Let me tell you about the nut job mothers I have met and continue to grace my presence since I became a mother 18 months ago.
They're too fat, so they say.
I'm too thin, attractive, confident, so they say.
The woman who seethes with jealousy because I'm pregnant with my second child and her husband refuses to have another one ... of course she seethes with jealousy over virtually everything to do with me, she saw a sweater I was wearing once and literally asked me for it. Then she wanted the winter boots I recently bought so she went out and bought a duplicate pair. I fear coming home to a boiling pot of rabbit stew.
The same crazy broad fumes that I've only gained twelve pounds during my second pregnancy -- never mind it's mostly because I've been so ill with morning sickness for the entire nine months. Thankfully my baby is perfectly healthy and has consistently measured big and is merely taking everything I have to offer, which is as it should be.
As crazy as she is, these loons are my favorite: the mothers who don't breastfeed but, lie about it. I met a mother who toted around bottles of soy milk and passed it off as breast milk, I have no idea why she fessed up to her great caper but, I wish I never met her and could not get rid of her fast enough.
The mothers who say hello, I say hello back and that is the last time my voice is heard. These boring, vapid women who absolutely can not stop talking about themselves and drone on and on and on ... I've gotten up and walked away and they're still talking and talking and talking and talking and talking. They have absolutely nothing interesting to say but, they do love to talk about their boring selves.
These mothers are like a blaring, TALKING sign proclaiming: I AM INSECURE.
Holy God.
Instead of being open and honest with one another about their fears and insecurities and building a support network of fellow mothers to help uplift each other these wacko mothers create a false facade of perfection. They spend all their energy competing with and cutting down other women in order to feel better about their own insanity and their stupid little chaotic,empty lives.
Makes me pine for the days when all my friends were men.
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
BACK OFF!
It's a grey day, bitterly cold and snowing outside, the perfect day to take my son to the local indoor kids play area.
The drama starts early.
A sweet little blonde girl flies into her father's lap with fear on her face and tears streaking down her cheeks.
"What happened?" her father asks.
"That boy roared at me like a dragon and scared me!" the little girl whimpers. The boy is either 5 or 15 years old, it's hard to tell because kids are big these days -- my own son is 17 months and is the size of a three year old.
Her father does nothing and looks over at Michele, the owner for help and Michele says she didn't see what happened and then he looks at me and I apologize and make the same statement.
I didn't see nothing but, isn't it funny and cute that the little boy thinks he's a dragon!
Oh! How adorable!
That poor little girl.
I soon found out that the dragon is in actuality a demon possessed boy who would strike fear into the heart of a seasoned street thug.
My son was his next victim however, I suspect my son will be his last after my reaction, that's if that crazed dinosaur know's what's good for him.
It all started out innocent enough, my boy saw some unattended toys he wanted to play with and he toddled over to check it out.
The boy who would be a dragon sees my son entering his lair and begins to fly at my baby boy with his arms flailing about his head like an ape in heat and screeching at the top of his lungs while lunging forward and displaying a menacing look on his face that would make grown men soil themselves.
My mothers reaction was visceral and swift and exactly what they teach in those self-defense classes on Oprah. You know the one's where the guy is dressed in enough padding to take a Jimmy Choo in the eye and feel nothing?
This lunatic dragon-child was displaying such menace and threat that I puffed myself up to my full 5foot5 and a half frame, extended my shooting arm and pointed right at his head and screamed "BACK OFF!"
Well ... would you believe this little demon of darkness kept lunging at my petrified, frozen in place, speechless child?
So, I took a forceful step forward and began repeating "BACK OFF!BACK OFF!" until the future serial killer finally heard me through his haze of blood thirst and he did what I told him to do:
BACK THE FUCK OFF MY CHILD.
My son comes over to me for a hug and a kiss with a stricken look on his face and I am feeling like I just fought off a mugger in a back alley.
Holy Lord, no one tells you about this part of motherhood.
I no longer wonder or ask why the world is such a disaster: look at the children and their nasty ass mothers sitting on their obese ass and their over bleached hair telling little Johnny half-heartedly to put the knife down.
The drama starts early.
A sweet little blonde girl flies into her father's lap with fear on her face and tears streaking down her cheeks.
