Ghosts of Character Sketches Past

I wonder how long it will take before I am no longer haunted by the ghosts of seminars past. It's been 10 years since I've been out of ATI and I'm still having nightmares. Well, to me they are nightmares.

I woke in tears and a panic around 4am from my ever-evolving recurring dream. This time in the dream I found myself in the house where I began my ATI life (not my parents' current house). My father and Dreamy Eyes were sitting together and instructed me to sit, as it was time for Character Review. I should have known then that it was a dream because Dreamy Eyes has not seen my father since probably 2 years before we were married. But I sat down and began to hear a handful of character qualities that I had shown recently. I got high marks in attentiveness, boldness, enthusiasm, and gratefulness.

That's when things took a frightening turn. Having the positive praises out of the way, the two informed me that they had come together to pray about my lack of submission to either of their God-given authorities, and this was about to change. I would be made to go to the church of their choosing, to sit silently in the baggy clothes that had been selected for me. I would not be allowed to decide my own wardrobe until I learned to show reverence. I would have my car taken away until I could show meekness and orderliness (my real car is quite messy). I would not be permitted to wear jewelry until I learned virtue. I could not use my phone until I learned creativity (THAT'S WHAT PINTEREST IS FOR!). I couldn't tell Dreamy Eyes about my day until HE was finished talking about his day until I learned deference.

I think it's pretty telling that this was instilled into us seeing as I can still list them in my sleep, with punishments, 10 years later.

The dream continued and I rebelled against these rules. I walked everywhere... determination. I dressed myself up without jewelry... flexibility. I climbed out the bathroom window when I should have been getting ready for church and went to a protest instead... justice. And eventually I convinced a bunch of other women to stop the submission lies and come with me... persuasiveness.

Again, even in my sleep, I can still fight in character qualities. I guess it's that whole "train up a child" thing hard at work in my subconscious.

By 5:45 I desperately wanted a few minutes of peaceful sleep, so I gently asked Dreamy Eyes if he was going to the 6am cross fit class so that I could have the whole bed. I like to think I was just helping him show endurance.

I'm Sorry.

"What's going to happen, is going to happen. Just make sure it doesn't happen to you... You know I have no political convictions. Can I help it if other people do?"
"Oh yes you can help it. You MUST help it."

The Sound Of Music has been my favorite musical from the very beginning. It was the first I had seen on stage and the one that has stuck with me throughout my life. It is where I get the song I sing to my girls as we go to bed... "The sun has gone... to bed and so must I..." and they sing it too. I have a draft of a blog written about how much impact this story has had on me, but it was drafted long before the story became so very real again.

If you are like me, you have probably seen the quote by Nelson Mandela posted multiple times that states  "No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin or his background or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite." 

I was taught to hate. 

This doesn't make it excusable. I wish I had seen hatred for what it was so much sooner than I did, but I didn't. 10 years ago I would probably have been alright, if not pleased with the status of this world. Typing that made me cry. But I don't deserve those tears. It's just a feeling. No actual harm done. All that my past does is make me feel bad. It doesn't set me up for harm from others. It doesn't make a crowd march against me. I don't know how that feels. I may never know how that feels. 

I don't like the person I was 10 years ago. I wish so deeply that I could change who I was, but I can't. All I can do is move forward and try to be better every day. From my ATI days I was taught that anyone who was homosexual, let alone transgender, was an abomination and was destined for Hell. I wrote in my then (and I hope future) friend's wedding book that I loved her and her wife, and although I was against homosexuality, I was happy for them. I'm SO sorry. I. was. an. asshole. 

I have written about this before, but I went to a wedding of two amazing men, in New Orleans and enjoyed myself, but suppressed it because I felt that they were sinning and that I would go to Hell if I was happy for them. I looked around NOLA, soon after Katrina, with judgement because I was certain that God had done that damage to cleanse them. I'm sorry! I am so, SO sorry! 

