How to Fall in Love, Wisdom from Your Mother…
March 14, 2018
Dear Rahul, my beautiful 17 year old boy,
I see you standing on the verge of entering that amazing world of romance and dating and heartbreak and true love.
And I want to offer you some advice. Some insights to arm you against disappointment and some guidance to get you on your way.
I sometimes think I am really under qualified to teach you about this, since I never married. But you often remind me that I can tell you what its like on the other side of the relationship–the woman’s side. And conveniently, you like girls. And I’m a girl. So there’s that. And believe it or not, I’ve actually had lots of experiences with love that should help you out.
So here are my words of wisdom.
- Don’t kiss a lot of frogs, but do date a lot of princesses. Some people think that you have to endure lots of sucky dates with disappointing potential love interests in order to find that true “princess” who is a million times better than anyone else. I don’t agree. I think when you approach dating as a way to build friendships and encourage each girl you spend time with, you will more easily see your way to finding a true companion. You are spiritual and God-centered. Date girls who are likewise. You will connect with them on a deep spiritual level, and even it you are not attracted to one another, you will have made each other’s lives richer for having spent time together.
- Notice how they make you feel about yourself. You will probably be interested in many women over the next few years. You will think they’re sweet and cute and beautiful and they will occupy your thoughts and you’ll feel like you’re going crazy. That is how it is to fall in love. But before you’re in too deep, take note of how you feel about yourself when you’re with her. Not how you feel–how you feel about yourself. If she doesn’t make you feel like you can be a better man, that you are capable of so much more because she believes in you, that you are the most wonderful, strong, gorgeous man when she is looking at you, she is not for you. Period. It’s the easiest litmus test, and if you can’t see it clearly, I guarantee the people around you will see it. Ask them. Women have the power to build up or tear down a man with their words, and if she is playing games or manipulating you it will be obvious by how you feel about yourself.
- Notice if they seem to want to change you. If she doesn’t love you for who you are right now, she doesn’t really love you. Some people really love a project, and they fall in love with the idea of you instead of the actual you. And you’ll be able to tell, because she will always be a little bit dissatisfied with your clothes, or your choices, or your timing, or the flavor of gum you chew (true story…). And even if you try to change these things she will find something else to pick at.
- Don’t forget the “friend” in girlfriend. I know I tell you this all the time, but its true. If you want a girlfriend (which you often say you do) the best way you can prepare for that is to be a really great friend. Nurture all your relationships, and really try to be the best friend you can be to all your buddies, classmates and long-time pals. Because all the romantic gestures in the world won’t mean anything if you don’t know how to be really great friends with your girlfriend.
- Speaking of romantic gestures, make them sincere. Now, this could be just me, but I think most women prefer small, spontaneous, romantic moments more than grand fanfares. When I look back over my life and think of the most romantic, meaningful moments, the ones that stand out are so sweet and small they are almost hard to describe. For instance, once I was talking to this man that I loved and the wind blew my hair in my face and it stuck to my lipgloss. And he just reached up and gently pulled my hair free, all the while giving me this look…The world stopped. These are the moments we love.
- Give gifts that show her that you know her. A woman who loves you will be so encouraged by any gift you give her, but you really want to show her that you understand her. This is very important to women–we want to know that you see us. For some reason, there was a period in my life when every guy that was interested in me gave me a teddy bear. I remember one day, opening up my closet and looking at this whole shelf of teddy bears and thinking, “Who is out there telling men that I like teddy bears?” You know me. Do I seem like I would like teddy bears? No. And it’s not that I didn’t appreciate the fact that these amazing men were going to the trouble of buying me a sweet gift, it’s that the gift just made me realize how much they didn’t know me. And that can be discouraging. It’s not hard to find out what a woman likes. Just ask her!
- Chase her… When you find a woman who you are really crazy about, let her know. And we like action, not just words. Send her a letter, get to know her friends, surprise her at her job or her class, write her a card, send her encouraging texts just to tell her she’s special and you’re thinking about her. There was this boy I loved many years ago, who would run down the street after me in the winter, having forgotten his coat, just to walk me to the train. Still, when I wonder if someone loves me, I think, “But would he chase me down the street just to walk with me for a few more minutes?” If the answer is no, I realize it’s not love.
- …but don’t stalk her. Not everyone you fall in love with will love you back, I’m very sorry to say. And if you are getting a firm “no” from her, that she is not interested in you, you need to let it go. Of course there’s always the chance that she might come around, but that will be more likely to happen if you can move on and give her some space. It is a really horrible feeling to be the object of someone’s obsession. It is not flattering. It’s guilt-inducing at best, and terrifying at its worst. For instance, when you’ve already told a co-worker repeatedly that you are not interested in him and he proceeds to fill your locker with flowers and buy you candy and gives you a painting–of yourself–that he painted…this is cause for great alarm and fear, not for a change of heart. And every moment you spend on a woman who does not and will not love you, is a moment you are taking away from the one who will.
- Don’t be afraid of a mess. Because love is really, really messy. You will be floating on air one moment, and curled up in a ball on the floor the next, only to be followed by more elation, then another crushing blow. I think falling in love feels like floating on a small raft in the ocean. It’s a thrilling ride, as the waves pull you out to sea, and you sometimes feel like you are about to be sucked under the water, then just at the right moment, you find complete tranquility and calm and bliss. There are so many highs and lows–life and emotion are heightened unlike anything else. You will feel completely powerless over it and terrified of it. And you will also feel like you can’t live without it. You will be walking down the street by yourself and suddenly burst out laughing when you think of something funny she said. And certain songs will make you weep with the exquisite pain of your heart opening up to her. You will be confused and seriously wonder if you are going crazy. Your knees will buckle when you think about holding her in your arms. You will think of her when you’re brushing your teeth and when you’re taking a test and when you’re riding in the car and you will eventually say (accidentally) out loud, “Get out of my head, woman!” You will feel like she is tying you up in knots and also that she can help you become anything you want to be. You will feel strong and confident and happy.
