Mini-Me Strikes Again

I know that I should not be surprised to discover that my daughter turns more and more into me every day of her life, but I am. Perhaps what makes my heart glow is that as I watch her navigate high school - the very high school I once navigated - I note that she does so with such grace and aplomb. She is, in fact, me - but the me from my adult years and not the me of high school - and what a wonderful thing. Really. I do not hold many fond memories of high school; the ones that were good were great, like first kisses and a ton of band stuff and some good friends I made, but on the whole, it was confusing and stressful and full of self-loathing for me. I was insecure about everything and that often led to bad decisions, some of which remain irreparable. But Sami - I watch her in awe because at 15 she is more sure of who she is and her place in the world than perhaps I am, even at 37. No one pushes her around; no one judges her because she refuses to accept judgment from those she does not respect and love; boyfriends who don't make the grade get dumped quickly; her best friends are her second family and she could trust them with her life; and she does not even flinch at talking to someone else about a problem or issue that makes her entirely vulnerable as long as she trusts that person. And she trusts a great many people, some of whom are my friends (read: old enough to be her mother). She is open and honest and shockingly frank at times and I simply love it. She isn't necessarily forthcoming, but if I ask the question, she'll answer it, even if it's about sex or drugs or drinking.

Most of all, I smile at these things because I know she'll be okay no matter what. She's already solved so much angst that took me decades to negotiate that I know she won't suffer some of the same heartaches that I did. She'll have her own because life is like that, but I don't worry about her getting into an abusive relationship, for example, because she'd never make the kind of up-front compromises that other women do who find themselves in one down the road. She liked this guy for a while she just called "hot guy," but when she finally got to talk to him over MySpace, she found out he was not only self-involved but "kinda dumb" and she just stopped talking to him. All of this was discovered in about three email messages. Ha. I know she adores her good friend Josh, but after he broke up with her to go out with "a skank," she will no longer entertain the idea of going out with him, but she'll be his friend and regularly remind him in his woes with new girlfriend how foolish a decision it was to not stay with her. And she is clearly fine with it. Her mind is made up. He can do nothing now to return to her good graces except in the friend department. And they are good friends. I appreciate a girl with those kinds of boundaries, because it makes the people in her life have to match her and when that happens, one achieves lasting and meaningful friendships.

In many ways, I believe she came into this world with her personality and so I cannot take more than a small percentage of credit for how she is turning out, but the more I know her the more I feel certain that I can and am a decent parent to this determined soul I've been given watch over. I often suspect that had my own relationship with my parents been anywhere near as fruitful or understanding, I would have become the person I am now much earlier. But I forgive them sometimes for being young souls and not knowing any better than the life they accepted for themselves and still do. They never made any attempt to understand me and rather remained baffled by my lack of conformity to their ideas of the world and criticized it and they still do. I wonder what my life would have been like if either of them ever just listened to what I had to say, or if either of them decided to just be a cheerleader for whatever I liked at the time, whether they "got it" or not. Perhaps they would have been happier people.

Bummer

It's a job interview. One guy is interviewing for a campus ministry at CSU. In my head, at least, they're gay and their love is denied and tragic.

I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve; I have a history of losing my shirt

Daz Bog again. I am proud to say that I got up early, walked my ass down here and parked it to work on my dissertation introduction, which I have - quite remarkably - actually accomplished. I am uncertain what it is about being at home that prevents me from this one task, but it seems I can write on this project anywhere but there. Yesterday I was quite prolific despite being in the ACC commons with a gaggle of middle eastern students talking loudly (if I were better at knowing the subtleties of the languages of the region of the world, I would address them more appropriately) and watching some version of American Idol that was not American. In many ways, I am thankful for the large number of non-English speakers at ACC because it allows me to entirely tune them out. I cannot understand a word and therefore no temptation to eavesdrop exists there.

Alternatively, however, here at Daz Bog in Northglenn, everyone's middle class white and English-speaking. Like the two nondescript guys sitting across from me on sofas who just met here and had not met before because there was no recognition and a follow-up with "are you...[the person I'm waiting for]?" In between the steam of the cappuccino machine and the whir of the blenders, I cannot help listening to them. I can't establish the purpose of their meeting, but so far they've talked about nothing but their Christianity. It's like an AA meeting, "I was rebellious, acting out, .... and I called myself a Christian, but I was driving down the highway and realized that I wasn't living a Christian life." Sigh. And here I was hoping they were gay men who met on some tawdry website last night and thought they'd try to hide the fact that they're just hooking up by doing it in some innocuous burb coffee shop. Or why can't one of them be an Amway salesman? Perhaps I could tell myself that they ARE gay men, meeting to talk about the love of Christ so they can either (a) decide how they can be gay and Christian at the same time, or (b) how they can hide this fact from their families and churches. Or how they will stage a protest...

Why do all devout Christians use the same tired words and catch-phrases: "I handed my life over to Jesus." "I was washed in the blood of Jesus." "I was born again." Blah. I might be more interested if it didn't all sound like the same set of brainwashing phrases designed to make people feel better about their own lousy decisions. What if Jesus doesn't want to run your life for you? What if God gave you a brain so that you would use it and stop bothering him with every little thing? I always imagined that God had better things to do than worry about me and whether or not I keep that pen from the bank or give it back. Whether or not Jamison and I have sex without a piece of paper that sanctifies our relationship. Whether or not I choose to say 'goddammit' or 'gosh-darnit' - and if I choose the latter, isn't it really because I MEAN to say the former? What's the difference between intent and vocalization if God's inside my head?

Now they're watching a video that is so loud I can hear every word. I am tempted to ask them to turn it down - does that make me a bitch?

At any rate, I'm writing simply to keep the writing going. Now that I've done that, I'm going back to the real writing, which is my introduction. I'm on page 22, and that's saying something.