And despite everything, I think believe in people.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

She asks THE question:

It brings up this question: In a day and age with no Little Yellow Birds and no Expectations of behavior, do I continue to try and instill these old-fashioned values in my kids, or do I throw in the towel and give them a fighting chance amongst peers who have no respect for others, much less, themselves?

And this brings me to a topic that is eating at me since some time now (since it happened, actually). Here is the story [rant on]:

I have the same problem. Here is our personal conundrum:

We have 5 sets of direct neighbors (as we are in the middle of a settling). One family has one kid, Mark, who is 4. The other family has two kids. Their smallest, Alice, 5, plays with Mark. Their older boy, Peter, 8, plays, well, not with many kids, it seems. (Btw, I changed the names. They’re not their real names).

I cannot say I initially disliked them. They are very different than we are, rather uptight and closed. But I remained friendly and did all the necessary neighbor stuff: Invited them to garden parties, wrote them Christmas cards, gave them an Easter basket and so on (although none of this was ever reciprocated, but these are things I do not measure, so I don’t care).

The kids are EXTREMELY well behaved. As far as mute counts as well behaved. You seldom hear them talk at all, and surely not in the presence of adults. But. I am continuously finding out they are… mean. Just evil. I mean it.

So one day they had guests, and kids were playing in the garden. Joshua stood right next to them at the hedge and asked if he could come play. He was ignored. So he asked again, and the girl said: “You? No, why would we let YOU play along?” In THAT tone.

OK, kids do that sometimes. But: In this case, the parents saw and heard it all and did nothing. When Mark, the little one of the other neighbors, who also was in their garden, called for Joshua to come, they even called him back and berated him.

So Joshua ended up crying, standing next to the fence and crying and they did nothing. Said nothing.

I did nothing, either, at least not in that moment, because if I had intervened, I had killed someone. Or everybody. Oh my God, I was so furious.

The next day, I heard Alice say to the other neighbor’s boy: “Why should we play with him? He does not even have a swingset, just a boring see-saw. He has nothing fancy!”

The thing is, little Mark LIKES to play with Joshua and comes over, or Joshua goes there, but only when Alice is NOT around. When she is around, he completely adapts her behavior.

Some time later, when we built up the trampolin (which we had bought beforehand, just to clarify, btw.), whoops – there they were, wanting to jump.

So what do I do?

I decide that I am not like them, and let the kids jump, and give them ice cream. I briefly talked to Alice, though, when she came and wanted to jump, and said: “Do you recall how you did not want Joshua to play? That was not very nice. But we want to be nice to each other, so you can come and jump.”

And I take time and effort to explain to Joshua why we let them, because he asks me: “Why do we let them play here, they only come because of the trampolin, they don’t like me at all.” Which is, of course, totally correct.

I tell them that some people make more of an effort to be nice than others, and that I would prefer to be one of those people, and that sharing and friendliness is important in our family and home, and that we will therefore share and be friendly, even if they don’t and are not.

He accepts this. He also continues to play with Mark, although he often drops comments like “Neiner, neiner, you don’t have anything fancy.” (I mean, the boy is four, he imitates Alice, who is older and, it seems, positively deceiving). Mark is not a bad kid. But he is totally under Alice’s influence.

So these incidents happen more and more often. Joshua is not allowed to play with Alice and Peter. At all. Even Mark is more and more hostile.

What the HELL do I do? It really hurts to see them treat him like that, and I cannot really continue to explain this to him in any sensitive way, it seems. I tried to bring it up with the neighbors, but all I get is very polite nothingness. OK, I was not totally blunt about it yet (“Why are your kids behaving in such a mean and nasty way?”), because I have a feeling this will lead to nothing at all.

Do I continue to tell my son that we want to be good people, and be friendly and forgiving? I feel that I want to be this way, at least towards the kids. They, too, just imitate their parents’ uptight, narrow-minded, nasty behavior. It’s not really their fault.

