So what does a person do when gang mentality sets in and the majority is of one thought, and you are of another?
A few years ago, an editor I worked with gave me my first break. I begged him and every other editor who's ear I could grab to let me write a story for the paper. They all said no.
He said yes. And I will always be grateful for that.
Years later, he made many enemies in our business due to his conspiracy theories, jabs, and yes, some outright slaps at some of his former colleagues. They don't like him, and they voice it on a regular basis, and sometimes in the most insulting ways.
He's not an innocent bystander. He has said and done some things I would never have expected from him, and has insulted people and alienated himself from many of those in our industry. He's hurt people's feelings and mocked them publicly on his website.
And yet, I got on with him just fine when we worked together. I see the things he's done, and yet I can't bring myself to join the opinion at large about him, whether he deserves it or not. He helped me find my voice.
So now I find myself in the minority. That doesn't bother me....it's not the first time, and I doubt it will be the last...but today I'd had enough. The rude remarks, the name-calling, the insults hurled in his direction while he's not present to give it back, was more than I could take today. I stood my ground - in the loudest fashion possible. And when the dust cleared, I heard the whispering...the hushed tones of opposition to my opinion.
And that's OK too. Expected, in fact.
Am I wrong? Is it stupid to continue to stand up for someone who helped me, but hurts others?
(sigh)
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Summer in the city
The city I grew up in is just a few miles outside of Boston. It was a mostly-impoverished and very overcrowded city, filled at the time primarily with Irish, Italians and Portuguese.
My parents emigrated to this country in the 60s from Ireland. They met and married here, and my brothers and I were the first of our families to be born in America. My father held two jobs while my mother stayed home with us.
Summer, particularly, was the best season of my childhood, and as I watch my own children making memories that they’ll look back on some day, I can’t help but look over my shoulder now and then, and stroll down that paved street that created the person I am today.
The city is wicked hot in the summer. Anyone who has moved from there to here can attest to it. And it isn’t just hot. Oh no. It’s so hot you can literally burn yourself touching anything metal that sat in the blistering sun all day, like the chains of a swing set, or the old metal slides we used to play on before the heavy-duty plastic ones replaced them. The heat rises in waves from the blacktop like that from cast-iron radiator, shimmering in the sun.
Like most overpopulated urban areas, we had a couple of public pools in our city. The closest one to us was in Foss Park, a small, green oasis in the metropolis that was East Somerville. My brothers and me and some of the other kids in our neighborhood walked there every morning and waited with the crowd for the gates to open to the pool. We’d swim all day and leave only when they closed the pool at sundown.
Sometimes, if we were lucky enough to have some change deep in a pocket, we’d stop on the way home at the local ice cream shop or a mom-and-pop grocery store and get a slush. Not just any slush, of course. The only slush worth having was Ritchie’s slush - in watermelon, lemon or my personal favorite, blue raspberry.
They gave out free lunches in the park when I was about 9 or 10, and getting one of those free lunches before they ran out was like winning the lottery. The line for them was usually about 20 or 30 deep, mostly moms and kids, and then we’d go sit on the grass in the shade of one of the massive oaks, and enjoy ham and cheese sandwiches, chocolate milk and a banana or an apple.
It was pure childhood joy.
My parents emigrated to this country in the 60s from Ireland. They met and married here, and my brothers and I were the first of our families to be born in America. My father held two jobs while my mother stayed home with us.
Summer, particularly, was the best season of my childhood, and as I watch my own children making memories that they’ll look back on some day, I can’t help but look over my shoulder now and then, and stroll down that paved street that created the person I am today.
The city is wicked hot in the summer. Anyone who has moved from there to here can attest to it. And it isn’t just hot. Oh no. It’s so hot you can literally burn yourself touching anything metal that sat in the blistering sun all day, like the chains of a swing set, or the old metal slides we used to play on before the heavy-duty plastic ones replaced them. The heat rises in waves from the blacktop like that from cast-iron radiator, shimmering in the sun.
Like most overpopulated urban areas, we had a couple of public pools in our city. The closest one to us was in Foss Park, a small, green oasis in the metropolis that was East Somerville. My brothers and me and some of the other kids in our neighborhood walked there every morning and waited with the crowd for the gates to open to the pool. We’d swim all day and leave only when they closed the pool at sundown.
Sometimes, if we were lucky enough to have some change deep in a pocket, we’d stop on the way home at the local ice cream shop or a mom-and-pop grocery store and get a slush. Not just any slush, of course. The only slush worth having was Ritchie’s slush - in watermelon, lemon or my personal favorite, blue raspberry.
They gave out free lunches in the park when I was about 9 or 10, and getting one of those free lunches before they ran out was like winning the lottery. The line for them was usually about 20 or 30 deep, mostly moms and kids, and then we’d go sit on the grass in the shade of one of the massive oaks, and enjoy ham and cheese sandwiches, chocolate milk and a banana or an apple.
It was pure childhood joy.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
The friends we keep
In the last year or so, I've discovered why I was put on this earth. No, not to be a good mom, or a good wife. I was put here for two reasons: to write, and to listen.
Writing is my life. It always has been. And I've come to understand that I will likely always be poor because of it. LOL And that's OK. I like to keep life simple.