I can’t wait. You deserve to live life to the full and to be loved completely. You will be amazing. And I will be proud.
Love, Mom
He Was Such a Good Sport
September 25, 2017
One day, several years ago, I opened the door to my apartment and there, perched on the top of my ladder-back dining chair was a bird. He was very still, just staring at me. Neither my cat nor my dog had attacked him or eaten him, and in fact they seemed very calm, as through this little guy was a natural part of our menagerie. My immediate thought was that someone must have broken into our apartment or smashed a window, enabling him to fly in. I felt like I was in a dream as I quietly walked around my apartment inspecting the windows. They were all in tact, closed and locked. The cat and dog followed me around the apartment as I tried to solve the puzzle. I have an air conditioning vent in the wall with tiny slats in it and I concluded that is how he must have gotten in. I was struck with an unusual blend of feelings: wonder, awe, compassion, fear. I searched for a meaning to this encounter. Did this bird have a message? Was it a sign? I felt he had come expressly to visit me. I set about releasing him from the confines of our apartment by climbing up on the window sill to open the top of the window for him. I spoke to him and pointed to the window and he flew right out, leaving me bewildered and ecstatic.
I have thought of this strange encounter several times this week, because my cat died. And the overwhelming sorrow I have felt at his loss has stunned me. I have been so profoundly changed because of relationships with my animals and I am only beginning to realize the role they have played in my life.
After 9/11, I began to long for a dog. That day was life-changing for everyone and I noticed that many of my friends reached towards marriage or having children in the aftermath. I think we all were reaching out for a tangible connection to this world. Career ambitions began to take a back seat to building relationships and creating families. As for me, I wanted a dog.
It took me about two years before my life was arranged to accommodate a pet, but I brought my dog Baby Fish Mouth home in August of 2003. I was immediately changed. Where I had once been insensitive and unfeeling, I was suddenly expressive and compassionate. My heart just melted and I began to see the world around me in a new way. A few years later I adopted my son and of course that change was even more profound. Becoming a mom changed me. Like a phoenix, I was destroyed and reborn as a Mother. And I loved it so much that I wanted to “mother” everyone. Jesus once ended a passionate sermon with, “O Jerusalem…how often I have loved to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings…” That is how I felt about everyone I saw. I longed to adopt more children and fantasized about having a large family of ten.
Then about two years after I brought Rahul home, my apartment became infested with mice. I battled them with every weapon I could think of, but to no avail. (I guess I didn’t have much compassion for them!) I thought about borrowing a friend’s cat–a tactic that has brought great success at mouse elimination in the past. (I’ve heard that the scent of a cat in a home can keep mice away). Then I was struck by a new idea: I needed my own cat! I had never had much affinity for cats, but suddenly I wanted one badly. I wanted one who would keep the mice out of my home, who would be a playmate for Rahul and a companion for my dog. I wanted another creature to nurture and to love. Within days, Rahul and I set out for the ASPCA.
I was concerned about Rahul’s reaction to being in basically an orphanage for animals (since he spent some time in an orphanage himself) and tried to prepare him for the experience. I didn’t want him to fall in love with every cat we saw, only to have to let it go. When we arrived we had to fill out reams of paperwork and I answered their questions as carefully as I could in order to streamline our process. However, the volunteer assigned to show us the cats didn’t read any of what I wrote and ended up showing us literally every adult cat in the whole joint. Rahul fell in love over and over and after being rejected as a match for every cat, Rahul was in tears and we stormed out. On our way out the door, as I was hurling insults at their procedures they said, “Why don’t you try the kitten room?” Well, it was too late to try again that day, but I came back by myself the next day and introduced myself to every kitten they had. The volunteer and I opened each cage, one at a time, and if the kitten hissed or cowered, I knew it wouldn’t be a good fit. There were a few that allowed the volunteer to pick them up, but they wouldn’t let me hold them. Then there was a beautiful 5 month old black cat that had only recently arrived at the ASPCA. Well, he just bounded out of the cage when we opened it. We both exclaimed that here was a cat that should do well around a child and a dog! I picked him up and he purred, so I knew there was just one final test. I grabbed a toy that looked like a mouse and threw it on the ground. The cat bounded out of my arms and chased it around the room. Sold! I took him home that day.
Rahul named him Sport, and I always thought that was such a fitting name because he was such a good sport. I have never seen another mouse in my home since the day he arrived. He got along with Baby Fish Mouth and was never any trouble. I spent a few nights up with him when he first arrived, training him to sleep at night rather than bounding around the house. And after those first few nights of cuddling with him and coaxing him to snuggle with me we developed a close bond and he would find his way to my bed every night to snuggle up in an elbow or knee crevice. He was very independent and never needed too much from us. He scratched up some furniture and hissed at Rahul about once a day, but he brought us a lot of joy and comfort.
