The Bully At Sienna’s Halloween Party

“You taking pictures of me?”

“Sorry?”

“You taking pictures of me?” He was about 5’10”, stocky, scruffy face, cold eyes.

This had to be a joke, right? I mean, we were surrounded by kids, costumes and cupcakes. Superman and Batman faced off in one corner (probably better than the upcoming film – sorry, couldn’t resist). Thinkertots was filled with princesses, owls, strawberries, superheroes, Buzz Lightyear, prisoners, and of course, my Sienna Shark. Parents held all sorts of cameras and smartphones trying to get that perfect shot of their children. Some of the parents were costumed up. All of the teachers were. This was a safe, festive place.

“Let me see,” he demanded. I kept expected him to break out into a wide grin and say, “Kidding, man!” It wasn’t to be.

I clicked through the last few shots I’d taken of Elaine holding Sienna and there he was in the background, glaring.

“Delete them,” he said and stalked off.

I felt queasy, my insides seizing up and then releasing. I immediately deleted the pics and felt ashamed because I’d given in to this guy as Elaine, her best friend and Sienna watched.  I was 39 years old but felt like I was a kid, once more being bullied by my peers. This wasn’t a cop hiding behind a badge. This was just a guy. I wanted to snidely say something like, “I feel sorry for your kid!” But I didn’t. I recognized it wasn’t the place. Still the shame was all-encompassing. My day was ruined.

Elaine and her best friend told me I handled it well. I felt differently because once more I didn’t stand up for myself. I did my best to act normally, but my outrage and embarrassment slipped through. On the way back I saw this gorgeous tree, the very visual definition of autumn, bursting in yellows, reds and oranges. I stopped the car and took a picture hoping it would ease my anger. I lied and said it did.

That evening we were at my parents’ house and my rage was in full force. I sat stonily and spoke in monotones. Eventually I went upstairs to lie down. When it was time to go out to dinner, Elaine came upstairs and asked if I was okay and if I wanted to go. I said I couldn’t, that my mood would just ruin things. She reiterated that I’d done well and I shook my head. She restated it wasn’t the place and I said I was ashamed. She gave me a kiss and went downstairs. I put my hat over my face.

I’d coincidentally watched the chilling documentary, Bully, just a few days before. The film follows 5 kids and their families, including one family whose child committed suicide because of incessant bullying. It captures the powerlessness of the prey, how the families sometimes don’t believe just how bad it is, how the schools often do nothing, how other kids, including those who have experienced bullying themselves, usually turn away or join in, how the victims are too afraid to say anything. The film is a must see for any parent, a frightening look at the culture of school bullying, a world I’d experienced throughout my childhood.

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But here I was rapidly nearing 40 and still being bullied, this time in front of my family. I replayed the incident over and over while lying alone in the dark, the things I could have said or done, though logically I knew it wasn’t the place. I felt guilty and furious for doing nothing and then for allowing the episode to mar the rest of my day and taint the fun I’d had before it. Eventually I fell asleep.

Elaine awakened me and told me it was time to leave. I looked at my phone and saw a text which Elaine must have sent from the restaurant:

“I support u and love you, I am in no way upset or offended that yu stayed. I am happy that you recognize what you need. This is growth, I’m proud of u”

Was this growth? I apologized to my mom on the way out.

“No apologies,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

In the car I asked Elaine what they talked about. Elaine said she told them exactly what happened and they couldn’t believe this guy would act this way at a children’s party, that some people shouldn’t be allowed to reproduce, that in essence, the guy was a total bastard and I handled it perfectly.

I wish I’d kept the pictures so I could publish his face in this blog, but that would petty. I don’t know if what I did was growth. I don’t feel like it was. I’m still eating away at myself for not standing up, for once more being the victim. And I’m still angry. We’ll see what my therapist says. For now, this blog is done and I have a little girl who craves my attention.

 

Stressing Over Photo Books

I stress over everything whether rational or irrational (mostly the latter). Lately I’ve been stressing about blogging, how I’m falling behind, losing my readers. I have so many things I want to blog about and I feel overwhelmed. For instance, I really really want to blog about “Breaking Bad” but my former writing instructor’s voice keeps telling me such a piece is no longer “timely” and therefore I’ve lost my chance. Sounds ridiculous, of course, because it is. Still, it’s hampering me. Another thing I’m stressing about is designing Sienna’s latest photo book. Usually I create one every three months, but I’m two months behind. I’m anxious each time I try to work on it because it has to be perfect (perfection being a nasty habit about which I’ve already blogged), and the longer I wait, the harder it is to do. Last night as I was lamenting working on her next book, Elaine suggested writing about my difficulties in hopes it’ll release me both from my backed up blogging and my photo book anxiety. So this might not be the best blog, but at least it’ll be out there.

