out from the crowd and share hugs with.

I had lots of emotional moments during the parade.  One stands out for me the most...
Two young women holding hands walked toward me and smiled.  One, through tears said, "can I have a hug?".  I wrapped my arms around her and she said, "Oh my god.  You have no idea how much this means to me."  I told Mike and when I got back to my post and we shared a tear and then continued to wave our flags and hold up our signs.

There is so much to say "I'm sorry" for.

The atmosphere really was one of celebration.  Celebrating who you are.  Celebrating the relationships that fill you with love.  Celebrating a community that has endured.  Only 21 years ago at the first Pride parade in Winnipeg, paper bags were passed out before the event so that anyone who wanted to remain hidden could do so.  20,000 smiling walkers in the parade tell me we've come a long way.

But we still have a long way to go.

On our "I'm Sorry" facebook page today, someone who walked by as part of the parade left this as part of a message:

"After years of being out of the closet and working in both education and advocacy to make the world a better place for all LGBTTQ and allied folks, the impact of the importance of movements like yours hit in a way that I never expected. 

I somehow felt a touch of the weight of all that we as humans do to each other that is hurtful - and the importance of doing something positive about it, regardless of who we are and where we stand on any issue.

The power of an apology is amazing and even though I don't think I have met any of you personally, your presence and willingness to apologize for a history that you have inherited was truly appreciated."

I was humbled and impacted and made better by sharing in the celebration yesterday.
I was so thankful to have my family with me.
Our girls are growing up appreciating, celebrating and honoring diversity.

Hopefully by the time they are adults, their generation will have far less to be sorry for.

If I Wasn't A Mom....

- I wouldn't know that you can go nights on end with little to no sleep and still be able to function.
- I wouldn't know my way around every nook and cranny of the Children's section of the Louis Riel Library.
- I wouldn't know I had the capacity to make loud guttural yells that could wake a neighborhood.
- I wouldn't have as much practice as I've had saying sorry.
- I wouldn't know how quickly and completely your kids forgive you.
- I wouldn't have beautiful long hair to braid.
- I wouldn't be able to catch myself in someone else's face and smile for just a moment.
- I wouldn't have the perfect excuse reason to avoid social situations when I feel like I just can't do it.
- I wouldn't be going to see Taylor Swift this summer.
- I wouldn't know nearly every word to every song Raffi ever wrote.
- I wouldn't know the smell of grass and sweat and tears and toothpaste all rolled into one.
- I wouldn't know the juxtaposition of sadness and joy over watching someone grow.
- I wouldn't have an audience whenever I need one.
- I wouldn't know how much sorrow you can feel when you see someone hurting.
- I'd have more time for myself.
- I'd probably feel like something was missing.
- I'd eat less Nutella.
- I wouldn't lie in bed at night wondering how badly I'm screwing up.
- I wouldn't know fear the same way I do now.
- I'd do way less laundry.
- I wouldn't have anyone to play Playmobil with.
- I wouldn't know that a little body fits perfectly beside yours.
- I wouldn't believe you could love three completely different people exactly the same.
- I wouldn't have my buttons pushed as often.
- I wouldn't be driving a van.
- I would miss being the witness to seeing the most amazing growth happen.
- I'd wonder what I was born to do.

Cry If You Want To

One of my favorite songs has always been Holly Cole's "Cry If You Want To".

The last line of the song goes like this....

                Cry if you want to, I won't tell you not to
                I won't try to cheer you up, I'll just be here if you
                Want me,
                To be,
                Near you.

I've been singing that song today.
For Ellie.

At the girl's school, every student in grade 3-8 takes part in a speech contest each year.  That means that each student must write a speech, prepare it, and present it to their class.  The top two speeches in each class go on to the finals where the winners compete against the other finalists from their grade.

Ellie already knew last year what she wanted her speech to be about.

It was going to be about her deep love and affection for her dear beloved friend, Nikki - who she left behind in BC, with a trail of tears.  You can read a little bit about Ellie's friendship with Nikki here and here.