But can I extend that to my kid and expect the same from him? What will it gain him? He’s got a huge heart and is quite empathic, but what will this gain him? Being the one who is always bullied? Should I rather tell him to fight back? And if I do, how do you fight back perfidy? If already a five year old girl knows how to talk mean behind someone’s back?

I cannot begin to guess how nasty people can be.

I told Joshua, for now, that there always will be those people who will try to make a difference in their lives, people who want to make the world a better place,  and those people who don’t care, who only think about themselves, and who poison the world with that bit by bit.

He nodded sagely and said: “OK, and isn’t it great that there are so many more people who care and want to be good?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I did not believe that anymore.

I remember how my husband and I toasted each other, praying: “May the next year be better than the last. May it finally be better.”

It never was, not really. And I came to the conclusion that this, probably, is life. That there is no such thing as unfettered love and happiness. Who am I to know? Perhaps it exists for some, but if it does, I doubt it does for me. I write this without bitterness or sorrow. My life just is not easy. It never was, and I become accustomed to it. I love too much, too passionately, I take my decisions from the depth of my heart, and when I leap, I never look back. It is what I am, and it makes my life one of tough choices and deep emotions. I don’t regret it, and why should I?

I just have to accept the fact that this simple, quiet happiness that some people are blessed to live is not for me. Nor for my family.

Still – may 2009 be a better year. The last year ended with some of those tough choices, but now, they are made. And I will watch them bear fruit in 2009. May God grant us the fruits will be sweet, at least some of them.

We will move house somewhen in March. It is thrilling and exiting, scary and wonderful all at once. We signed the contract some weeks ago, and I hope it will not ruin us financially. But we will be free, and it makes me happy. Throughout the whole affair, we were blessed by the support of dear friends. Friends. One of the few save havens, one of the few constants in my life. And apart from my child, the thing that makes me most grateful in this world.

Everything changes. Even love does. But as long as it guides us, we can breathe, and live, and carry on.

Happy New Year, my friends.

I did not blog.

And I hereby apologize. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. As a reconsiliation, you get the latest family picture. The three of us at Christmas. Aren’t we sweet? Yeah, the li’ll one makes faces, he always does that for the camera. *rolleyes*

So what happened? Well, I took another job. Or the job took me. It was more or less a coincidence. I went out with a friend, and while we were chatting over a beer, she mentioned how desperately they look for people in their office. People to do customer liaison and support. I was big-mouthed as ever and said “Nothing I couldn’t do”. And she said: “OK, see you on Monday”. (It was on a Saturday).

Since then, I’m there. It started as three times a week for 2 hours, now it’s daily from 8 to noon. And I gotta say I like it.

The drawback is – I already had a job. You might recall I was working for a private English school, giving lessons to children, a job I thoroughly enjoy and love. Right now, I am working double: Office in the mornings, school in the afternoon, preparing lessons and doing the conceptual planning for the school.

It’s just too much. Joshua is not taking it easily, he’s throwing tantrums at least five times a day. And I am exhausting myself. I gotta decide. Deadline I set myself is March.

So this is the news. I promise I’ll try to update more often again, but time is sparse these days, really. I just barely find time for producing art, and art is as important as breathing for me.

So I’ll hang in there, and you guys will, too, until I’ve got more time for you again, ok?

Despite my notoriously bad habit of regaling myself with killing, none of my victims had ever walked in on me in the middle of the night. It added a nippy spice to the late hour, and tangible arousal stirred in the air.

The sallow light of the moon illuminated Claude’s slender form. I smiled. He had been worthy. His exsanguination had been a true masterpiece. Of all the lives I had quelled, none had been more delicious and inspiring.

A wide-brimmed hat shadowed Claude’s face, but it was unmistakably him. For a split second, an exiguous smile illuminated his lips. Then he beckoned. Without waiting for my reaction, he turned and left the room. I never hesitated.

