I Guess It's OK To Break a Heart as Long as It Belongs to a Fat Person

My heart is breaking although the resentment I am feeling, along with the grief, seems to be acting as a type of psychological glue that is preventing too much pain. Oprah, whom I used to really admire, has ascribed to and promoted an idea I find morally and personally repugnant - the open advocacy of total selfishness and egocentric rudeness, in other words prejudice, in order to keep the pounds from piling back on. Shame on her! It is not the fault of fat people that those too weak to manage their own weight are looking for a scapegoat for their "problem."

I will hope the online news report I read is somehow wrong, but something inside me hints strongly it is likely accurate: Oprah is now advocating refusing to look at fat people in order to maintain or lose weight. Who over the age of thirty or forty doesn't recall the "think yourself thin" fads that have been around for such a long time? Apparently Oprah, although into her fifties, has no memory of those fads for weight loss that were bandied about all those years ago. They were unmitigated claptrap and unsubstantiated tripe then, too.

As I think more about it I am really beginning to feel sorry for anyone who is so desperate to be "perfect" that they are willing to treat another human being so rudely, in public, and wholly without conscience. Your problems are not with weight loss, people. Your problems are selfishness, a total lack or sense of genuine courtesy and compassion, the need to blame someone else for personal problems you alone control or can overcome, and a willingness to indulge in what is rapidly becoming the prejudicial treatment of a newly targeted group of people who are noticeably "different" because the skin they are in contains pounds of fat instead of melanin.

Again, (and again and again and again) shame on you!

An Open Letter to Britney Spears

Since I do not know you at all, I am not certain just how to address this note but I will do the best I can.

Dear Britney (although I wonder if you would not prefer "Ms. Spears"),

Watching your life unfold in vivid color - terminologically as well as photographically - has helped me understand a little more about the life of a celebrity but has also given me more information on that subject than I had ever wished for. It is a horror show.

One thing, though, that has come about is a wish on my part to somehow, if at all possible, help you. I do not know what form such help could possibly take under present circumstances other than this letter, which I did not mail to your hospital or fan site because I knew it was even less likely you would ever see it than if I published it here. The reasons for this are because of the realization that your mail, your calls, in fact everything that would help connect you to reality, as in "the outside world," is being strictly and desperately controlled by those who have a serious financial interest in your continued success, if not as a pop icon then as fodder for the tabloids, and who will go to great lengths to protect their investment. You are, perhaps, one of the most pathetically and cruelly imprisoned people on the face of this earth and all at the hands of your own success and celebrity. I feel as if I could cry for you, yet I also realize the extent of privilege you are able to command and enjoy despite your present problems and difficulties, so the tears do not come quite as readily as, perhaps, they should for one so young and so troubled.

I wondered, before I decided to write this, just what it was someone such as yourself might need to hear; what would mean the most to you right now to know that a complete stranger was wondering or thinking that might actually help you get your thoughts and emotions back under control? You have been cruelly used and abused by the "men" in your life. I have been very fortunate to have never had to face such treatment but then, I think, it may be because I have never really sought out men who would so willingly mistreat another human being to be my partner. If you can manage to get through this truly horrendous time in your life I hope you are able to chalk it up as a very difficult lesson well learned. Whatever your faults and failings, whatever your past or future mistakes, you are as human as the rest of us and, if only on that level, deserve to be loved and to be able to love those who will not want to abuse or use you, although such things sometimes occur even in the best of relationships.

Britney, you have so much to hold on to, so much to be grateful for - you have two beautiful sons! I have not been able to have any children for a variety of reasons, and am now too old to likely produce healthy children or live to see them grow up, and am too selfish in my middle age to want to give life to a child who would have a mother the age a grandmother usually is. You do not have that situation to contend with, you have had your lovely babies while you are young enough to fully enjoy their lives with them. I admit a part of me envies you for that! What handsome little boys, Britney. Hold onto them and the thought of them. Just knowing they live in this world can be such a safety net for you while going through all of this. Try not to worry that you are letting them down right now, you have a long, long time to make it up to them later. Take care of your own needs for the moment and trust your family to love your children as they loved you when you were their age. Your babies will be taken care of during this time - they will be safe - what you need to tend to is your own health and getting your own life back on track - with or without the fame - in order to be all you can be for your sons.

