When I was a wee lass, my grandma came to stay with our family for what seemed to me to be an extended period of time. It may have been in reality only a week or two, but to my fuzzy childhood memory, it was longer than usual. And yet, it felt excruciatingly too short.
When she stayed with us, it meant there was a smiling, warm face to greet me after an arduous half-day of kindergarten. My loving parents were hard-working Catholic school teachers trying to carve out a meager living, so they dealt with childcare by entrusting us kids with the heavy responsibility. My brothers were tasked with unlocking the door and not burning down the house until my parents returned a couple hours later. But as the youngest, they wisely thought it best I should spend my after-school time with adult supervision. It was arranged for me to stay with a neighbor mom who had a daughter my age. While we lived only two doors down from each other and attended the same school, our families were very different. My “little” playmate was at least twice my size and a physical and emotional brute. Today she’d probably be characterized by that popular buzzword, “bully,” but I didn’t have the vocabulary to articulate it back then. To add insult to injury, this mean girl’s mom was pretty mentally checked out and had a knack for turning a blind eye to her daughter’s mean-spirited mischief. She even mocked me when I complained. So I learned to quietly suffer through those seemingly interminable four hours, day after day.
Continue reading “A Mother For All”
When I was a kid, my mom and dad did not fight often. Though rare, I still remember those instances with crystal clarity. I recall the deep dread. There wasn’t a lot of shouting, but there was a chill that seeped into every room in the house and ultimately it took root within me. How would this shake out? Would they split? I felt angst-ridden and wanted to flee. Yet, where would I go? I had no other home and I didn’t want any other family. I desperately craved harmony but felt helpless as to how to achieve it. I didn’t feel safe until I knew they were once again in accord, which gratefully was generally pretty quick. Except for that time my mom went on strike so my dad would do more around the house. I think that lasted an interminable three days. “Mom, can you iron my school uniform?” “Sorry, honey. Ask your dad. I’m on strike to improve working conditions.” “Huh?” Continue reading “How the Children Suffer”
Another high-profile Hollywood marriage has ended and I have to admit I am disappointed and even a bit saddened by the news. Anna Faris and Chris Pratt, two seemingly likable, even dare I say, humble celebrity “hotties” have unfortunately called it quits. I say unfortunately because over the last eight years I’ve found myself undeniably enchanted by their goofy, lovey-dovey antics on the red carpets of tinsel town. One might even call their out-in-the-open flirting and chemistry swoon-worthy—as they could probably draw sighs from even the most jaded of souls. I have pored over media accounts of their fairytale-like romance with the same intensity as a zoologist who marvels and delights in the birth of an albino gorilla. (Look it up. They exist and are so dang cute.) For as long as I can remember, I have been hooked by the breathtaking love affairs portrayed in the bright lights of the entertainment industry. As wary as I am of Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt’s politics, I was bummed out by the couple’s demise. What went wrong? In fact, I scoured countless “reputable” media outlets trying to extract a hint at what caused their shocking split. It’s embarrassing to admit how much time I pored over articles about Ben Affleck’s affair with the nanny. Why, Ben? Why? And more importantly, why is a celebrity marriage that survives more than 5 years the stuff of unicorns, mermaids, and leprechauns? Continue reading “Of Hollywood Unicorns & the Sanctity of Marriage”