"What happened?" her father asks.
"That boy roared at me like a dragon and scared me!" the little girl whimpers. The boy is either 5 or 15 years old, it's hard to tell because kids are big these days -- my own son is 17 months and is the size of a three year old.
Her father does nothing and looks over at Michele, the owner for help and Michele says she didn't see what happened and then he looks at me and I apologize and make the same statement.
I didn't see nothing but, isn't it funny and cute that the little boy thinks he's a dragon!
Oh! How adorable!
That poor little girl.
I soon found out that the dragon is in actuality a demon possessed boy who would strike fear into the heart of a seasoned street thug.
My son was his next victim however, I suspect my son will be his last after my reaction, that's if that crazed dinosaur know's what's good for him.
It all started out innocent enough, my boy saw some unattended toys he wanted to play with and he toddled over to check it out.
The boy who would be a dragon sees my son entering his lair and begins to fly at my baby boy with his arms flailing about his head like an ape in heat and screeching at the top of his lungs while lunging forward and displaying a menacing look on his face that would make grown men soil themselves.
My mothers reaction was visceral and swift and exactly what they teach in those self-defense classes on Oprah. You know the one's where the guy is dressed in enough padding to take a Jimmy Choo in the eye and feel nothing?
This lunatic dragon-child was displaying such menace and threat that I puffed myself up to my full 5foot5 and a half frame, extended my shooting arm and pointed right at his head and screamed "BACK OFF!"
Well ... would you believe this little demon of darkness kept lunging at my petrified, frozen in place, speechless child?
So, I took a forceful step forward and began repeating "BACK OFF!BACK OFF!" until the future serial killer finally heard me through his haze of blood thirst and he did what I told him to do:
BACK THE FUCK OFF MY CHILD.
My son comes over to me for a hug and a kiss with a stricken look on his face and I am feeling like I just fought off a mugger in a back alley.
Holy Lord, no one tells you about this part of motherhood.
I no longer wonder or ask why the world is such a disaster: look at the children and their nasty ass mothers sitting on their obese ass and their over bleached hair telling little Johnny half-heartedly to put the knife down.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Bonding with Baby
Some expectant couples are choosing not to find out the gender of their child during their first or subsequent ultra-sounds and from a personal choice perspective, ultimately it's he parents decision however for the health of your family, I discourage this route.
Bonding with your child is the most important part of being a parent and for women bonding starts when we see the pregnancy test but, for the father the bonding doesn't often begin until the child is born. This is understandable as there is no life forming in their bodies, they're not changing physically or hormonally or even emotionally to accommodate the growth of a new child, much of the pregnancy for the father is experienced as a rational analysis of how to provide and second person reports from the mother.
For the father bonding with your child can be delayed, creating tension and resentment between the spouses and delaying discover of the gender will only hamper a fathers struggle to connect with his new son or daughter. That becomes the problem with declining to discover if your having a boy or a girl; the turmoil the dad-to-be becomes the question of what kind of love will he provide? Guidance and strength as in the case of having a son or protection and caring when having a baby girl and without these questions answered for the rational experience of pregnancy for men, it becomes almost impossible to bond with their new family member.
That is why I recommend creating many bonding opportunities for father and baby including heartbeat and ultrasound and most highly recommended is the 3D ultrasound offered by UC Baby. The father will be able to see the face of their precious son or daughter and the love and bonding hormones for the family can begin to tightly knit the family together, giving all of you the most optimum chances for success moving into the unknown future together.
UC Baby has offices across Canada, they're reasonably priced and flexible in accommodating your experience to make it as spectacular as possible for mom, dad and baby boy or baby girl.
Bonding with your child is the most important part of being a parent and for women bonding starts when we see the pregnancy test but, for the father the bonding doesn't often begin until the child is born. This is understandable as there is no life forming in their bodies, they're not changing physically or hormonally or even emotionally to accommodate the growth of a new child, much of the pregnancy for the father is experienced as a rational analysis of how to provide and second person reports from the mother.
For the father bonding with your child can be delayed, creating tension and resentment between the spouses and delaying discover of the gender will only hamper a fathers struggle to connect with his new son or daughter. That becomes the problem with declining to discover if your having a boy or a girl; the turmoil the dad-to-be becomes the question of what kind of love will he provide? Guidance and strength as in the case of having a son or protection and caring when having a baby girl and without these questions answered for the rational experience of pregnancy for men, it becomes almost impossible to bond with their new family member.
