Bastard

Are there words that impact you, that you love, that you hate? Mine is "bastard". In eight grade, I can remember my teacher in US History talking about some long ago forgotten politician who had risen from extreme poverty and the label of "bastard"...and the lecture stopped there for me. I swear to you that the whole world stopped for a millisecond and I could see all the other kids taking notes or whispering to each other but all I could hear was that word resounding in my ears at a piercing level. That word was "me". I was the "bastard" in the room.


My whole life I have known that I had a mother and a birthfather. I have lived with my mother and the consequences of her relationships. I have an adopted father who married my mother when I was in third grade and for all intent and purpose and according to a court issued document, he has fulfilled the role of "father" in my life. But, I have never met my birth father. He lives in the very city in which I was conceived, the very city in which I spent the first 10 or so years of my life and in the very city in which I have visited almost yearly since moving to the east coast in fifth grade. He worked, up until this summer, at a sporting goods center owned by an important man of Grand Junction, Colorado and a man whom my grandfather knows well. He is active in the local Lion's Club and JUCO events (a Junior College Baseball World Series held every year in the very town I was born in). He is an accountant of decent means as far as I know. He is married and has at least one child (my grandmother sent me this boy's wedding announcement when it was in the local paper). He is a father, a husband, an apparently upstanding individual, so tell me this? How could he walk away from my life without turning to look back? How could he go about his daily life and function normally?

I have these periods in my life where I question my worth, when I wonder why I wasn't good enough to be acknowledged? I hear stories. My mother claims he was already engaged when she got pregnant and he didn't want to handle the consequences so he bolted. My grandmother claims he was always a nice and respectful man, just not someone my mom was serious about. When I was born, (at 27 1/2 weeks in 1974 by the way) my medical bills were so exuberant that he and my mother agreed to not list him as my father on my birth certificate. I became, essentially, a welfare case and the state and the Marchs of Dimes funded my hospital and medical needs. Either way, I don't get it. I don't understand how you walk away. There is a part of me that hopes he thinks about me, that hopes that the day his son was born that part of him thought about my birth and what he potentially lost. There is a lot of me that is angry and bitter and immensely sad. There is a part o me that hopes one day he will reconsider...I think it unlikely.

Because I had what we feared were some serious health issues last fall, I decided to take it upon myself to contact him for his health history. I had lived for almost 36 years never knowing what half of me was made up of. That is weird. I'd sit at the doctor's office and fill out forms and when they'd ask about paternal history, I'd grin an awkward grin and shrug in embarassment. It was what it was. But, having 3 young kids and thinking that I might die, I needed to know so that pieces could be filled into the puzzle in case I did have cancer or a rare genetic disorder (turns out it was a very severe and long-lasting voral infection of my right lung). My best friend used to work in adoption and she was able to obtain a health history form used for birth parents. She was going to act as my liason and call him to determine of he would fill out the forms for me. My grandmother called his employer only to find out that after 20 years or so he had recently quit. But, they did provide her with his home number. My best friend called and reached, we assume, his wife. She did not want to leave a message. We opted to, instead, send a restricted certified letter to his home. I attached a letter explaining who I was and why I found it necessary to contact him. I indicated that any further contact would be left up to him (more courtesy than reality b/c a little part of me was hoping he'd acknowledge it and follow through.). This was actually the second time he was made aware of my existence as my grandmother had entered his office shortly after my marriage to show him my wedding picture and let him know I had turned out pretty well. She said he was polite and kind, but, again, how do you detach like that? I give the man credit, he filled out my form to the best of his ability. Apparently his mother had passed from complications related to Alzheimers so that is really important for me know. He is left handed, which is funny since my third child is. He included a brief note acknolwedging that it was uncomfortable for him but he understood why I needed what I was asking for. Did I mention that he could not provide a health history for his father's side because his father was killed when he was a young child? He grew up without a father...can he not feel what I have felt my whole life?

Part of me is so grateful that he filled the form out quickly and returned it without anger. But there is the other part of me that is so let down and so hurt. I am that child again, who is the "bastard", the only girl who has the same last name as her mother and not her Daddy like everyone else.

All I have of my birth father is the discoloration in my teeth, the red highlights in my hair and a signature on a piece of paper.

Failure.,,,

I am an f-ing failure as a parent to a 6 1/2 year old boy apparently. He has made me cry each day for the past 3. He has no idea how much he relies on me. He has embarassed me, been rude, lashed out, and talked back in ways he has never before. He is pushing all the buttons I have and right now I greatly dislike my child. I know that seems harsh, but I will never not love him. I just don't like him right now. Of course, I blame myself...

