Why not?

It isn't her fault that she doesn't spell this right. It sounds like it should be spelled with an "h." In fact, I wouldn't be against her writing a proposal that we do add the "h," to Wyoming. Think of it:  WHYOMING. Why not? In fact, as my husband says, if they had spelled Whyoming that way, it would be logical to name the capital Whynot.

Fortunately, my husband caught the error and before my daughter went off to take her geography test, he reminded her not to put in the "h." Aside from that erroneous h, my daughter had this nailed. States & their capitals -- Mrs. Sua from St. Joes would be impressed with my daughter. Mrs. Sua gave me an "F" on that test in the 6th grade. Hey, I got Hawaii & its capital. 

When my daughter came home, Hubby asked how she thought the test went. She said that she think she did awesome. Then he asked if she put the "h" into Wyoming. She stopped in her tracks. Oh bummer, she said, at least I'll get a 3 (instead of the 4, equivalent of an A+). 

So on Friday she came home totally thrilled. 

"Daddy, you're WRONG!!! Whyoming does have an H! My teacher didn't mark it wrong!" 

When he showed her that indeed, Wyoming doesn't have an "h," she made him promise not to let her teacher know. She wants to preserve her 4. 

Wile te onorable ting to do is let er teacer know of te mistake, I tink instead, I'll just sacrifice some H's out of words to make up for te extra one my daugter put into er state test. 

Isn't it ironic, doncha think?

There is an irony to life that has been bugging me the way a scab you pick at all day does. Not really painful, but not comfortable either, and you just fuss with it without ever meaning to. It strikes me that the people who dislike something so much, that they dedicate their energies to it's banishment or management, end up faced with the thing they hate the most constantly. For example, I imagine that fitness buffs hate sloth and fat. But if they pursue this as a career path, they end up working with overweight and heavy people. And granted, they'll likely transform these people into fitter and healthier versions of themselves, but there will always be another heavy person to take their place.

But what has been on my mind lately are the people who fight for sexually abused children.

A couple of years ago, I remember watching an Oprah (Must have been when I just had one of my 3 kids. Really the only time I ever watched her show with regularity. What else can you do when you're breastfeeding a kid on the couch?) which was focused on child pornography. There were 3 people they were interviewing about their work, which was, of course, facing budget cutbacks. There were two women who spent their days watching child pornography (the phrase kiddie porn makes something heinous seem less horrifying so I don't use it) building cases against the alleged offenders. The one guy was the detective who had to slog through the case files and arrest the perpetrators.

What struck me about the three of them was that there was a world weariness around their eyes. That they all looked at things that turned their stomachs and that they knew they had to do it because otherwise there would be no way to bring justice down upon the perpetrators. Theirs were the eyes that watched when the children were being violated. Their eyes were the ones that recognized the suffering. It was their witness that could testify against the rapists for the voiceless children. The male detective said that there were nights that he had to tear himself away from his desk because each one of those files sitting on its top represented one more child who was going to endure a living hell. One more waste of breath violating another innocent life. And it weighed down his soul to know that the next day, more files would be added to the stack. More children, more perpetrators. More.

I think what has brought this to the forefront for me is the latest scandal at Penn State. I've tried to avoid hearing about it but it is even on NPR. So I turn the station and it is all over the morning talk shows.  But that's the deal, isn't it. While the whole pedophilia thing upsets me and makes me want to call down some serious smiting from the heavens, it is so beyond my understanding that I cannot let it into my psyche. I cannot look at it square in the face. I cannot believe the reality of it because it shakes my basic understanding of what it is to be a person. I know it exists, but I cannot pay attention because to me, it feels like breathing in asbestos -- it is destined to grow cancer on my soul.

I think that is why there is inaction on the part of other adults faced with the ugly truth of some kid being violated by an adult. There is a desire, unthinkable and unforgivable, to wish it away. That if the accusations would just disappear, then there would be a return to normalcy. The world view that adults protect and nurture children would not be replaced by the world view that somebody you know is abusing, molesting, and raping children. I think this is why so many adults err on the side of complicity. You would hope that the first adult a child approaches would be the hero. Likely, it is the only adult that the child will have had the courage to approach. And if that person cannot get past the inertia of not wanting their world view to change, then that child's freedom is likely lost.

I think this is what happened in the Penn State case. I think that the coaches couldn't believe that this was happening. Despite being confronted with the actual act of rape witnessed by another person, inaction prevailed. That one of their coaches, a guy they've hung out with, been friends with, discussed strategy with, had been a voice of reason and a good sounding board for them, could ever be the kind of person that raped children. The children who were victimized were already from troubled homes. These kids were already voiceless in their own lives, and this predator took advantage of the groundwork laid by other adults.

I don't have much insight to offer here. Just making the observation. If not for those investigators, those detectives who are willing to look the ugly of our society full in the face, those kids would remain voiceless. They don't wear capes, nor can they fly. They're not trumpeted or given keys to the city. But what they have devoted their lives to, they pay the price. What they do is no less than heroic.