I've also told you before that Bill Gothard, the founder of ATI would send updates to ATI families each month. In his update from April 1997 he writes "Being an exhorter, I tend to overlook the negative and concentrate on the positive. This approach to life gives me continual energy and encouragement. In recent weeks, however, two events have stunned me sufficiently to realize that conditions in our country are far more desperate than I had realized...(The first event is about non-married heterosexual couples living in sin) The second incident also occurred in Chicago. The city council voted to extend medical insurance and other benefits to the live-in partners of sodomite city employees despite the outcry of many community groups. This horrendous decision was announced on the radio the next day along with ridicule for those who opposed it and a closing blasphemous statement: 'God was not available for comment.' The fact is that He has already given comment in both Scripture and history. Whenever a civilization accepts sodomy as a way of life, severe judgements follow." I thought that I was following God by thinking that those who didn't follow His laws (as interpreted by me or my leader) didn't deserve the same rights as I did. I am so sorry. 

Part of standard courtship in the church where I was raised involves the young man asking permission from the lady's father before courting her. I found out that a man from church asked my father if he could court me, and my father said "no". Truly, honestly, I was happy about that because although this guy was kinda cute, he was as preacher boy dull as you can imagine. My father had seemed to like this guy, he got him a job, they prayed together. I asked my father if he said no because the guy was black. My father said yes. I can insert all of the "But I went out with a black guy!" arguments I want, but that still doesn't excuse the racism I was taught and subconsciously practiced. I'm Sorry! 

When I broke out of the cult I found my solace in EMS. I still believe that I have met some of my best friends there. EMS allowed me to meet Dreamy Eyes, and my girls' godmother, both of whom I talk to every day. But being SO desperate to break out of homeschool world, I did fall into the wrong crowd. 

I fell into the crowd of superior white guys who had a hard-on for the power their uniform held. The kind of crowd who thought it was acceptable to abuse a prisoner and say that "he fell".  The kind of crowd who would harass me for introducing myself to a 17 year old detainee because "he didn't deserve to know my name or why I was there".  I used racial slurs of which I am now too ashamed to type. I'm sorry. I thought I fit in by saying these things. I thought these racial slurs were funny because my grandmother thought they were funny. That's no excuse. That's not progress. I HATE that this is part of my past. I'm SO sorry. 

I fell into the crowd of confederate flags and chants at country concerts about how the working man supports the bums. This made me uncomfortable, but I didn't speak up. I'm sorry. 

Working in EMS is difficult when you have to care for the bad guy. It SUCKS when you are the caregiver for the person who you know is responsible for a violent act, such as murder. It hurts, but it's easy to care for the kid who was abused, because you naturally want to. It's easy to take your rage out on "criminals". It's easy to yell at someone who has overdosed AGAIN, and is depleting all of your narcan for "free", and not understand how gripping and overwhelming addiction can be, even when one of your own has succumbed to it. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. 

When I began my EMS career as a homeschooler, I was often teased about how naive I was. After I worked full time in a busy city, this ceased. Over the past year and a half, I have dropped my hours to part time and work enough to pay my rent and bills. This has allowed me several giant steps back. I am sorry that is what it took.

Working 80+ hours a week is exhausting. Being that tired makes it easier to be mad at the mom who calls 911 at 4am because her kid needs tylenol. It seems like such a simple solution to have tylenol on hand for when your kid spikes a fever in the night and can't sleep. It seems like such an easy solution to go to the drug store and buy a $7 bottle of tylenol instead of "selfishly" use an ambulance, hours in a waiting room, and even more in an ER all night just to get treatment for a childhood illness. I'm sorry that that frustrated me. I'm one of the lucky ones. I can buy tylenol. But the way that insurance works in the state where I work, the ambulance bill is covered, the ER visit is covered, and the prescription for tylenol is covered, so it only makes sense to "use the system", because that's what is provided when you can't afford tylenol.

The part of my past that makes me the most ashamed is that I refused to learn any language other than English. If I went to another country, I figured that I would be polite and get a translator app or book so that I could communicate, but I never planned on leaving the USA. Why would I? It's the greatest country on earth, right? I was among those who thought that anyone who came here should learn the language, and that I should not have to learn their foreign language. I followed the lead of the guy I was dating and did not want a foreign language spoken in our house. I was a complete asshole and I utterly loathe that part of myself every time I think about it. I hate that I could ever be like that. Nothing I ever do will make up for how horrible the past version of me was. I wasted so many years being purely hateful when instead I could have been fluent by now. I am working on learning Spanish. I also want to learn French. I would like to visit France someday and would like to understand without an app. But Spanish is what will help me most in my job, and in America in general today. I do the lessons along with my girls so that they will learn as well.  Lo Siento Mucho. 

