Letter to My Sons

My dear sons,

I'm writing this letter the day after Father's Day 2012.  It was the last Father's Day before your arrival.  By this time next year, your dad will be beaming, no doubt!  He has been talking a lot about you guys.  Sure, he's excited about his girls, too.  But, I can tell there's that much more to his anticipation when it comes to you.  Something about teaching you sport and spending quality time.  Ahhh.  Who would've thunk it?  With you four on the way, we'll move from two to six.  Supermix! (As Barry G, Jamaican radio DJ, used to say.)  Well, ummm...we're not a hundred percent sure that we'll have two boys and two girls.  But, I've prayed for that combination for so long, when we saw four, I just knew that my prayers had been answered.  Why two and two?  Well, I started off in my early twenties thinking about a pair - boy and girl.  Then, later on, I was like, it'd be great if the boy had a brother and the girl had a sister.  That was it, really.   No deep thinking.  That'd mean twice the amount of spending but, good thing your father and I are doing well, financially.  We both agreed that it was time for children.  I told him about my long-held desire and that I'd "placed my order".  Well, when the results showed not one, but four, he was far more surprised than I was.  Still, it didn't take us long to adjust.  When you get older, you'll learn I'm a successful writer - I'm working even when I'm "just looking out the window".  Honest.  Your dad?  I could tell you but...not now ;-)    I've gone on quite a bit, haven't I?  I don't even know whether you'd be interested in this stuff.   But, just in case you ever wonder.

Sons, as I wrote to the girls, one of the first things that you should know, that you will come to know, is that I love you.  I have been looking forward to this.  But, may I be honest?  I am terrified!!!!!  Sweethearts, I know nothing, nada, zap, zilch about raising a son - much more two!  Your mommy is a girl.  I grew up with sisters.  So, I kinda have the girl thing - nuances and what not -  down pat.  But, I gotta admit, your mommy is a little scared  - a lot excited and happy, but a little scared.  What do I do with you?  I mean, apart from breast-feeding you and bonding with you, holding you close and smelling your hair, and hushing you when you cry, and singing to you, and bathing you, and changing your diapers - I imagine it will sometimes be in that order - and teaching you how to read and write, and playing in the park with you and protecting you when you're with us and more so when we're out with other people...I...I don't know what to do!  And, it's freakin' me out.  Oh.  Language.  Bad Mommy.  See what I mean!  Oh my goodness!  It's started already.  No, seriously, your mother does not use foul language.  But, words like that are okay for adults... It's complicated.  Okay.  Okay.  I won't panic. 

I mean, I grew up with my father, and he was a boy.  And, I had a few male friends and I have brothers-in-law. And, I have your dad - my sweet hubbidiboo!  (Don't ask, sons.  Really.  I just made that one up and he's sure to give me one of those "Ummm...are you okaaay?" looks when I use it on him.)   But, as I was saying, I've interacted with enough males to have an idea of what to expect and how I should help to raise you.  But, my father and BIL and husband are not sons.  You are sons.   My sons.   And, I want to do right by you.  I really want to help raise you well.  Help.  There's a good word.  I am ever so thankful that your father is right here by my side and will be here as we work together on raising you.  No, we won't split it evenly down the middle in a I'll-take-the-girls-he'll-take-you-guys kind of way.   All of you need each of us and each of you need both of us.  But, well, he will more naturally know how to deal with certain things that concern you because Daddy is a boy. Got it?  Sigh.  Quite frankly, sons, I don't know how some single parents do it.  I shudder at the thought.  This is serious stuff.  I didn't quite get that before but, now that the time draweth nigh, I'm (kinda freakin' out) realizing that this is not a walk in the park on a lovely warm spring day.  This...the older I get, the more I realize I don't know squat.  And, there's a lot of squat to know.  So, anyway, I'm just really happy that he will be here for you - and for me being here for you.  That which I may not be good at covering?  He got this.  And, what he hasn't "got", we'll try to swallow our pride and ask for help.  God's got our backs.  Between Him and the village, we should be okay. 