Words can't really describe how deeply Ellie feels about Nikki.

Nikki is really a part of Ellie and who she is.   In all my life, I don't think anything has touched me more than seeing Ellie say goodbye to Nikki when we moved back to Winnipeg.  Immediately after, Ellie followed us into our empty house and collapsed onto the floor and then into our arms sobbing as though her heart were breaking.   There are pictures of Nikki up all over our house.  Ellie still talks like Nikki talked and laughs at the things she said.  There have been mornings when Ellie wakes up crying and tells me she has had a dream about Nikki and it's made her miss her all over again.

So when Ellie said she wanted to write her speech about Nikki, I knew it was right.
She drew graphic organizers and planning maps of how she wanted to organize her speech to include all of the things she wanted to share about Nikki.  Her likes and dislikes, her favourite foods, her love of the swings, the ways she looks and talks, and all about how Kabuki Syndrome has affected her.

When she finished writing, she was so proud.  It was though this speech represented so much more than a requirement for grade 3.  It was a labour of love, and it honored Nikki and her role in Ellie's life.  It was perfect.

Ellie painstakingly practiced her speech.  She had it memorized and perfected and said it with great joy for her classmates and teacher.  A few days later she was asked to say it again for her other teacher along with 2 other students - as all three were tied for top spot.   Only two could be chosen to go on to the finals and a decision had to be made.  Ellie rehearsed and worked on her speech again, and said it with pride a few days ago.

I knew that today was the day Ellie was going to find out which two students were going to go on to the finals from her class.  In the afternoon I got an email from her dear teacher, telling me that she had just broke the hard news to Ellie that the other two students had been chosen instead of Ellie.   She wanted to let me know that Ellie was terribly disappointed and had been crying.  In fact, she'd been hugging and crying with Ellie but thought Ellie needed some hugs and extra love from me.

My heart sunk.

I knew how badly Ellie had wanted to present her speech in the finals.  I knew how much she wanted to honor her friendship with Nikki.  I knew how hard she'd worked.  I knew her heart would be broken.

I drove to school early to be with Ellie and I found her waiting for me in a chair in the office.  The second she saw me, she collapsed into my arms, lay her head on my shoulder and sobbed.  Gigantic tears spilled from her eyes as she held on for dear life.  All I could do was stand with her and hold her tight and cry with her.  If you knew Ellie, you'd have cried too.  When she cries heart-broken tears there is nothing sadder.  

I held her there, for awhile, and we cried together.  I didn't try to stop her and I didn't care.
I remember being ashamed of my tears all through my childhood.
They came easy and fast and at all the wrong times.
I hated my tears.
But now mine mixed with hers and I tried to honor them by standing in a public place, with people around and letting them fall.

We walked arm and arm to our van and I held her awhile longer in private.

She was disappointed, I knew.
But she was crying tears for more than a lost speech contest.
That speech was about far more than winning a trophy.
They were also about a hole in her heart.

Ellie's tears have been flowing on and off for the rest of the day.

At bedtime they began their silent roll down her brown cheeks, and I climbed up into her bunk bed and held her awhile longer, not saying anything but I love you.

Sometimes that's all you can say.

                I'll just be here if you 
                want me, 
                to be, 
                near you.

Sasha Long Legs

Sasha still likes to sit on my lap sometimes.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't like it a whole lot more than she does.  She's the youngest and it's no mistake that I often call her "baby".  In my head and my spirit she will always be the baby.   Just a day or so ago Sasha was on my lap sitting with her back pressed against my chest and my arms wrapped around her.  For the first time, her legs caught me by surprise.  They hung down, one on each side of my own legs and nearly touched the ground.  They are long, lean, and strong.  When she tries to curl up on my lap her legs fold and bend to let me wrap my arms around the whole of her.  I can hardly reach around them as the little "ball" she used to be able to contort herself into isn't as tiny as it once was.  Her legs are growing and so is she.

