Freedom of Voice

"Marco!" "Polo!" "Dada!" "Marco!" "Polo!" "Dada! Dada!" "Marco!" "Polo!" <insert baby wailing> These might irritate some, including me, on a relaxing day poolside. Not today. These are the sounds of life, our future. When my own children were young, I vowed not to be one of those curmudgeony old people who hate the sound of children--all their sounds.  Whether they are laughing, crying, repeating the same word/phrase, talking non-stop, or whining, children are precious beings, finding their voices in all forms, learning their places in the world. Let me never fail to embrace this miracle.

Sun rays slice through stucco and glass, swords of light extending from the fiery orb, while white puffs billow against the powder blue sky. The strong breeze moves the spiky branches of the palms, while low-flying planes buzz  by. My special window to the world on this perfect day.

I am aware I am blessed with physical comforts, emotional health, financial stability. In creeps the guilt, eating away at the gratitude,  taking up residence in my gut. I am aware of the suffering of others-- physical ailments, mental illnesses, financial issues.  The mother and grandmother whose body is giving up on her  before her spirit is ready. The husband, father, and grandfather who cares for her, his spirit dwindling before his body is ready. The sisters, daughters, and mothers who strain under the pressures of life, holding on to that single thread that seems to be holding it all together.  The homeless men at the interstate exit, begging for spare change,  at the mercy of the generosity of others. It doesn't matter how any of them got there. They are suffering,  and I don't have the answers. 

I am so uncomfortable when people credit me with things I really don't deserve credit for. A former student's mother who often checked me out at Publix: "My son would have never graduated without you." Yes, yes, he would have. Most recently, one of my dearest friends giving me credit for helping her son get into a local college. Nope. Didn't help. HE did it. He just did it in his own time. The only thing I did is ask him some questions 6 months ago when she sent him in for a "come to Jesus" talk with good ole Ms. Annmarie, head mistress of the School of Hard Knocks. But, he took the steps to make it happen. I just gave the kid an outline. He filled in all the Roman numerals. I am a firm believer that people do things in their own time. As a non-traditional college student myself, I appreciate that not everyone follows the graduate-from-high-school-then-go-directly-to-a-4-year-university prescription. And, many of those renegades grow up to be...

Scrolling through my old posts, I came across one called "The Anti-Linear Life."   The timing could not have been better; this is a message I need to re-visit given some uncertainties I'm facing at the moment. The list of synonyms I included at the end, along with some conversations with friends and family and posts from a fellow writer,  inspired this poem. The Ride Weaving in and out of security and uncertainty like a crazed driver zigzagging to avoid the other cars creeping along, their drivers not seeming to know where they are headed or how to get there. Veering with outwardly sinuous grace through doubt while inside the devious seas are rough, tossing the ship in a dizzying spiral, its panicked passengers praying to plant their feet on solid ground once more. Swirling emotions take over calm and reason like the nauseating loops and twists of a high-speed roller coaster, its riders dreading the inevitable corkscrew of ups and downs but having no escape....

Our dog has a weird name: Semi. At first, the kids and I settled on Simi after a football player on the Tampa Bay Bucs--until John pointed out that he may not be with the Bucs for long. But, we were already calling him that, and he was responding. People mentioned all the time that he looked like a fox, so we swapped an "i" for an "e," and started calling him Semi, half dog/half fox. Hey, at least it's original. But, we didn't stop there. Over the years, Semi got many endearing nicknames: Semi, Semi Cocoa Puff Sir Sem-a-lot Sema-lem-a-ding-dong Dr. Semi Sem-Sem Semenator I'm sure there are more. Just like we use terms of endearment for beloved family members, we have an ever-growing list of pet names for Semi. This dog has been a cherished part of the Ferry family for 13 years. He's suffered through a pitbull tearing him in two, saved only by AJ's quick thinking, and his thyroid bottoming out. Other than a few minor mishaps, he has be...

Why is it so hard to let go?  read the text from a friend whose eldest just pushed the "send" button for an application to a university 4 hours away. That's the million dollar question. It gets easier,  I answered. Lame. So, I added: Just trust that he will make good decisions and learn from the rare bad ones.  Trust. Why is so hard to trust? That is the real million dollar question. We bring them into the world, attending to their every need at first, then gradually begin giving them more and more responsibility and freedom. It's all training for this moment--for them. But, where is the training for us? I am no parenting expert. In fact, I've experienced plenty of epic fails as a mother--those not-so-proud mom moments when I wished life had a rewind button. But, I can speak with some expertise on transitioning children from dependence to independence. I've (successfully, so far) done it twice. I always jokingly asked this of myself: Would you rather...