Respect: Earned, Taught, Demanded?

There's a video gone viral about a teen, her dad, and her laptop...yes, that one.

I've read many accounts praising the dad's actions and very few condoning his own behaviour. Given that and my own life experiences, I can't get the thought out...if respect is earned, why then do we demand it of children/teens?

I have a child, ten years-old. It's my role as her mom to teach her, guide her, nurture her, even correct her. However, in order to keep her safe I also have to go against all those life lessons and tell her it's okay and proper to yell, scream, say no, kick, fight an adult who doesn't have her best interest in hand.

What kind of confusing message is that...respect your elders, but not in these circumstances. Respect your elders, even if they don't respect you?

Is it more respectful to use titles...Aunt June, Uncle Reggie, Mr. Blah, Mrs. Bleech...or more important to show and give respect through your treatment and actions?

I had neighbours who preferred their sons to call me Mrs. Chris. When my child was young I started the same until new neighbours/friends said, no, no need for Mrs. your child...their child...is each our friend. There is no lack of respect, but a gain in personal friendship which opens the door as one more adult each of our children can go to in time of trouble.

At least that's how I feel toward those adult friends I grew up around.

My youngest nephew/niece is two; my oldest 30ish. I follow their parents' lead and then at some point it changes to my nephew/niece's lead. While I'll always love being their aunt, as lives grow so do titles.

My closest aunts and uncles, I rarely call aunt/uncle. Those I do call Aunt/Uncle...yes, the caps are felt...are distant from me, emotionally and in my life. My respect to aunts/uncles is just there...deeply there. My respect for Aunts/Uncles is there because it's supposed to be there.

I'm mama, at this moment. I've been cried for as mommy. I've been mom a few times. I'm sure I'll be Mother at some point in the upcoming years. While not a title, not a job, not a duty, my parental name is unique among any my child will use.

I do not demand respect from my child. I hope I am teaching respect, giving it, earning it, deserving it. I hope each day I earn and will continue to earn my child's respect. That it is given freely and not because it's something that must be.

Take The Time To Play

I should be editing. I really need to get edits done, but I've been a little lost today. Lost enough even cleaning and laundry didn't temp me...they always temp me when I'm feeling lost. So, what did I do...I played.

Just finished playing three Sonic Wii races with my daughter and she wants more. So, what did I do? I sent her to finish reading her last fifteen pages of the book, which is due back at school Monday. She asked for one more game after that. What will I do? I'll play.

We'll laugh and giggle. We'll try and stop the other from winning, hopefully neither of us will fall off the bed. I'll be reminded of my priorities.

I also pulled out the puzzle tubes. They're the felt mats which hold your puzzles together so you can put them away. Our puzzles have been away, too long. Time to challenge...maybe hide one piece, doesn't everyone like being the person with the last puzzle piece?

I'm also behind in my review reading, maybe it's time to cuddle on the bed or couch for a reading hour with my daughter? Her with her book and me with mine. I don't dare challenge her to an Angry Birds game.

Maybe I'll even pull out the twister game. We normally save it for outside in summer, but there's a padded mat in the basement to use. It should soften our falls. Won't absorb our laughter.

It's been a couple of months since the last Monopoly game. Clue is just sitting there waiting. Wonder if my daughter's old enough to start playing Euchre? She's ten, think I started at her age. Never could figure out cribbage. Sorry, math not a strong suit. Pa, my grandfather, always tried to teach me, but my brain wouldn't grasp the concept. Chess, dad taught me that one. Backgammon, Pa again...although I can't remember how to play anymore

Maybe I'll just surprise my daughter and play dolls with her. Show her my old doll adventures...Lost in Space inspired quite a few doll play.

It's time to play.

Welcome - Nancy Marie Bell

The Greatest Teachers of All

Nancy Marie Bell

The greatest teachers of all. Wow, that’s certainly a big statement to make. In my life, horses have been my heroes and mentors. They possess a greatness of spirit and courage few humans can even fathom. Only through the kindness and forgiveness of their hearts do they allow us to ride upon their backs and do all the strange things we ask of them.

Over the centuries horses have gone to war with us, helped feed us by tilling our fields, carried us to new and strange worlds over rugged and dangerous terrain without failing us. They willingly allow man to put them into danger and then risk their necks to save ours.

My earliest memory is of a horse. We often went to the Bowmanville Zoo when we were very young. There was a small fenced area with three bay horses, one small, one medium sized and one larger horse. I can remember the smell, the sound of the hooves on the packed earth and the way the sunlight fell through the leaves and dappled the path in front of us. I was about three at the time and while I certainly don’t remember much else from that early time I do remember those three horses. Somehow, I can still touch the essence of them in my heart. Each one a distinct and separate spirit. Each small spark of soul creates the whole beautiful Spirit which is Horse. Unlike humans, horses as a whole react quite similarly to each other. In a given situation the majority of horses will have the same reaction. Flight is their first instinct, because after all they are prey animals. They have the ability to see 360 degrees around them and to look in a different direction with each eye. If you are ever wondering what direction a horse is looking, pay attention to the ears. The ear will generally point in the same direction the eye on that side of the head is looking. 

