The Woodstock generation…hippies…flowers child…? Espousing views of peace and love? Being on the tail end of the Baby Boomer’s I have had a small glance at this generation that ‘changed the world’. You look at my music collection or peek in my closet you might just think I am an old hippie too! But I have very little respect or admiration for the whole movement. (music and clothes are great though)

Hippies were not concerned with world peace, civil rights, women’s rights or the environment. There were many of that time that were…my favorites being the Peace Corp, Martin Luther’s peace marchers and the house wives asking for equal rights without the free love.

Majority (not all) of the hippies were spoiled 17-25 years old trying to break free from the parent and rebel against society. (Don’t trust anyone over 30.) They decided that their battles cries of ‘If it feels good do it!’ and ‘Free love’ were what really would change the world. The term ‘Dirty Hippie’ had very little to do with their values but more to do with their body odor. Free love had little to do with ‘teaching the world to sing in perfect…’. But instead ‘doing it’ with anyone available! (Great time for ugly people)

What does this lead to…men with 12+ children…women with no means to support them! Cause hey it don’t feel good to raise a child, just making them! I have at least 5 siblings from three mothers who spent to much time in the Hait\Asbury district. Opening up your mind with LSD and herion…well we know what that led to. It killed their very best.

Their children were raised with no rules and now are raising their kids with too many (helicopter parents). Someone had to be the adult and it should have been the adult!

This was written by another ACH (Adult Child of a Hippie) “So this is a cautionary tale. Go ahead, eat carob. Weave your own dashiki. Get off the grid. Open your mind to new experiences. But when your microbus pulls into the festival lot, don't drop acid and ditch your daughter at the child-care tipi. Sometimes your mind can be so open, your brain falls out.”

No I am not a hippie…and proud of it!

Why I glove spill cheek!

"Heading off to the womb center again today, I hope they see a better change than I have, wow poor Johnny this is a very long process. Well we will get thru it."

This was posted on Facebook by my mother (60+) about her husband (70+)...All I could imagine was the two of them going for infertility treatments. Of course it was concerning a serious matter and it was a simple typo. A typo that 'spill chick' never would have picked up on!

This made me realize that I still had a post in Facebook limbo that I wanted posted on my Blog. So here you go...

SPILL CHEEK! WHY I GLOVE IT...

My very first memories of spilling honors was inn the 2nd grade Spilling Be...Eye was inn first space, know one new how to spill 'neighbor'. Butt some how I did. Thee children left. The word is play...yea!!! P-A-L-Y. I can steal here the wiggles from my glass. I wanted to dye.

Past forward too forth grade... I have learned how to sheet because Mrs. Dauw had knot relied that it is best knot two due the protest and post test in the same oder. Butt she is old and feeble.. at least 40.

Past foreword too 6th grade...I have whiten this word 10 thymes...25 tines...50 thymes...and now 100 tines. Why didn't someone mention that the 'I before E accept after c', dose knot apply in the work foreign.

Their was a spilling curse on hour hole family, it marry well have stared with my deer Grandmother. Butt now the course has been woken bye the family commute...bye spill cheek!
Oh how I dish I could go hack in thyme and knot have too ax...Dose spilling count? Now I have spill cheek! What a site eye wood bee handling my report hard too my parents...100 present in Spilling!!!

Of corpse it is only a stream...ewe cane knot go hack! Butt instead eye no that as eye have a flare for woods...Eye kneed knot every wormy again about my spilling curse!

HANGING ON BY A THREAD...

Sometimes you’re holding on by a thread.
Not six strand embroidery thread or nylon
But that thin white cotton stuff.

Sometimes you’re being held down by a chain.
Tied to a tree, keeping you from going to far
Choking you as you trying to get loose.

Sometimes you are being led by the reigns.
Made to run around and around in circles,
They are trying to break you. They will use the whip.

Sometimes you are a kite.
Tethered to a stick, up and down, side to side.
Dependant on the fickle wind and some fool at the controls
You want to be free but don’t want him to let go.