Listening is a gift (or curse) that I have had since I was little. People tell me things. When they need to unload, or share a secret, or to convey gossip, and sometimes to tell someone a deep, darkest secret.....yep, that's where I come in.
I don't always like being a listener, or a shoulder to cry on, because it can consume you sometimes, the problems people have, and become your own. It's hard for someone like me to detach myself emotionally from anything. But for some reason, people tell me things. Sometimes they're little things, bothersome things, and sometimes they're things that would make your hair curl. But the bottom line is, I was put here to listen, and to give comfort, and that's what I do.
Now, one of the things I've always liked about myself is that I allow people from all walks of life into my life. I believe all people are basically good (even when they do stupid things) and it's an honor to learn about people and their lives, and why they do the things they do.
But sometimes, I have to weed people out for the sake of my mental health. It's rare that I do this, but sometimes it's necessary.
Recently a woman came into my life and I really don't know what the fuck to make of her. I like her in general. She's fun and sweet and generous with others. But after last night, I can see very clearly that we have almost nothing in common. But even that, in the big picture, is not enough for me to cut off a friend, but her principles and mine are SO different it was almost scary.
I wonder sometimes why God brings certain people into my life. Sometimes I think it's to reward me, because they're so special, but sometimes I think it's to test me. To help someone who needs help. So I try to look past the crap and see the real person and try to understand how to help them. Most of us don't even realize we need help. This woman needs me for something.
We were playing a sort of game that women do sometimes (and likely men too) where you dream up that "what if" scenario. It's fun to fantasize, but in reality, my principles are what they are. She was not only surprised at my opinion on certain things, she was downright shocked that I could sound so old-fashioned. She made a remark in CAPS that burned itself into my mind and has pissed me off ever since she wrote it.
But why should I be pissed off? It's not what she said, not only that, it's that her beliefs on one particular, extremely important, subject are the polar opposite of mine, and while I held my tongue on my opinion of her remark, she blatantly expressed her shock at my stand. And she honestly believed that her way of thinking was the way everyone thinks.
Driving to work this morning, I had that familiar wrinkle between my eyebrows that I get when I'm deep in thought, or angry or confused about something. I thought about cutting her out of my life. She'd be too much. She'd suck me into her circle and make her issues my own.
But then I thought, this is a good person who was brought into my life for a reason. Maybe to test me, maybe to teach me. By cutting her out, I'll never know, and knowing is important. Learning is important. Maybe in her own twisted way, she'll have some positive impact on my life. I can't yet see what that might be, but we'll just have to see.
Writing is my life. It always has been. And I've come to understand that I will likely always be poor because of it. LOL And that's OK. I like to keep life simple.
Listening is a gift (or curse) that I have had since I was little. People tell me things. When they need to unload, or share a secret, or to convey gossip, and sometimes to tell someone a deep, darkest secret.....yep, that's where I come in.
I don't always like being a listener, or a shoulder to cry on, because it can consume you sometimes, the problems people have, and become your own. It's hard for someone like me to detach myself emotionally from anything. But for some reason, people tell me things. Sometimes they're little things, bothersome things, and sometimes they're things that would make your hair curl. But the bottom line is, I was put here to listen, and to give comfort, and that's what I do.
Now, one of the things I've always liked about myself is that I allow people from all walks of life into my life. I believe all people are basically good (even when they do stupid things) and it's an honor to learn about people and their lives, and why they do the things they do.
But sometimes, I have to weed people out for the sake of my mental health. It's rare that I do this, but sometimes it's necessary.
Recently a woman came into my life and I really don't know what the fuck to make of her. I like her in general. She's fun and sweet and generous with others. But after last night, I can see very clearly that we have almost nothing in common. But even that, in the big picture, is not enough for me to cut off a friend, but her principles and mine are SO different it was almost scary.
I wonder sometimes why God brings certain people into my life. Sometimes I think it's to reward me, because they're so special, but sometimes I think it's to test me. To help someone who needs help. So I try to look past the crap and see the real person and try to understand how to help them. Most of us don't even realize we need help. This woman needs me for something.
We were playing a sort of game that women do sometimes (and likely men too) where you dream up that "what if" scenario. It's fun to fantasize, but in reality, my principles are what they are. She was not only surprised at my opinion on certain things, she was downright shocked that I could sound so old-fashioned. She made a remark in CAPS that burned itself into my mind and has pissed me off ever since she wrote it.
But why should I be pissed off? It's not what she said, not only that, it's that her beliefs on one particular, extremely important, subject are the polar opposite of mine, and while I held my tongue on my opinion of her remark, she blatantly expressed her shock at my stand. And she honestly believed that her way of thinking was the way everyone thinks.
Driving to work this morning, I had that familiar wrinkle between my eyebrows that I get when I'm deep in thought, or angry or confused about something. I thought about cutting her out of my life. She'd be too much. She'd suck me into her circle and make her issues my own.
But then I thought, this is a good person who was brought into my life for a reason. Maybe to test me, maybe to teach me. By cutting her out, I'll never know, and knowing is important. Learning is important. Maybe in her own twisted way, she'll have some positive impact on my life. I can't yet see what that might be, but we'll just have to see.
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