What’s In a Name?

I’ve always been fascinated with names.

When I was a little girl, I went through a period of time when I asked my mom to call me by a different name each week. I love my name. It’s been a bit awkward through the years as people assume I’m Latina and a fluent Spanish speaker. This often occurs in telephone conversations. It happens less frequently in person as I’m not Latina and don’t look Latina.

I remember when my brother decided he needed to be called Doug instead of Dougie (his name is Douglas). It was a matter of him needing his name to match his level of maturity. It was hard to switch, but I worked at it diligently as I wanted to show him respect.

I remember another time teasing my little sister Rhonda about her middle name. She was named after our Aunt Ellen and at the moment we thought Aunt Ellen was mean for disciplining us. “Rhonda Ellen Jones, Rhonda Ellen Jones” we chanted again and again, while she pleaded for us to stop.

My mother and I share the same middle name, Sue. I love that I’m named after her. Today, I have a niece and a granddaughter who are also named after myself and my mom.

I’ve heard surnames I would change if they were mine: Roach, Hiscock (or any variation with cock in it), Peanisbreath, Butt, Goodenough, etcetera. I’ve also heard first names which made me think the person’s mother didn’t love them: at the top of that list is Vagina (pronounced Va.jean.uh…right).

Parents, be good to your kids before they even arrive, think through what you name them.  Think about the acronym the first letters of your child’s name will spell. If your last name is Smith, don’t name your baby girl Amanda Sue! Be careful, even a presidential name like Bush can become problematic when combined with the wrong first name, like Vagina!

When I was naming my sons, I wanted them to have choices. I chose unusual first names and common middle names, so they could decide what they preferred. My oldest went by Fergus until the first grade, then switched to Anthony, then back to Fergus when he enrolled in college, his Aunt Tammi still calls him Anthony.

Fergus helped me choose Samson’s middle name.  He was a Ninja Turtle fan, so he wanted Donatello.  We compromised with Donald.  Samson decided he wanted a completely different name altogether and began using a nickname his friends chose for him.

Names mean something.  Throughout the Bible the meanings of names are given and there are many times when a person’s name is changed after they make a fundamental change.  The bible says Christians will be given a white stone with a new name on it. I’m looking forward to it, as I believe it will mark a fundamental change in who I’m going to be for the rest of eternity.

“Whoever has ears, let them hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who is victorious, I will give some of the hidden manna. I will also give that person a white stone with a new name written on it, known only to the one who receives it.”               Revelation 2:17

Sold to the Highest Bidder

We met at the Enlisted Member’s Club in Georgia.  I was in the Army National Guard. He was active duty Air Force. I was upstairs where the Top 40 was playing. He was downstairs where the rock was blasting. The upstairs bar had a line around the building! I went downstairs where the line wasn’t as long. Billy Idol’s “White Wedding” came on and the next thing I knew we were dancing and talking while we waited in line.

His name was John O’Rourke but everyone called him “The Rock”. He was a fine-looking man with a gorgeous smile. His eyes were the color of Hershey’s kisses. We talked and danced and laughed. He walked me home.  He wanted to get intimate that first night, I declined.  We dated.

We married a few months later.  That afternoon, he sucked on my lip so hard it swelled and bruised. He got drunk in the living room with his friends while I cried myself to sleep in the bedroom on our wedding night.

We lived in a single wide in the sweltering heat of Georgia. We had one vehicle and no phone. I had no idea how to cook; so we ate macaroni and cheese with every possible addition: peas, hot dogs, carrots, hamburger, you name it. We read together. He went to work every day, leaving me in the trailer alone. When he was mad at me, he’d walk me over to a pay phone and call my mom to tell on me. Then he’d stand next to me while I talked to her, not able to tell the truth.

We spent an afternoon movie hopping, then roller skating with his friends. I fell and broke my wrist in two places, the hospital wasn’t able to give me anything for the pain because I was pregnant. I began to spot, the doctor told me they wouldn’t give me anything to prevent the miscarriage because this was a natural way for my body to get rid of a baby that was unwell. We were out to dinner at a steakhouse with friends. I went into the bathroom and miscarried in the toilet. I waited quite a while, but the bleeding didn’t stop. I went back to the table and told my husband what happened. I asked him to take me to the hospital, he said they’d just ordered. I explained, without treatment, I’d die. He took me, but you could tell he was angry about it.

We went to visit his family in Chicago. His father lived on the first floor and his mother lived on the second of the same tenement. I don’t remember his father. We stayed with his mother. His brother came to visit at the same time. He had a sister and her kids who either came to visit Mama while we were there or lived with her; I don’t remember which. His mother hated me because I was Caucasian and she didn’t want her African-American son to marry a Caucasian. There was nothing I could have done to change her mind.

