Daddy’s Little Girl

In my mind there is a vague, foggy image of my Daddy in a hospital bed.  It was the last time I ever saw him.  He had just had surgery which removed his largnyx from throat cancer.  It was sad to see him lying there unable to do what he loved to do best…talk.  My father was not the best man.  He had a terrible disease it was alcholism along with some mental issues.  So most of his life he was pretty unstable and when he was drunk he was downright mean.  However, I was the youngest to come into the family of 8 children and so I was the lucky one.  He was never mean to me.  He taught me all the things I can still recall today.  Along with forcing my studies in academia, he also fostered my love of the arts.  He taught me about dancing, joking, and singing.  He taught me about movies especially the old time musicals.  I think to this day my being born somehow allowed him to make up for some of the awful things he did to my mother and my siblings.

He died on May 4, 1969 at the age of 60.  Not from the cancer that took away his voice, but from the pneumonia he caught after that surgery.  The actual memories are a bit foggy now since it happened 48 years ago today, but the memories of him are deeply imbedded into my subconscious and yes, even in my heart.  My brother, Tommy was more like an actual dad to me, moreso after my father passed away.  However, I cannot help but recall the many good things my father taught me and the one thing I am certain of is that he genuinely loved me.  He always made me feel like I could accomplish anything, be anyone.  He emphasized my need to understand what I read, to spell correctly and to do basic math.  He showed me fun ways to learn and he taught me a profound lesson in believing that everyone learns something new every single day they are alive.  Everytime I solve a jumble of words, it is my father’s face I see urging me to keep trying until I get it.  Whenever I see an old time musical film, it is his face and his actions that are sitting right there telling all about the songs, the music, the actors. In my own way, I miss him very much.  I don’t like all of the negative things I know about him nor do I ever totally forgive him for some of the things he did, but I now understand that it was not by choice but by his illnesses that caused his behaviour.  So yes, I love him as well.

I just didn’t want this day to go by without remembering the man I knew. The one who loved me, taught me so very much and who left an indelible mark upon my soul, my mind and my heart.  I truly hope he has found his peace in the afterlife and that after all this time all his trangressions are finally forgiven.  One day Daddy, I will write about all your crazy antics and allow that good part of you and the crazy part of you to share the same spotlight.

And That’s The Way I See It here in Brooklyn.

K

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A father for Father’s Day

Maybe I am just one of those unexplained mysteries in life. Maybe because I always wondered about my biological father. Maybe that is why I have been so lucky in my life having two “fathers”.

My sons’ father is the best father and grandfather I have ever seen.  His unconditional love, his self-sacrificing dedication and his ability to keep giving and giving can not be denied.  I believe that the word, “no” is just not a word to him.  He has always said “yes” to the needs of his children, and for that matter to me as well.  Fathers like Rocco are rare, but I know there are a few out there. For instance, my son, Rocky is a dad like his father.  He has the same inner ability to love his daughter so completely and unconditionally. As she grows, I hope she realizes more and more how very wonderful he is and how dedicated he is to her.

My “dad”and my “brother” raised me to be a person who is true to herself, kind to others, and to care about the world around me. My “dad” passed when I was sixteen years old.  My brother is still the one I look to for answers.  Whether or not he reaizes it, he is still the one I depend on.

Today I want to tell you about my brother, Tommy.

If one could picture the life of a person when they were a child and to realize that what they have been through is no life for any child, then they would know that the man I know as Tommy, who came out of that life better and stronger, is in itself miraculous.  They would know that this wonderful man is the most selfless, loving, hard-working man that was ever born.

It was a tough life when my brother was a small child.   His father was an alcholic and the venom from this sickness took its ugly poison out on my brother and his siblings.  Without going into too much detail, let me suffice to say Tommy took the brunt of that venom.  It became so bad that for a time his mom sent him to live for awhile to her sister so he could escape the onslaught. When I was born Tommy was ten years old.

I turned seven when I first started to notice who it was that was nurturing me and making sure I had everything I needed, like food, clothing and shelter. Tommy was now seventeen and graduated High School.  He was also the protector for my “mom” and me.  Ever since he was able to work he made sure our mom and me were taken care of.

