Valentine's Day

The first Valentine's Day that I remember vividly was in 1986. We had just moved from California to Florida to Georgia, all in the span of less than six months. I was six years old, and needless to say, it was stressful on my little brain. My parents were no help.

I came home from school on February 14, 1986, full of joy from my bright pink and red trimmings, and dozens of little candies and Valentines from my new school friends. I was excited to share this with them, and for the first time in my life, I got home, and no one was there. Anywhere. I tried all the doors, rang the bell and eventually settled down to sob uncontrollably on my front porch and mourn my abandonment.

My first mom died when I was fourteen months old. Although I have always had her family in my life, obviously, I have no personal memories of her. My father did, and to this day does, love her very much. So, when he met and married my second mom, it was only natural that they come home and surprise me with their impromptu courthouse marriage with great enthusiasm and delight.

I wasn't having any of it. To this day, I make sure to remind them that it is the Anniversary of My Abandonment. It's a running joke, now, and it was actually my (second) mom that reminded me this year. I suppose I sort of gave up last year when I had to remind both of them that it was their silver wedding anniversary. These unceremonious people have never even bought wedding rings.

So, I've never really been into Valentine's Day, and I blame my parents. Today I completely forgot that it was Valentine's Day, despite putting together my daughter's Valentine's gifts for her class last night. The guy that I bought coffee from this morning reminded me. My husband texted me (naturally, he's perfectly fine with not having to buy any overpriced crap for me), and that was enough.

But, then, there was a knock on the door of my office (we have random crazy people show up that we'd rather not have to extract from inside of the building). My boss opened the door, and I heard a sweet voice ask if I was in. He let the sweet voice in, and an old friend of mine came to my desk and presented me with a gift bag containing a card, a darling tote she picked up because it "reminded [her] of [me]," and a gift she had lovingly made herself. The gift she made herself was a project she had done as a child, had always wanted to do again, and she timed the delivery of it to me, and to people all over (I know of at least four recipients - probably more - and we're not all local), to coincide with Valentine's Day.

Random acts of kindness and love. Now, that's what today should be all about.

Our Generation

I don't know if it's a sign of the times, or if maybe growing up as children of the eighties forced us to see waste and excess the way that we do, but it does seem that this generation - the tail-end of Gen X - seems to appreciate that although change can be good, sometimes the change we want is nostalgic in a way. And, maybe we just want to be left alone.

As I have gotten older, I've found that it really irritates me to buy certain things from the grocery store, and eggs are one of those things. So are garlic, green onions, basil, tomatoes, and many other "standard" kitchen items. Basically, if it's something I could grow or produce at my home, buying it just flat-out pisses me off (to the point that I don't mind quietly ignoring ordinances to put food on the table). Not to mention the fact that food really does taste better when all you have to do is wash the dirt off of it. This concept actually fascinates the children in my neighborhood, who can't understand why you'd grow something that you "could just buy at the store."

Well, you can't just buy a lot of what I grow (or try to grow) in a store. When I shop for seeds, I deliberately buy seeds that will grow white tomatoes, or purple brussels sprouts, or orange cauliflower. Not only is it fun to grow things in unexpected colors, but there are vitamin benefits in them, as well (which I'm not going to go into in this post). Another thing I'm known for in this neighborhood is my hot peppers. I've damn near killed a few people with those peppers, and they've all loved it. My garden is in my front yard, and I've had complete strangers stop to ask if they could look at it. Old ladies seem to find it particularly enjoyable.

Agriculture isn't taught in school any more, and it should be. Everyone needs to appreciate where their food comes from. Period. Not that long ago, knowing how to produce a tomato was a common knowledge that everyone shared. Some time ago, a friend of mine and I reconnected, and he criticized me for talking about my garden. He said it made me sound like an old lady. But, as I have continued to garden over the years, I have discovered that a really surprising proportion of my friends also garden. Not always in a big way, but maybe a couple of tomatoes and some herbs here and there. I have been surprised to find that this is fairly common. And, I love it. Our generation seems to want to get back to a place of self-sufficiency, even if it is only in some small way. There is a special pride people take in saying, "I grew this myself." And, they should.

Today, I bought four "bitties." They'll be here in April. The only color of egg that none of them will lay is white. One will lay dark brown (and probably speckled) eggs. The other three will lay either blue, green, or pink eggs. The breeds are specifically friendly and calm. My husband wants to name them "old lady names" like Mildred or Ethel. I want to name one Lula Belle. What has been the reaction of people to my want for chickens? Completely supportive, encouraging, and positive. It's this kind of thing that makes me believe that we are a generation that doesn't just say we want to make the world a better place, but we actually do try.

It all balances out in the end.

