"Don't blame me, I voted for...." (not me, myself, of course)

My 6 year-old daughter says, "I voted for Hillary. She's a girl, " in response to my partner's bemoaning her disappointment with Obama. My partner tells me she has lost faith (which she never had anyway) in Obama and she blames me and others like me who had the audacity to vote him. My partner thinks he's not delivering fast enough on the gay issues among other things. My daughter agrees but does not fully understand. As my partner explained, "Hilary is nicer to families like ours."

My son, misinterpreting the previous exchange, somehow believes my partner called Obama a bad guy and wonders if Obama is going to jail. We have to reassure him Obama is not going to jail and is not a bad guy in the sense of George Bush or a common criminal.

Obama has disappointed. He has directed the Department of Justice to support the federal DOMA (Defense of Marriage Act) and has not rescinded the Don't Ask, Don't Tell for gay military service members. His self-aggrandizing homo-beneficient moment, the "granting" of some benefits for same-sex partners of federal employees, bestows nothing new. I know because I am a federal employee.

I have supported Obama for over 4 years. I am disappointed he has not moved faster. I begin to worry he will not move at all on real gay issues. I am in a wait and see pattern; apparently, just like the president. Of course my partner thinks Hilary was not as good as Kucinch (vegan, antiwar, pro-gay marriage)! Nah, nah!

I am hanging on, with hope, for real change (but am not holding my breath).

My response to a post by a conservative lady who had a bad encounter with a "militant dyke":

I was surfing blogosphere went I encountered this post from a self-proclaimed Canadian right-wing hottie:

• The Militant Dyke
  Interesting personal story.
  The other day a good friend of mine suggested I follow somebody on Twitter. Hmmm… well, I’m more apt to go for the suggestion of a friend than that of a machine. And besides, we had all been chatting up a storm together over on UStream (which I hate, by the way, lest anyone think I’ve sold out) earlier in the day.
  The chick in question was funny, witty, pithy as hell - in other words, my kind of gal.
  So I decided to look her up on Twitter and follow her as my friend suggested. We exchanged a few witty barbs to and fro, before the question of my politics came up:
  “So, guess you don’t believe in gay marriage.”
  Um… I didn’t quite know what to answer. No, I don’t, but not for religious reasons. I don’t believe in it because I don’t see a point to it. Every question that gay marriage raises can be answered with a contract. Be it a will, a living will, a partnership contract or even a civil union - marriage need never enter the conversation. But I didn’t say this.
  Instead I said that I didn’t see a point in discussing it, and ruining a good time. I would prefer to talk to this woman about pop culture and art (she’s a brilliant artist, and I had lots of work lined up for her)… Her response?
  “What’s the point of making small talk with ideological opponents?”
  She then went on to completely lose her shit over gay marriage, conservative Christians (the friend who introduced her to me is far more of a devout Christian than I’ll ever be - go figure), and all things outside her sad little sphere. She revealed herself to be that saddest and angriest of all lefty creatures: The militant dyke.
  Did I know she was gay going into it? Yes. Did I insult her? No. Did my very existence offend her? Yes.
  And so it goes. People may accuse us on the right of being polarized, insular, bigoted, whatever. But do those selfsame people ever look inwards at their own side of the spectrum?
  

She is of course entitled to her opinion and presumably, the encounter probably went as explained. So I naturally responded:

• 
  As a non-heterosexual American, I don’t have the option to marry the person I’ve been with for 14 years. We are fortunate to live in a state where we were granted first domestic partnership and then civil union status. Our legal relationship is not recognized by the federal government. We have paid almost $10,000 in fees for wills, powers of attorney, adoption fees and name changes which would have been simply, freely rendered were we able to marry. My partner cannot get my federal employee pension or health benefits, despite Obama’s much ballyhooed recent bestowment, because we unlike married people must pay extra taxes on them. So, I have my health benefits, pension etc and my partner has hers. We cannot get each other’s social security benefits either should one of us die. We must pay taxes jointly in our state and as single head of household federally (we each claim a kid).
  If religion has nothing to do with your opposition for “gay” marriage, where do you stand on barring religion from any contractual relationship, ie marriage? I’d be ok if marriage were replaced with civil unions for heterosexuals, leaving “marriage” solely as a religious ceremony like confirmation or bar-mitzvah.
  I mow my lawn, pay my taxes, volunteer in my kids’ school and my church, and am kind to kids, the elderly and animals. I am pretty boring. I am favor of a strong defense and of law and order. I am fiscally conservative. I believe we all have a duty to serve our country.
  I also think it is unwise to exclude qualified people from serving their country in the military.
  Finally, I think a society is more stable if most of its adults are legally committed in a long-term monogamous relationship with one other adult who they love and with whom they want to share a household. I think children living in such households will grow-up to be happy, productive members of society. The adults in such households will also be more likely to be employed, law-abiding and tax-paying.
  You may label me a “militant dyke” but that is my contribution to a “rational” discussion with you. I wish you no harm or ill-will nor any one else on the “right.” Barring religious reasons, there is no logical reason to deny me benefits and responsibilities available to lawfully wed heterosexual couples.
  Comment by suburban dyke — June 18, 2009 @ 9:46 am
  PS. I love pearls!
  Comment by suburban dyke — June 18, 2009 @ 9:49 am

Disclaimer: I ran spellcheck for my post here which was not available in the original post at girlontheright.com . Thus, there are some typographical errors in the original which have been corrected here.