Life wasn’t all bad. He was also a prankster and a loyal friend.  Some of the funniest episodes I ever heard were about the pranks my brother would pull on his family, friends and co-workers.  When our sister, Joanie passed away at the age of twenty-nine from complications after brain surgery to remove a tumor, she left two small babies behind.  One was two years old and the other was six months.  While their dad had to keep working, my mom took them in to live with us in our six room tenement apartment in Park Slope.  They spent Monday through Friday with us and their dad took them on the weekends.  Tommy immediately took on the role of dad to them during those days and had always taken that role on for me.  Yes, our siblings helped as well.  There was after all, eight of us altogether. I was the youngest.  I recall Tommy taking us to the World’s Fair in Flushing, Delancy Street in Manhattan for clothes, and to the local theatre for movies, etc. If we had any treats or toys it was Tommy who bought them. When the boys turned seven and five, their dad remarried a wonderful woman named Eileen. Together they brought the boys to live with them, of course, leaving us left us with  heavy hearts because they were more like brothers and sons to us.  Years later we now know that it was best for them to leave and have a life with their own dad and stepmom.  However, I was still there and Tommy became more like a dad to me than ever and when “daddy” died, it was Tommy who pulled me through just as he did when we lost “mommy” and then did the same when we lost two more of our sisters and our niece. He pulled me out of so many childhood and young adulthood mistakes. He helped me when sickness befell my baby boy, he helped me when I thought I would sink from financial disaster. I cannot recall one time in life good or bad when Tommy wasn’t right there, or just a phone call away.  He is the one constant in my life.  The person to whom I owe everything.

By now you must have surmised why I chose to write this Father’s Day tribute to my wonderful brother Tommy.  There just isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think of him or even talk to him.  He has always been my confidant, my advisor, my father in every sense of the word.  Even though I am a grown woman, wife, mother, grandmother, sister, aunt, cousin, friend..none of those titles would have been possible without Tommy in my life.  He is officially “my brother” but everything he has ever done for me is something a great dad would do.  So I want to tell him Happy Father’s Day and that even though he chose not to have children of his own, he has helped raise and has given to all his sisters, nieces and nephews so very much that the title Father belongs to him.

He never truly gets the recognition and appreciation for everything he has always done from his heart, so this small tribute is my way of saying thank you with all my heart for being the best real Dad I never really had.

Happy Father’s Day, Tommy.

And that’s the Way I See It, here in Brooklyn.

K

 

 

 

 

It Takes A “Special” Man To Be A Dad!

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Special is defined in the English dictionary in this way: unusual or better; held in esteem; reserved; made for specific purpose; arranged for specific purpose, etc. In accordance with that definition, my dad was a very “special” person. Today May 4, 2016 is the 47th Anniversary of his death.  I was sixteen years old.

Complex; complicated; misunderstood; unstable; loving; self-educated. My dad had a disease known as alcoholism. As mean as he could be when he drank he could be just as kind and nurturing when he didn’t.  I often thought of him as two people in one. His need for alcohol was always present, although it lessened in his later years. I came into his life when he was forty-three years old. I like to believe that I made a difference in his life at that point. Members of my family have told me that he was crazy about me at the instant of my birth. My memories begin when I was a small child. Naturally, some of those memories are not good. I would rather focus today on the memories of Dad that have stayed with me my entire life.

The most poignant memories begin with Dad and me watching television in our tenement living room. I would sit on the floor, he in his favorite chair. On the screen before me was always a movie starring either John Wayne, James Cagney, Busby Berkley Musicals or Fred Astaire with Ginger Rogers. My Dad would tell me all about the stars in those movies and we would often sing along if it was a musical. When we weren’t watching television, he would work with me on my homework assignments and every day he would “assign” me the jumble puzzle printed in the Daily News. I was always praised and rewarded if I got the jumble words correct. In those days, many students went home at lunchtime. I was one of them and for lunch my dad would prepare grilled cheese sandwiches cooked in the waffle iron, or heat up Franco American spaghetti for me. On Fridays he would add a fish cake or fist sticks with the Franco American spaghetti as the side. He always tried to make lunchtime fun for me. After school, I would often sit at his feet as he told me stories about his adventures in the military or advised me about the importance of education and the basics of reading, writing and arithmetic. I always thought he was truly a smart man. Even when he wasn’t sober, there were things that he said that remain with me. When I first heard the words he said, my thought was that he was a very selfish person, but as I got older I realized the words he used were quite filled with real wisdom. He would always say whether drunk or sober, “Me, Myself and I , first comes me then comes you, capital R capital O capital N.” Today I realize that he was saying a person needs to care first for themselves before they can take care of others. It wasn’t a selfish statement at all,  instead it was the most sage advice I ever received.