That is why I recommend creating many bonding opportunities for father and baby including heartbeat and ultrasound and most highly recommended is the 3D ultrasound offered by UC Baby. The father will be able to see the face of their precious son or daughter and the love and bonding hormones for the family can begin to tightly knit the family together, giving all of you the most optimum chances for success moving into the unknown future together.
UC Baby has offices across Canada, they're reasonably priced and flexible in accommodating your experience to make it as spectacular as possible for mom, dad and baby boy or baby girl.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Burka's in the Burbs
The first time I ever saw a Burka was just over two years ago when we re-located to the Toronto area; prior to that I'd been living in other parts of Canada and other parts of the world and the much whispered about Islamic dress was just a rumor.
Soon after settling into a new home and a new life, I was out for sushi and looked out my window and sitting in the drivers seat was a little woman in a black sheet with slits where her eyes are and next to her was a ridiculous old man who looked like a little gnome wearing a white cap and a long white beard.
They sat waiting for the traffic light to turn green and I sat waiting for my disgust, contempt and anger to pass. My negative reaction was not because of any 'terrorism' link or anything that absurd because I feel quite safe in the world and my government is doing a portion of it's job to prevent attacks and Canadian foreign policy reduces our chance of being targets. In bluntness, to kill a bunch of Canadians is not going to have the same political weight as killing a bunch of Americans, 'terrorism' is after all a politically motivated crime regardless of how religion is used to galvanize recruits.
On a weekly basis, I see these women draped in black sheets with slits to allow them the smallest window to see where they're going and the feelings are always the same, I want to rage at them, shake their stupid little bodies and tell them to rip that shroud off and toss it in their men's faces. Instead I avert my gaze so they can't see the judgement in my eyes and finish my errands and go home.
Here's what I've learned: these women willingly wear the drapes of oppression as an expression of their faith and commitment to their husbands. I find it so beyond ludicrous and absurd but, what I think is irrelevant because they are making the choice for themselves and I know that is not what the propaganda machine wants us to know or believe but, these women in burka's are not trapped, they're not forced to wear this gear and they don't want anyone to free them from it because they do not view themselves as prisoners.
There are exceptions.
Afghanistan is an exception because the women there are forced to wear the burka or suffer violent repercussion's which America's presence has done very little to change; the Afghan's remain in the virtually the same state of chaos and violence that we found them in 2001. Instead of dealing with Afghanistan and the Taliban, the Bush Crusade took us to Iraq where he successfully enshrined Sharia Law into the Iraqi constitution and armed Blackwater, the worlds largest "Christian" Mercenary Army in the world to kill Iraqis with immunity. So while America is committing staggering and disgusting war crimes in Iraq, the Taliban is now a smarter, more organized, better armed band of killers.
Another exception:
Back in the burbs, the Burka clad women,like black harbingers of death, willingly move stealthily through life making choices I disapprove of but, defend as their right. Why do I do this?
Let me tell you why: several months ago there was a Canadian Muslim teenager who refused her father and brothers demands that she wear a head cover and this 16 year old girl went looking for someone , somewhere to help her. She went to homeless shelters and was turned away because she was not homeless, she went to a battered women's shelter and was turned away, she went to her school councillors and they had no advice or help for her. What about her mother, you ask? Her mother also did nothing to help her because she supported the father and brother in their demands. One day, her father and her brother killed her.
I am defending those girls and women.
This girl was completely isolated and marginalized by a world that doesn't care what happens to her and the more we push Muslim's into isolated communities, the more little girls are going to turn up dead because there is no one to help them, no one to offer a way out if they want it.
Soon after settling into a new home and a new life, I was out for sushi and looked out my window and sitting in the drivers seat was a little woman in a black sheet with slits where her eyes are and next to her was a ridiculous old man who looked like a little gnome wearing a white cap and a long white beard.