Also, it occurs to me that it may be almost impossible for you to tell just who you can trust right now. Unless there are some very obvious reasons not to trust your doctors, I would advise trusting them. As medical professionals they have a vested interest in seeing you recover and heal. That is their job, so unless one of them splashes your troubles all over some tabloid's front pages, trust them.

Another place you may be able to find some of the love and support you need right now is among those people who were your friends before you became the industry of "Britney Spears." If you were able to trust them before you became famous they would not be such a bad place to start looking for true friends right now. That is, if that is what you want. The same advice holds true for your family. Whether you feel like you can get along with them or not, your family will always be there as your family; dysfunctional, estranged, whatever their faults, they are still and will always be, your family. Turn to them as much as you can, at least they are a known quantity in all of this strangeness you are going through right now.

You also need to learn to live alone, as your own person, before you try to find another companion. For this you have to allow yourself to mature some more. I know it may sound strange but you will still find, if you are honest with yourself, that you are still growing as a person and that you will continue to grow and mature for many years yet to come. I am forty-eight and still learning, still discovering, still changing, still growing as an individual. Nothing will ever convince me that a young woman in her early twenties has finished growing because the growth and maturing never end; it never stops. Remember this and be kind to yourself when you do not live up to your own, or other peoples', expectations. Give yourself some of the same patience and acceptance you give your children by understanding that you are still a work in progress and deserve the same sort of time and patience you give to those you, yourself, love.

Most of all, Britney, do not despair. As hard and horrid as this time is for you now, you can survive, you can heal, you can conquer your demons and win this battle. Give yourself a chance; cry your tears, get angry and then express that anger, take the bastards to court, do whatever it takes, but get yourself well again.

I truly hope your mother is able to be at your side, that your little boys stay well while you are fighting this pain and illness, and that those you have been able to trust in the past - before you were a "pop icon" - come through for you now. If none of that is there for you Britney, know that you have at least one person whose concern is genuine, as far as it is able to be, and that I hope very sincerely that you recover from all of this and triumph.

Izzlebug

Why Do We Need a Black History Month?

Today MSN had a poll that declared that, of those answering the question as stated above, America is largely ambivalent as regards Black History Month. That made me angry.

For more years than our nation has existed as such, an entire race of individuals was enslaved and abused in every way possible according to the powers of human invention. They were torn from their families, torn from their native lands, torn from every possible semblance of a the only life they knew, to be forced to do the work their "masters" did not want to be bothered with having to accommodate in any other, more inconvenient, way.

Deprived of their personhood, their ability to live and move in freedom, they were used and abused sexually as well as physically, bred like cattle, and deprived of their children when the whim pleased the "owners" to either do in or sell the offspring, probably as future breeding stock. Treated with less regard than other farm animals, these people were the brunt of the absolute worst behaviors and deprevations of the human soul, yet they survived, not because they were valued by the stronger people they were imprisoned by, but because they recovered enough from the shock of what was being done to them to rediscover themselves and something of their lives prior to having been dehumanized by the persons who needed them to succeed financially and to feel that they were, indeed, somehow "superior" to those they mistreated and looked down upon and so shamefully abused.

Although things very gradually, and by very little margin, improved after these people were "set free" by the laws of our land, there were still those who saw fit to murder them to "keep them in their place" and who took it upon themselves to openly and viciously disobey the laws of this nation, who considered themselves a "higher law," as they continued to mistreat the descendants of the original slaves forceably brought to these shores, shores that the Pilgrims and others had found such a haven of hope not long before. There was no hope here for the "black" men from those strange and foreign soils who, because they were unlike the European "us," were seen as less than human simply because their skins were darker and their lives were lived on a materially simpler plain than those who saw dollar signs from Heaven, as it were, when they looked into the future of trading human flesh in the form of slaves as an economic boone. In this the European traders followed in the footsteps of all of the more "primitive" cultures that had given their own cultures naissance.