Note: I have retyped this paragraph several times and have decided to stop trying to justify it and just write it. When I was a child and we drove past the market that said "WIC/EBT accepted" and I asked what it meant, I was told "That's where the drug dealers get milk for their kids". With Dreamy Eyes in school and two babies, we did the math every way that we could in order to be the least "drain on the system", and end up with enough money to pay for rent and bills, but needed State health insurance and WIC. I had quite the negative stereotype before I became the stereotype. None of it is a free handout. They keep a pretty decent watch on your receipts, social media, and wellness checks to make sure it's an honest system. WIC is an outrageously fantastic program and I wish that my family had reached out to them when I was a kid. There are SO many resources for education and healthy lifestyles. There is a breastfeeding support coach who calls me to check in each month. Just because you give birth to a kid doesn't mean that mother suddenly knows best. Having help to balance my kids' diets is literally a lifesaver, and I know that I would have been a MUCH healthier kid if my family had not been hiding from the "system" to cover the abuse that was mandatory in ATI. I don't know how WIC works in all states, but here there are "checks" that have milk, eggs, bread, yogurt, cereal, beans, and produce allotted by the ounce. There are a few items on each check. I learned that I must separate each order by a different check, and often the cashiers are unfamiliar with the ounces I am allowed, or how to use the checks at all. More often than not, this makes for a small scene at the grocery store. There are loud announcements for a manager's assistance for a WIC check. There are long lines behind me and crying twins in my carriage. I am a crazy couponer to the point where I can get 97% off my total. WIC does not accept coupons. I tried! I wanted to be less of "a drain". If you want to know what humility feels like, come shopping with me. I am SO sorry that I ever thought WIC was anything other than very, very needed help. Anyone who is pro-life should automatically be pro-WIC. This is NOT to imply that those women are poor. I am saying that pro-birth is bullshit. I am sure that WIC has saved more lives of children than any planned parenthood protester ever has. 

There is so much of me that I regret. I would like to think that much of this behavior was nurture, and not my nature. I have family members who don't think it's just a given fact that Nazis are bad. I can't believe I even typed that sentence. I don't know how to stop the evil in the world. I do know that I can try, with all that I am, to be kind every day and to be wary of the influences I allow into my life. I thought that I was correct back then, but I knew I wasn't kind. I cannot express, nor say I'm sorry enough. I can't change who I was. I wish I could.  I can only change who I am. And I... am sorry. 

Table For One, Please.

I love going out by myself. I used to go on vacations alone. I plan to do so again once my girls are in college. I love going out to eat alone. Maybe I can "blame" some of this on ATI because they used to teach the girls to go on dates with Jesus until they got married. But I always thought those girls were weird too.

For a short time in my life, when I would see someone out who was eating alone I would feel bad for them. Now I think it's great. That takes an enormous level of not giving a fuck what people think about you. High five, lady who takes advantage of senior discount Tuesday!

This Summer, I am spending an extended period of time with my in-laws so that they can have grandchildren (and super fun daughter-in-law) time whilst Dreamy Eyes is home focusing/ starting his second year of medical school. (Cue the dad and wife tears)

As a small digression, let me also note that I like to eat my feelings. They are not always sadness. Sometimes they are joy, boredom, anger, homesickness, or liberation. But they all taste like cheese and my in-laws happen to live in America's dairy land.

Tonight, on my second to last night before dad and I start our 1000+ mile road trip with the twins and what I'm sure will be another blog, I went out for some of what was promised to be the town's best french onion soup, at the Best Western.
I am no stranger to this joint. I have been here a few times with my mother-in-law's Friday coffee group, who I relate to much more than my own cohorts. I may or may not have also sampled the hotel's wings on Thursdays. Anyway...

I had planned on a "me" date tonight, with some french onion soup and my feel-good book. So after I put the girls to bed I headed off to the local hotel restaurant where the bartender is shyly protective and the waitress was just named "Most Gullible" in her graduating class. I took my seat at the end of the bar so as not to take up an entire table. I chatted for a bit as I ordered, about how the local JCPenney just closed, so there is nothing left for a girl in this town, and then became mostly lost in my book and my $3 glass of wine.