Then this past Spring he got sick. At first I thought he had a virus or food poisoning because he couldn’t hold any food down and he would hide in corners of closets. Once when I found him in my bedroom closet, he turned his face to the light and it was covered in mucus. His eyes and nose had been running and he had vomit on his chin. My heart just broke. When I took him to the vet he too thought it was a virus, so gave him some treatments and he seemed to get better. But soon enough he was sick again. More vet visits revealed kidney disease, but the treatments that should have alleviated his symptoms never really worked. Over the months that he was ill, Sport and I grew even closer. He became more still, more affectionate, more responsive to my voice and my attention. I spent the summer grieving with several friends through very difficult circumstances. The death of a parent, the death of a child, surgery, a custody battle. There were several days when every client I saw would cry over a loss or a struggle. My toilet broke. My stove broke. My father collapsed and had heart problems that led to him receiving a pacemaker. And all the while my cat was fading away. I sunk into depression and the drone of pain that lay beneath all the other pains emanated from not being able to heal my cat. He lost weight until he was half his normal size. He would alternately become ravenously hungry then lose his appetite. By the end of the summer my vet concluded that he had intestinal cancer. I knew by that point that he was going to die, so it wasn’t a shock. We changed tactics with treatment and just flooded his body with aggressive medicines in an attempt to improve his quality of life for whatever time he had left. I learned to administer subcutaneous fluids and liquid medicines. My days became timed around all the treatments he needed, and he improved. I knew it was temporary, but I was so grateful that his last few weeks were comfortable.
I came home on the afternoon of my birthday and when I saw Sport I knew he was at the end. He hadn’t eaten in a few days and had begun to lose the ability to walk. He was curled up on a bed I had made him at the back of my closet and wasn’t very responsive. So I made myself a bed next to him and snuggled in for a few hours. When I reached my hand over to pet his head, he turned over and rested his head on my hand and reached out his paw to rest on my arm. He knew I was going to be with him on this journey. Later that night I picked him up and put him on my bed and lay next to him, keeping vigil through the night as he faded away. He moved around a little throughout the night and in the morning he was still breathing so I lay face to face with him for a while. Then with the last of his strength, he flipped himself over so his whole body, from the tip of his head to the end of his tail was pressed up against me. My tears fell on his head while I whispered my goodbyes to him and soon he was gone.
I have thought of that bird who visited our apartment as I grieve for the loss of my dear Sport because I am realizing that I have had many strange and profound encounters with animals over the past few years. A praying mantis landed on my head in a hotel and allowed me to release it back into the wild. A baby skunk was waiting for me outside my door recently with a yogurt container stuck on his head that he allowed me remove (without spraying me) so he could go back to his home. And Sport allowed me to accompany him on his transition out of this world. It was one of the most profound things I have ever experienced. Animals are incredible beings. Many religions see animals at embodiments of their gods, spiritual guides, sacred. I have regarded my pets as angels, entering my life to comfort me, teach me and accompany me. I see the animals around me as reminders to tune into the world around me. Not to rush past God’s creation, but to see it, hear it, experience it fully. With openness of heart comes enormous joy, but also profound pain. It is easier to live with a closed heart, in numb observation of the world around us, but it is not better.
Thank you, kitty, for teaching me this. You were such a good Sport.
Serendipity, or How I Learned to Love Facebook
March 5, 2014
After Rahul had been home with me for several months I settled into a new job that allowed me to be closer to home and have a shorter workday. I had already become accustomed to spending my every waking moment caring for his especially intense needs as he adjusted to life with me and began to heal from past trauma. One night, my friend Tamika come to our apartment. I knew life wasn’t going so well for her right then, but I was so engrossed in Rahul’s very exigent needs, that I hardly noticed what was going on with any of my friends. I was thrilled that Tamika had come by, but we ended up spending our entire evening helping Rahul through a particularly harrowing crisis. As Tamika left that night I thanked her from the bottom of my heart for caring for my child so lovingly and spending a night giving help when I knew she needed it just as much. I watched her walk down the hall and felt a sinking feeling that I should be doing more to help her, but I didn’t know how.
A few days later I had a very unique and cherished opportunity to spend 2 hours by myself. Rahul was asked to join an after school ESL program and I knew he would try it out at least once. For even one session it would be worthwhile to get him some extra help and I’d get have a few hours to breathe.
I came home from work that day and sat down at my desk, staring at the huge pile of bills and papers I had been barely tending to. My goal during these next 2 hours was going to be to get through to the bottom of the stack! I opened my computer and before beginning my serious tasks I went to Facebook. I really hated Facebook, because each time I scrolled through friends’ happy status updates about how their lives were so much easier and less oppressive than mine I wanted to throw the computer across the room! Facebook just made me feel bitter. I spent several months ignoring it completely, but I had a friend I’d been trying to track down for years who had just found me on Facebook and I was thrilled to reconnect with her. We were writing messages back and forth to one another, so I was in the habit at the time of checking into Facebook every day.
This particular day I looked for a message from my friend and finding none, scrolled down through my news feed. A few messages down I saw Tamika’s status, which read, Goodbye. My heart stopped. What time had she written it? Hours ago! Frantically, I scrolled down to the comments her other friends had written. Did they know what she meant? No. There were several comments like, I didn’t know you were heading out of town! Where are you going?
I knew what she meant. Goodbye. Forever.
Several years earlier I had been the first person Tamika had called when she woke up after an unsuccessful suicide attempt. She was such a dear friend to me and I was terrified and heartbroken that she was so sad and lost. She went into treatment and worked very hard at healing. And she had been doing really well, until her mom passed away.