My Dad as complicated as he was, was truly a special man and if he were here today, I would thank him for all those times he was there for me and for all the times that he made me feel like the “special” one. My hope is that after all this time his spirit is at peace now.

That is the Way I See It here in Brooklyn!

 

K

Looking Ahead

Yes, I know it has been awhile since I have been here.  By now I should be filled with words, ideas, opinions.  Thoughts that will somehow change a life if not the world.  It isn’t as if I don’t have lots to say.  There is enough material around to keep me writing for months. 2016 is a busy year.  Lots of weddings, parties, doctor visits. It’s an election year as well, and boy is America reeling with opinions and competition!

I should tell you that it has been a slow go since my surgery last November. So many tests to follow up with and new docs to see.  For awhile I had thought my back problem improved and my life was gonna change delightedly for the better, but nope right back to square one with no hope in view that I will ever boogie as I once did.  There are other productive things though as long as they don’t take standing more than 10 minutes at a time.

My youngest son got engaged last November and life continues once again.  Unfortunately, being the mother of the groom there isn’t much to do in terms of planning and such.  I love my sons totally, but it’s kinda sad that I’ll never know the joy of having a daughter as well.  The mothers of girls seem to have most of the fun sharing, planning, spending time with their daughters more often than the boys do with their mothers.  I truly am very grateful for all my sons do for me and with me, guess it’s like they say, “You always want what you can’t have.” It should be a great December wedding though!  Christmas in the air and all!

Day to day life for me is truly blasé now that I am retired and without true mobility. Even my wondrous friend, writing, is suffering from the doldrums.  Bare with me as I am trying to revive this tired old friend, hoping to bring a fresh new outlook to its soul while keeping its heart beating stronger than ever.

So we are living in an election year.  Attempting to elect a new POTUS. The playing field is astounding. We have Bernie Sanders (not the Colonel) and Hillary Clinton on the Democratic side and Ted Cruz and Donald Trump (yea the Millionnaire) on the Republican side.  Not a day goes by where I am not either astounded or hysterically laughing. How this isn’t the biggest political fiasco of all time is beyond me.  I love America and believe always that it is the greatest country on earth…..but with this election my head is hiding in my elbow 90% of the time!

Hopefully, my thoughts will stop gathering moss and I’ll share my own insights into this year’s election shenanigans very soon.

Until then,

That’s the Way I See it here in Brooklyn!

K

 

 

 

Reminiscing Barbara

 

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This blog today may turn out to be the length of a book, but there are things about Barbara that I am remembering and some of them need to be told at length.  Her personality was so complicated and awesome that to generalize entirely about her now would seem unfitting to her memory. She wasn’t a saint, making her full share of mistakes.  She was human just like the rest of us.  What sets her apart is what she possessed that few people have or even know about.  Her beauty was in her heart and in her inner determination and strength to help others and to love so deeply and so fiercely there was no way to avoid it nor once experienced would you want to.  Barbara was and always will be one of a kind.

Twenty-six years ago today, May 8th, my sister, Barbara passed away. Her death was far from “easy”. Her suffering was great. The lung cancer that affected her had been spreading throughout her fragile body and overtook the woman we all knew and loved much too soon. As a mother of five children Barbara was a “force of nature”. Her protectiveness for her “babies” was instinctively inborn in her very persona. It is only fitting that I write about her today for she is missed by all who knew her.

Barbara was born a middle child of eight.  She had four older siblings and three younger siblings. We were all born into “poverty” and our parents had their own set of problems.  Barbara was a sickly child and had battled and survived pneumonia on five separate occasions.  I don’t think she ever weighed more than one hundred pounds even when pregnant on her five foot seven frame.  Yet she held a beauty all her own.  She was fierce and stubborn, loving and funny all at the same time.  Her sense of loyalty was undeniable.  She adored her mother and had a closeness with her that most daughters rarely experience.  Barbara was on the surface someone we would call “tough” back then.  She took no guff from anyone and would defend her family and all those she cared about with every ounce of courage she could muster.  It wasn’t till the very end of her life, when I had the privilege along with some of my siblings and her children of caring for her during her illness, that I finally got a glimpse of her true vulnerabilities, fears and passionate heart.  I have to be honest and tell you that it was an eye opener for me since she and I practically fought about everything.  I am the youngest of those eight siblings and she and I would butt heads about almost everything in life.  Barbara was also a religious person and her devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary was unmistakable.  To this day, I cannot think about the Blessed Mother without thinking of Barbara as well.