During the Civil Rights era of United States history, all of the worst, as well as some of the best, in each of those of us who have any memory of that time came out; was brought to a sad and belated fruition. The nation screamed to a halt due to the action of one, simple woman, Rosa Parks, taking a seat on a bus because she was so tired she no longer cared if the white men killed her for doing so. A woman sits down on a bus, refuses to get up, and an entire nation falls apart; who knew things were so fragile? It was also during this time I was growing up - white and privileged - and can recall the concern of my parents about whether it was safe or not to take us into our nation's capitol to see the Lincoln Memorial or the Washington Monument because of the rioting and demonstrations that had been taking place. I recall their concern but never heard a word from them against what was happening; not one word against the African American population who were, finally, asserting themselves in the absence of the true freedom which they had never been fully allowed to participate in, not only by those actually involved in the protesting but by the justice deprived generations of their families.

It may never have been explicitly stated to me while I was a child but the message of my parents was clear, these were people who had been wrongfully enslaved, horribly abused, shockingly deprived, who were now finding their voices and their strength and were finally fighting back against the ignorance, the political and economic expedients, that had continued to enslave them through unfair and grossly unjust laws. Through the shame of illegal arrest and enslavement in chain gangs, through segregation in all possible public venues, through tacitly and implicitly approved murderous behavior by the "white" people who deliberately involved themselves and their children in vicious, hate-filled groups, and despite those who willingly lynched men, women and children simply because the color of their skins set them apart from the pale and cancerous, these people survived. They survived those whose ignorance and political maleability kept them seeking affirmation of an imagined superiority through such actions and vile deeds. These strangers to our shores who were no longer truly strangers, these displaced, brave, courageous and persevering people, these sorely mistreated human beings whose intelligence and hearts could no longer absorb the shame and pain of the collective whole of white society, who could no longer tolerate the unjust and illegal behaviors and attitudes of the citizens of these United Sates, who could no longer keep themselves from crying out for freedom and equality; these were people whose cause and war were truly just.

Even today the repurcussions of that time, that shamefully glaring part of our national history, can be felt. The last lynching of a black man, who was only nineteen years old when he was so brutally murdered, took place within the lifetimes of a large portion of this nation's current population. The death of a defenseless man who was tied to the bumper of a truck and then dragged for several miles by the white men who overpowered and then murdered him took place only a few short years ago. The dearth of men and women of color in state and national politics, business, the entertainment industries, the upper eschelon professions, is slowly changing but the tide is still, somehow, against them.

Sadly, it is even sometimes due to the "bad apples" every cultural, religious, social, and professional group must contend with in their own ranks, that has caused some of these road blocks; these hamperings of financial and educational success. In a group previously, yet sometimes still, shackled such individuals can cause even more damage than others because the lesser number of individuals seems to increase the magnification the entire group is seen under by the whole of society. Black people calling one another "nigger," crime lords and drug runners portrayed as predominantly black even within the film and artistic endeavors of other African Americans, do not elevate the whole of the group or the whole of society. Divisions, religious and otherwise, also do not enhance the perception of the group as a whole. Every time an African American person is portrayed as a criminal, a prostitute, a child killer, a molester, a rapist, a thief, a gang member, a huckster, or a scam artist, it lessens the whole and demeans those who do not deserve to be demeaned.

So, you tell me now, do we need a Black History Month? I think every leap year being set aside for the study and pursuit of all things African American might still be too little under the circumstances.