I had learned of her mom’s passing one summer night when I called Tamika to tell her about a show I had just seen. After talking for a while, I asked her where she was. On a plane, she said. My mom died. I was stunned. After talking for a while I decided to try to get a flight down to Louisiana the next day, so I could support her. But as soon as I woke up the next morning I got the life-changing news that my son had been found and I was going to be Rahul’s mom! That news started me on a race to get a thesis paper’s worth of paperwork triple-notarized and sent to India so I wouldn’t lose him. I sent flowers to Tamika instead.
As I stared at the word Goodbye on Facebook that fateful day I felt I might be the only person who knew what was happening. I immediately called her and got her voice mail. “Call me”, I said. “I just read your Facebook message.” I clicked on Tamika’s homepage and learned I wasn’t the only one who knew. A friend of hers from Louisiana had written this message: HELP!!!!!!!!!!! TAMIKA HAS TAKEN PILLS AND IS TRYING TO KILL HERSELF AND I DON’T KNOW HER ADDRESS!!!!!!!!!!
I know her address! A few weeks earlier I had ordered a few Christmas cards to send out and after addressing them to various family members I had one left. I asked Rahul whom we should send it to and we decided on Tamika. It would be her first Christmas without her mom and I thought it would cheer her up. She had just moved, so I called her and got her new address.
As I started to write back to her Facebook friend, my phone rang. It was Tamika. Thank God she is alive. I answered and although she was alive, she was not well. She was slurring her words and not making any sense. While I listened I picked up my other phone and dialed 911. I was grateful to have a second phone — I had only bought it one day earlier. I was able to keep her talking while I gave the 911 operator her address. When she heard that I was sending help, she hung up on me.
My hands were shaking as I finished writing back to her Louisiana friend to say that I had Tamika’s address and had called the police.
My phone rang again and this time it was the police. They were at Tamika’s door and she wasn’t answering so they were going to leave. “NO!” I shouted! I dialed Tamika again and she picked up. Go open your door! I said to her. “She’s there!” I said to the police on my other ear. “I’m talking to her right now.” A moment later I heard Tamika’s roommate (who had been sleeping and was awakened by the banging on the door) answer the door. I heard the police questioning her and they rushed her into an ambulance. I hung up both phones and took a deep breath.
I thought for a second and realized there was one more thing I could do. I knew Tamika’s therapist, Tina. That’s because she had been my therapist first and I had recommended her to Tamika. In all the years I had known Tina she never once picked up the phone when I called her office. That day when I dialed her number, she picked up the phone. “Renee! So great to hear from you! How are things going with your son!” “Tina, Tamika is on her way to the hospital. She took a bunch of pills this morning. Do you know her psychiatrist? Could you find out what medication she is on?” “Oh my God.” She said. “Yes, I do know him and I will call him right now. Thanks for letting me know.”
Ask I hung up with Tina my phone rang again and this time it was Tamika’s friend from Louisiana. She was so relieved to get my message and she explained how she had called the NYPD earlier in the day, but because she didn’t know where Tamika lived they couldn’t do anything. And then she had to pick up her son from kindergarten and had just had to leave that desperate message on Tamika’s Facebook page praying someone would see it. I realized it was time for me to go pick up my son from school also. But before I left I got one more call. Tina called back to say she had gotten in touch with Tamika’s psychiatrist, they had tracked down which hospital she was admitted to and talked to the ER doctors at the hospital. They had caught her in time and she would recover. Hallelujah! There was now nothing else I could do, so I went to pick up Rahul.
To make a long story short, Tamika received wonderful care and worked very hard to heal. She is a new person today, solid and happy. I’m going to her wedding in May!
When I think back to all the stars that aligned that day. The timing of that one afterschool class Rahul took—literally the only 2 hours I had to myself for months. The online reunion with the friend who gave me a reason to check my Facebook page. The extra phone I had just bought. The address I had just procured from Tamika. The therapist I knew personally who answered the phone. God put me in the right place at the right time, with the right tools and the right knowledge, to help to save my friend.
Serendipity. Provident serendipity.
(And I don’t hate Facebook anymore.)
Me and Tamika:)
*By the way, in case you are wondering, Tamika gave me her blessing to tell our story.
How Fragile We Are
September 11, 2011
Everyone has a 9/11 story. Here’s mine…
On September 10, 2001 my grandmother died. Of course, this was a big loss for my family, especially my father. We were rallying in Ohio, where she had died, on September 12 for her funeral. This was going to be a little tricky for me, because I was starting school at Aveda (cosmetology school) on September 11th. I decided I would attend school the first day and then drive out to Ohio that evening. I rented a car and reserved a hotel room, but when I called my parents to tell them, they hated my plan. They really wanted me to fly out there, because they thought the drive would be too difficult for me. I was offended that they felt I was incapable of driving from NYC to Ohio, and although my parents and I never fight, I couldn’t let it go. We had it out. Several phone calls later they informed me that I was flying and that they had already bought my ticket. I was so angry that I hung up on them. Then I called the airline and spent several hours negotiating a “bereavement” fare, so at least they would not have had to spend hundreds of dollars for a flight I didn’t need to take. I went to bed incredibly bitter.
