This evening, like many other parents in my area, I am going to Meet the Teacher. Unlike some, but surely not all, I am going toe to toe with my childhood nemesis.
It took over a year for me to process the fact that my child's kindergarten teacher was a woman who had made my life miserable in highland fling, brownies and grade 2. I'll admit, I am not sure it was her that taught the highland fling.
I had seen her at school the previous year but did not recognize her from those early days of animosity.
There were other teachers in my childhood that I did not always get along with but usually it all ended in some kind of mutual respect and tolerance.
I was not an easy child. But most grown ups got past that-not this one. We butted heads upon every meeting and never came to a truce.
Now I am about to step to with her again.
Hannah has been coming home spouting religious platitudes. --"The Lord gave us apples." -"No Hannah, the Lord did not give us apples. The farmers hard work and mommy's money at the store gave you apples."
I detest having my child's head filled with religious tripe. Believe if you wish but keep your myths away from my child.
If we are to designate ourselves as any religion it would be Buddhist and until the teacher includes the Lord Buddha in her praise for earthly delights I must insist she keep her comments to herself.
I am sure this will not be the only time I will come up against the cross; after all I do live in North America, but it will, by times, be difficult to live in a Christian country as a non-Christian.
My first day with only one child in tow, lovely, sunny and breezy. Time for a photo tour of my fair village.
The DesBarres Manor is across from our house. It's a Luxury 10 bed Manor house, now open as an upscale Inn. Kitty Corner to us is The Old Court House Museum. I worked there the summer I graduated from High School. I was constantly warned off fornicating in the little bed in the exhibit room by a matronly lady that I worked with.
Atheist that I am, I live smack dab between two churches. The Catholic Church is to the right and the United to the left. As a child I did attend the United Church. The Catholic Church is currently served by a minister from Nigeria (i think). It has taken some time but I think the natives have gotten used to him. In my younger days there was a priest here whose name was father Huntley but he was called Father Hunky behind his back. I am sure many young women went to Mass in those days hoping to lure him away from the cloth.
Somehow, I have lost the picture I took of the United church, but here is the lovely deadwood beside it. And next to the United Church is the Mason's Lodge. Lord knows what goes on there, but they have a lovely new sign this week. Thought I would feature it here.
Next we are going on down the hill to the Wonder Store. This building used to be a creaky old wooden structure painted an amazing red. As kids we occasionally collected bottles off the roadside and went for a trash run to the Wonder Store; it was wondrous.
Across from the Wonder Store in the Old Firehouse, which is now the Mulgrave Road Co-op Theater Company. As a child we held kindergarten and 4-H in the second story of this building which was the fire hall. I have great memories of black out blinds and macaroni crafts loaded with glue.
Next up, or I should say down, is the waterfront. This is the place where we have our Farmer's Market and Ceilidhs in the summer. The Marina is just behind this building. It's a favorite spot for graduation pics. The Boat launch, is also where the swim portion of the Guysborough Triathlon is held. Suki and I watched the swimmers this year and clapped for them all when they pulled themselves out of the harbour.
Today we spotted this lovely morning glory poking out along the shore near the marina. Next stop, our local paper. This is a weekly publication which I think stays afloat on the patronage boat. I'm not complaining. I love having the paper here in town- just one more little check mark on our cultural score card.
Up the hill, and we spot a lovely woodpile. A little further and we get to Christ Church. I can only remember going into this church once; for my Great Grandmother Laura Dort's funeral. I was about 7 years old. The Church has a great old grave yard in the back and I often let the kids go running around in there. I am sure the sound of the children will lift some of the spirits lurking therein.
Past a few more buildings and almost home.
My neighbors, have a lovely house behind ours. Today I discovered that they also have an amazing peach tree and a very cute doorbell. And that is our morning tour of my little spot in the universe. Hope you enjoyed it.