Sometimes you are caged on the roof top.
No room to move, you know how to get home again,
If only they would release you.

And…
Sometimes you are let free.
There is still a piece of that thread but this time
It holds a message for the world.

Cut the thread.
Break the chain.
Let loose of the reigns.
Give me over to the wind.
Sell the cage.
I was meant to be free.

Happy father’s day! OK, one day late. We went to visit our son and I got the pleasure of watching this father and son get covered in slime, maple and chocolate syrup. All to watch about 30 children laugh and ruin their clothes and know that people at this church loved them. But I have written so much about these to men...so not today. Father’s day? There is a lot more to my story.

First let me explain, I a long time ago made this a day to celebrate the best father I know. Because I wanted to honor him just a little more then most days last night I gave him one of my greatest joys. The privilege of riding in the passenger seat, late at night on a horrible fast highway. Concrete mediums, speeding trucks, glare, people cutting you off and giving you dirty looks!! All passengers we sound asleep unaware of how much of a sacrifice this was for me. Thankfully God and the Pennsylvania Road Dept. had the good grace to provide an hour long traffic crawl so I could stop my tears and cease my Lamaze breathing. I am a huge fan of country music and its was Father’s Day…so… sappy 'daddy' songs that could make the hardest of us shed a tear or two. Between 11pm and midnight (when the day closed on the old songs) I was forced to think about the other fathers in my life.

My father’s father, I have heard very little about except he drank too much and Grandma Cyl divorced him. All he gave to his son’s was his name, one kept it but the other did not. The man that raised my father I have heard was a mean man with some major mental issues. Grandma Cyl divorced him too. Grandpa Mac (#3) from what I knew of him was a kind man, set in his ways and loved me like a true Grandpa. Grandma Cyl divorced him. I am sure that my father (Cyril) was told that these men did the best they could. I wonder if he believed that? I do not.

So what of my father, Cyril? He was a charming man. But he was also a violent abusive drunk and addict. As well as a lying thief. He has a rumored 22 children which sadly I only know 11. He didn’t raise any of them for long, but sadly that was too long for too many. Grandma Cyl told me he did the best he could. He told me he did the best he could. We told him he did not.

My Daddy’s father, I have heard was a drunk, mean man, neither faithful to his wife or children. I remember my Daddy telling the SOB did the best he knew how. I don’t think so.

And my Daddy, George? I loved him so, I was the princess. But he was also a mean abusive drunk. Never laid a hand on me but did my mother. He was also unfaithful to Mom and therefore his children. I don’t know about his four boys, but I know I heard that he loved us in the only way he knew how. He did not.

My Mother’s Father, I have heard was also a mean drunk. He also abused his children emotionally and physically. I only knew him as a man in a wheel chair who couldn’t speak but still let me know he loved me. One day this feeble man raised his fist to hit me and I saw in his eyes what I had heard was true. Grandma stood up and told me he didn’t mean it dear. He meant it. I have heard that he did the best that he could. He did not.

You only need to look at my brother, to know those men had the choice to do other than they were taught. Duane did...they did not. We are a product of are upbringing, but not slaves to it. Those fathers knew what was right and they knew they were wrong…They did not do the best they could.

My Grandfathers are long past away. Cyril died alone on a mattress on the floor of small room where he painted. George decided 5 years ago that he needs to move on and didn’t want to see or talk to us. I guess he didn’t know I still needed a Daddy.

I still love them all and I have forgiven each of them as I knew must. As I wanted too. Old country songs may fill my over active tear ducts, but nothing will ever convince me that each of those men did the best they could.

So Garry is what Father’s Day is all about. A Day I use to honor the one father in my life who did his best!

This is a repeat from 2 years ago one of my favorites found in bit and pieces from journal and letters in an old wine box.


… I went back into my many journals and notes and let them do this essay for me. (Mind you there was a lot to type) I tend to be a rambler, but keep with it if you are even a little bit intrigued.