When I woke up on September 11th my first thought was of the fight with my parents and my stomach churned. I was still nauseous with anger when I got on the subway to head downtown to school. Luckily, when I got to the 1 train I ran into my friends, Alake and Suzy, also boarding the train. Alake’s birthday had been the day before (9/10) and Suzy’s birthday was September 11! So they were both in a very celebratory mood (Suzy was covered in glitter) and they cheered me up. I had a long ride to school–from Washington Heights to Soho, and when I got to my stop (Varrick Street) it was about 8:50am. As I came up onto the street I immediately noticed crowds of people lining Seventh Avenue and looking up and down the street. I was beginning to wonder if this was what people did every morning in Soho when a caravan of firetrucks came roaring down the avenue. Everyone on the street cheered and as I looked down Seventh to see where they were heading I saw giant flames leaping out of an enormous gash in the World Trade Center’s North Tower. It was about a mile directly ahead of me. I was alarmed, but nothing in me thought it was anything more than an accidental fire. When I got to our classroom, news started coming in about a plane having hit the tower, and within 30 minutes a hysterical Aveda staff member came to the room telling us that both towers had been hit by terrorists and we all needed to leave the building so we could call our parents. (Many of the students were only just out of high school.) I left the building, shaking, and called my parents. I got through pretty quickly to my dad who was beside himself. He told me the Pentagon had also been hit and I immediately had the idea that whoever was behind the attacks was not done with NYC yet and there would be more to come. We were supposed to go back to class once we made our calls, but just when we got back the South Tower collapsed, and the staff told us to get to safety. They suggested we team up and all head somewhere together. I just wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and my thought was,” I do not want to die with these strangers.” I had the idea that there would be more attacks on landmarks around NYC and mentally made a map of them in my head. My plan was to walk uptown, taking a route that would avoid as many of them as possible. I felt that if I could reach 72nd Street and Riverside Avenue I would live. I couldn’t think of any significant landmarks further uptown than that.
As I walked quickly north I noticed that it was eerily quiet. Many people were just silently transfixed on the remaining tower. Most cell phones weren’t working anymore and people were very patiently and orderly lined up to use pay phones. The only sound came from news reports playing out of car radios–the cars parked on the street and surrounded by listeners. I headed up 6th Avenue from Spring Street to 8th Street and the whole way I was very aware that the drama was playing out directly behind me, but I didn’t want to turn around and look. I never once looked back at the towers that day. I knew thousands of people were dying a mile behind me I didn’t want to see. At 8th Street I cut west across Greenwich Avenue and realized right away that my view of the tower was now blocked, even if had wanted to look. I started to panic and felt incredibly alone, as everyone had deserted the side streets for the better view the avenues afforded. And as I walked toward Seventh Avenue I repeated over and over, “I’m ready, I’m ready…” I thought I was about to die and it comforted me to know I was ready to meet my Maker. Then as I looked ahead of me the crowds of people on Seventh Avenue began to scream and run north. The second tower had just fallen. I couldn’t see what they were running from, though, and I thought there had been a new attack right ahead of me. My heart stopped and I quickly turned east to backtrack to Sixth Avenue and saw the same scene of people screaming and running there, too. I felt trapped and terrified. I looked down at the ground and my legs began to give out. Everything slowed down and I knew I was about to pass out. I wanted to just sit down right there and have it all be over, but just as I was lowering myself toward the ground, something in me turned back on and I knew I needed to just put one foot in front of the other and keep walking.
When I got to the avenue I walked a few more blocks north and along with everyone else, was in a complete daze. Then I heard someone calling my name, and a car pulled up next to me. In the driver’s seat was a friend and I just walked over his car and got in. He hadn’t invited me to ride with him and was actually en route to pick his mom up from work and get her to safety, but I told him I was riding with him as far as he was willing to take me. I don’t remember talking to him at all, but when we got to 34th Street he told me he needed to drop me off. I got out and headed west–away from the Empire State building–and started zig-zagging uptown, avoiding the Lincoln Tunnel, Port Authority, Times Square, Columbus Circle and Lincoln Center. I began to notice that already, everywhere I looked, there were American flags. There was a feeling on the street of being very united with everyone else.
My only focus was to reach 72nd Street and Riverside Drive, and once I did I began to feel that I would live through the day. I still had about 80 blocks left to walk in order to make it home, and just a few hours later I was walking in my door. The next few days are a blur. I knocked on doors all over my apartment building to see if everyone was OK and hosted a prayer night that many neighbors came to. Two of my best friends married each other September 15th, and I know we had parties for them throughout the week. (I can remember looking out the window at their rehearsal dinner and seeing the fighter planes circling the city.) My parents came in for the wedding and I remember my mom choking up as she held me, telling me she was never going to tell me what to do ever again. The nightmare she had been envisioning that week was “What if Renee’s flight, that we insisted she take, had been one of the hijacked ones?”. And my 30th birthday was September 16th. I think I spent most of it in bed. As the days, then weeks went by, I began to find life’s rhythm again. Of course, September 11th changed me forever.
What I think about most from that day was that moment where I almost gave way to terror and sunk to the ground on Greenwich Avenue. Coincidentally, my church now meets on that block and I walk that same stretch every Sunday. I went there today and sat down with a friend and prayed. I thanked God for giving me the last ten years. So many blessings have come to me in the past decade, especially the blessing of being Rahul’s mom. That same sinking/I’m-not-going-to-survive-this feeling has come to me a few times in the journey of loving and helping him, and that same “something” has clicked on inside me each time. Urging me to keep walking. To survive.
Planes, Trains, Automobiles, a Hurricane and a Dream
September 5, 2011
Let me start by saying, I never had any intention of going to Disney. Ever. I’m just not a “Disney Person” if you know what I mean. But then last Thanksgiving, as my niece and nephew were talking about their trips to Disney with Rahul I saw the look in his eyes. He wanted to go. He would never say so, but I could tell. My mom saw it too. She looked at me sternly and said, “You know you have to take him.” And so I began concocting a plan.
