Rock & roll HEALTH Chick
If I Could Save Time In a Bottle…
I think of myself as a badass. There are
others who would agree. I’ve reconnected with some high school friends who have confessed they were sort of scared of me. My wrath is well-known. I don’t tolerate bullshit or bull- shitters, but I don’t really mean to scare peo- ple I like and care about. I’m not your run-of-the-mill person. I don’t care for or par- ticipate in small talk, if I can help it at all. I don’t like games and fake or inconsiderate people. If I see injustice I will stand up and say so with a vengeance. I’ve walked through fire and come out the other side more than once. I have the utmost respect for Martin
Luther King Jr. His path of peaceful resistance was powerful and created lasting change, not to mention that there are countless structures and institutions named after him. But I’m more of the Malcolm X and Black Panther Party type. I don’t have the stomach or pa- tience for tolerance, acceptance or inclusion when it comes to those who believe in and per- petrate hatred, racism, exclusion and ill treat- ment of others. I don’t care who you are or what your excuse is. If you treat others badly because of your own beliefs or agenda, you’re the problem. However, when it comes to my kids I’m
a softy. Maybe you can relate to my experi- ence. My hope is that there will be some sort of healing support in my sharing. People can share connections, can sympathize and offer support in so many ways. We all need that help along the journey. Why is it so hard for us to offer and accept? After my divorce, my younger son was
with me for a year. Then, at the age of twelve, he chose to live with his dad. My son and I were close, and it was a massive shock. I have
missed him terribly ever since. The emotional distance is often harder than the physical. “And that’s all I have to say about that...” Now he’s twenty-two and halfway around the world on his first deployment with the U.S. Army. So I’m no stranger to lost connections with a child of mine. My almost 24-year-old was 13 when his
brother left. He became the focus of my at- tempts to fill the void my younger son left. We got closer, and I learned even more what a re- markable young man he is. We’ve spent a lot of time together. He was my buddy. When he got older, he would take me to lunches, craft fairs, art festivals, National and State parks, day trips to check out some cool shop, restau- rant or attraction, and we would go home to TN together, eight hours one way. We’ve always fought, since before he
was born. I was sick most of my pregnancy. His birth was traumatic, and he was an ex-
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