The first inkling I had that my sister, who was eleven years my elder, had  more guts than anyone I knew at the time, was when she “borrowed” a friend’s car and took off to elope with her than boyfriend, who shortly after became her husband.  I recall waking up in the tenement bed I shared with her and my other sister and hearing my parents frantically making phone calls and having the police come to our door.  From the gist of the conversations, I had understood that Barbara ran away and the search was on.  They found her though and brought her back home before they actually went through with the elopement.  She was almost charged with stealing a car, but thankfully her friend didn’t press charges.  Another time I recall her coming to let our mother know that our brother was hanging off the fence in the schoolyard down the street from our tenement and that was why he was late getting home for supper.  She had tried to lift him off herself, but I cannot recall whether or not she succeeded.  Did I mention how strong she was in spite of her thinness?  Well that she was.  Strong as an ox and was never afraid to use physical force whenever she deemed it necessary.  I was afraid of her for most of our lives together.  When I turned eighteen, it was Barbara who took me to the my first bar and bought me my first drink.  I recall her telling me that she was doing it herself to warn me and steer me against the pitfalls of alcohol. As it turns out, I was never much of a drinker or even enjoyed liquor until much, much later in life.

Barbara had few very close friends during her life, most of them since she was a young girl.  Her loyalty and faithfulness to their closeness remains unparalleled.  She loved her close friends almost as much as she loved her family.  That love she possessed was strongly felt by all.  She often did so much for others, quietly without any of us truly aware of how thin she spread herself and how helpful a person she truly was.  It was not until her death that this all came to light for most of us.

Earlier I mentioned about Barbara’s closeness to our mother. She took it upon herself to be my mother’s guardian in every sense of the word.  She stuck by her and defended her when our dad would be on a drunken binge and take all his hard luck out on our poor mother’s body.  Barbara would fight him every time.  I recall many a time, when she would come home and I could hear them arguing in our railroad apartment while I lay two rooms down in bed. It would get quiet and after a while  I would sneak a peek from my bed to see Barbara hitting our drunken father over the head with one of his beer bottles.  Not hard enough to do any real harm, but hard enough to make him leave our mother alone for a while.  Our dad died during my sixteenth year, and Barbara had been married for seven years by then.  After his death, Barbara once again became our mother’s caretaker (by appointing herself) and during all our mother’s illnesses it was Barbara who took her to the hospital, knew all her medications, and every illness our mother had ever had.  She was our mother’s self-appointed spokesperson.  There was a time during Barbara’s marriage that she and her husband and eldest daughter, Barbara moved to Oklahoma for her husband’s job.  She gave birth to her second daughter, Chrissy there.  It wasn’t long however, until she missed our mother so much that she won over her husband and they moved back to good old Brooklyn.  When they moved back here, they moved into an apartment on the second floor of the first house we ever lived in.  I believe it was the best time and the worst time for her.  She was glad to be so close to our mother again, but she now had a growing family to worry about as well and a husband, who was not quite so happy to live in the same house as his in-laws.  Our father had died during this period and after a time, Barbara and her family moved to their own apartment and Barbara now had three girls with her middle one, Kelly having been born.

Overall, it wasn’t easy during those years.  Barbara was a full-time mom and her husband provided the only source of income for them.  She did the best she could with whatever resources she had. Needless to say she was extremely stressed.  There is so much more that I could write about her life and my interactions with her, but it truly will be a book if I do.  So instead, I will shorten this somewhat and just tell you a few more memories I have of Barbara.