June 16, 1988

Jason my sweet baby,
This morning I lay in bed staring at the clock, watching the minutes pass by and then the moment came.... June 16, 1988...you are a year old now. It went so fast Sweetheart, so very fast.

You were at your best today! All smiles and giggles, the hit of the party.......

What I want to say most of all is that I love you and you will always be my little baby, Starting from Mommy and Daddy's love...you are pure love...a baby, a toddler, a teenager, a man. But always our Jason Scott. A star was born!

Mommy



September 2, 2002

Lollipop...Happy New School Year!

I can't believe my baby is in high school....Enjoy and be GOOD! Remember that all the coolest kids are on the Honor Roll! Here's lunch money and a little extra.

You've been blessed ---Mom




August 12, 2004

Lollipop---Really have you looked under your bed? What a MESS! I even found a rotting apple in here.

But baby at least you have a clean heart and a sweet spirit. Always sweet and sticky my boy lollipop!

Your favorite Mom!


June 16, 2008

Jason Scott, Jason, Jay, Lollypop,

My first born, my baby...You just turned 21...your now an adult, a man.

But yet you are and always will be my baby- my baby boy- my pumpkin bread. I still feel you kicking...But now it is a kicking at my heart.

You will always be that little boy coming back, with a very frustrate look, to give me a kiss whenever I called saying I REALY needed one.

The boy who had trouble using the brakes on your bike, your solution...to dive for the grass when you needed to stop.

My tiny 5 year old, a natural wrestler....being squashed into the mat or even squashing the other guy. Both were so painful for me to watch. But such pride I had in you and how you always stuck it out!

My three year old telling me as I cried for the loss of my Grandfather that he would be ok.

Your bed time prayer seemed to always be for world peace and that Brian would be saved.

You, asking me for a brother or sister who can walk and you much later telling me that Obadiah wasn't the one you wanted.

My boy, reading only three books from beginning to end...all thru middle and high school...and proud of it.

My baby's 1st grade teacher telling me you were the messiest kid she ever taught and please buy Velcro sneakers... (Your shoes were never tied for long.)

My heart breaking because you had a crush for years on a little girl who often crushed you.

Always (and still) scaring me because you refused to stay out of trees.

My 7 year old baby crying in fear and gratefulness, when your cousin saved you from drowning.

You telling me it wasn't fair...you should be the one with a broken arm...not Samantha.

My son, who never told me that I should stay home with him while Sammi was in the hospital.

You, asking Jesus into your heart and life.

My little boy...13...being dipped to let the world know your decision.

A teenager angry with his brother for the pain he causes all of us.

A young man forgiving his brother as you knew you must.

A child barely 18 telling me he is in love and plans to marry her...not understanding that the pain on my face was because I knew it was true and my baby was leaving me for another

Peter Pan afraid...no refuseing to grow up. Knowing that you must, yet fighting it all the way.

My baby boy brutally honest...holding hard to your beliefs. Cynical of the world but knowing also it was safe. Knowing your calling...fighting your calling...finality embracing your calling.

My son, loving me, protecting me, critical of me, embarrassed by me, proud of me...Rising up and calling me 'Blessed' even when you didn't feel like it.

You no longer coming to me...even in frustration...for a kiss when I call for it...saying I need one.

You’re off to serve the lord...away from your true love, family and friends for the first time.

You’re leaving me as I knew you would 21 years ago...when you kicked me hard one last time.

Jason Scott, Jason, Jay, Lollypop,

My first born, my baby...You just turned 21...and now you are a man.

Happy Birthday! I love you!

Mom










September 2008,

Be your Father's Son...always ready to help even when you don't feel like it. Honest, hard working, and reliable. To funny for your own good. Laughing when your mother doesn't get it. Young at heart always a twinkle in your baby blue eyes. It's alright to be a pessimist!

Remember what your mother taught you...when you give... give your best. Be yourself, God loves you the way he made you quirks and all. The world is safer and kinder then it appears. And when you make a presentation, project, or report....extra credit if it looks "creative'. It's alright to be an optimist.