When we first told people Elaine was pregnant, one of my best friends advised me to take pictures – lots and lots of pictures – because I’m naturally going to forget things as Sienna enters new stages. I’ve followed his advice, but have added my own craziness. Because of sites like Shutterfly that allow you to be creative and design your own photo books, I’ve become obsessed with preserving perfect memories. I spend hours constructing these books, sometimes staying up all night as a coupon deadline approaches. The front and back cover pictures must be perfect. The title must convey the book’s substance. Each page must be beautiful and include enhancements (that Shutterfly allows you to add or images I’ll download from the ‘net) and my own witticisms. For example, if Sienna’s wearing a zombie shirt in a pic, I might add a shot from “The Walking Dead” and the word, “BRAINS!!!” It’s gotten to the point where I’m no longer doing these books just for Elaine, Sienna and I, but for an unknown audience that’ll never see them. If I notice a grammatical error upon receiving the book, I get seriously pissed at myself for ruining the thing. It’s wholly irrational and ludicrous, but what else is new?

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I wonder if I’m alone when it comes to photo book anxiety. Do other people go nuts trying to create the perfect album? Is this a universal reaction to the numerous possibilities presented by sites like Shutterfly or does it just happen to me, someone who gets obsessed and anxious? All I know is that I’m being irrational and yet I’m not currently able to stop these feelings that rush at me like a charging bull.

My mom once suggested I go slowly when designing these books – a page here, a page there – instead of waiting until the last minute. I’ve tried that, but it hasn’t worked. I find I’m more creative (if that’s what it is) when under the gun. But with each book comes a need to top myself, and this time, I’m completely blocked. There are dozens of folders sitting on my desktop filled with pictures that demand perfect placement and accompanying words and enhancements. It’s scary how much power they have over me or to be more realistic, how much power my irrational mind has over me. It’s just a damn photo album, but to me it represents so much more. Just like this blog is just a damn blog. Now if I could just believe that.

Negative Thought Circles – A Horrible Aspect of Depression

Last night was a tough one for me. I can’t figure out why it happened, but I suddenly started thinking about my ex-girlfriend, a person who devastated me more than twelve years ago. I had no reason to think of her. I’m very happily married to the most wonderful person I’ve ever known. I have a beautiful daughter. But out of nowhere, this woman was in my head and wreaking havoc, snaring me in a negative thought circle, a significant aspect of depression.

The last time I even had contact with her was over four years ago. She messaged me on Facebook after I’d posted that my beloved cat, Zeeb, had to be put to sleep. We’d adopted Zeeb together, and she wrote to send her condolences. I never replied. In fact, I immediately blocked her, the anger and pain still present deep in my gut. It’s possible I haven’t thought of her again since around that time.

But there she was in my head last night, and I can’t identify the trigger. I started wondering if she was better off than me. Better job? House? Money? Happiness? Around and around it went. I know she’s married and has kids. She was seeing someone within a month of dumping me and got married soon after. I know through mutual friends that she has kids. My wondering soon changed from wondering to irrational knowing. She must have an important job. She must have a house. She’s rich and happy. Great family. She has it all. That she has scleroderma, a chronic and progressive disease that hardens the skin and internal organs, never entered my mind.

Around and around. I lay next to my incredible wife feeling angry at and jealous of a person who’d hurt me so long ago. At one point I left the bedroom to hug Minky, the cat we adopted after we’d lost Zeeb. I needed to hear and feel Minky purring. I lay on the floor with him, his purr soft and rumbling. It didn’t help. I went back and took a melatonin, spurred a few more rounds with preposterous resentment, and coveting and eventually fell asleep.

I woke up shaky and sad and told Elaine about my night’s troubles. She hugged and comforted me because unlike this person from my long-ago past, she loves me. I still don’t know what triggered these thoughts, but I do know that I got caught in a negative thought circle and I couldn’t get out myself. I’ve been working on getting myself out of these circles for years because all they do is reinforce the negative feelings you have about yourself, but I still have great difficulty even when presented with irrefutable evidence of my irrationality (see my wife lying next to me and my daughter soundly sleeping down the hall, her soft sighs ever so often coming over the baby monitor). I feel better now, but the ex is still at the corner of my brain, trying to lasso me back. But I won’t let her.
Instead I’ll think about the nice brunch I had with an old friend and his family, the movie I’m seeing in a couple of hours with another old friend, and in between, I’ll hug my wife, play with Sienna, and tell them both how much I love them. And the next time I find myself caught in a negative thought circle, I’m going to break out this blog.