Death cruelly slow, cruelly fast

At yoga yesterday, I shared with my instructor that this week, I had taken 8 kickboxing classes and had sparred 4 times. She asked what I was fighting. She inquired why I was angry. In a 30 second blitz, I disclosed that my former secretary of 15 years was suddenly in hospice; that she is 44 years old; that her kids are 5, 8, and 15; that she did not have a mean bone in her body; that her husband was just laid off; that this sucked! She sympathized reminding me that I was also confronting my own mortality.

My own mortality. I will be 47 this summer. Oh, age 47, how long I have dreaded thee!

My father was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer when he was 47. It took him 5 years to die. He spent 2 1/2 years bedridden, miserable unable to die. I was the one who had to tell him his fate. Again and again.

My partner's mother dropped unconscious one day in front of her then 14 year old, my future partner. The aneurysm put her mother into a coma for months. Another lingering death. My partner's mother was 47.

A year ago, a work friend died less than a year after he retired never getting to travel across the US, his lifelong dream.

Late last year, my friend Arpana was wrenched from the world. Brutality. Horror. Murder.

Now, a friend lays laboring. Death swiftly claims her not. Each time I see her, she is less her self. I see the pulse dutifully course through her neck. I hear her lungs straining under task. She sleeps more. Her hands are cool. There are salt tracks trailing from her eyes. She knows me. I hold her hand. I talk less. I smooth her hair. I wish under my breath for a painless, quicker passing. I see her nod. I will not cry yet. She doesn't need my tears. She needs my presence. To know I care. Or I need her to know I care.

So, I rage at death's frivolity. At it's capriciousness. Claiming those I love without warning. Sparing them a swift death, to linger painfully. Taking them fast in violence.

I fight. I fight death. I kick and punch for my life. I permit pummeling as a reminder I am here. My body is living. Breathing hard as in sparring, slow as in yoga. I am here. I, my body, is alive. Still.

Sticks and stones? No, words hurt more.

Self-esteem is so easily damaged in us all. A passing word can cut for a lifetime. As parents, we worry about any harm we may unintentionally inflict. What glancing phrase or cutting remark will fester? Ugh.

I see the damage words did to me, my partner and my friends by parents, school officials and others. Depression. Self-doubt. Stooped shoulders. Years of suppression and / or years of therapy to undo needless suffering. My own battles: against father, against mother, against authority, against perceived or real injustices to me, to others. A lifelong quest for affirmation, acknowledgement and acceptance.

We want to overcome and often, we do. We seek empowerment. I kickbox and spar to make myself stronger and more powerful. I used to fight for other people's causes. Overly involved myself in their issues. Embraced them to myself as if they were my own. Why? Empathy. Sympathy. Feeling my pain in them. Trying to assuage them. Me.

Therapy, yoga, meditation. Letting go of others' problems and my own. My own. Much harder to disentangle from others'. More difficult yet: forgiveness and yes, forgetting. My perennial goals. Yet, the pain lingers. Especially empathetic pain to see others' doubting themselves and grateful for a scrap of acknowledgement. Ah, yes, I am deliberately vague.

So, what about my kids? We try, my partner and I; we really do. But, harm will be done. Still, we hope to do the minimum bit.

I hate the childhood refrain: "Sticks and stones will break my bones but names will never hurt me." Huh! Bones heal. Beatings fad. Abuse is outgrown. Venomous words may not have an antidote. Self-esteem is delicately fragile.

To medicate ADHD or not

I am not enamoured of drugs for children. I cringe at how many kids are on medications. Yet, we are soon to embark down this path for our son who I've known for over a year has ADHD. Let me explain.

My son cannot sit still. He cannot control his body and attention for more than a few minutes unless he is actively concentrating on building activities, reading for leisure or drawing. He is sweet. He is bright. He is athletic. He has also started saying he wants to quit school. That he wishes he could be "fired" from school.

On any given day, homework is torture for him and for us. He gets silly, he gets angry, he gets hostile. He balks at any homework. Easy or hard. At school, he has to work in a special area looking away from the other kids otherwise he gets distracted. He is prone to making annoying noises and silly faces which alienate him from some peers. His self-control is very limited. His self-esteem suffers. I am very concerned about his future at school.

At home, he constantly picks at his chest and beats on his chest. He is incapable of stopping. He has more control at school because of peer pressure and fear of embarrassment.

His other mom and I spent lots of money for a year of play therapy that helped him be less angry but did not diminish his frustrations and harsh self-criticism. We just paid almost $400 to a child psychiatrist to tell us what we know: he has ADHD. Thursday, we will meet with the shrink who will probably prescribe Ritalin or some such drug. I am scared. I've seen those anti-Ritalin websites: kids killed by Ritalin, negatively altered, warped. I am afraid for my little boy.

I am equally petrified he will start to hate school and school work and will fail and will hate himself. He is that hard on himself. If we can help him focus on school and keep him from hating it we will. Lots of kids thrive and succeed with the benefit of medication. There are plenty of websites devoted to success stories too.

I am very torn but the chips seem to be favoring medication. I am worried about my son. I love him and I want the best for him.