Annual birthday celebration

Sharon, Julia & I have our birthdays within 2 weeks of each other. When we figured this out, we instituted yearly birthday outings without husbands or kids. This was after we had a disastrous year of having 3 individual birthday celebrations. There was too much cake and just... well, it got really bad by the time we got to Julia's birthday. Just felt like watching the same movie over and over and over again. Like when I was a kid and looked forward to watching The Wizard of Oz. You only got to see it on television once a year and it was an event. If you missed it, you'd have to wait until the next year. Then came VHS & Betamax and all of a sudden watching the WoO wasn't as exciting. I got a copy from my Aunty Pris one year and I haven't watched it since. So having 3 birthday parties with the same circle of friends all within the same 2 week period... You see how bad had gotten.

We went to the Harbour Public House (yeah, with the extra "u" because the people who founded it were from England) along with all the adults on the island. At least it felt that way. We showed up relatively early, at 5:45 PM, and still the place was packed. I think the senior citizens who show up to meals at 3 PM for the blue plate special have a good idea. Plenty of parking and you don't have to wait for a seat. I suppose that is just around the corner for the 3 of us. I had my first pint of mangoweizen. You know the Hawaii in me can't pass up a mango anything. Same goes for coconut. Or lychee. But it just tasted like beer to me. 

We are such old moms. Even though the kids were safe at home, of course our conversation turned to living with teen aged boys and tween girls. I'm the only one with a kindergartener anymore. Those girls are so close to the finish line. Damn. I guess you can take the moms away from the kids but still, our worlds revolve around them. I wonder if I'll have anything to talk with these broads about when their young ones end up graduating. Who am I kidding, of course I will. They're my girls!

So anyway, we decided to try to find some karaoke someplace. It's my birthday celebration and despite neither of these two chicks being filipinas, I was going to make them come with me. They had promised to be a good audience while I sang. Neither of them wanted to sing with me. It's okay. So long as they'll go with me, I'm good.  

We tried the Mexican Cantina first. When we entered the establishment, we doubled the number of women in the packed bar. No karaoke. They were watching some game on tv. I don't know what kind. There was green field underneath men running around with numbers on their backs. Who knows? Anyhow, we turned around and left. Even though we're old broads, we remember those bar survival skills we learned in our twenties. 

I knew another bar had karaoke on Thursday nights but this was Friday. I knew our chances were slim. We drove by and saw a similar television situation in there:  astroturf, men with numbers, etc. We wandered down to see our friends at BIBBQ. The closed sign was up but maybe it would be a better time than having another drink while people interested in watching men run around on a field made noise to interrupt our conversation. 

I was still jonesing to karaoke with my friends. But it was looking like there was to be no karaoke. I was trying to convince Greg from the BBQ to give me a little Louis Armstrong -- he obliged with just a couple of bars. I suggested, I Get Ideas, one of my fave Satchmo songs. I sang a little of it and while Greg didn't know it, I sparked the interest of a 6 year old girl whose family was just leaving the restaurant. She tugged my sleeve and asked if I knew the words to Jingle Bell Rock?

Do I know the words to Jingle Bell Rock? I'm kind of awesome when it comes to Christmas Song lyrics. I may obsess on them a little. For the past few years, I've made it a point to choose a Christmas song that the family will concentrate on singing for the season. In the past we've done Joy to the World and O Holy Night. How do you think I've managed to learn Adeste Fideles or Ave Maria? That's right, hard work, determination, and a fanatical devotion to the pope... actually, no, but a kind of razor sharp focus on expanding my carol file capacity. 

So this little girl and I belted out Jingle Bell Rock at the top of our lungs! She and her 9 year old sister sang a Halloween song. The 9 year old sang an original composition which was surprisingly great. Seriously great. (damn, I should have gotten her name. She'll be famous someday.) Then the little one said she was going to sing Gaga. Joy! She didn't know the name of the song but the second she started with, "rama-ooh-lala..." I jumped right in. She was astonished that I knew the lyrics since all she knew was the rama/lala parts. These girls were just darling. The older girl invited us to see her school's art show where she would be performing. Too cool. 

After they left, my big girls and I found a booth and started chatting. My friends officially cut me off from drinking. They thought I had too much with 2 beers. Seriously. With the wonders of my smartphone and YouTube, I was able to get in some pseudo-karaoke. I sang Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know (the non-radio version) and for contrast, Adele's Someone Like You. Truth is that Alanis' attitude about the break-up "did you forget about me, Mr. Duplicity?" seems much more empowering than Adele's whiny "Don't forget me, I beg..." However, Adele's song is way easier to sing. That middle bit of Alanis's song is tongue-twisty. At that point my friends were fading fast and we headed home before the clock struck 10 PM. Damn, we're getting old. 

An aside, one of the karaoke versions of You Oughta Know on YouTube has the most fabulous mondegreen in it:  "It's not fair / to deny me / the cross-eyed bear that you gave to me..." 

Cross-eyed bears make me smile.