By the time her sister, Doris, who was seven years her senior, became ill while living in California, Barbara had five children of her own.  Four girls and a boy.  Karen being her youngest girl and John, Jr. being her only son.  I had my son, Rocky by then and we had lost our mother the year before.  Barbara and I flew to California together to try to help Doris who by this time was on life support after developing cirrhosis of the liver.  The plane ride it self was interesting to me as it was only the second time I had ever been on a plane.  Unfortunately, I am one of those people who have a built-in fear of riding in planes or for that matter, anything that takes away my sense of gravity.  Barbara on the other hand, hid any fears she had and was a true social butterfly. She would talk with anyone and would wander the plane while I sat petrified and glued to my seat.  On this flight to California, Barbara had been off socializing and came back to get me to move to the middle row and watch a movie that was being provided by the airline.  She convinced me to go and so there we were sitting in the middle aisle of the plane waiting for the movie to start.  Barbara, was talking to some people she had met earlier, who happened to be seated behind us, so her back was partially turned away from the screen.  A stewardess was coming toward where we were seated carrying a tray of drinks.  She tapped Barbara on the shoulder and as Barbara turned quickly to see who it was, she jumped up, knocking the tray out of the stewardess’ hands, and with drinks flying all over, proceeded to yell, “Oh my God, we’re going to crash!”.  Although, I was still afraid and now in complete shock as to what happened, I managed to calm her down and tell her it was just the stewardess with drinks for everyone.  I quickly learned that she was so afraid herself that when she saw the stewardess as quickly as she did, she thought it was oxygen and not cups.  We laughed about that for years afterward.

When we finally arrived in California, jet lagged and worried, we were met by Doris’ boyfriend and son. They took us to see Doris and together Barbara and I went into shock.  Beautiful auburned hair Doris, was now this frail woman with a head of gray hair, lying in this hospital bed hooked up to a respirator and all sorts of machines. She saw us and woke up briefly to whisper something to each of us and then fell back into her coma.  It was the strangest and most emotional moment in both of our lives.  We stayed in California for five days, and we knew from the doctors that Doris was gone and only being kept alive by a machine.  It was a devastating time for us, and for reasons I won’t discuss now, I had the agonizing decision to turn off that machine because Doris was brain-dead.  It took me five days to decide what to do and it was Barbara who was my rock.  It was Barbara who listened to my agonizing and if it were not for her, I do not honestly know if I would have come through that time  completely intact.  After that time, Barbara had developed a new-found trust in me and I felt it.  She always credited me with being a rock and the strength, when in reality it was her strength that I drew from.

During this period of our lives, my eldest son was going through a horrible disease known as nephrosis, and here again it was Barbara who gave me her quiet shoulder to lean on.  It was Barbara who had faith in our decisions about our son and it was Barbara who gave me the inner strength I needed to get through that awful time as well.

If I am to be openly honest, I have to say here that I owed so much to Barbara the sister whose inner strength, abundance of love and true mercy was my silent rock.  So when she needed help after developing metastasized cancer, I tried to be there for her.  It broke my heart to see her struggling through that illness, how it slowly devour every part of her physical being, but it never destroyed her inner strength, it never touched an ounce of her love for her husband and five children.  She fought hard to stay alive for them and for us, but it was not to be. She asked each of her siblings, me included, to watch out for her family.  She spoke to me in those last days about each and every one of them and how very well she knew each of them.  Her main and only concern was their welfare.  There was no one who was with her during that time who could deny the love she carried inside for each of them and the hopes and dreams she so worried would not be fulfilled if she was no longer around to carry through her part in those hopes.  I made her a number of promises then, and God only knows if I have fulfilled them all, but I have sincerely tried to live up to the faith she had in me.  Miss her?  So much more than these words or any words could tell you.  Wish she was here during the trying times that have followed since her death?  Part of me does and then part of me is grateful she was not alive to see the passing of her eldest daughter, Barbara at the age of forty-five leaving three children and a grandson behind.  I miss her strength and her knowing ways, but I am glad that her legacy includes eight grandchildren and a great-grandson, all of which may yet carry through all the hopes and dreams she always had for each of her children.

I have never met another person like my sister Barbara and I reckon to wager I never will.  She was the rarest of the rare with a pure and honest inner heart, that perhaps didn’t always have the knowledge or wherewithal to be ideal, but nevertheless, gave it every ounce of strength, love and faith she did possess.  She is the person, who will never be forgotten by anyone who has known her.  She is the person, who twenty-six years after her death, I still reminisce about and care about as much as ever.  She is the person, whose love for her family I still feel this very day.  I hope in my idealistic way of thinking sometimes, that she is in a spiritual place with our mother, our two sisters and her daughter and they are laughing their asses off at all the foolish things we still do everyday.  I hope, also, that she can feel the love we all still feel for her and that she comforts her spirit like a warm blanket on a cold wintry day with that love.  Reminiscing Barbara fills me with strength and hope and a sense of pride that perhaps, after all, we were the closest of sisters that could ever be.  Rest in peace, my sister, I love you still.