In Memoriam: Anne Hessler Smith, 1932 - 2001

Six Years

It seems like a lifetime;
Eons ago that we last spoke,
Last hugged,
Last said our final “I love you.”
Is six a magic number,
Or am I merely “healing,”
However unwillingly?
Your face still lives in my mind.
Your love is still very much alive
In my heart,
But where are you now, Mom?
Each relentless year seems to stretch us
Just that little bit further apart.
My hand still reaches for yours
But the distance of time seems
To have left us only the
Whisper of our fingertips as they
Pass in the foggy realm of
Ethereal spirit and eternal love.
You, who gave me life,
Who fought for all of those hours,
Ridding your body of my weight,
My quickening kicks,
My little nudges and reminders
Of the life you helped create
And carried for a lifetime,
Are no longer before me
In a physical sense,
Yet you are always there.
But where is “there,” Mom?
Six years, and a lifetime of joy and pain
Seems more distant than it should.
Is this the death of Death
Or just a merely human quirk?
I still long to hold your hand
But the tears are taking longer to gather,
Longer to fall,
I do not like to think that someday
They may no longer be there for you at all.
Your hum as I leaned against your side,
The quiet lullaby that belonged only to you and me,
The confidences whispered into still nights and cozy hugs
Still haunt my mind.
My heart knows you like the back of my own hand
It’s my mind that is seemingly
Suddenly blind.
Heart to heart and
Life to life;
Mother and daughter
Inseparable by Death;
Forever together in Life.


Necklace of Tears

I think I will start a collection of tears.
I will string them together
To make a diamond necklace
Of longing and remembrance.
Six years of tears
In various sizes and cuts,
Gleaming with the polish
Of unutterable grief and unspeakable Love.
Faceted by time;
Character carved by emotion,
Flashing lights and shapely stones
Geologically preserved and ready for display.
Only, I will probably still hide them away
In a special box intended only
For the most precious of jewels,
To be opened on occasion
And covetously gazed upon
By the daughter whose love
So generously supplied them
For this purpose.
This precious, rare Jewel,
To be held in trust for those who follow us
A lifetime later,
Who will get to see these fossilized
Emotions in the full glory of beauty they express,
Although both of us will be gone by then
And there will be no more diamond tears, Mom,
For your special necklace.

Another Birthday, Mom

You seem so far and near;
The meager distance of a tear
Trailing down a weathering cheek.
Nature left no options,
We knew you were dying
But then you were so suddenly dead.
There was no time for conversations
About birthdays and other notions.
Not knowing what to do a tear or two
Is shed in honor of the day
As if you were merely "away."
Perhaps I'll light a candle on a cupcake,
Just in case. You can use
A puff of wind to blow the candle out,
But remember to make a wish first.
As a falling star, you can give me a wish.
It will be like old times, old birthdays.
We will spend the day together,
Heart in heart. Two souls entwined,
Caressing my face pretending to be tears.

And, finally, this one is here just because I think Mom might have really liked it:

Poets' Dreams

Beauty swiftly dissipates
Into realms of
Sleep forgetfulness.
Tears and grief from
Not writing in our sleep epitaph
Lost bits of beauty,
Totaling a great whole.
Salty, flowing rivers course down
Soft and sleepy cheeks as the heart
Struggles to awaken to the call.
Wishing, half-asleep, dreams were
Not as fragile as a mist
Before the strangely chilling breezes
Coursing through the night.
The mind aches dully
As the brain refuses to release
What wakes the heart with beauty
In our sleep.

I Wonder As I Wander...

A psychologist once told me it was her opinion that I was my family's scapegoat; the one who always got blamed for the things that could not be helped in the lives of all of the other family members. To an extent, so was my younger (only) brother, but for very different reasons. This has made me wonder, through the years, if I am too ordinary, as compared to my other siblings, to have been allowed to ever feel special - certainly it would not do to have a convenient scapegoat feeling too above their appointed lot in life - or if I fell into that particular spot within my family for other reasons. I likely will never really be able to fully analyze or understand this particular familial phenomenon, but it does bother me to realize there are others out there, many still just children, who are also being cast into that role by their families; the people who are supposed to be their mainstay of love and support in this world, but who are making their family scapegoat carry a load of guilt and emotional burden never intended for the shoulders of any one person merely to give a convenient emotional palliative to other, more selfish and stronger members of their particular group who do not want to carry the burden of their own failings and troubles themselves.