Horses have taught me patience, unconditional love and forgiveness. You have only to watch a school horse trotting patiently around a ring with an uncoordinated rider on their back. The rider is generally pulling on the horse’s sensitive mouth, pounding on his back and jabbing the horse’s sides with their heels at the same time. A lot of equestrians and others look down on the school horse, or the plug. Generally not the most athletic creature or the prettiest. However, they are the kindest and the smartest. They sift through the multitude of confusing and contradictory signals the rider is screaming at them with their body and sometimes their voice. Then they figure out what the rider really wants, which isn’t Go, now stop, now go. Faster, slower, turn here, no the other way. They deduce that the rider really just wants the horse to walk forward on the rail, and so they do. If the horses guess wrong they can be subject to a jab in the mouth, a kick or a spur in the ribs or a sharp crack with a crop. In most cases it is the rider who is in the wrong. However the horse has no one to speak for him, so he forgives and tries again.

One of the first things I try to instill in people when I teach riding is that the only reason they are riding the animal is because the horse allows it. Any rider or person who handles horses needs to keep that important fact in mind. A horse is an extremely powerful animal who can take a barn apart if they chose, or destroy a trailer. If they wished to remove you from their back they would. That they choose not to, speaks to their greatness of heart and their compassion and patience with the humans who think they are superior.

I read a passage somewhere a long time ago and it is so simple and yet so true:

A rider without a horse is just a man, but a horse without a rider is still a Horse.

Some of my happiest and awe inspiring moments have come on horseback. That perfect complete harmony that is so elusive and so magic. That moment when everything is in balance, there is no separation between horse and rider, our bodies flow as one. I feel the ground through his hooves, I am looking through the bridle with his eyes. Time stops and there is nothing in the universe except me, the horse, and the rainbow of magic we ride in. Nameless music swells and vibrates through our combined unit. I don’t give the horse cues, I only have to think and it becomes reality. I also listen to my horse, if there is resistance to something I have only to listen to the body language to find the source. 

Sometimes it is a physical thing, horses are athletes and suffer muscle pain just like we do. Sometimes it is mental exhaustion or stress. A true horseman recognizes these things and deals with them. There is nothing sadder than seeing a horse at a show who is so sad and stressed, some of them have just shut down. The body is there but the spirit has gone. Also sad, is the horse who  may have the physical attributes to be a good jumper or polo pony but who does not have the mental strength to do that. They are terrified but have no choice, they are forced into situations they have no control over and that scare them into being dangerous. They panic and fight, and in most cases lose the battle. There is a good reason that one of the common problems in show horses and polo ponies is gastric ulcers. Happy horses do not get ulcers or colic from stress. But instead of destroying the people who inflict this treatment, the horse forgives and tries to do his best. He forgives the spur in the rib or the crop on his hide for the mistake that was the rider’s not the horse in the first place. He goes on and tries to complete the tasks that are asked of him even though sometimes that task is beyond the physical capabilities of the animal.

Horses are the epitome of grace under pressure, unconditional love, courage and forgiveness. They are my heroes, my teachers and my role models.             

Welcome - Gail Branan

Indulgence. A word that means different things to different people. And different things to the same person, depending on their mood, level of stress, time of day. I think most writers would agree that giving free rein to a work in progress when that particular work has taken off into the stratosphere is the greatest indulgence we have. You know what I’m talking about, right? You’re written to the point where your characters have taken over, where you have no idea where they’re going, and basically all we as writers are doing is watching a movie unfold in our heads and trying madly to transcribe the spoken lines into some permanent form on our blank screen before they stop talking for the day. Now, I’m a pantser, and I realize that’s a pantser’s point of view, but I’m certain there’s something similar for plotters. In other words, we’re on a roll, and we don’t care who’s hungry, who needs clean clothes, which pet needs a yard break – heck, we don’t even notice if we need a bathroom break until the situation’s dang-near embarrassing.

Those are great times, aren’t they? The best. But eventually, physical and mental exhaustion take over and when we emerge from whichever world we’ve been emersed in, we realize – we’re tired. And brain-dead. That’s when I take a hot shower. Hot shower. The water’s not hot enough unless it’s almost scalding. And when I’ve finished my shower and wrapped myself in a warm, soft robe, that’s when I indulge in something I indulge in far too seldom these days. I used to indulge a lot more often. (Bet you’re wondering where I’m going with this one, huh?) It’s an accepted indulgence when there are kids in the house, a lot of grownups won’t admit to it.