His shadow grew and shrunk in the passing light of the street lanterns. Our journey ended in a dark, twisted alley, in front of a fading neon sign. “Chained Melody” it read in blood-red letters. I dimly remembered this place. Fetish bar. I occasionally picked up aspirants here. None had proved to be worthy enough to be a victim.

Claude entered and went straight to the bar, murmured something to the barkeeper, and turned to me. With one flowing movement, he took away his coat and hat.

It wasn’t Claude. This was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And she had Claude’s features. His huge, deep blue eyes. His narrow and rather long nose. His lips. I remembered the taste of his blood on his lips. My arousal became rigorous and probably visible. She had the same lips. I wanted them. I wanted her.

When I came closer, I caught the first major difference except the gender. Her smell. She smelled of vanilla and warm milk. I couldn’t help moving closer, until her breath became a perceptible caress on my skin.

“Claire. My name is Claire.” Her French accent was stronger than Claude’s.

“Claude’s twin sister. I am looking for him. I spoke to him yesterday morning, and he said was meeting you.”

Her eyes were wide and fixed upon me, she never flinched. If she was lying, she was an extremely good actress.

“I don’t know where he is. I met him in the afternoon. He mentioned another date in the evening.”

“That is strange.” Her breath still nipped my skin. “I came here yesterday evening. We were supposed to meet at the train station. It is very unusual that he did not show up.”

“I imagine. Why should he stand up a lovely sister such as you?”

She smiled. Score.

“Giving it a second thought, he mentioned someone. Perhaps he was … distracted? A woman?”

“Claude wasn’t into women.”

Oh yes. I knew that quite well.

“You seem to be, though.”

Her gaze was steady and challenging. Was she trying to hit on me? She had Claude’s eyes, huge and innocent, but with a naughty core, like a chained beast waiting to break free. I remembered Claude’s eyes the moment I had finally released him, the very moment his soul had left his body. I remembered the flicker and the burning, their everlasting beauty shining through the haze of tears and blood and choking breaths. And now Claire. She could be the peak of my oeuvre, and she was here, right here in my hands.

Her beauty was to die for. And she would.

“Yes, I cannot deny it,” I answered her proposition huskily.

“That’s good. I know they’ve got rooms here”.

Wait. This was going faster than I thought. I did not want to lose control. I needed to plan this, to go carefully. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. They could find Claude’s body soon, perhaps even tomorrow; there might not be another chance. And she was challenging me.

The room was dark. There were pieces of furniture and accoutrement for the clientèle of the establishment. I discarded them. These were gimmicks for those too craven to indulge in the real thing. But not having my own equipment handy, I did have use for the chains. Claire obviously enjoyed the game. It wouldn’t have aroused me, had I not known the fear that was about to come. When it came, I knew I had been right. Her death would ennoble her. She’d be eternal. I would take my time. I would honor her.

My face was close to hers now. I wanted to look into her eyes when she left, as I always did, as I had with Claude. My knife resting in place, waiting to push her into the nothingness, waiting to canonize her forever. Her eyes were wide open. I knew what I had to do to make this flawless.

“I killed your brother,” I whispered. “Just like this. With this same knife”.

Her eyes widened.

“I know,” she said. Her breathing was ragged with the pain I had dealt her. “In five minutes the place will be swarming with cops. You have two choices.”

I glared at her.

“Two choices,” she repeated. “Either you leave now. You might get away. But you will never have this climax you seek. You will never see me die.”

How had she known?

“Or you stay. Kill me. Enjoy me. It will be too late then. Caught in the act. Put to justice. But you will have me.”

How did she know me?

“Do it. Behold me.”

I had no choice. She was the apogee.

(written for a Worth1000 H7H against 6 very talented writers. Challenge was 1st person bad guy story, noir style. I came in 3rd. You can read here who was even better )

Yes, it’s that topic again; it is touching my life from every possible angle right now, and I don’t really know how to cope, yet.

I talked to a kid some days ago. A teenage kid, an intelligent, talented, nice kid, who had to spill out his heart to someone, and that someone happened to be me. He told me that in a quarrel, his mother had told him she wished she had never had him.