One of the perks of working early in the morning is getting up to see the summer sun blaze up from the Harbour over my back yard. They say you can't go home again but I am happier here than I ever would have dreamed: a quick trip to the beach, a 10 minute walk around town running errands, and family close by. I like knowing the people who pump gas on the island next to me, waving to people as they drive by my house, having picnics in the front yard, and chatting to townsfolk at the supermarket. This is the smallest of small town life but it suits me surprisingly well. I miss Bangkok, Rome, Taipei, and Tokyo- but for right now this is the right place for me.
Kindly ask me for more time, forgiveness, distance to what audience is this directed Mr. Kwame of the inevitable hard luck in Nigeria a black man waiting for my impossible return to his bed the current set of lives so dependent on my own or an unimagined future other Myself, reincarnated, unfurled, nearing the final insignificance each asking me for more- weighing me down with their psychological proximity i erase you all with piercing prose and start a new page.
I recently read a book with the promising title - Single State of the Union: single women speak out on life, love and the pursuit of happiness. I am always looking for a book that will examine the lives of women in a similar situation as I find myself in; single mother with no designs on a permanent attachment. But low and behold, the book was filled with tales of the single life by women who had pulled out of the solo flight plan and were now happily ensconced in the forever after with some male life form.
I don't feel that being part of a couple is a good or bad thing- I would just like to hear a few voices of single, successful and content women.
I once had a friend that had many short term, dramatic and exciting affairs. She never got too worked up about any one man and was carefree and happy in between their comings and goings into and out of her life. I could not imagine being satisfied with such an unsettled, uncommitted life, but now I see I have made my own stability and am committed to myself and my children.
Men may come and go- I enjoy the moment and then move on and return to my own life after a brief and stimulating departure. I need the break I get away from motherhood that men bring into my life but I need the freedom to be me that being single allows. I am not very good at compromise and can't imagine another person in my family's life being anything other than a visitor.
Having said all that; I met a man yesterday and am thinking of how I can get his phone number.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
I recently heard a radio report from a mother whose daughter just left for university. She was feeling depressed because her daughter was starting off on a new adventure in life and she was now left to finish off her life with no foreseeable adventures in her future. This shocked me. What was this woman thinking? Why was it that when her children flew the coop , that she did not think she could do the same?
When my children leave home- I will be leaving too!! I will get back my more adventurous live that I have forfeited while my children grow up. I know many mothers worry about the empty nest- all I can think about is how I will regain my singular freedom. That is not to say that I begrudge my children the restrictions they place on my life. I wanted them, and want to keep them safe and am unwilling to take the risks I used to take while they are still young. But in the back of my mind I am also waiting for the day when they take flight so I can too.
“I don’t know why those people are complaining. They got an education. They would have nothing if those schools hadn’t taken them.” This was a comment I was recently treated to while discussing the fact that the Nunavut Territorial Government was not as successful an experiment as had been hoped when the territory was promulgated in 1997. I believe that so many of the people who were meant to administer the “self-government” did not have the educational background to do an adequate job. Hence the above comment that those that got education in residential schools should count themselves lucky.
Well, to the best of my knowledge most kids in middle and high school do not appreciate the educational opportunities they have been afforded. How could the native peoples of Canada be expected to appreciate their educational experience when it was accompanied by sodomy, beatings and cultural annihilation?
What people fail to realize is that even though the residential schools have not been in operation for years, the abuse that occurred there has been passed on from one generation to another like a maladaptive gene. Abuse begets abuse. The scars on the grandparents’ hearts manifest themselves in the often abusive lives lead by their children. It takes a great deal of work to break this cycle and very few people can. When they do, it is a personal triumph but in this case an entire class of people have been affected and a few success stories don’t attract attention away from the general trend.
This issue may be of concern to many Canadians no matter their ethnicity. But for me, I have always taken a special interest in Native problems. My Great Great Grandmother was Iroquois. I never met her and saw but a few pictures of her, but her Indianess is writ large in my mythology of the clan.