The last time I went out on my own, my mother-in-law said I should wear a wedding ring (which I had been going without due to an apparent allergic reaction). This time I wore my band, even though I would be eating cheese covered soup, which we all know is a super attractive food. 

As I was sitting there, thoroughly enjoying myself, I overheard a man talking about how odd it was for a girl to be reading at a bar. I thought they might be talking about me, but I didn't want to seem super conceited and look up. Then I heard the voice continue, saying that SOMEONE had to go and talk to "her", so I made it a point to start fiddling with my wedding band. 

A few moments later, a man in a very bright Hawaiian shirt, who was at least 2 drinks ahead of me, was standing beside me. He asked how I could possibly read a book in a bar?! (I would not classify the restaurant at a Best Western as a "bar", seeing as I need zero cleavage to get the bartender to wait on me, and I had plenty of elbow room.) I told him that I have very young, noisy twins, so reading a book where no one needs to be changed nor breastfed is rather delightful. 

He tried to keep making his way in by asking why I was here alone, without the babies' daddy. I replied that my HUSBAND was back in Maine, and I was here with my HUSBAND'S family. Having a husband didn't seem to phase the gentleman, nor did my very apparent wedding band fiddling, and he asked if he could buy me a drink. I pointed out that I already had one, but I would love some more soup (Thanks, 30 Rock!). I don't feel it's right to lead someone on, but since I had been quite clear about my relationship status, and the fact that he would not benefit from my drinking, I asked the bartender to fill half of my glass and charge it to Mr Fancy Shirt. Hey, why should couponing stop with shampoo? 

Part of the reason I like going out on my own is that I get to observe other people. I like to catch snipits of their conversations. But once in a while I get a front seat to the entertainment. Being out of the dating world brings a whole new, wonderful level of not caring a bit what guys think of me, that I wish I had possessed when I was single. Empty compliments and cheap lines no longer flatter me in ways that they once unfortunately did. Mr Fancy Shirt talked for a bit about his work that had brought him to town, and I politely engaged, seeing as I was not in apparent danger and I like talking to people when they aren't trying to tell me who else they know with twins. At no point was I rude, but I no longer feel it cute to giggle and blush when men flirt with me (I WISH it didn't take being married to the most handsome guy on earth to find this confidence, but... bonus!). 

Mr Fancy Shirt asked me about what I do for work, and then interrupted me to tell me that he can't even listen due to the fact that my eyes are SO gorgeous that they are just beyond distracting (this included some dramatic covering of his eyes and turning away from me). At this point another gentleman who was sitting opposite from me yelled "Hey! Mikey! You are taking too long to come back to your seat, so I'm drinking this shot without you!". Mr Fancy Shirt, a.k.a Mikey, ignored Chuck (Miss Gullible calls him by name a lot) and continued to stand around and awkwardly try to get me to swoon. 

It was then that I turned to Mr Fancy Shirt and said "Excuse me, but I would like to clarify a few things. First, I did not interrupt you when you were telling me what you do for work, even though your mustache is highly distracting (gross), so I find it rude that you did not allow me to finish what I had been saying about my job. Second, while I appreciate the compliment about my eyes, I feel as if this is your "go to" line. It seemed rehearsed, and we both know that my big, pretty smile is my best feature, not my muted brown eyes. Third, it seems that I am not special in this situation, nor should I be due to my marital status, but if you also bought drinks for other people around the bar, you should stop excluding them in order to talk to me, especially since Chuck has piercing blue eyes that are actually gorgeous, but I somehow doubt that you are ignoring him because of his distracting eyes." 

After a pause to take that all in, Mr Fancy Pants bid me adieu, asked for his meal to go, left his shot, and went up to his room. Apparently I had been the popular provider of the snipits tonight because the other 4 people sitting across from me at the bar raised their glasses in an "air cheers" with me and said they enjoyed that. Chuck told me that this was the first time he had ever seen a girl hold her own in an awkward situation like that, which was why he had tried to jump in and rescue me. I thanked him. It's comforting to know that there are people out there who look out for a girl who needs a way out of a situation, even a small one.  But I went home with a big, pretty smile knowing that tonight, I was a girl who could rescue herself.