A Daughter’s Love

Dedicated to my mother, Della Snyder-Velto on Mother’s Day 2011

It’s hard to know where to begin.
Much easier it would have been,
To buy a card of hollow words.

Of old clichés that sound absurd.
And sentiments that are not real,
And feelings that I do not feel.

Love seems the natural place to start,
But there’s not enough room in my heart,
To hold all the love I feel for you.

And all the love you give me, too.
You’ve loved me through times smooth and rough.
The word LOVE just isn’t big enough.

I can’t think of anything else to say,
Apart from Happy Mother’s Day.
And I love you today, and everyday.

WOTD: hyper-parent

Today’s word is an adjective-noun combination that describes a certain type of parent who takes more than a healthy interest in his or her child’s education and life. The overall subject of generations and the differences between them is the topic of tomorrow’s writing exam, so we’ve been discussing it a lot in lessons. This hyper-parenting phenomenon is associated with the parents of the current generation, sometimes called Generation Y, the ‘Net Generation, or the Millennial Generation.

Many of these parents were latchkey kids. They were left to look after themselves and didn’t see very much of their own parents since they were at work most of the time. Thus today’s parents have swung the parenting pendulum. Basically they want to make sure that their own children are nurtured and given the attention that they lacked as Generation X/latchkey kids.

Of course it’s only natural and healthy for parents to want to nurture their kids. However, making up for their own experiences is not the only reason for this over-parenting. They understand that we live in a very competitive world and they’re willing to do just about anything to give their child the competitive edge, even to the point of doing their child’s homework for them. They seem to be afraid to let their child make his or own mistakes and learn from them. In some of the more extreme examples of hyper-parenting, some parents even go so far as having their otherwise healthy and normal kids injected with growth hormones to increase their height. They’re even willing to pay for plastic surgery.

In the U.S. these hyper-parents are also known as “helicopter parents,” constantly hovering around their kids and overseeing every detail of their lives. In Scandinavia, they are called “curling parents,” seen as frantically sweeping the “ice” in front of their kids. In Japan, there are “education mothers” who have dedicated their entire lives to steering their kids through the education system.

I have mixed feelings about this, since I was one of those latchkey kids, but I didn’t feel particularly neglected or under-parented. I had a key to the house from about the age of ten and I quickly learned to look after myself. Generation X kids are in general quite self-reliant and adaptable self-starters, and as a consequence we tend to work better on our own rather than in groups or teams. This can put us at somewhat of a disadvantage since most employers are looking for so-called team players in the workplace.

My parents divorced when I was a tiny child of four years old. I lived with my mother and occasionally visited with my father. The rest of the time we communicated via old school letters on paper and phone calls. Curiously, he seemed to take no interest whatsoever in how my brother and I were doing in school. It used to drive my mom crazy how he never once asked how school was going for us. While my mother took as active a roll as she could (helping with homework and science projects, without actually doing them for us) my father simply did not care.

It would have been nice if he did, but alas…

As a teacher I have to deal with these hyper-parents all the time. I just wish that they’d allow their kids to screw up a little now and then, and learn from the experience. Kids are pretty resilient. Hell, I screwed up all the time but turned out okay.

WOTD: tumultuous

I seem to be posting a lot of adjectives lately, but I suppose that’s because I tend to choose words that match whatever major or minor current events that are taking place. The word tumultuous is defined as “full of tumult or riotousness; marked by disturbance and uproar.” What with the recent death of Osama bin Laden and the conflicts in Libya, and Egypt, and Tunisia, we live very tumultuous times, indeed.

We had some tumultuousness at work yesterday, apparently. I was off sick but heard all about it today. The generally-hated Big Boss had come down from Stockholm again for an open house evening at the school. After being asked by the Big Boss to participate in the open house, a colleague who teaches Social Science subjects responded angrily and vehemently that there was no way she was going to put in any extra hours for a man who obviously despised Social Science teachers. And here I thought he merely hated English teachers.

She then stormed out of the building. Oh deary me…

Anyway, I was pretty surprised to hear about this because the colleague in question is someone who is normally very laid back and cheerful. She’s a nice and fun-to-be-around person, not confrontational or prone to angry outbursts at all. Yet I know very well how the Big Boss’s contemptuous indifference can really get to you. After a while, you just find yourself saying, “Oh, what’s the fucking use?” It’ll be interesting to see what come of this.

Bye for now…

…it’s not a crack house

It is a crack home.

Forgive the silence.  We have had a lot of home improvement activity going on at the House o’ Dock and Kang for the past few weeks.

Years ago, when we first moved into the house, I had this wild idea of building in the deck and transforming it into another room. Like everyone else in the world, one more room is always needed in a home.  Just.  One.  More.  Due to budget constraints (ie:  complete lack of money) and trepidation, we decided to table that initiative for a long time.  The idea of someone removing walls, adding a foundation and rebuilding walls is just a wee too much for us right now.

