Because I thought I'd better;
Because I would like to know
Exactly which way to grow.
My milk I will leave undrunk
If you'd rather have me shrunk,
If your love it will further kindle,
I'll do my best to dwindle;
Or, on the other hand,
Do you wish me to expand ?
I'll stuff like a greedy rajah
If you really want me larger.
All that I ask of you
Is to tell me which to do
To whisper in accents mild
The proper size for a child.
I get so very confused
By the chidings commonly used.
Am I really such a dunce
As to err two ways at once ?
When one mood you are in,
My bigness is my sin:
"Oh what a thing to do
For a great big girl like you!"
But then another time
Smallness is my crime;
"Stop doing whatever you're at
You're far too little for that!"
Kind parents, be so kind
As to kindly make up your mind
And whisper in accents mild
The proper size for a child.
Ogden Nash
They ought to send that one home with you from the hospital. Stick it in the padded plastic bag, along with the stack of diapers that looks like it will last days but you quickly learn lasts hours. Put it in there with the Enfamil (WTF ?), the thin blankets you can never have many of, and the pacifier you will probably toss unused with the bag two weeks later when it smells like baby poop and pee.
When they were young and separate rooms were not required to avoid bloodshed we used to do songs and stories. End each night with poems and folk songs; Dad and the brood. Got that ritual in for about seven years before Ian got sick of it and that was that, over too soon. Mom never joined in and that may have the beginning of our isolation.
Don't know of any such quatrains for teenagers. No verse about requests for money, scattered laundry, nerves, body odor and oily skin. Mine will bust you for the mixed message though. I told them, about fifth grade, they did not have to respect people just because they were older. I told Brigid that after her otherwise uber hip gay fifth grade teacher sent her home for wearing a Steve Earle T-shirt with a red skull and sickle on it. I agreed with her that was crap, and that some people and institutions are not entitled to respect and it was ok to view those that deserved it with contempt. Ian got told earlier after they ran him out of Catholic schools. The only caution given was to keep it to yourself if the target was in a position of authority. They have developed keen noses for bullshit and I am paying dearly for my enlightened child-rearing.
They started school this week. Ian utilizing social media to check out all his teachers on fb. "Is she a bitch?" 27 instant replies. He thinks he will be ok. Brigid is chattering constantly; she has been waiting for others to grow up around her for years and she quickly has been adopted as one of the cool freshman by maternal upper class girls.
They are drifting away as they should and need; we all must move on.
Thursday am, back feels like shit which surprised me. DOMS at the shoulders and glutes. 4:30 60 minute EH, better.
Friday. Office, then work until 4:30, on to Pradeep classes. Go for 4:30-5:30, then onto 6:20. Shower, B-day dinner with CT, adult conversation and delightful company; very nice of her.
Saturday. Walk the dog with Brigid, then get out late, hot and gonna be hotter. Goes like:
10 slow alternating push-ups to a T.
10 24 kg GS
Presses
few warm up 16's. Then 1-5 l/r ladders, 24kg
5+5 20kg single leg deads
3x
Fully intend to go 200 swings 30/30 alternating 24 and 26, but at 60 it is time to shut it down cause back is not cooperating.
Sunday, three miles am with Rose.
PM, good 60 min. CT session., but back complains and we shut down some core work.
Monday, three miles, nada mas.
Tuesday, yoga 7am 8. 7:00 pm hour deal, CT does 10 minutes of Z drills waiting fro Renee, much better.
Wednesday.
Get into office, Purple, aka Craig Ainsworth, a 27 year old black man was murdered on the corner of 13th and Broadway at 9:20 the night before in a gang related shooting. He was shot on the corner, staggered 40 feet and died in front of DeLaurers, where I buy the shit that is bad for me three times a week.
There is a makeshift shrine of candles and young folks milling about angrily, a few girls crying. There is graffiti all over the walls of our office building, a memorial a mixture of expressions of sorrow and hate, notes in purple marker covered over by the heavy black pen of the rival gang. "Sneak attack !" and "Smackdown!" Some of the authors have obviously cut themselves and smeared their blood over their words. I am standing on the sidewalk in suit and tie reading this stuff, stunned. Our landlord Mo is on the sidewalk, chagrined at the news cameras, and wondering how long he has to wait before painting over Purple's memorial.
I have no frame of reference for this. I don't know this world and don't want to.
I bail by 4:45 to get to MH's 5:15.
This morning the candles are gone but there is more graffitti. I stop to read, but there are angry young men glaring at me, guarding the spot where Purple died and I get my white ass outta there.
Great EH class this evening.
Purple, you never had a chance. Betting no one ever read you Ogden Nash, or sang Pete Seeger songs as you fell asleep. This place is exactly as violent as it feels. I would like to take away some lesson, but there is none, except I really don't know shit about much outside of my cocoon. RIP Craig, gonna think of you every morning and every night when I walk past this spot, until I don't know when. It will be a while.
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