I simply asked for 1/2 an hour of quiet playing his video game while I attended the PTA meeting. I am tryung to form relationships in this town as I plan on being here a looooooonnnnnnggggg time. Now, I look like the crappiest parent whose kid back talks and whines and, to top it off, the Principal is sitting across the table from him. He was student of the week in December. What the hell happened? The teacher in me is cringing b/c I am intimidated by my son's 60 year old principal. I could take her. Not really, she is a strong woman and I actually respect and like her very much. She is the kind of no nonsense Principal I liked working for. Anyhoo, I look like a f-up and my son looks like a brat.

Failure accomplished.

How'd That Happen?

178.5...
Between snow and sick days with my kids, I counted no points. Stress equals calorie's burned I guess!

Up...

Okay, so I can't cheat like I used too. Too much wine and beer and tortilla chips and frosted animal crackers last week. Too much snow and not enough gym, I started my period for the second time this month (I suppose I should call my gyn about that?), and now a puker in  the house. I am destined to be fat forever...

181.5

The end of an era (okay 6 1/2 years, but who is counting)...

Today, my third and final child turns two. Now, I know that he will always be my baby and all that jazz, but at two a child is less baby and more child. He talks fairly clearly, even asking questions. He follows directions, walks up and down stairs unassisted, chews gum (yes, I know someone will call DYCS about this, but the older two do it so he has too), feeds himself, and even acknowledges when he has pooped in his diaper ("I tinky"). The days of him cuddling for hours or cooing at the mobile (actually as #3 it never made it over his crib but I can imagine it) are done. He is his own little man with his own likes and dislikes and opinions. He is a pure joy to watch and play with everyday. He is the light that greets me each morning and the star that puts me to sleep each night. He is, from the minute he was born and plaed in my arms, a true "Mommy's Boy". I would have it no other way and am eager to see where the world takes him....but, alas, I am sad to know I will never have it again.

"The Joker" No More

So, my oldest has taken up wrestling this year. Now, where I grew up, this was not a sport (unless you were referring to Hulk Hogan and drove a monster truck and chewed and spat into a used soda bottle). The hard part for me is that I don't know if he gets the sport at all. This is his first foray into actual competitive sports. He has done sports camps and "in-house" soccer programs, but never been on display in the public forum before. Wrestling is such an individual sport too. You and the other guy on the mat, 3, 1 minute periods, and it's on. The first match I expected tears. None, despite him being pinned repeatedly and not moving. The second, he did okay. The third, a little better. But this weekend (he had two matches) was brutal to watch.


Saturday, he had an 8 am match Daddy was to take him too. Of course, I get a call 10 minutes after 8 that Daddy didn't bring the bag with his water and snack. So, I packed up the other two and went over. This match was last minute and, therefore, half the team didn't come. He was wrestling kids easily 10-15 pounds heavier and with at least 1 or more years experience. The buzzer would sound and he'd be pinned flat to the floor in under 10 seconds. Typically, we call him "The Joker" b/c he grins all the time despite his inability on the floor. Even the coach comments on how "joyous" he seems out there. By the end, though, he wasn't smiling.

I know it's part of the game and I want my kids to know that "you win some, and lose some", but a win now and then could help. I have a really hard time detaching myself from the emotions of being the crappy athlete as a child, the last one picked, the one who cried and gave up often b/c I didn't know how to handle failure. I give my son huge props b/c he has never refused to go out on that mat and has never shed a tear. But, I almost wish he would. The coach commented that one day his aggression will come out and he'll get the knack for it. He claims his own son was the same way for the first two years he wrestled as well. I just wish it wasn't my kid.

Sunday, he had another match and this time it was just me with him. He admitted in the car on the way to church that he felt like every other kids was better, even the other first years. How do you prove to him otherwise? I could tell at the match that his heart wasn't in it. He basically was getting pinned and staying down. He knows how to bridge and roll and try to escape for the msot part, but he wasn't doing it. He wasn't smiling either. During his last matach I could see him doing the small little breaths we all take when we don't want to cry and are fighting back those tears. It is really hard to watch. I don't know how to help him.

I know he is listening to the the coaches and learning the moves b/c he comes home after practice and walks us through them. He just doesn't know how to apply it under pressure. How do you teach a kid that? We have one more match this weekend at home. Then, an actual tournament where the kids can win medals and trophies. The coach says the kids will actually be ranked and matched according to size, skill and experience. I hope so.

I can't watch my kids heart break anymore.

It's a Start...

180.3
4 workouts
I gotta start somewhere right?

Things are hectic and busy. Hopefully, Ic an settle in and actually write about what I really need to write about soon. This is about sould searchin' after all!