And that is the Way I See It, here in Brooklyn.

K

 

 

Father’s Day 2014

First and foremost, A happy Father’s Day to all the Fathers in my life!

It has been said so many, many times almost any man can be a biological father, but it takes a “special man” to be a true father in every sense of the word. I happen to know a few in both categories. Today I will tell you about those fathers who are worth writing about, those men who show love to their children on a daily basis, those very “special men” who have touched a child’s life in such a profound way that the child grows into a productive, caring adult. These fathers are worth the time and effort every single day!

I never knew my biological father, only his name.  I was given an old blurry  picture of him once and I still look at it every now and again.  To be honest, I don’t even know why I care.  He didn’t seem to care about my biological mother nor me.  He just let her fend for herself.  However, I was one of the lucky ones.  I had a couple of  “fathers” in my life, so I always had a daddy.  One was my grandfather and the other my brother.  These very special men taught me values and gave of themselves to me every single day.  Their love for me still shines in my heart like a beacon that guides my every step.  Their advice resonates within my mind in every decision and/or choice I have to face.  It matters not to me what they did in life other than be my guiding lights.  I don’t know what would have become of me, if I did not know these special men, if they somehow were not thrown into my path, they took on the responsibility of taking care of me daily.  They taught me, they nurtured me, they advised me, they guided me and most of all, they loved me.

Deep down my wish is that every female child born in this world could experience and feel the love that I felt from these special men and from that, love by choice, have a way out of an imperfect life.  By far my life has been anything but “perfect” but because of my “fathers”, my life has been worthwhile and basically a fairly happy one.  I married a man who is a biological father and he is as good and as solid as the men in my life were and are.  He loves his children unconditionally and he is there for them every single day of their lives.  He is a true example of the label father.  I feel blessed and lucky that the fathers who have been directly involved in my upbringing have been men to admire, love and look up to.  These men have surely earned the title of daddy and welcome it wholeheartedly.

I also know many men who are biological fathers, but are not truly fathers.  Those men should be ashamed for there is nothing more precious nor sacred in life than the birth of your own child.  Yet, those men have made a choice to do little or nothing for their children. They choose to neglect their children instead of nurturing them. I pray that they wake up and realize what a precious responsibility and blessing they have been given.  I know men, who by no choice of their own, cannot have children, yet they make a choice to have a child in other ways and those men that I know, who have made this choice, are among the best fathers on the face of this planet.  They are more loving, more concerned, and more caring than if the children they father were from their own bodies.  Those men are angels sent from above and of that I have no doubt. I know men who are  single fathers, who either by divorce, death or separation are the kind of father every child wishes he or she had.  These men never relinquish their responsibility.  They don’t stop loving the child because the mother is not with them. They don’t neglect their children.  I have witnessed all of these men throughout my life.  Those experiences have given me an insight into what a father should be and can be.  If a man is truly a father their children will know it, remember it and cherish it, even if that man is not their biological father.  No matter what mistakes a child makes in life, if they have had a father they will get past those mistakes and they will live a life that is full, a life that gives back, a life that realizes love can be unconditional.  To have a father is to have a precious blessing and I truly feel very blessed for all the fathers in my life.

So I wish a very Happy Father’s Day to all those dads who have made a difference.  May you all always have the best in life.  May you all always feel love, compassion and joy each and every day.

That’s The Way I See It here in Brooklyn.

“I’ll Remember”

Mmmm, mmmm
Say good-bye to not knowing when
The truth in my whole life began
Say good-bye to not knowing how to cry
You taught me that

And I’ll remember the strength that you gave me
Now that I’m standing on my own
I’ll remember the way that you saved me
I’ll remember

Inside I was a child
That could not mend a broken wing
Outside I looked for a way
To teach my heart to sing

And I’ll remember the love that you gave me
Now that I’m standing on my own
I’ll remember the way that you changed me
I’ll remember

I learned
To let go
Of the illusion that we can possess
I learned
To let go
I travel in stillness
And I’ll remember
Happiness
I’ll remember (I’ll remember)
Mmmmm… (I’ll remember)
Mmmmm…

And I’ll remember the love that you gave me
Now that I’m standing on my own
I’ll remember the way that you changed me
I’ll remember

No I’ve never been afraid to cry
Now I finally have a reason why
I’ll remember (I’ll remember)
No I’ve never been afraid to cry
Now I finally have a reason why
I’ll remember (I’ll remember)
No I’ve never been afraid to cry
And I finally have a reason why
I’ll remember (I’ll remember)
No I’ve never been afraid to cry
And I finally have a reason why
I’ll remember (I’ll remember)

 
Writer(s): Madonna
Copyright: Webo Girl Publishing Inc., WB Music Corp.

