Growing up, I didn't have a whole lot of interaction with people who weren't like me. I'm talking across the board, culture, age, income bracket. We lived in the suburbs and everyone around us was like....well, us.
My parents, however, had grown up differently. My mom grew up in a very ethnic neighborhood, where if you didn't speak Czech or Polish, you couldn't function. Everyone spoke Czech as a first language, read the Slavik papers, and English was a second language.
My dad grew up in rural Illinois, but from a very culturally diverse and huge family. Because my grandfather was one of the only people in town who didn't lose his job during the depression, my dad said that their dinner table always had strangers. Local people, people passing through. Black, white, young, old. The feeling was that since there was enough food for the 8 of them, there was still enough for a couple more. The rule was....wash your hands and sit down. It wasn't fancy, but it was food.
Anyway, I think my parents knew I was missing out on an important piece of the life puzzle growing up as I did. So when I was 14, they had me volunteer as a candystriper at a large, metropolitan medical center.
It was the best thing that ever happened to me.
I got an education that no amount of schooling would ever teach me. I was around black, white, hispanic, oriental. Old and young. The sick and the infirm. The dying. I saw burn victims and car crash victims. I saw young people dying from cancer. I saw "dead".
And I saw what drugs can do to you first hand.
I was taking papers into the emergency room. There was a policeman standing by a gurney, where a young man lay, eyes wide, frightened, shaky, sweaty, painfully thin and dirty. I saw that the young man was handcuffed to the steel bars of the gurney. As I passed, with his free hand, he tried to stop me.
"Please get the bugs off me....Please...." he pleaded.
He was scary and pathetic at the same time. I really didn't understand. The policeman looked at me and said gently, "Drugs. Take a good look. Don't let this be you someday."
I never touched a street drug in my entire life because of that policeman and that sad young man.
My parents never knew the true depth of what they did for me. I learned so much more than they ever had probably hoped for. Compassion. Understanding. Patience. Gratitude. Our gift of choice. I was a candystriper there for almost 3 years, until I got a regular part time job.
So this is my call to everyone. Volunteer. Share your talents with those who are less fortunate. And involve your kids. The lessons learned will be with them for a lifetime.
Friday, January 25, 2008
Me and Volunteering
Monday, January 21, 2008
Me and Alice
Subtitle: Everyone Needs A Fantasy Bad Boy.
I can't tell you what it is about Alice Cooper that I find intriguing. Maybe it's his severe case of schizophrenia. Maybe I just need a bad boy. I'm not sure...
But I never gave Alice Cooper one single moment of thought or consideration other than a passing thumbs up at "School's Out" until about 1975. I was a senior in highschool and I heard "Only Women Bleed". When I asked someone who sang it, they told me, "Alice Cooper". I thought: they had to be kidding.
But they weren't. And thus began my love/hate relationship with Alice, one which I'm sure has kept him up many a night.
What glues me to Alice is the dichotomy of his nature. His split personality(ies). He's a gentleman golfer and a violence-exploiting putz at the same time. And while most people wish to hide the good/bad in their personalities (see: Wilde, Oscar. "Picture of Dorian Gray"), Alice is just comfy sharing the whole lot. Emotional stability be damned! I just couldn't...and still can't...understand a guy who pretends to drink blood on stage, yet has been happily married for years, plays 36 holes of golf a day and was invited to sing with Ms. Piggy on The Muppet Show.
Is it just me?
Now ol Coop was born Vincent Furnier, but gave birth to Alice as an entity that became his band. He referred to Alice always in the third person...even when speaking about himself. This, alone, should have made loved ones get him to Bellevue, but Alice Cooper (the man and band) began to make big bucks and therefore, no one stopped Vince/Alice (the man) from doing anything. Like almost drinking himself to death or using a snake as a stage prop, or throwing a chicken out into the audience who promptly killed the poor thing. In Alice's defense, he said he thought chickens could fly and would just come back to the stage. In reality, I think he was probably toasted and had lost all ability to reason.
But the Alice Cooper I came to like gave us "Welcome to My Nightmare" which contains "Only Women Bleed" and is about as sensitive a song as any man could give us. I found the song insightful to the point of scary as a wide eyed 18 year old, and now listening to it as an older woman who had been in an abusive relationship, well it's even more stunning...compounded by the fact that it was written and sung by a man named Alice. The theme albums that followed "Goes To Hell" and "Lace and Whiskey" (which contains another very female POV song: "No More Love At Your Convenience") are my favorites in the Coop repetoire.
So now, Alice (the man) has taken another turn to sobriety, book writing, golf and an embracing of Christianity. But the old Alice is still there too...out on stage for that "Psycho-Drama -- This Won't Hurt...Much" Tour.
Go figure. I certainly can't.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
New Year, New Ideas
Yes, I could go on and on about losing weight, or getting my finances in order, or organizing my house or organizing my office, or my quest to get my kids to listen to me....but I won't. I've decided to try something new and not rehash what I should be doing. Like losing weight, saving money, policing the kids and organizing the mess that surrounds me.
I've discovered over the life of this blog that people's lives are intertwined so beautifully and intricately. People, things and experiences that touch us resonate into other areas of our lives and bring up memories, help us to grow, help us heal. They sometimes provide outlets for our creativity and our need to express and to connect with others.
So this year, my blog will be dedicated to people who have crossed my path, whether it be face to face, or in a book, or through a blog or whatever. Maybe this sounds very "Secret Squirrel", but you'll get it as I roll (literally) through 2008.
Take for instance, one whom I've blogged on before: Abraham Lincoln. Me and Abe. Why do I, along with many people, find him so fascinating? What about his life sticks to me and makes me want to know more? Why is there more written on Abe (yes, part of it was the Civil War) than, for instance, Grover Cleveland? Or is it that I haven't researched Grover enough to know??? So should I research Grover more? Nah. Right now, my dance card is really full.
In an effort to clear the card (in anticipation of old age dementia), I'm gonna begin a series: the "Me And...." series. Like Me and Anne, Me and Monty Python, Me and the Three Stooges, Me and Colleen, Me and the other Colleen (who writes a beautiful blog I'll tell you about...Loose Leaf Notes--see the link in my Link Love list), Me and Susan (who writes another great blog, West of Mars -- also in the Link List), Me and the Delaney Sisters, Me and WAM (the crazy ex-husband), Me and MMD (I'll explain later). Like that.
Thanks to all of you who have crossed my path. You have saved my life in more ways that I can even begin to tell you.
So in the immortal words of Jackie Gleason..... And Away We Go!!!