They sat waiting for the traffic light to turn green and I sat waiting for my disgust, contempt and anger to pass. My negative reaction was not because of any 'terrorism' link or anything that absurd because I feel quite safe in the world and my government is doing a portion of it's job to prevent attacks and Canadian foreign policy reduces our chance of being targets. In bluntness, to kill a bunch of Canadians is not going to have the same political weight as killing a bunch of Americans, 'terrorism' is after all a politically motivated crime regardless of how religion is used to galvanize recruits.
On a weekly basis, I see these women draped in black sheets with slits to allow them the smallest window to see where they're going and the feelings are always the same, I want to rage at them, shake their stupid little bodies and tell them to rip that shroud off and toss it in their men's faces. Instead I avert my gaze so they can't see the judgement in my eyes and finish my errands and go home.
Here's what I've learned: these women willingly wear the drapes of oppression as an expression of their faith and commitment to their husbands. I find it so beyond ludicrous and absurd but, what I think is irrelevant because they are making the choice for themselves and I know that is not what the propaganda machine wants us to know or believe but, these women in burka's are not trapped, they're not forced to wear this gear and they don't want anyone to free them from it because they do not view themselves as prisoners.
There are exceptions.
Afghanistan is an exception because the women there are forced to wear the burka or suffer violent repercussion's which America's presence has done very little to change; the Afghan's remain in the virtually the same state of chaos and violence that we found them in 2001. Instead of dealing with Afghanistan and the Taliban, the Bush Crusade took us to Iraq where he successfully enshrined Sharia Law into the Iraqi constitution and armed Blackwater, the worlds largest "Christian" Mercenary Army in the world to kill Iraqis with immunity. So while America is committing staggering and disgusting war crimes in Iraq, the Taliban is now a smarter, more organized, better armed band of killers.
Another exception:
Back in the burbs, the Burka clad women,like black harbingers of death, willingly move stealthily through life making choices I disapprove of but, defend as their right. Why do I do this?
Let me tell you why: several months ago there was a Canadian Muslim teenager who refused her father and brothers demands that she wear a head cover and this 16 year old girl went looking for someone , somewhere to help her. She went to homeless shelters and was turned away because she was not homeless, she went to a battered women's shelter and was turned away, she went to her school councillors and they had no advice or help for her. What about her mother, you ask? Her mother also did nothing to help her because she supported the father and brother in their demands. One day, her father and her brother killed her.
I am defending those girls and women.
This girl was completely isolated and marginalized by a world that doesn't care what happens to her and the more we push Muslim's into isolated communities, the more little girls are going to turn up dead because there is no one to help them, no one to offer a way out if they want it.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Five Ways to Keep Your' Children Safe from Predators
Canada is excelling on a shameful, horrifying front: Internet Child Pornography. Canada is the world's second-largest home to online child pornography and the second-largest online seller of child pornography material, such as images, videos or memberships.
My nation is home to some of the worlds worst abusers of our babies,I can not live with this status. The Canadian government is introducing legislation to make it easier for Internet Service Providers (ISP)to monitor report underage pornographic activity to authorities by closing legal loopholes and goes even further to place some onus of legal responsibility on the ISP to monitor and report illegal sexual activity on their Internet service. As a mother and citizen, I fully support this bill. It's always foolish naivete to rely completely on the government to protect our children so here are five ways to keep our little ones safe:
1.No sleep overs. Period. Ever. Children who sleep in strangers homes have a very high chance of being brutalized by males in the house.
2. No sleep away camps. Children get raped by camp councilors and older children.
3. Teachers, coaches, priests/rabbis/imams etc. should be closely monitored by the parent for any inappropriate behavior and excessive time spent alone with children.
4. All men in your child's life are potential predators and should be monitored and not left alone with young children.
5. Teach children two things: If it feels icky, it is icky. That is a simple, innocent way for them to know and tell. Finally, teach them that in your family there are 'No Secrets, Only Surprises'.
Finally, willful children who battle with their parents and are less 'nice' are less likely to be targeted by predators so do not destroy that fight in them by making your son or daughter too obedient. If there was a vaccine to protect against being abused it is this willfulness of spirit in a child that must be respected and adored so it will serve to help your child protect him or herself.
Look for symptoms of abuse: withdrawal, sadness, wetting the bed, anger, violence.