We decided to stick our toes in the renovation pool by taking care of some things that we are incapable of doing ourselves due to lack of talent, patience and inclincation.  The foyer and hallway (upstairs and downstairs) has needed a new coat of paint since we signed the closing papers back in 2004.  The living room walls had been painted the week after we moved in.  Dock promised to take care of the trim. Seven years later, it was still the same color.

Also in consideration, the hideous color of the exterior.  It was (note:  was) a lovely shade of brown with green shutters and cream trim. That needed to go away.  Forever.

We had only hired a contractor once before and that was for a very small flooring job. Hiring someone to rip siding off your house and repaint was unchartered waters for us.

Everything had been humming right along until the tornado ate Raleigh.  Very, very tragically, some of the crew was directly impacted so work stopped for a week.  But now it’s back on and almost done.

One of the most peculiar things I have noticed is that the moment you make an improvement to one part of your home, the other areas become, well, painful to look at. Our home is now a happy shade of white with black shutters.  Just the way any good Yankee would have it. It’s lovely.  Incredibly lovely.  Alas, the gardens look pitiful in comparison.

If I had to identify one take-away from this particular exercise it would be – just leave your house looking like a dilapidated crack house.  Sure – your neighbors will be very unhappy.  Sure – you’ll lose any potential value you have in your home.  But – you won’t have to sit there and look at part of your home and think “Gee…it’s so lovely.  How unfortunate that (insert problem area here) sullies the improvement.”

…night-night ritual

Each night before bed, I go outside and look for the moon and stars.  Living in a smaller city, we’re fortunate that we can enjoy the night sky without the meddlesome radiant lighting from tall buildings and businesses.  Having grown up in suburban Philadelphia, a beautiful night sky is a treat for me; one that I will never tire of.

This evening, I wandered outside and felt a strong breeze.  A warm, balmy, spring breeze that rustled the leaves.  The air smells of spring-y goodness, a combination of rain and earth.  The peepers (frogs) are in their peeper hiding places singing their lullabies.

Since December, whenever I go outside to look for the stars, I take a moment and think “which one is Kate?”  Would Kate be the brightest star in the sky or the star that wasn’t as strong as the others but twinkled, instead?  I lean towards the twinkling as Kate was never one to demand a lot of attention and did not care much for showboats and peacocks.

I grab the star charm on my bracelet, the one engraved with her initials, and a combination of sorrow and joy wraps itself around me like a fluffy blanket.  Thinking about our friendship is bittersweet as the wound that is her loss is still all too fresh.  The memories, fortunately, are so dear that they can manage to make me smile when I really want to cry.

On a balmy, breezy, spring night in The South, I think of how much Kate would be enjoying the weather.  How much she relished the arrival of spring.  How alive she felt after a long, dreary winter.  How delighted the most simple things would make her – like riding around with the windows down or falling asleep with windows open and the sound of rain pattering outside.

While Kate is merely a star in my sky, I am able to shuffle off to bed knowing she’s still near me and still a presence.  It’s not what I would ultimately like but I’m happy with what I have.

and he’s back!

I woke up this morning feeling like last night’s 6 o’clock news:  Local and full of fail.  I don’t expect much, but does it really take over a minute to plug in an anchor’s microphone?  Didn’t you have an entire day to prepare for the news?  It’s okay, I forgive you, as I forgive myself for being so impatient.

Anyhow, as I dragged my sorry ass to work I pondered my mundane existence as a “soccer dad.”  Granted, my sons are not old enough to play soccer, but it’s just a matter of time.  Feeling like I was going nowhere, I wondered if anybody would miss me should my Yaris drive off a cliff?  Then I remembered that I live in Central Illinois and there isn’t a damned cliff around for miles.  Oh what could possibly save me from this so-called life?

Perhaps a message over Facebook from my good friend Kang, who was lamenting that nobody ever blogs like we used to.  For shame!  A few messages later we had our merry band of rogues, pirates and fly-by-night bloggers assembled: the few good men (and women!), the dream team, the forgotten, prideful, and borderline psychotic people who can think of nothing better to do than blog.  And blog we shall do…  The SHARK is back!

…and she’s back!

Do I spring into the room with a flourish to announce my return or should I simply lay in wait in see what develops?  Such critical decisions, yes?

Shortly before the Kanglet arrived, I decided to drive the knife through the heart of KangWorld.  I’m still a bit concerned about exposure since I’m all mom-like now and thus very protective of my real life persona but staying quiet is just.  killing.  me.  There is far too much noise in my noggin, far too many experiences that need to be catalogued and documented for all perpetuity, far too many words begging to be formed into the meatball that is one of my musings.

/me raises tiny fist and says “I wish I knew how to quit you!”

So, I’m back with a bucketful of new experiences to share, a passel of jumbled thoughts and the visceral need to scribble down everything.  Hopefully, I will be able to deliver more than intermittent profundity and random quirky observations.