Sons, about love.  As with the girls, I'm stuck at this part, too.  For, I can tell you so much about love, and being in love, but, you're still gonna have to experience it for yourselves; you're still gonna have to go through the joy and the pain and the bitter-sweetness of fighting and making up and learning and getting stronger and wiser.  Know this, sons:  men's hearts get crushed, too.  And, sometimes, they cry.  I'm not saying this to coddle you.  I'm giving you this heads-up because it is a fact.  Women can and will make your heart hurt.  Bad.  You would never believe that such pain can come from, or be caused by, someone so fair and pretty.  But, it can.  And, unfortunately, it will.  Hopefully, though, those times will be very few.  Try not to lash out in anger, nor be vindictive in your reaction.  That'd make you ugly.   Hindsight is 20/20 but be patient.  Even time takes time.  Don't be afraid to talk to your dad or me about stuff that's bothering you.  We'll be parents first.  If we do this well, in time, we will come to develop a great friendship with you!  When you work, work hard.  When you play, don't work at all.  Treat people the way you would want to be treated.  You will not always get the respect you deserve, but, be the bigger person in those situations.  Love and take care of each other - and your sisters. Be a man of your word, like your dad.  It means everything.  When you love, love thickly.  And, when each of you find your "The One", honour her as someone deserving of the number one position in your life.  Yes, even above me. 

The men in your lives are strong and loving and caring.  They have a few quirks, but, we love them anyway :-)  And, speaking of quirks - and, while we're at it, faults - imagine the day when you find out your mom isn't perfect!  I don't always get it right, sons, but, I always get it done.  Do life!  You will make mistakes.  I won't kill you.  Promise.  But, you must learn from them.  Do not stay down after falling and do not go to bed angry.  "Trust in God but lock your car", as the saying goes.  Trust in God.  Period.  We will try our best to grow you in the fear and admonition of the Lord.  As you grow, your eyes will be more and more on your dad.  He is already aware that you will be watching him; watching how he treats others; how he responds to certain trying situations; how he shows his love to me and to you and your sisters; how he moves in his relationship with God.  Yes, he is already aware and yet, the guy is crazy with anticipation!  No fear there!  Not even a little bit.  Gotta love it.

I love you.


Claudia
http://www.cyopro.com/
www.twitter.com/cyopro

At For-ty, I'm Beginning to Understand...

One of the things I'm beginning to understand is that I am only beginning to understand certain things.  There is still much ground to cover.  (I remember the saying: "God put me on this earth to accomplish a number of things.  I'm so far behind, I'll never die!" LOL!) Very few are the things that I fully understand - given hindsight and frame of reference and perspective and experience and what not.

I had a bout of illness the other day.  Apparently, when you're not in the best of health, that's one of the first and primary avenues to putting things into perspective.  All of a sudden, the bright light does appear.  It shines on everything around you, allowing you to assert and focus, with unparalleled clarity, on what really matters; what is important.  As it happened, this slump - yes, let's call it that.  Or, we could also call it this slipping under the radar, happened at For-ty.  Ah!  In time to help me shape my understanding of the necessity of being healthy, even as I began to understand a heck of a lot more things.

At For-ty (and, as I'd said just after celebrating my birthday earlier this year, writing it with the hyphen just makes it sound pre-tty), I'm beginning to understand that no matter how grown up I am, my mother will always be Mother.  We have the same age difference between us.  She loves me just as much as she did when she gave birth to me. She still has that maternal instinct.  Even when we disagree, I can count on her still liking me and loving me.  She is always looking out for my best interest, and, if I choose not to speak to her on certain matters, she finds other matters, until we get back to the matter at hand.  I'm beginning to understand that as long as she is alive, she will continue to pray for me and her support will be reliable.

I'm beginning to understand that my dad is prouder of me than he'd say to my face. (He does say it to others.) I'm beginning to understand that he prays for me and has high hopes for me and supports me more than I think, well, used to think.  Though, honestly, it's not something to which I gave a lot of thought.  That he is happy that I am a good role model for my sisters and that I help them when I can.

I'm beginning to understand that sisters are...my sisters are a mix of sisters and friends and mean more to me than my closest friends.  I'm beginning to understand that my closest friends are like my sisters. 

I'm beginning to understand the value of having a brother-in-law with whom "the family" gets along; who is liked.  Seeing myself through the eyes of someone coming from "outside",  I've accepted that sometimes I could do things better; be nicer - it helps me strive to be a better person.  Thankfully, there are more times when I am appreciated and admired.  And, at all times, respected.

I'm beginning to understand that having a niece that I can "borrow" for my "kid-fix" is priceless!  Especially so when that niece is, for like, 90% of the time, an absolute pleasure to be around.  The conversations we have are uncomplicated...simple and creative.  I'm beginning to understand that the world as seen through the eyes of a 2 and 1/2 year old is, shall we say, a different place.  Her view of the world seems to be borne out of her being one word: Fearless!  She grabs it, dives into it, leaps off it, sometimes makes it up as she goes along; jumps onto it - whatever it is - with what we hope is the appropriate amount of protection.  In other words, I'm beginning to understand that caution is oftentimes taught and learnt - sometimes too well.  And that it may lead to fear, and limiting oneself and...and a type of (or many types of) paralysis.