My nation is home to some of the worlds worst abusers of our babies,I can not live with this status. The Canadian government is introducing legislation to make it easier for Internet Service Providers (ISP)to monitor report underage pornographic activity to authorities by closing legal loopholes and goes even further to place some onus of legal responsibility on the ISP to monitor and report illegal sexual activity on their Internet service. As a mother and citizen, I fully support this bill. It's always foolish naivete to rely completely on the government to protect our children so here are five ways to keep our little ones safe:
1.No sleep overs. Period. Ever. Children who sleep in strangers homes have a very high chance of being brutalized by males in the house.
2. No sleep away camps. Children get raped by camp councilors and older children.
3. Teachers, coaches, priests/rabbis/imams etc. should be closely monitored by the parent for any inappropriate behavior and excessive time spent alone with children.
4. All men in your child's life are potential predators and should be monitored and not left alone with young children.
5. Teach children two things: If it feels icky, it is icky. That is a simple, innocent way for them to know and tell. Finally, teach them that in your family there are 'No Secrets, Only Surprises'.
Finally, willful children who battle with their parents and are less 'nice' are less likely to be targeted by predators so do not destroy that fight in them by making your son or daughter too obedient. If there was a vaccine to protect against being abused it is this willfulness of spirit in a child that must be respected and adored so it will serve to help your child protect him or herself.
Look for symptoms of abuse: withdrawal, sadness, wetting the bed, anger, violence.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Three people I met along the way ...
Before my children showed me what true love and joy can be, travel was my love and here are just three people I met along the way:
The Israeli
Shaded by the towering Buddha he starts talking and there's a desperation, a need in him that I didn't understand at the time.
"I am Israeli, I'm running away from the army" he told me.
This was over a decade ago, many years before September 11th had me looking for answers in Israel to help explain that terrible day, at the time I was still young and had no knowledge about the rumblings of madness that would explode in carnage in New York, Afghanistan and Iraq.
In absurd Canadian earnestness and innocence, I say "Why are you running from the Israeli army? What have you done?".
"I don't want to kill people who have done nothing to me, I am an Engineer. I want to build things not kill things" he says with a slight accent and that same desperation in his eyes.
He needed me to understand but, I couldn't comprehend his need. Now I understand. I understand too well what he was not saying.
He was running from country to country avoiding Israeli Conscription, the law that says every Jewish citizen over the age of eighteen must serve in the military and we met on this leafy day in South Korea.
"Where will you go next, Eli?" I ask him.
"Europe" he says.
"What will you do there?" I ask.
"Hopefully get a job as an Engineer so I won't have to kill people" he says with that same look of desperation, like a wild animal caught in a trap trying to release it's leg from the iron grip.
Oh Eli. I have thought of you more often than I can count in the decade since that day posing in the Korean sunshine.
I hope you're building things.
The Mexican
We met in Mexico City because I was lost and needed directions and she had a couple of hours to kill before her afternoon appointments so we talked in that rushed and intense intimacy of travellers.
Her story was filled with venom and regret; she recently returned to Mexico after living in San Francisco for five years with her gringo husband.
"How I hated that place and that country by the end of it; the racism was every where. I could not go to the corner store without hatred directed at me, I could not go to the mall without the glares and naked hostility, I could not go to a restaurant without racist slurs hurled at me. How I hate that country. I hate it even when my plane lands for a brief layover and I need to step foot on American soil for a short period, I just want to crawl out of my skin."
Her name is Guadalupe and she's dark skinned and lovely and tall and willowy with big liquid brown eyes and a lot of degrees after her name that could not shield her from the ugly face of American racism so she ran back to her homeland of Mexico for peace and refuge and to be left the hell alone.
Mostly she ran back because she didn't want to spend her life as a receptacle for American stupidity, hatred and ethnocentrism.
I was shocked by her vivid description of how unrelenting the racism and hate was, there was no let up except when she closed her doors to the outside.
Living in a prison, is no life at all, so she went home.
I can still feel the shudder of her revulsion as she said "How I hate that country".
The Korean
What remains in my memory is two things: her voice and this yellow light that seemed to glow around her. Her voice was soft but clear like a church bell on a crisp autumn day and it matched her gaze that always looked directly into me.
I didn't know it at the time but, she was one of my guardian angels in that cesspool of Korean teachers who would devour their own young simply to feed themselves.