By Christmas I had enlisted my cousin Kathy to come also, with her daughter Gabby. We could share a room and cut down expenses and the kids could ride all the roller coasters together! I am severely motion sensitive, as is Kathy, but our kids are daredevils. And I have enough friends who LOVE Disney to know I wouldn’t have to plan anything. I would just do what they did! My sister and brother-in-law had taken their kids 2 years in a row during the last week of August and had found Disney to be low on crowds and less expensive. Its off-peak since kids in the South are back to school by then. So Kathy and I settled on traveling down there the same week and staying only 4 days (for my sanity).
The cost of the whole package was a lot less than I thought it would be, but it was still a stretch for me. Between paying for Rahul’s day camp at the beginning of summer and Disney at the end of it, I worked my butt off all year. I finally paid for the last piece of the trip about a week before we left, leaving just enough money for us to spend on vacation.
Then Hurricane Irene loomed. We had tickets to fly out of NYC the Monday morning after it was supposed to hit (on Saturday and Sunday). Saturday I had to drive up to the Catskills to pick up Rahul from sleep-away camp. My Jeep has been breaking down all summer and I have been stranded more than once. Honestly, I think it has spent more time with the mechanic than with me lately. I plan on trading it in for a new, RELIABLE car, but just haven’t had the time between repairs to make it happen. So I was just hoping it would keep running until I got Rahul back from camp.
(Oh. Sidestory that brings context to this whole tale: The week before Rahul’s camp I drove out to my parents’ house where he had been spending the first three weeks of August. Its a 7 hour drive and when I was just past the halfway point in the drive the traffic slowed to a stop and black smoke drifted into the air ahead of me: a tractor trailer had caught fire and the section of the thruway I happened to be on was a parking lot for three hours while they put it out.
These are the kinds of things that frequently happen to me, especially when it comes to traveling. Seriously, if I had been 15 minutes ahead or behind myself I would have avoided it completely. But, of course, there I am peeing in a cup in my back seat while the contents of the Family Dollar truck burn to a crisp.)
So as Rahul and I were winding our way down the Catskills in the rain that Saturday before Irene, my main concern was making it home without incident. We did, but as soon as I walked in the door I got a call from JetBlue informing me that our flight was cancelled. My heart stopped and I settled in at the phone for what I knew would be a long call. To their credit, the “on hold” music at JetBlue was “The Tide is High” by Blondie. They had a whole playlist of hurricane/flood related music, and believe me, I heard it all. I spent six hours on the phone with various airlines, trying to find SOME way out of town. The whole time, though, I saw our vacation slipping away. My final game plan was to book a flight out of Rochester (6 hours away, but in the opposite direction from the path of Irene) departing Monday evening. Rahul, Baby Fish Mouth (my dog) and I would drive up to Albany Monday morning and meet my parents (coming from the Rochester area) at my sister’s place. I’d leave my Jeep there and drive to Rochester with my parents. They would drop Rahul and I at the airport and take BFM back to their place for a few weeks. (I’m a fiercely independent person, but I couldn’t be nearly so without the help of my family.) I booked the flight out of Rochester on a Delta plane and got an Amtrak ticket to Albany for the Saturday we’d be back from Disney so I could pick up my car and drive it back home. Rahul and I would arrive in Orlando one day late, but it would be better than nothing. With that plan firmly in place, Rahul and I went to bed Saturday night and slept through the hurricane’s arrival. In the 22 years that I have been going to my church it has never been cancelled before. We had 26 inches of snow fall one Saturday night and the city was virtually shut down the following Sunday. We still had church. But for Hurricane Irene we cancelled our service. So I slept until 9am–probably the latest I’ve slept in years.
I spent Sunday packing and when Monday morning arrived Rahul, Baby and I got ready to set out. I pulled up whatever traffic information I could, because I knew there was flooding. The hurricane had hit, but had not impacted NYC as much as expected. A lot of roads were closed and on our way out the door I learned that the NY State Thruway was shut down on both sides of Albany. I called my sister and my parents, eventually deciding to bypass Albany altogether and head directly to Rochester across NJ and PA through Binghamton, NY. I could not get reliable information about the condition of Route 80, but it seemed to be open, so I headed out, hoping I’d manage to get to Rochester at some point before 6pm. We got about halfway across NJ and the traffic was bad, but the highway was open so we were feeling pretty good. We stopped for gas and I pulled the car over to the side of the parking area so I could use the restroom. And when I got back in to the car to leave, it didn’t start.
My heart sank. Because of all the other trouble I’ve had with my car lately, I knew this would be a major repair, and because of all the flooding, I knew it would be hours before a tow truck would be able to get us to a mechanic. There was nothing we could do, but sit and wait.
Three hours later, a tow truck came and took us down the road to the mechanic. Everyone who looked at our car that day had been dealing so exclusively with flood-related issues that they didn’t beleive me when I told them my car had not been sitting in water. One mechanic pulled me over to the side and threatened me, saying “You’ve got to be honest with me. What really happened to your car?” Somehow, I convinced him I wasn’t lying, and they went to work diagnosing my Jeep. As Rahul and I sat there waiting I looked ahead of me at the gas pumps and started laughing. We were supposed to be boarding a Delta plane right around that time…
Technically, God DID get me to Delta. Then I asked to use the restroom. The attendant gave me the key and I started laughing again.
NOT the Disney I had imagined.