We will miss you...until I notice there are no more dishes in the living room!

Mom


**Not much has changed in the last two years. He is still my Lollipop. In August he will marry Jaymie. (My Tweetie) He became a Pastor, licensed by Freedom Valley. He is going on to get his degree. But today is his birthday and I can still feel him kicking.

I have a very large Band-Aid on the side of my van, it is about 1’x3”.Not one of those cute little Dora or Hello Kitty ones either. It is a very grown up flesh tone ones. You might have seen my vehicle…it’s a boring grey color. The color a silver van turns to when you never wash it.

This is my attempt at covering a “booboo”. I was hit by a speeding shopping cart filled with about fifty pounds of cement. To be fair it was my shopping cart that I forgot to unload before starting to drive away.

But I can say that I have never hit anything moving! Never had a moving violation nor had a claim into my insurance company (too embarrassed). I did though lose my license for contempt of court when I didn’t pay library fines (did you know they can arrest you for that?) But those books were not moving!

I have hit a house. This made a 90 year old lady very upset as I had destroyed her 40 year old rose bushes. A tree (while moving at a speed of 1mile per hour) with a car I had owned for less than a week. A dumpster, my excuse being that it is the same color as the grass. Several of those silly short poles they put around buildings phone booths and other structures that a person might damage with their car. Twice I hit cars that were stopped for red lights (3,000 in damages for one and a totaled Mustang for the other), no damage to those NON MOVEING vehicles.

So I am very proud of my driving record…no speeding tickets or careless driving violations. More parking tickets than I can recall and a few no seat belt tickets.

So I will continue to hold my head up high and buy a few more Band-Aids!

Dawn Marie

My Mom mentioned Jason’s birthday.
It started a brain spin that inevitably led to yet another attack of the Mom tears.

June 16… he will be 23.
June 16 (smile) Jason never did like having his birthday so close to the last day of school.
June 16…Georgia’s last day of school. Last day of school
Friday is Sammy’s last day of school.
Tears.

Nineteen years of school, most good years and some not so good. But they were years of learning for her and years of normalcy for me. She may not have learned how to read but they taught her how to take off her coat. She learned how to make friends. She taught them how to be friends. She learned so much, more then I ever thought she would.

Graduation day is a mile stone in the life of a child. Don’t you all remember your graduation? The parties…hanging you tassel on the rear view mirror? The look of pride and shock on your Mom’s face? (Well my Mom’s) I still have my diploma and a stack full of pictures. (Plus a pile of faded cards)

My baby girl won’t have any of those memories, parties, the tassel, diploma or cards. She won’t mind. She will just continue on happy…not knowing or caring. She might eventually wonder what happened to all her friends and I am sure they will never forget her. But she adapt to this new change, what ever it will be.

For Samantha Joy this will be just another day. I wish I could say the same.

***If you follow my writings you know that I have just posted an edited version of what I wrote last week. But there is more to the story. After this I hope I can put it all to rest, go on with our new life. (Sammi’s and mine)

What was getting to me? Why was I so sad? Because I hate change? Sure. Because I hate the unknown? That is a given. Yesterday I finally realized that what I wanted was what I wrote. I wanted to celebrate! She earned high honors more than most graduates. She worked harder than I ever did in my school days. I should have been shouting ‘Yea Samantha’. I should have been telling others how proud I am of her. She has accomplished so much.

I didn’t. I didn’t even realize that this was so important to me. This epiphany came after an acknowledgement of the graduates in our church. I was so upset thinking aw poor me I wanted this for my daughter but she isn’t part of this. Later I found a card and graduation gift from her teachers in a huge bin of her ‘stuff’ that had accumulated over the years. And I finally knew that this really was a time of celebration! That was what I longed for didn’t know.

To be fair my friends and family were trying so hard to let me grieve, knowing that really I don’t like what I have always felt was unearned praise. Mostly that I can be very moody and they didn’t want to make it worse. I love them because of that. I could have told them…I knew our church was honoring the graduates. I didn’t even tell a lot of our family. My pain was caused by no one but myself.