On the days she worked, she would come running up to me with kindness on her tongue:
"Good morning, Rola! How are you today?".
"Hi Rola, you look beautiful today".
"Rola, can I tell you that you are a wonderful person".
It was always a little confusing and a lot shocking to hear such sweet compliments coming from her because Korean women are vipers and loath foreign women, like myself.
Her purity was all present. Her goodness and whiteness of heart was like another person, a second presence standing next to her;I've never experienced that since then with another human being. She appeared made of a lighter substance than the midgets of heart and mind we were both sharing a workplace with.
Just like her random kindness during many months at that upscale prep school, one unpredictable day, she rush up to me and breathlessly said "I have a letter for you, Rola. I must leave you now but, know that I'm your friend and I will be praying for you and always remember that you are a wonderful person".
Baffled and confused doesn't even begin to cover how I felt by her behavior and when I pressed her she only repeated herself and told me to read the letter, it will explain everything.
She disappeared that day; I never heard from her again but, I have her letter in a box of cherished things that I move with me from home to home.
Her story is tragic beyond measure: she comes from a Korean Buddhist family but, she found Jesus to be her calling and converted to Christianity which incensed her parents who then put her in an insane asylum. They demanded she renounce Christ and return to her Buddhist roots, she refused and they kept her committed.
I don't know what happened to her but, I hope Jesus gave her freedom from the prison she was trapped in because she was one of the most truly righteous beings I've ever known in this world of deceit, petty malice and careless betrayal.
The Israeli
Shaded by the towering Buddha he starts talking and there's a desperation, a need in him that I didn't understand at the time.
"I am Israeli, I'm running away from the army" he told me.
This was over a decade ago, many years before September 11th had me looking for answers in Israel to help explain that terrible day, at the time I was still young and had no knowledge about the rumblings of madness that would explode in carnage in New York, Afghanistan and Iraq.
In absurd Canadian earnestness and innocence, I say "Why are you running from the Israeli army? What have you done?".
"I don't want to kill people who have done nothing to me, I am an Engineer. I want to build things not kill things" he says with a slight accent and that same desperation in his eyes.
He needed me to understand but, I couldn't comprehend his need. Now I understand. I understand too well what he was not saying.
He was running from country to country avoiding Israeli Conscription, the law that says every Jewish citizen over the age of eighteen must serve in the military and we met on this leafy day in South Korea.
"Where will you go next, Eli?" I ask him.
"Europe" he says.
"What will you do there?" I ask.
"Hopefully get a job as an Engineer so I won't have to kill people" he says with that same look of desperation, like a wild animal caught in a trap trying to release it's leg from the iron grip.
Oh Eli. I have thought of you more often than I can count in the decade since that day posing in the Korean sunshine.
I hope you're building things.
The Mexican
We met in Mexico City because I was lost and needed directions and she had a couple of hours to kill before her afternoon appointments so we talked in that rushed and intense intimacy of travellers.
Her story was filled with venom and regret; she recently returned to Mexico after living in San Francisco for five years with her gringo husband.
"How I hated that place and that country by the end of it; the racism was every where. I could not go to the corner store without hatred directed at me, I could not go to the mall without the glares and naked hostility, I could not go to a restaurant without racist slurs hurled at me. How I hate that country. I hate it even when my plane lands for a brief layover and I need to step foot on American soil for a short period, I just want to crawl out of my skin."
Her name is Guadalupe and she's dark skinned and lovely and tall and willowy with big liquid brown eyes and a lot of degrees after her name that could not shield her from the ugly face of American racism so she ran back to her homeland of Mexico for peace and refuge and to be left the hell alone.
Mostly she ran back because she didn't want to spend her life as a receptacle for American stupidity, hatred and ethnocentrism.
I was shocked by her vivid description of how unrelenting the racism and hate was, there was no let up except when she closed her doors to the outside.
Living in a prison, is no life at all, so she went home.
I can still feel the shudder of her revulsion as she said "How I hate that country".
The Korean
What remains in my memory is two things: her voice and this yellow light that seemed to glow around her. Her voice was soft but clear like a church bell on a crisp autumn day and it matched her gaze that always looked directly into me.