I'm beginning to understand that many people who have children love them.  And want the best for them.  And that, having a child adds inexpressible meaning to one's life that simply cannot be realized through any other...experience.  I am beginning to understand that most parents think their children are special and are really princes and princesses - even if the rest of the world, shoot, even if the neighbour, mightn't think so.  I am beginning to understand that parenting really does not come with a manual - no matter how much "they" try to prepare you for it - and that new parents just try their hardest to get used to, and make the best of, the new addition(s).  I'm beginning to understand that some fail miserably at this and some manage quite well - and many fall in-between.

I'm beginning to understand that I have never lost in loving. And, my choice of "loving thickly" has always been the right one.  Hmmm.  More anon in the Pt. II of this :-)

I'm beginning to understand that my health ought not to be taken for granted.  And, even if I never used to take it for granted, (which I never did), it is possible for my body to do things that are neither pleasing, nor pleasant.  I recently increased my understanding of what it means to be in pain - all over! Enduring what felt like daggers clawing through certain parts of the body more than others; high temps; muscles on fire while being physically alone.  My understanding that "health is first and everything else follows" as expressed by my Bodysculpt instructor, Maha, increased significantly!  In those moments when I had nothing but a prayer and Jesus (ok, and some painkillers, and my family via phone), I began to ask the "What ifs?"  Admittedly, I didn't - couldn't - dwell on them for long.  I found more strength in being hopeful in Christ that He could - and would - make me well.  After all, I was beginning to understand the whole "His body was broken for me" thing.  Out of that came something else I quickly acknowledged as well.  Negative sentiments such as one uttered by an acquaintance; stteo: "And it's just getting worse, eh?" grated every nerve and sinew!  My quick response was, "No.  It's not.  This is just something different I have to deal with."  Upon a brief reflection, I realized that I do surround myself with people who have faith; who are positive.  Clearly, I had to declutter - and fast!

And, since then, each day gets better!  (Oh, so many uses for that John Legend song.)

I have promised to catch up with the 3rd entry for this month, by the end of the month.  I imagine that, life spared, it'll be the Part II to this heading.

Btw, today marks the 3rd Anniversary of this Blog.  As I'd long mentioned, I was inspired by Usain Bolt's performance at the Olympics in Beijing.  Sometimes, you just need a good start.  For me, it was a matter of becoming fearless and writing for public consumption (and criticism).  But, mostly, a matter of writing.  Just writing.

It's write or suffocate, remember?


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro

Don't stay out of it!

I read a newspaper column the other day in which the writer made a subtle reference to one of the then topical issues. In doing so, she couched it within a context that clearly indicated her leaning. So, clear context, subtle reference. I'd say more than a few of her readers got it.

So much so that, in my comment (as Cee Dubya) below the column, I made my not-so-subtle reference to her not-so-subtle reference. And someone spotted mine and so on.

What I was a tad put off by, however, was one of the comments that advised her to steer clear of making an input in the matter; not to be "caught up" in the debate and have her say.

Now, I just figured the author, Barbara Gloudon or Miss G, (as she is sometimes affectionately called - other times maybe Ms. B etc.) is mature and street wise and, in short has been around long enough not to have paid the poster any mind. I mean, after all, she is a writer - a columnist, to boot! Why would she hold back her thoughts about an issue, if she had something to say and the opportunity to say it?

Pretty soon, though, I realized why I was on about it so much; why I had given so much thought to a seemingly trivial thing. The reason was this: Anger - the healthy kind. See, I recognized some time ago the rather sad truth that many people would "put themselves out there" were it not for fear. It is a crippling fear that convinces you that the critics and cynics and naysayers are going to come raining dissent and scorn and ridicule upon your expressions; that it's better to just save yourself the agony, don't cause any problems and instead of confrontation, run! So, even before you begin to speak, you are silenced by angst and anticipation of the worst. And, very soon, the choice to "stay out of it" becomes less difficult with each opportunity to make a unique and meaningful input.

Here's the thing (Monk), the truth is, "we live in a cynical world" as Jerry said. (Yes, he "had me at hello", too.) Heck, I'm just now beginning to realize that I've added a dash or two of cynicism to a number of scenarios. I've had to take a step back and go, "Is this me?" Always, the answer comes back, Yup! Guess I've simply learned to look through other lens now. Point? There will be critics and cynics and editors and censors and apologists and nincompoops and people-who-may-mean-well-but-for-the-life-of-them-give-really-bad-advice. I heard my father with this saying a long time ago (when there was a minor home accident or something) and it stuck: "Never mind. The first hundred years are the hardest." OK. So I was about to highlight the point. And it's this: say what you have to say without fear - not even a little bit. Don't stay out of it! Provisos? Engage brain and mind before opening mouth. In some cases, you might need to open mouth, remove foot, engage brain and mind then proceed.