I am NOT asking for cards and gifts. I plan to celebrate ‘Samantha’ on her birthday. But for now, will together celebrate with a Mommy and me day…hair cuts and color, shopping and swinging at the park. Plus a huge bag of chips with a French fry chaser! This is what she likes the most and she deserves it!

But if you have a moment…email or facebook us. Just a line letting the world know how proud you are of HER!!!

You go girl!

In about an hour I leave for a meeting. I have gone to this meeting every year for 17 years. For many years it was an necessary evil that I had to endure. Quite a few of those years I would end up in tears of frustration, anger, and sadness. But eventually this meeting became a time of chatting with trusted friends, grateful that things are looking up.In about an hour I leave for a meeting. I will never "HAVE TO" go to this meeting ever again. I will never be invited to this meeting again. No more discussions about goals achieved. No more angry outburst amongst a group of adults with with same objective but different methods. No more laughs and hugs when we decide that all is as it should be and it is more than we expected.In about 45 minutes I leave for a meeting...for about 3 hours I have been crying. A good friend reminded me I don't like change. I hate when he does that. He has this habit of telling me the truth even when I don't want to hear it. I hate change...I hate letting go...not being in control. I still stamp my feet and yell, fall on the ground kicking a screaming, and hold my breath until I turn blue. (OK maybe I am only doing this in my head, but those of you who know me know I AM doing it!)I want..I want..I want! In 33 minutes I leave for a meeting...and like always, temper tantrums never get me anywhere. So I will dust the chain smoking ashes off of me...put down the chocolate... wash out the coffee cup. (My coping mechanisms) I will hit spill check and send. I will wash my face and grab some tissues just in case. I will leave for my meeting.This is my last IEP...last child study team meeting...last year of Samantha's formal education. She will graduate in June 2010. No more meetings.

*I wrote this about a year ago…it turned out to be a great meeting! We were all so pleased with her progress and chatted about all the programs available to her. Her teacher had become my trusted friend, her school a second home where all both knew her and loved her.

Three day latter I was told that her teacher was being transferred. Soon I was informed that her class was no longer because of budget cuts. The only school option was so inappropriate for Sammi that it hurt to watch. Her case manger was n't part of this department. And eventually I learned that all post high school programs were dependant on our Governer’s budget and availability. (Meaning not likely anytime soon) The residential placement that we had decided was best for the whole family (not an easy decision) had a waiting list of about 20 years.

Watching a grown woman fall apart is never a pretty site. So in December... 2 state agencies, and the public school system decided that we qualify for emergency residential placement. It may happen this summer.

So I just took her off the school bus for the very last time. (45 min late because they had the wrong address.) Eighteen years went by in a blink of an eye, today isn’t a good day. But tomorrow will be a lot better.

Yes I still have been writing essays. I just haven’t been finishing them! Just a few minutes ago my Mom mentioned Jason’s birthday. But this didn’t bring on the need to write, instead it started a brain spin that inevitably led to yet another attack of the Mom tears.

June 16… he will be 23. June 16 (smile) Jason never did like having his birthday so close to the last day of school. June 16…Georgia’s last day of school. Last day of school…Friday is Sammy’s last day of school. Tears.

Nineteen years of school, most good years and some not so good. But they were years of learning for her and years of normalcy for me. She may not have learned how to read but they taught her how to take off her coat. She learned how to make friends. She taught them how to be friends.

Graduation day is a mile stone in the life of a child. Don’t you all remember your graduation? The parties…hanging you tassel on the rear view mirror? The look of pride and shock on your Mom’s face? (Well my Mom’s) I still have my diploma and a stack full of pictures. (Plus a stack of faded cards)

My baby girl won’t have any of those memories, parties, tassel, diploma or cards. She won’t mind. She will just continue on happy…not knowing or caring. She might eventually wonder what happened to all her friends and I am sure they will never forget her. But she adapt to this new change, what ever it will be.

For Samantha Joy this will be just another. I wish I could say the same.