I love to unwind by watching comedies. Funny movies. Not sophisticated, smart, sparkling, “adult” comedies. Oh, no. Not me. I like the ridiculous, slap-stick, I can’t believe I’m watchin’ this funny movies. Now, in my defense, my whole family does. We can quote a line from one of those movies – anywhere, anytime – and without missing a beat, a nearby family member will pick up the dialogue and before you know it, we’ve acted a whole scene. For example, never walk through the produce department with any member of my family if you’re easily embarrassed. Somebody’s sure to issue forth an ear-splitting shriek when they pass the eggplants. Don’t know why? You’ve never seen Coneheads, huh? Oh, yeah, we know ‘em all. Dumb and Dumber. Ace Ventura, Pet Detective. Ace Ventura, When Nature Calls. Hotshots. Airplane. Tommy Boy, Black Sheep, Joe Dirt.

But our favorites of all time? The Ernest movies. Remember Jim Varney? No matter that Mr. Varney passed away a few years back – I was and am a big fan, “Know what I mean, Vern?” Jim Varney, in my book, wasn’t a comedian. He was a true clown, with a talent for timing and delivery that has seldom been equaled, an endearing, powerful voice (he usually disguised it with a “twang” but could and occasionally did break forth in Shakespearian projection) and a hang-dog expression. He was “Everyman”. The average Joe. Everybody thought, of course, that Ernest was of below average intelligence, not the sharpest knife in the drawer or the brightest penny in the cash register. I beg to differ. Ernest was tuned in to a different frequency, that’s all. And he always got the problem solved. Whether that problem was saving a summer camp, or preventing a bank robbery, or banishing a troll back into the depths of the earth or even saving Christmas – yes, he saved Christmas once, you don’t believe me, go check it out – Ernest got it done! He was the man! Well, actually, he was several of ‘em, with an occasional lady thrown in as well – a master of multiple characters who imitated voices with uncanny skill. He’s one of the few imitators I’ve ever seen who could sound like Walter Brennan . Or John Wayne. Or any number of other classics with a few of his own creation.

And for all the tension-dissolving, gut-bustin’ laughter Jim Varney and Ernest produced in my house over the years – let me say, thanks, guys. I miss you, and in my book, you’ll never be replaced.

Coming Soon From Gail:

Miami Days & Truscan (K)nights, April, 2012, Fantasy Romance, MuseItUp Publishing

Down Home, September, 2012, Crime Thriller, MuseItUp Publishing

Gail's Blog: Flowers on the Fence 

Sleep

Yes, I'm being totally selfish. Right now I would love to indulge in a full, complete, and total day of nothing but sleep. Not being sick, not worrying about laundry and dust bunnies, not caring about work or anything. Just a productively wasted day of sleep.

I truly do not mean napping. I mean rapid-eye moving dream making, deep, out of this world and let the thunder roll by, sleep.

Today this is my non-secret indulgence desire.

Yikes, my dad would have said that

Which doesn't necessarily say that's a bad thing. What it does indicate is I'm more my father than I realized.

I am my father's daughter. I've always been a daddy's girl. Mom was/is "MOM." I rarely ever believed I could get away with anything with Mom, but dad, yeah I tried. Okay, I'm only admitting this now and yes, dear dad is "up there" laughing with his "told ya so, I was right" look.

Thing is, I'm also my grandfather's granddaughter...my maternal grandfather (Pa). Yes, and he's "up there" laughing now, too.

So what does this mean? Is it a bad thing? A good thing? It means when something pushes my buttons, I tend to channel my dad and/or Pa. This can either lead to standing up for myself or someone else or basically switching personality gears to someone those who know me, aren't used to me being.

Or as mom would say...you're yelling at the television just like your father. Yes, but the politician's an idiot. But, yes, the whatever is being stupid.

I'm not always right like dad and Pa were...hey, remember, I'm a daddy's girl and a Pa's girl, they were never wrong...uhm, well, yeah, okay, there was that time, and the other time, oh and, yeah, hmm, what was I talking about?

Right, there are days I'm more my father (and grandfather) than I am me. And, that's okay...it's better than okay.

Oh, the "protective-mama-lion-b*tch-from-hades" part...that's all me/mom/grandmother. Oh you so do not want to bring that personality to light. Oh no, no-no-no, not even dad and Pa stood in the way of that personality.

Too Much or Bad Timing

Life sure has a way of getting in the way.

No it doesn't. Life is just that...life and everyone has the same hours, the same days, and the same time management issues. The differences are whether you do it well, lousy, have too much, or just bad timing on everything you need to do.

Right now all I can think about is the upcoming editor due dates, reviews needing writing, site updates that are nagging me, laundry, holiday decorations, toy clean out, child's homework/dance recital/drama showcase/violin concert/school showcases, plus about forty other items. Items that appear to all need my individual attention...NOW.

Do I have too much on my plate or is there simply just bad timing in getting everything done? Only I know the true answer, but it's not an answer I can easily give anyone. Why? Because everyone has their own timetable and needs, which mesh somehow with mine and we all need OURS done NOW.

I did buy a kitchen timer. Figured if I set it at twenty minutes periods I'll get more done. Sorta works, but then it's a matter of finding multi-twenty minutes and those bits that can be started, partially worked on, and closed within twenty minutes.

No, I do not have too much. I have a normal life, which never seems to have enough time.