Anyway, a while later they informed me that my car would need a part that they didn’t have in stock and wouldn’t be able to get until the following day. I had heard them manually start my car once or twice so I proposed instead of trying to find a place to stay overnight with my kid and my dog in the middle of rural NJ during a major flood, that they manually start the car and let me drive it back to the Bronx. They agreed to do that, warning me not to stall out (I drive a stick) and teaching me how to hot wire my car if I had to start it in an emergency. Rahul and I held our breath all the way home, but we made it safe and sound. I had been holding it together remarkably well all day, even as I was promising Rahul that I would take him to Disney someday and thinking about all the money I had worked so hard for going to waste. But when I called my parents to tell them we made it home I lost it. I didn’t have any food in the house and had no money left to buy any for the week, and I couldn’t wrap my mind around how depressing our week was going to be, while Kathy and Gabby were having fun in sun without us. I needed to get back on the phone with JetBlue to process my refund (thinking that was some money that might get us through the week) and when I spoke to the reservationist I cautiously asked if they had added any flights that we might be able to get on. And yes they had. And yes, they had seats. My first instinct was to just let it go. I was exhausted and didn’t want to set myself up for disappointment, but then she offered to change our returning flight for free so we could stay one day later. That would give us the 4 day/4 night vacation we had booked and would only mean adding one more night to the hotel reservation. I had JetBlue on one phone and AAA Travel on the other and was speaking to both at the same time (“JetBlue, how many seats are on that flight?” “AAA, does Disney have any rooms for Friday night?” The JetBlue lady thought it was adorable. The AAA lady wanted to stab my eyes out with her pencil.) Miraculously, it worked out. We got one more night at the hotel and got the last 2 seats on both flights with JetBlue. And Delta and Amtrak both refunded our money!
So, again we went to bed in the hopes of making it to Disney the next day. Early Tuesday morning I got my mechanic to tow The Green Nightmare to the garage. Then I got the kennel to let us bring Baby in (they had been flooded in the day before). Then I got my neighbor to drive Baby and I to the kennel. Then Rahul and I grabbed our bags and started out to the airport. I had no money for a cab, and obviously no car to drive us there, so we took the subway. Which meant we had to take the bus from Riverdale to Inwood, then catch the A train, literally, from one end of the city to the other. It took a little over 2 hours. Strangely, and admirably, Rahul was a perfect angel through this whole ordeal. We even decided we would take the A train to JFK airport from now on!
Well, from there the story gets much happier. The plane took off. We were on it. It went to Orlando. And somehow, despite every element seeming to be against us ever arriving at Disney, we made it there.
And it was magical.
Our Summer Vacation Playlist
July 11, 2011
After a week with my parents at their house on Lake Ontario, Rahul and I are full of song. Well, actually, just song titles. I doubt we’ll ever get around to writing the lyrics, but I’m pretty sure we’ll always remember the subject matter.
Don’t Hook Your Mommy (This is what I kept saying to Rahul as I followed him various fishing holes. I did actually have a couple verses of this in my head, about different friends who have had to go the emergency room after getting a fish hook stuck in various body parts. Luckily–and probably because I kept repeating this title unendingly–no fish hooks got stuck in mommy.)
I’m Never Going Canoeing Again (This is what Rahul said after a rather eventful canoe trip he and I took over to a nearby harbor–for some fishing, of course–that nearly ended with a coastguard rescue. The lake was fairly calm on our trip to the harbor, but by the time we were heading back home the waves had whitecaps and the wind was against us. Rahul and I were heaving and hoeing with all of our might and literally staying in one place. So I called it and we turned around, nearly capsized and headed for the shore of a private beach. Later that day Rahul got introduced to a Smith family classic, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Its a lovely song documenting the death of 29 boatmen on the Great Lakes. Sample lyric: Superior, its said, never gives up her dead. Lovely.)
Grandpop, What’s a Redneck? (One can only imagine the lyrics of this song and, believe me, its better that it not get written! Rahul heard me say the word, and when he asked me I was so embarrassed/ashamed that I had used it that I told him it was a bad word. So he asked my dad the next day, and I’m sure he told him ALL about it.)
Marchiano Diablos Caca Poopoo Means I Love You (Marchiano Diablos Caca Poopoo is Rahul’s latest catchphrase. He usually has a new one each week, usually a random line from a cartoon, and throughout any given day will insert it in different types of sentences. This is the first time his catchphrase has had an Italian accent.)
Pickup Trucks Don’t Float (This would be quite a song. Every year my parents put a dock in the water at the beginning of the summer and take it out again at the end by attaching it to their pickup truck and driving down their right-of-way. This year Rahul was sitting on said dock as it was being loaded into the water, and when my dad stopped the truck to adjust something, I had Rahul get off. While my dad held his foot on the brake I adjusted the ramps that fit behind the large iron wheels of the dock. When I was finished, I moved aside and as my dad prepared for the final descent into the water the truck’s brakes gave out and the dock and the entire truck went crashing into the water. The back end of the truck landed on the front end of the dock, where Rahul had just been sitting. Nightmares have been had by all, imagining all the possible outcomes of that scenario. This would definitely be a Country song.)