I also am bothered by the fact that those families, much as my own, may have no clue that they are even indulging themselves in this behavior. Due to my proximate relationship to this particular psychological state, I like to think that all of those thusly chosen are more extraordinary than those doing everything in their power to keep them down and out. I also like to feel that the emotional scarring from such an experience is something that can heal so completely that it will no longer effect relationships and attempts to gain success for those who, realizing what has been going on, do their utmost to step beyond such things and go on with their lives unmolested.

I am no longer willing to bear this role in life and to any of those who may still feel free to treat me as such I wish them a hearty and heart-felt "Go to Hell!" Not very nice of me, but then, neither are the persons who indulge themselves in this sort of thing at the expense of others. Neither do I have any desire to become the tormentor; in such a case revenge would not, should not, and could not begin to taste as sweet as the knowledge that the stars of such tormentors burn out fairly quickly while my star is still gaining in its ascendancy. I admit not too many people find fame and fortune in their later years, but some have succeeded in late life, none the less, so there is still time for me.

I remember the first altercation I had after I learned of this "situation." One of my siblings decided I had interfered in a "conversation" (read that as an escalating yelling match with threats of physical harm being made) and slugged me on the side of the head as they grabbed a handful of my hair. The look of surprise and alarm that appeared upon the face of my attacker as I slugged and pulled back still remains in my memory. It was the point I started refusing to bear those types of burdens any longer and it deserved that response of surprise and alarm; the scapegoat was finally fighting back and it was going to send that comfortable little portion of the rest of the family's psyche spinning permanently out of control. My imprisonment was over, the war was joined and I was determined to win the battle as well as the war. Freedom and victory for scapegoats!

It needs to be pointed out that this is not a case of being unloved by those who torment, and is probably not a case of conscious abuse or choice. I am under the impression that it occurs on a subconscious level within family groups and stems from the fact that we, as humans, tend to yell at someone we love because something has gone very wrong in our lives even though it has little or nothing to do with the one upon whom we are venting our ire and frustrations. Not being a psychologist, I am only guessing about all of this, but I do know it is something that can be absolutely soul destroying for the one being victimized and that it is not a very healthy way of dealing with things, especially in the long term, in general. For those of you out there who may recognize yourself in these words - get some help from someone knowledgeable about these things and break free! Find your wings and then use them! There is an entire life out there waiting for you and only you can form it and live it. In this way we are all unique - if you do not take your life and live it, your songs will never be heard, your victories left crumbling in the dust of time, never to be recognized or won.

This all does not automatically assure the person breaking free of any great or unusually fabulous, breathtaking success or victory, but it does feel good to realize you are not as rotten as you've always been made to feel and that you are also not such a failure. I have won many victories in my life that may not seem like much to anyone else but that mean the world to me. Others may ho-hum and shrug off my accomplishments, but they are mine and I will celebrate them even if no one else is so inclined. My successes have been hard won, often with severe resistence and little support from family and friends, but I have managed them anyway. Whether the world ever sees my modest gains for the huge victories they are for me, that is the world's problem. I am celebrating and will continue to strive because I have found someone and something worth putting myself into the struggle for - myself and my life. Just as I continue to write whether I have any group of sycophantics urging me on or not, I will continue to fight and live despite the nay-sayers and critics; despite the negative comments and refusals to grant any time, attention, or accolades to me for what I have managed to win despite them and their considerably negative and indifferent attitudes.

I love my family and I know they love me; I also know we are all merely human and, whether they placed me in that position by choice or by some sad, subconscious psychological need, the position they placed me in is now vacated. They must carry the crap of their lives themselves or find another scapegoat. I vote for their developing the mental, moral and emotional muscle they need to carry it themselves, but as a former scapegoat, I doubt my opinion will hold much sway. Too bad, the world would be a much nicer place if we could all stop blaming one another for the failings that merely come with the package and were willing to pick ourselves up and go on without the need for the emotional release of scapegoating.