K

Assuming I Am Right

According to the Wikipedia Dictionary the following is the definition of the word assume.

assume |əˈso͞om|
verb [ with obj. ]
1 suppose to be the case, without proof: you’re afraid of what people are going to assume about me | [ with clause ] : it is reasonable to assume that such changes have significant social effects | [ with obj. and infinitive ] : they were assumed to be foreign.
2 take or begin to have (power or responsibility): he assumed full responsibility for all organizational work.
• seize (power or control): the rebels assumed control of the capital.
3 take on (a specified quality, appearance, or extent): militant activity had assumed epidemic proportions.
• take on or adopt (a manner or identity), sometimes falsely: Oliver assumed an expression of penitence | she puts on a disguise, assumes a different persona, and cruises the squalid bars on the bad side of town | (as adj.assumed) : a man living under an assumed name.
DERIVATIVES
assumedly |-midlē| adverb
ORIGIN late Middle English: from Latin assumere, from ad- ‘toward’ + sumere ‘take.’

My definition of assume:  Don’t make an ass out of u and me!

Well I have been accused of “assuming” one too many times in my life and it has finally come to a head.  Most of my life I have had the uncanny ability to see things that most people don’t see.  Particularly when it comes to feelings and the like.  My error, however, has been in stating what I see and because I do that people assume that I am assuming!  It has happened to me more times than I can count!  My other error is that I care about people and their feelings.  I am extremely empathic which leads to a complicated string of events that for some reason always seem to turn around and bite me directly in my proverbial ass!

Most people I have observed don’t want to face their own fears nor do they want to face their own true feelings about any given subject.  I suppose it is a predominant trait of human nature to be that way.  However, I have never shared that particular human trait.  I am constantly facing my own inhibitions, fears, feelings, etc., etc.  Naturally I don’t like what I face any more than the next guy, but I do face them.  The problem comes in when I can see things that others cannot within themselves and trying to be Ms. Nice Guy, I try to help them out by opening a discussion about what I sense are worries and/or problems that they may be facing.  Instead of taking my words at face value though, most people see what  i say as projection of my own feelings when they are anything but my own feelings.  Ninety-nine percent of the time it results in the fact that I was right in what I stated, unfortunately, it does not present that way until much later on in the person’s life.  Once it does, they sometimes will admit to me that I was right, but most times they don’t.  What I do get when the incidence is happening is a statement that accuses me of being assuming.  It not easy being me.  Trust me.  I swallow this even though I know within myself that this statement about me is totally unjust and unfair.  It is rare that I come across a person who takes me at face value and realizes that what I have is insight.  That particular person or persons do not realize what a God send they are to me.  To acknowledge that I have an uncanny ability to foresee things that they have even yet to realize within themselves brings me total peace and comfort.  That is very rare though within my circle.

So I am peeved today.  Extremely and utterly peeved.  Perhaps I am a rare breed and perhaps most people don’t want to believe that I am any different from they are and I have never really argued the point with anyone.  I am however sure that I am not the only person on this earth with this ability nor do I think I will be the last.  I do know quite emphatically that it is a fact of life.  I sometimes wish I was daft and didn’t possess this insight as I call it.  I would be a lot less insulted. A lot less hurt.  A more peaceful human being within myself.  That just isn’t something I can control at will.  When I have this insight it is often spontaneous and I can no more stop it from coming than I could jump over the moon.  It’s in my face.  It’s in my every word.  It’s in my thoughts.  To not tell the person I care about that it exists would be like watching them drown and I would do nothing to save them.  I couldn’t nor wouldn’t do that.  That is why almost every time I swallow the hurt and the pain and the insults so that the person I have tried to help will actually have an opportunity to think about it and with any luck, act on it.

So all I want to say today is always  assume I am right because ninety-nine percent of the time I am and that my friends, is no assumption!

That is The Way I See It here in Brooklyn!

K