When Hannah,  Ellie and Sasha were little I prided myself in how our girls went to bed without any back-rubs, snuggles, or cuddling.  A story, a prayer, a kiss and "I love you" and it was done.  Lights out, door closed, sleep now.  They were trained well and I patted myself on the back for my fortitude and discipline in teaching them how it should be done.

Lately Sasha has been asking for me to rub her back for a few minutes as she's falling asleep.  Most nights I say I'll do it for 2 minutes while I sit on the side of her bed.  But there are times when she can't sleep and I have the time, that I will crawl in beside her, under her flannel quilt and burrow my nose into the nape of her neck and spoon my body behind hers.  I rub her back and her legs and breath in the smell of shampoo, little-girl sweat, laundry soap, and the mystery smell that each of your kids has that you can't put your finger on.  Maybe that smell isn't as delicious as they get older, but when they're still as little as Sasha is, it is a lovely thing.  I stay by her side and rub her back and legs in a circular pattern while keeping my nose pressed up against her neck.  Her body is warm and tired from a long day of learning and living.  Her breath gets slower and her body rises up and down and soon you can feel the heaviness of sleep overtake her.

It's in those minutes curled up in the bottom bunk that I've been marking as sacred.  Those long legs grew faster than I was expecting.  Her body takes a lot more of my arm length to stretch around.  I look at Ellie and all 5 feet 8 inches of Hannah - growing, growing, growing and I wish I had said "yes" more often to back rubs and snuggles and breathing in their scents as sleep came slowly.   I wish I had taken less pride in the closed door and the quiet child and more time to listen to their breath.

People always said time would move fast.  Sometimes I willed it to move faster.  Those long legs beg me to stop and give them a rub.  They've got some growing left to do.

Random Round-Up (The "We Survived" Edition)

The "We" in the title above refers to all of us - you and me and the whole freaking province on ManiSNOWba who just lived through the never-ending winter from hell.  Today is the first day that I let out a grateful sigh of relief because it felt like it just might be over.   There is still a lot of snow in our yard.  And rabbit poop.  Lots of rabbit poop.  Perhaps more rabbit poop than snow.  Damn rabbits.  They chewed up our hedge this winter too.   Death to baby-bunny making rabbits.

I think it's funny that in Manitoba on the first day the mercury rises above, say, 8 degrees - you'd think it was 25 degrees outside.  I saw shorts, tank-tops, flip-flops, higher than normal slurpie consumption, and people having their Happy-Hour brews outside on patios.   "We made it" was the collective echo that was in the air.

I had class Wednesday night at U of W.  Only I didn't.  I arrived 10 minutes before class to find one of my friends standing and waiting for me on the sidewalk on Portage Avenue telling me the campus had been evacuated.  Strange but true.  There was a security threat (some were saying a bomb threat) called in to a different post-secondary institution earlier that day that referenced U of W.  The whole campus was shut down that evening and over night as the combed through the place looking for something suspicious.  Nothing was found.  I guess someone wasn't quite ready to write their final exam that night?

So the Jets are done.  What more can you say?  They fought hard to come back after their losing streak in March, but didn't quite make it.  I had the chance to go to two Jets games this season.  One in which they lost 4-0 to Washington (brutal game) and one in which they won by a huge margin and scored 7 goals.  There may have been a lot of hip bumping (my version of fist pumping with my friend Mary), high-fiving the happy filipino guys behind us, and general shenanigans.  My throat was hoarse that night.  So much fun.  Thoughts on the team?  I like Dustin Byfuglien way more than I thought I would.  He really grew on me during the season.  Evander Kane still has a lot of growing up to do.  Claude Noel gives really great sound-bites after a game.  Here's to next year.  And.... Go Canucks GO!!

I survived birthday party season.  The last of the parties was last weekend... one whole month late.  I'm never doing that again.  Parties should happen as close to the birthday as possible.    That's just how it's meant to be.

Hannah and Mike just pulled up from Hannah's marathon day with her Jazz Band.  They got to be in workshops and rehearsals all day with members of the WSO, then have supper together at The Spaghetti Factory, then attend a WSO concert.  She's a party animal.