A close friend of mine was born into truly rotten circumstances. He was taken away from his parents at 9 years old, because his father was in prison and his mother was involved in drugs and various other crimes. He bounced around foster homes for years before landing in a group home for high-risk boys. Upon graduating from high school, he was shown the door, with basically the shirt on his back. He worked two jobs while pursuing a physics degree. Today he has a Masters' in physics, is happily married with three children, and has his dream job working for General Electric, and making a salary that is significantly above average.

My friend credits his success with one thing: he learned from not only his own mistakes, but also the mistakes of others. He saw what happened to himself and his brother when his mother began getting herself in trouble. So he decided that whatever it took, he would not repeat her mistakes. He remembered what it was like to be a lonely teenager with no one to give him any guidance - so he makes an extra effort to spend time with his own children. And his experiences as a child made him more resilient - meaning that when he was in college and wasn't sure how he was going to pay rent, it wasn't nearly the catastrophe that it would have been for some of the other college kids I knew. (After all, being a few days late on the rent does not exactly compare to being dragged, kicking and screaming, away from your parents at nine years old, does it?) So he didn't crumple and give up, and take the first job that came along. He finished college. He got a job. He started a family.

Another person I knew in college had the opposite problem. He attended an expensive, private college, funded by his parents. They also paid for his apartment, his car, and his insatiable World of Warcraft habit. Upon graduation, he got a job at Radio Shack. Not as a high-powered executive, but as a sales associate. It didn't pay well, there was little room for advancement, and from what I've been told, he hated it. Rumor has it that at one point he attempted suicide.

My point is that almost any set of circumstances can be an asset or a detriment to one's well-being. Adversity is what makes us stronger, more independent, and more able to handle whatever life throws at us. So who was born into better circumstances? The kid whose parents bought him everything he ever wanted, ensured that he could focus on his studies instead of having to get a job, and ensured that he had the best possible education? Or the kid born to drug addicted parents who pretty much raised himself and had to struggle for everything he ever had?

At risk of being verbally bitch-slapped for saying so, I truly believe they were somewhat equal in the end. One had a childhood packed to capacity with adversity and heartbreak. But that allowed him to take care of himself and sympathize with others in similar circumstances. The other had a fantastic childhood, filled with every opportunity a child could ask for. Except, of course, the opportunity to make mistakes and learn from them. So when he was out on his own, he had no idea how to deal with even the smallest of problems.

We all have problems in our lives. And we all have periods that we think will never get better. The most important thing we can do is to remember the bad times, and use those memories and lessons to create our own good times. No one likes dealing with personal tragedies and hardship. But to the extent we can, embracing adversity as a "challenge" rather than a "brick wall" will enhance not only our own lives, but that of the people around us as well.

So basically what I'm saying (a bit more tactfully than usual) is that instead of throwing our hands up in the air and giving up, we should learn from our environment and experiences, and thank whoever you believe in that you live a life that allows you to be more prepared for future endeavors. More importantly, be thankful that previous bad experiences have created a person that is more than capable of handling whatever problems you are facing at this moment.

Yes, I am defensive, and here's why:

I lived in Los Angeles during my twenties. It was not a happy experience. Towards the end of that experience, I desperately reached out for comfort and community. I decided to join a church.

Church #1: An Episcopalian church in easy walking distance from my apartment. It was a fairly small church, and I emailed them to tell them that I wasn't raised in their denomination (I was baptised Methodist), but wanted to learn and join them. I was initially welcomed and encouraged to visit, but the woman I spoke with via email told me that I should know that they were no longer part of the Episcopalian faith. They had converted their church to Lutheran, and if I had an issue with that, she wanted me to be aware of that fact.

Well, I dunno. Should I? I googled it.

Apparently, the Episcopalians in L.A. decided to welcome gay people into their fold, and there was a rift in the church, which caused some churches to defect. I asked about this, and said, "I cannot be a part of a church that bases membership on exclusion." I was told that I'd "be more comfortable at another church."

Church #2: Also Episcopal, also near my house. They had an interim priest; a woman. She had South Georgia Roots. After we'd exchanged a few emails, I explained to her my situation about Church #1. She shut down and totally stopped talking to me entirely.

Church #3: I was curious about Islam, and was taking a religion class so I decided to do some research. The imam I contacted was warm and welcoming. He offered to be my teacher and my guide, and told me he would walk by my side the entire time I was at his mosque. He warmly welcomed my questions, and ended each email with "Blessings Be Upon You," and I felt like he really meant it. He always responded with extreme kindness and indulged my curiosity without regard for my Western ignorance. I regret, to this day, that I left Los Angeles without having met him in person.

And, that is the story of why it pisses me off to hear American Christians complain that they are oppressed and that American Muslims "have more rights" than they do. How about we all just respect one another and the fact that it's really special that in this country, our forefathers got together and said, "You know what? We're not going to piss on anyone's religion, and we're not going to let anyone else do it, either."