I didn't know it at the time but, she was one of my guardian angels in that cesspool of Korean teachers who would devour their own young simply to feed themselves.
On the days she worked, she would come running up to me with kindness on her tongue:
"Good morning, Rola! How are you today?".
"Hi Rola, you look beautiful today".
"Rola, can I tell you that you are a wonderful person".
It was always a little confusing and a lot shocking to hear such sweet compliments coming from her because Korean women are vipers and loath foreign women, like myself.
Her purity was all present. Her goodness and whiteness of heart was like another person, a second presence standing next to her;I've never experienced that since then with another human being. She appeared made of a lighter substance than the midgets of heart and mind we were both sharing a workplace with.
Just like her random kindness during many months at that upscale prep school, one unpredictable day, she rush up to me and breathlessly said "I have a letter for you, Rola. I must leave you now but, know that I'm your friend and I will be praying for you and always remember that you are a wonderful person".
Baffled and confused doesn't even begin to cover how I felt by her behavior and when I pressed her she only repeated herself and told me to read the letter, it will explain everything.
She disappeared that day; I never heard from her again but, I have her letter in a box of cherished things that I move with me from home to home.
Her story is tragic beyond measure: she comes from a Korean Buddhist family but, she found Jesus to be her calling and converted to Christianity which incensed her parents who then put her in an insane asylum. They demanded she renounce Christ and return to her Buddhist roots, she refused and they kept her committed.
I don't know what happened to her but, I hope Jesus gave her freedom from the prison she was trapped in because she was one of the most truly righteous beings I've ever known in this world of deceit, petty malice and careless betrayal.
Yosemite Sam & the Hare-Abians!
There is a sleuth lurking in the neglected corners of this world, an upright citizen fighting for what's right and rooting out any and all un-American activities.
This is the story of Yosemite Sam and the Hare-Abian Nights!
Yosemite Sam is the mall cop with the big flashlight he waves around and pokes in the chests of Arabs and Muslims as part of his reconnaissance to root out non-white Christian American folk.
He fancies himself a spy, keeping America safe from those who secretly mean 'Death to Israel' and 'Death to America' while asking for a happy meal at the McDonald's drive-thru, very sinister stuff simmers beneath their brown skin and head cover.
Yosemite Sam is spry and quick on his feet, nothing gets past him! He's an American pioneer who can read between the lines and he knows America is in a battle against a great evil that threatens to destroy his rat hole, it's the Hare-Abians!
"Pow, pow,pow! Dirty Varmin!"
Those Hare-Abians can't pull the wool over his eyes.
He collects information and gathers the little threads to build a big gun to attack anyone who wrestles with him in the intellectual arena and pins him, pins him pathetically to the mat.
Yosemite Sam brings out his big guns when clobbered by his own ignorance, 'pow, pow, pow!', go his side holsters.
In the end, the real Sultan of the desert, Bugs Bunny, sends Yosemite Sam into the pit to be devoured by crocodiles and calls Yosemite 'the stupidest character of them all!"
"What's up doc?"
This is the story of Yosemite Sam and the Hare-Abian Nights!
Yosemite Sam is the mall cop with the big flashlight he waves around and pokes in the chests of Arabs and Muslims as part of his reconnaissance to root out non-white Christian American folk.
He fancies himself a spy, keeping America safe from those who secretly mean 'Death to Israel' and 'Death to America' while asking for a happy meal at the McDonald's drive-thru, very sinister stuff simmers beneath their brown skin and head cover.
Yosemite Sam is spry and quick on his feet, nothing gets past him! He's an American pioneer who can read between the lines and he knows America is in a battle against a great evil that threatens to destroy his rat hole, it's the Hare-Abians!
"Pow, pow,pow! Dirty Varmin!"
Those Hare-Abians can't pull the wool over his eyes.
He collects information and gathers the little threads to build a big gun to attack anyone who wrestles with him in the intellectual arena and pins him, pins him pathetically to the mat.
Yosemite Sam brings out his big guns when clobbered by his own ignorance, 'pow, pow, pow!', go his side holsters.
In the end, the real Sultan of the desert, Bugs Bunny, sends Yosemite Sam into the pit to be devoured by crocodiles and calls Yosemite 'the stupidest character of them all!"
"What's up doc?"
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