Ellie is obsessed with the color "seafoam green".

I can't wait for my first taste of pistachio gelato.  Eating gelato in winter just isn't right.

I'm taking two classes in the spring term - "Family Therapy Plans and Interventions" and "Abuse in the Family".  I'm loving the first one and liking the second.

For my Plans and Interventions class we had to watch the movie "Parenthood" (you know the one ... ensemble cast way back from the early 90's?).   If you haven't seen it, you must.  It is SO good.

We cancelled most of our cable as we aren't watching much TV.  That is a good thing.  I've never been a big TV watcher.  If we watch something now we usually watch something on Netflix.  Since we've completed (THE BEST SHOW EVER CREATED FOR TELEVISION) Breaking Bad, we've begun watching Mad Men.  I can't say I'm hooked yet.  But let's face it - anything that comes on the heels of BB is going to pale in comparison.

I spent two days this week in a training conference on inter-personal violence with a focus on youth and technology.  A friend from my master's program is a detective with the Winnipeg Police Service and offered a spot to me and another friend.   I learned a tonne.    Youth have so much more to contend with than we ever did.

Our house is beginning to show its age.  We have so much that needs doing this summer.  Now we have to prioritize.  I hate spending money on "boring" things like new shingles.

Sasha and Mike are pumped.  They're gearing up for Sasha's first softball season.  Finally something that she is pioneering on her own without following along in footsteps her sisters have laid down for her.

I just finished reading an interesting book - Torn: Rescuing the Gospel from the Gay vs Christian Debate   by Justin Lee.    I highly recommend it.

I'm pumped to crack open Carmen Aguirre's book, Something Fierce, tonight.  I remember hearing Anna Maria Tremonti interview her a few years back when her book first came out and I was mesmerized by her story.  Here's a interview she did with my boyfriend, George Strombolopolis, talking about the book.

Musically speaking, I've been playing Ruth Moody's sophomore solo album, "These Wilder Things" over and over again.  She did an interview and played live on "Q" a few weeks back.   Ruth has the most lovely, pure, ethereal soprano.  A Winnipeg treasure, for certain.

We had a spectacular dinner out with friends last weekend at "The Peasant Cookery" in the Exchange District.  Beautiful space and delicious food.  I think you should go.

I think Samosas and tamarind sauce from Water Lily on Meadowood are crazy-good.  There's something about walking out of the restaurant with the brown paper bag full of hot samosas, watching the greasy marks begin to appear through the bag as you drive home while the outrageously delicious smell fills your van that is unbeatable.

I want to grow A LOT of cilantro this summer.

I am hoping for an epic summer of blue skies and no mosquitoes.

I can hardly believe the school year is nearly over.

I am very tired of making school lunches.  Hanging on for dear life in this department.  Who's with me?

I'm planning to dig our BBQ out of hibernation tomorrow.

Spring gives me hope.

Warning: The Picture on the Box May Not Look Like What You've Got in Front of You (But that's OK)

I remember sitting across the table from my friend Dianna, seven years ago, this spring.

I was struggling with life and with  my reality.   Nothing looked like what I thought it should.  I didn''t look like the person other people wanted me to be, but even more painful than that,  I didn't look like what I thought I should be.  Nothing seemed to measure up.  We both agreed that night, that the chasm in between what we thought life would be like and the reality of what our life actually turned out to be  was where much of the pain and and difficulty in our lives lay.  Disappointment and expectations that were never met.  Failure.  Not measuring up.  Not reaching goals.  Second-guessing choices.... all of it filled that space and added to the disconnect of what was supposed to be and what was.

That conversation came back to me today in my quiet spaces.

I was thinking about who I am and how my life looks today, and how this isn't what I expected.

I didn't expect to be pushing 40 and studying for a master's degree.  Sitting at the dining room table with textbooks and journal articles strewn about with my head in my hands and a blank laptop screen in front of me wasn't really in my plans.