The Tragic Loss of Adrian Peterson’s 2-Year-Old Son

Just a few minutes ago I learned that Adrian Peterson’s 2-year-old son has died from head trauma – non-accidental head trauma – injuries allegedly caused by domestic abuse at the hands of his mother’s boyfriend in his mother’s boyfriend’s home. It didn’t matter that Adrian Peterson is the star running back for the Minnesota Vikings. It didn’t matter that Peterson takes home millions of dollars, nearly broke the single season rushing record last season, and won the league’s MVP. Despite all his strength and skill and money, Peterson couldn’t save his boy from the violent hands of one person, a trusted person (at least by the boy’s mother) though the man had had domestic abuse issues in the past. The news hit me like a ‘roided up linebacker.

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Adrian Peterson lost his son today due to alleged physical abuse by the child’s mother’s boyfriend.

It’s been said that the loss of a child is the worst pain a person can feel. It’s something I nearly experienced a few weeks ago during Sienna’s choking episode, something I hope to never, ever have to deal with. I can’t imagine what Peterson’s going through right now. His son was only six months older than Sienna, the most precious thing in my life aside from Elaine. How can someone physically assault a child? It’s something I’ll never understand. I can barely slap Sienna’s hand when she’s in a troublemaking mood without feeling terrible about myself.

The news of Peterson’s loss also reminded one of the reasons why I’m a stay-at-home dad – both Elaine and I know that our daughter’s in safe hands. Soon enough that time will pass. Sienna, like most kids, will be off to school and could become prey to a violent or sexually depraved teacher or neighbor or fellow student or untrustworthy family member (thankfully I don’t have any of those to my knowledge) or complete stranger. Soon enough I won’t be able to protect her as well as I can now. For all I know she might one day walk into a store and encounter a supposedly friendly owner who turns out to be a sexual predator similar to that “Diff’rent Strokes” episode when Arnold (Gary Coleman) and Dudley (Shavar Ross) went into that infamous bike shop. And don’t even mention social network stalking. I can’t fathom that right now. I can’t fathom any of this. Peterson’s son was just 2 years old and he was allegedly beaten to death by someone he probably trusted. 2 years old. And despite being exceedingly wealthy and celebrated, his father could do nothing but receive the news no parent wants to hear.

I’ve never felt luckier to be a stay-at-home dad than I do right now. My heart bleeds for Adrian Peterson and his family.

Sienna and the Wake

Elaine’s maternal grandmother passed away a few days ago after long battles with congestive heart failure, cancer, Alzheimer’s, etc. She was 94 years old.

While emotionally wrenching for Elaine and her family, Sienna’s been a bright spot. Each day before the wake and burial (there was no official funeral) Elaine would come home only wanting to hold her daughter. Thus we decided to bring Sienna to the wake this past Sunday to help Elaine, her mother and I get through the day (we didn’t bring her to the burial figuring she’d probably want to jump in the hole).

I’ve only been to a couple of wakes and I find them eerie and uncomfortable; the Jewish custom is to have a closed casket. I also don’t do well with death. I find it unbearable to feel or hear my own heartbeat and can’t understand why singers describe listening to their lovers’ heartbeats as romantic. If I’m in a position where I hear or feel Elaine’s, I have to move because it just reminds me that she’s going to die one day and that’s something I can’t take.

I bring this up because of what happened at the wake. Sienna was the perfect antidote, of course. Elaine’s mother was thrilled to see her and showed her off to everyone who came to pay their respects with Sienna smiling, saying “Hi!”and waving to all of these strangers. Elaine clutched her daughter when she needed to as did I since everyone was speaking Spanish and despite taking 7+ years of it in school, I have difficulty following rapid-fire conversation. Sienna was her happy, energetic self, climbing up and down stairs and running in circles, but eventually she got bored and I had to improvise. Inside the funeral parlor were two huge fishtanks, so I brought her in to look at the fishies. She was fascinated and commanded me to put her down. Immediately she climbed up a bunch of boxes to get a closer look at the fish. That’s when I noticed the boxes were labeled with names. That’s when I realized Sienna was climbing on top of people’s remains! I snatched her up and brought her back into the lobby and told Elaine what happened. I’m not sure how we felt about it. Hilariously creepy? Disturbingly funny? It even gave Elaine’s mom a laugh and my parents thought it was hysterical, though also weird.

The more I think about it, the more I realize it was the juxtaposition of life and death. Here you have this little girl.the embodiment of innocence, someone wholly unaware of time passing, of finality, happily climbing a stack of boxes containing people’s remains just to get a glimpse of some fish. For those of us who know the world, it’s both funny and strange because it’s so difficult for us to comprehend death, and, since we know of the world’s dangers and our own mortality, it’s just as hard for many of us to understand the purity of life.

In the past, because of my depression, this would have had me seeping into a pit of despair. But for some reason I’ve been able to know in my heart and gut and mind that I need to treasure this time in Sienna’s life. We all need to venerate this time in our children’s lives because it’s so very short.

Excuse me while I go hug and tickle my daughter.