It made me cry, and I couldn’t stop for a while. It’s probably because it reminds me of my father, who was like? this. Or because I’ve got a little boy myself, and I know how helpless and depending on their parents’ love they are. How CAN she fuckin’ DO this? Does she not know that these wounds will stay forever?

But, compared to others, this boy is still lucky.? In the course of the last two weeks (in which the incident with the junky family and the police fell, also, you can read about it below) I virtually stumbled over these stories, and mind me: These are ONLY stories of people I know. And only of people I know well enough to have been told. Think about the percentage. Think about the tip of the iceberg. Do not click away because you don’t wanna hear it, but read it, take it in and THINK, dammit.

- A man who is very close to me who was beaten and literally tortured by his alcoholic father throughout his whole childhood. He managed to get out of it and become a sane adult and even a loving father, but he still wears the scars and always will.

- A woman who had a sadistic mother. When she was nine, she threatened her daughter to have her raped if she did not behave.

- A man, now grown, who told me that his stepmother beat him and his brother regularly, daily, until, when he was ten, he finally had the strength to beat back at her to protect his brother.

- A little boy in one of my classes. I know his parents beat him, I really KNOW, but I cannot prove it. The kid is highly intelligent, but shows noticeable problems in his whole behaviour. His mother slapped him on class once, and I immediately interfered, but I don’t have any real proof to be able to do more.

- A woman who was sexually abused by her father for many years. She managed to save her soul, but she is under medication and always will be.

- A woman who was raped by a neighbor when she was 12. Her parents knew it and did nothing. She’s a grown woman now, and recently visited her family for a family dinner. When she told them she’s broken up with her boyfriend, her mother said “Well, small wonder you can’t have relationships. You screwed around with the neighbors when you were 12″.

These were, mark me, only things I ran into during the last week. I cannot control my empathy anymore – and this is bad. It took me a long time to control it and to keep it in, but now I feel raw and wounded, and often like crying. It is as if I heard their voices pleading within me, all the lost and abused kids. And I don’t wanna go there, it wouldn’t help them, nor me.

I was visiting a friend yesterday, and she told me some stuff about her neighbors. They are both alcoholics and junkies, and they’re got 2 kids: A boy aged 2, and a little baby, 6 months old.

They do not care about the kids at all. Every second or so night, the guy demolates the whole flat, kicks in doors and such, and they both beat up each other. They use the baby buggy for transporting beer bottles rather than their baby. And by the middle of the month, they’re totally out of money (which is social welfare money anyways).

My friend called the youth care dep. twice, but they didn’t do anything, obviously. And she won’t call again: The guy is threatening her. Being a single mom, she has to protect her kids, she sais.

So I went to the police. There’s a department here caring for special children issues, and I went there. Told them about it. They really listened attentively, and (hopefully) will take care of that. I left my name. The officer told me they will not give away my name, but I do not care. He may. If the guy feels like searching me out and confronting me, he may. C’mon, give me a reason.

I am sick and tired of people abusing, beating, torturing their kids. I can’t stand these stories anymore, and I won’t suffer it anywhere in my vicinity anymore. AT FUCKIN’ ALL.

That’s it.

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This was done for a Worth Contest, but never made it, because I wasn’t able to shrink the scan to the necessary maximum size without making it unreadable.

Click the thumbnail for 355kb poetic goodness.

The final poem reads:

God?

I walked alone
and shadows struck me
I greeted faces,
reached for people
?
but God had turned his back.

Beneath consciousness,
the deeper waters,
appears a cold warrior,
powerful, transforming

we have arrived at a critical mass.

irrevocable change
in a world of exploration
yet, the heart understood
the death of God

filled with hubris and danger.

wholeness may be
rooted in heresy
its victory cost dearly
and defeat is in the air.

death by transformation

I walked away,
surrendering to
the vast oceans of myth
and the masks of God.

the courage to let go.