I didn't think I'd be substitute teaching.  6:30 am wake-up calls and classes of strangers (who become friends) wasn't on the agenda.

I didn't think I'd be lamenting over my (still) bad skin while pulling out the stray grey hairs.  I was going to be almost flawless, put-together, and coiffed.   Running into the school to pick up my kids with no make-up, a ponytail and ripped yoga pants wasn't really what I envisioned.

I didn't think I'd be reciting ancient liturgy in an Anglican church, standing and rising with order and tradition.  Sitting on hard wooden pews,  and having peace flood me as I  hear the bells ring wasn't supposed to be the way it went down.

I didn't expect to be on this side of the LGBTQ debate.   I'm not preaching to the choir anymore.  In fact, most of the choir has left the building.

I didn't think a bottle of pills would be my daily companion to keep me sane.   I can't forget to take them.  Maybe one day I won't need to.  But for today I do.

I didn't think half of my heart would live on the West Coast.  Having pictures and memories bring me to tears with sadness from what's been left behind was the furthest thing from my imagination.  Longing for ocean breezes and grey skies was not how I was going to spend some of my moments and days.

I didn't think I'd ignore the phone and find solace in the silence.  Being alone wasn't the way I thought  I would recharge and regroup best.  People feed me, but in moderation.

I didn't expect to irritate my thirteen year old daughter.  I was going to be the mom who always knew the right thing to say and who would always be a soft place to land.  Now sometimes I'm that mom.   A little out of touch and just doesn't get it.

"This" doesn't look like I thought it would look.
"This" is messy and rough and unfinished.
There are dog-eared pages and musty smells.
Dents and scratches and broken pieces.

But somehow it all fits.  It might not make sense, and it doesn't match, but it fits.
Other people may think it looks a little funny.
But when I stand back and survey the collection of mismatched dreams and plans, it looks alright.
It's not what I thought it would be, but it's mine.

Re-creation Preservation

When we moved to BC,
one of the things I loved the most was the thing most people would have hated the most.

I didn't know anyone.  Not a soul.

It was the most freeing, light feeling in the world.
No one was watching, or waiting, or expecting.
No one was looking for me to be what or who they wanted or needed.
I could just be.

The space allowed me the ability to do something I'd never really had the chance to do.
It was like I could lay myself down on a big fluffy bed and just watch as I rested awhile.
(Kind of like looking at myself from a bit of a distance.)

After the rest, I watched myself get up and re-create myself.
It was slow and there were baby steps because I wasn't in a hurry.
I didn't even know that a re-creation process was underway.
Opinions, feelings, plans, goals, intentions, beliefs, faith, relationships, style, dreams, preferences, passions, favorites, dislikes, hopes.... the list goes on and on.

Soon there were people in my life that surrounded me.
They ended up in my corner because of who I was and who they were.
They only knew the re-created me, so I didn't have to explain myself or justify who I was.
Sometimes they poked and prodded but it was OK - they only wanted to know more.
As I looked around at the great cloud of witnesses to my re-creation, I liked what I saw.
I liked who I saw.
Differences and extremes and craziness and strength.
Fighters and healers who didn't even know what box I came out of.

I wanted so desperately to hold on and preserve the re-created one -
Inked my wrist to remind me that change and growth happened in all the parts of who I am.
A wake-up call to say, "It happened.  It was real.  You are who you are now because of it."

I don't see me laying myself down on a fluffy bed anymore.
I see myself on tiptoes, holding myself far above my head as water pours in and threatens to drown the newness and the change.
The water is up to my neck and my arms are up as high as they can go in an effort to preserve the life that is left.
I am stretching and straining to hold myself higher, hoping the water stops where it is.
How much higher am I capable of stretching?
I don't know.
But if I stretch high enough, the air is clean and it gives me hope.

There are people here who knew me who are piling up the old boxes I used to fit in -
making a place for me to stand to get higher.
I may not fit into them anymore, but those old boxes are good for something after all.