But, for the sake of your sense of self and sanity, don't clam up just because you're fearful that somebody might disagree with what you've said or might try to tear it apart. People are people wherever you go (I always say) and folks from the above list are always going to be around in some shape, form or hue. Perhaps no one, except the Lord Himself, may know from whence your strong points or passionate arguments come. But, be brave enough to express them and prepared enough to defend them - if necessary.

And I know about clamming up! About five or six years ago I wrote a book. It was not a big book, but, a book none-the-less. I've seen books with less than 50 pages, less than 20 pages, even. They tell their stories and that's that. Well, my book was running near 150 pages. I'm mentioning the pages because, at first, I thought a book doesn't really qualify to be called a book unless it has a decent number of pages. Yes, I clearly had a lot to learn; many myths to debunk.

The title of the book was...is, "I'm not an American, but I live here". It had a sub-title, but that'll do for now. It captured the essence of the lessons and new things I'd learnt in my journey from Jamaica to the USofA. My experiences were neatly packaged in this little book that I hoped would be enlightening, entertaining and inspiring. Well, I sent it to a couple of family members, a cousin, a friend, a professor at my alma mater and a former columnist for one of the major newspapers in Jamaica who was, at the time, a professor at another university.

As you might imagine, the responses from my family, relative and friend were more favourable than the others. The main criticism from the professors was that I needed to identify my audience. To whom was I telling the story? The book wasn't ready for publication, then. It was good criticism. But the 'not ready' stuck with me more than the 'ID audience' part. I don't think I've picked it up since receiving the critique. And, I feel, that I've disappointed not only myself, but also family members who might have had hopes of me finishing the thing. I imagine, however, given my new zeal and no-fear, no-doubt resolve, I will be re-visiting that project - and that right early. It will be published one way or another.

And that's why I feel so strongly about putting yourself out there. Especially as a writer, you just gotta be prepared for the sharks and wolves and whatnot. I just think that some people don't speak up or write because of fear of what others might say. What if it doesn't sound intelligent enough; witty enough; well-read enough; "in" (with the in-crowd) enough; oratorical enough and all that jazz? Well, what if it doesn't? Does it mean that you will always be concealing your opinion or take on everything?

But, then again, what if it does?

Jump in. Add your say. Be a part of the vibrant exchange. You'd be amazed and delighted at the wonderful things you begin to notice about the world around you. About yourself.

AND HOW DID THAT MAKE ME FEEL?
I was just about ten metres away from the revolving doors, as I made my way to my building the other day. Just as I crossed at the lights, I saw another guy coming from my right, talking on his cell. He paused in conversation to holler at this guy, just ahead of me, leaning against a column, "Pablo!" Now, Pablo looked like an immigrant - Mexican, to be honest - mid-forties. Maybe I latched on to that nationality because of, well, "Pablo!" Anyway, I saw Pablo quickly end his own cell conversation, snap the phone shut and hurried to catch up to the first guy, who had by now, almost disappeared back around the corner where I'd spotted him just seconds before.

One of the first thoughts that entered my mind was, maybe Pablo is just getting a break - some degree of "hustling" and connections paying off at last. It just looked that way. Toronto is a pretty big city of approx 2.6M with a high percentage of immigrants. It was possible!

Just as they left my peripheral vision, I saw three guys (looked Caucasian), maybe early fifties, sitting in the patio area of a nearby café, having their morning coffee. Clad in hard hats and the proper construction attire, I surmised that they were on break from the massive multi-million dollar construction project taking place across the street (the hard hat one was wearing had the name of the project management company on it). They didn't look hurried or edgy or like they were 'hustling' at all. And I know that different people are at different points in their different lives. And I do believe that people make choices and they should be ready to face the rewards/consequences of those choices.

It's just that, for that moment, there was a juxtaposition of two very different worlds. And, for an-even-now-unexplained reason, it made me feel sad. In that instant, I got why there are those who commit their lives and resources to advocate for the marginalized and oppressed. It moved from "Pablo!" - cause I really don't know his situation; it moved from the construction workers - cause I don't know theirs, either - to the larger matter of disparity.

For, after all, Pablo's world seemed very different from mine, too.


Claudia
www.cyopro.com
www.twitter.com/cyopro