By All Means, Bring Your Coffee! (After we learned that pickup trucks don’t float, we also learned that AAA doesn’t cover towing vehicles that are in the water, even if they are only 18 inches from shore. So emergency recovery vehicles had to be brought in. And while extremely helpful, they are not discreet. My parents live on a dirt road. Until a few years ago, it was only known as Fire Lane 44. 3 or 4 huge towing vehicles, covered in flashing lights, parked in my parents’ front yard at midnight caused quite a stir in the neighborhood. Personally, I’m not a big fan of many of my parents’ neighbors. Much to my peace-at-all-costs mother I have had words with several ill mannered people in her neighborhood who have crossed the line in various ways over the years. I know it upsets her, so I REALLY made an effort to hold my tongue while scads of neighbors she has never met flocked over to see what all the hubbub was about. Most of them began with, “Is there a fire?”, which would have been fine if it was uttered with concern, not hopeful glee. And I noticed that all of them except the one neighbor who is actually a dear friend were holding travel coffee mugs. In case they needed a little refreshment while they watched tragedy unfolding. I was inside the house watching all these people flock around my mom and her friend, while I knew she was holding back tears thinking of all the money they were losing by the minute. Finally I had to emerge and join them and my icy stares shushed them right back to their homes. )
While creatively inspired by the events of the week, I am also feeling like I need a vacation!
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| Album Cover? Baby Fish Mouth is standing in the spot where the dock eventually was placed. |
On Becoming an American
January 31, 2011
Last week, my son became an American. Honestly, I didn’t attach much meaning to the event, other than celebrating the fact that I would now be able to properly claim him on my taxes and travel outside of the country together. It was only when I told my friends about it and witnessed their huge positive reactions that I realized what a great thing it was. Part of me had been feeling sad and guilty about Rahul becoming an American, because it meant he had to give up his Indian citizenship (India doesn’t grant dual citizenship). I started the day with him by saying that he would always be Indian, no matter what any piece of paper says. But now he would also officially become American.
And immigrating to America is hard work. let me tell you! International adoption involves more paperwork than a graduate thesis, and in my case I had to have every document triple notarized, which meant standing in line over and over again at the notary’s office, the police station, the county clerk’s office, the apostille’s office, and several federal buildings. And most of that time in line I was waiting alongside people who were at some point along in the process of immigrating to America. It was disheartening. Security guards wrangled us like cattle, shouting orders at the crowd of us, containing mostly non-English speakers. People who were supposed to be guiding and serving us never looked us in the eyes, and I often startled them by looking straight at them and speaking to them in perfect English. They clearly were used to pushing people around, and if there’s anything you can say (however stereotypically) about white, New York women–we DON’T like to be pushed around. I often wondered how anyone, especially those who didn’t understand English could understand where we were supposed to go or what we were supposed to do, the instructions often being implied and assumed. Many times I found myself nearly in tears, hurting for the people who were confused and trying their best to follow the proper procedures–totally at the mercy of people who were bored and bitter-hearted in their jobs. One horrifying encounter with the nastiest of the New York county clerks (they seemed to hate their jobs more than any other people encountered on this journey) had me facing off with her while she insisted that the document I was asking to her to verify was improperly notarized–it was the original and only copy of Rahul’s orphanage record. She held it in her hands seething with anger at me for having had it notarized contrary to her standards and I thought she was going to throw it back in my face or rip it into pieces as she went on and on about how wrong it was. And when she completed her lecture, I stared back at her, speechless, with tears in my eyes, and finally said, “OK…So, are you going to verify it or not?” She paused for a moment then without taking her eyes off me, she stamped the document and shoved it across the counter at me without saying another word.
Once Rahul’s adoption was officially complete, almost 2 years ago, he should have automatically become a US citizen. But the law has not caught up with the relatively new phenomena of international adoption, so we adoptive parents have to shell out another $450 to apply for our children’s citizenship. And I didn’t have $450. So the papers sat on my desk in a folder awaiting the day when I had the money to spare to start the process. Then one day, a friend of mine pulled me over in church. She handed me an envelope and I was confused. Her father had just passed away very unexpectedly and she had just returned from his funeral days before. She was so young to be losing a parent and I had been praying for her for weeks. I couldn’t understand why she was giving ME a card. After church I opened it. Rahul and I were buying a brownie in a coffee shop and I embarrassed him immensely by blubbering like a baby as money poured out of the card which described how she and her siblings had had some money donated to them at the funeral and her siblings were giving their money to their children. She however didn’t have any children yet, so she thought of me and Rahul and decided to give it to us. She thought her dad would be happy to know that’s where it was going. I decided right away that it would go towards Rahul’s citizenship. Within days of hearing this story my sister called me and offered to donate the remainder of what I would need to process the paperwork from some extra money she had earned. And so, like so many pieces of Rahul’s story–amazing, generous people got us where we needed to go.
The morning of the citizenship hearing was one of those crazy rain/ice storms and the traffic was terrible. When I finally found a place to park I stepped out of the car onto pavement covered in ice covered in rain and the parking attendant jumped out of my way so I could slip and rip my knee open. With a hole in my tights and blood pouring from my leg, I muttered under my breath something about not being aware a blood sacrifice was required for US citizenship. When Rahul and I got to the building our appointment was in, we saw a line wrapped around the building, standing in the rain that was now pouring sideways, and I recognized them immediately–the huddled masses. We took our place in line and entered the building a half hour later, soaked to the bone (so much for the cute outfits I insisted we wear). An hour of waiting later we were ushered into an office, sworn in, we signed a few papers, then we waited for another hour. Then someone brought out Rahul’s certificate. And that was it. No confetti, no flag waving. I think what Rahul will always remember about the day is that he got to watch Monsters vs. Aliens in the waiting room.
But I think when you have to work hard for something, the earning is sweeter. And knowing that Rahul and I, and all those people who stood along side me, endured the process, I feel victorious. God bless America.
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| My little American |
Me and George Bailey 