Who's Your Daddy?

Ramble On

San Francisco/1970

There are times, scant readers-of-mine, when the madness takes hold. I am currently riding that wave. I seem fully functional. Inside my head is something else altogether. The world's never-ending woes are taking their toll. The only answers appear to be medication or distraction, or both. I know that works for many. That's great. Neither is an option. I can't help but pay attention-it's what I do. The price for this fatal flaw is high. Yesterday I came home from work and wailed. So much to shed tears over. Mother Earth's demise, soul-less leaders in charge of our destinies, an election that seems like a total joke. (already) So many kids learning all the WRONG things, alleged adults making babies they could care less about, babies who grow up-only to die in a war that benefits... whom? More homelessness and poverty every day, Guns and more guns... and so on. The clincher? People are fed-up, and getting angrier all the time. But where is the absolute outrage? Especially in the younger generations-it's spooky. I was already angry, at 14!(Are you surprised?) I worked for the Student Mobilization Committee, a branch of the National Peace Action Coalition/N.P.A.C. My junior high school pal (We are still friends!) and I would ride the cable car, then the streetcar downtown and work in the offices at Oak St. and Van Ness Ave. We made calls, typed mailing labels, and handed out flyers downtown. We helped to organize several anti-war protests in San Francisco. "Back in the Day"(1971-72) I still recall the passion I felt. It was instinctive, to take action and work hard to end the war. Because the future was ours, and we knew it. Do our kids know? They need to. As for the older generations, why are we so complacent? What the hell has happened to us? Different priorities, I guess. And apathy. And shopping. Revolutionary thoughts are so time-consuming!


Then there are my personal traumas. I try and avoid most of that here. It's just not comfy, sharing my darkest inner dialogs with anyone but a shrink! But that's just me. How's this for timing... my youngest (15) is at the height of adolescent maternal disdain. Meanwhile, I'm discovering peri-menopause. (It sounds so perky.) We make quite the pair. My poor man. He handles it marvelously, by either laying low or diplomatically stepping-in to calm us down! He's good like that. Oh, how I miss my own mom, these days. It's coming up on thirty years since her death, but memories of our own rocky years together have been showing up to haunt me. Funny how raising kids does that. Reminds us of who we were, and how we may well have hurt our parentals. Not because we wanted to, just because. I keep reminding myself that things shift, and you do get close again. I have watched it occur twice, with my grown children. Thankfully.

But this one... she's a live wire. She knows how to cut me-deep. I am reminded of her father, when she does this. She is the (only) child of my second (and final!) husband, and he was a mean bastard. No polite way to put it. He was gone by the time the child was 6 years old, and she barely sees him every few months. And yet, those (persistent) genes come through. So much for nature versus nurture. She has his musical prowess-a gift. But that's the only positive contribution from him I've seen. She also has (size 10) flat feet, scoliosis, and an explosive temper. Throw in some teenage acne and being the tallest (almost 6 feet tall) girl, and she has every right to be pissed-off! The ex has lived in his mother's home for almost 10 years now. Need I say more? So, not a great role model for the poor girl. She knows, and it hurts. Yeah, I picked a winner alright. The difference between my dear mother and me is that I won't give up. I will stick by my girl always, and love her through her dark days. That's how I do it.

So, between the weight of the world and chickens coming home to roost, I am in a bit of a funk today. Just me and some Bootsy. We'll get through it.