We went out with his best friend from high school. We went dancing at a reggae club. It was nice. The music was good, the drinks were tasty, club was packed. Nice ambiance. We’re out on the floor, moving our stuff when the man dancing next to us steps on my foot. He apologizes. I accept. My husband doesn’t accept and gets into a physical altercation with this stranger in a reggae club. Hello!

We were at a house party. I was drunk. I was flirting with his friend, when his friend hit on me. I agreed to meet him. To this day, I don’t know why! Stupid. Young. Depressed. Abandoned. Controlled. Ugh! I’m thinking, well he won’t show up. He was drunk and won’t remember. He showed up. He wanted sex. I had sex with him even though I didn’t want to. Why? I felt so guilty. I thought about it constantly. Everything my husband and I did together felt tainted. I finally told him. I truly believed it was more honorable to tell him.

I told The Rock because I thought it was the right thing to do.  In hindsight, I told him to lighten my guilt. I hoped he would tell me he loved me anyway and he was sorry for not being emotionally supportive and we’d work it out.

NOT what happened. He took off to go talk to his best friend. I was terrified he was going to beat him up. It was worse. He brought him back to our trailer and offered to sell me to him. He tormented us for weeks.

He got orders to Florida. We packed up and moved and left his “best” friend behind.

Disability Exam

Last Friday, my husband drove me an hour away to have a disability exam by a mental health professional.

I applied for disability when months had passed since the onset of vertigo without a diagnosis or treatment which will allow me to return to work.  One of the questions asks you to list all conditions which might interfere with your ability to work (or something along those lines).  I don’t want to get in trouble for lying, misrepresenting, or not providing full information, so although the big reason is vertigo, I included nausea (caused by the vertigo), migraines (because I’m having headaches virtually every day and migraines a couple times a month and one of the specialists said the vertigo may be caused by vestibular migraines), and anxiety (because I was under a great deal of stress when the vertigo came on and I believe the mind and body are inextricably linked; I’ve also experienced some pretty strong negative emotions since the vertigo began).  I was being seen by a mental health professional to address the stress prior to the vertigo.   

I’d had a rough week, with lots of vertigo attacks and I was feeling worn down. 

We stopped at McDonald’s on the way out of town and I ate a full meal.  This is the second time I left my town on a full stomach, with the same result.  I have nausea due to the vertigo and the effect is even worse when my stomach is full. 

On the way to my appointment, there is a significant change in altitude and sometimes it plays havoc with my ears.  I had an absurd amount of pressure in my ears and I couldn’t relieve it.  I tried holding my nose and blowing air with my mouth closed.  It didn’t work. 

I was overcome with nausea and discomfort and began to weep.  I desperately wanted to ask my husband to pull over, but how would that help?  We still needed to get to my appointment and it would only make matters worse to be late. 

We got to town and followed the doctor’s directions (down an alley) and arrived at my appointment. 

She asked me a lot of questions and I can’t remember them all but she did ask me the basics.  Name, date of birth, place of birth, state we were in, city we were in, current president and last.  She asked me to repeat three words and to remember them to tell them to her again later.  The words were house, boat and shoe.  We were in a town near water, so houseboat, and shoe.  I tapped my shoe through the rest of the interview.

She asked about my childhood, which was the first crying jag as I told her my step-father Dick was abusive physically, mentally, emotionally and sexually. 

She asked about my education:  three associate degrees and a bachelor’s degree. 

She asked me to explain what the idiom “strike while the iron’s hot” means.  For the life of me, I had no idea and I knew I should know and I was beyond frustrated.  It was one of the three times I started crying and couldn’t stop. 

She asked me if I’m worried about having vertigo.  No, worrying about it isn’t going to change a thing.  I want my old life back.  I want to drive and work and do normal things.  There was a brief period of time when I was really freaked out about not having any income, but we prayed about it, sold some things and covered our debts.  God has met all our needs. 

She asked about my military service and my work history.  The last place I worked was in child safety and it has left me traumatized.  I can’t talk about it without crying.  I cried when I told her I’d worked there a year and a half.  She didn’t ask any follow up questions. 

She asked about the feelings I’ve experienced since the onset of the vertigo.  I named a bunch:  confusion, frustration, worry, fear, dread, anger, embarrassment, depression, sorrow, hope, grief.  I could have gone on.   

At the end of the interview, she told me her husband had a three month bout of vertigo and it was definitely scary but he has since recovered. 

My husband and I got in our car and I started crying again.  He asked what was wrong.  I covered my face with my hands and tried to tell him through my tears.  I leaned over on his shoulder and just let it out.  He was just there.  Loving me.  Supporting me.  Not trying to fix anything, just reassuring me. 

A Summer in Georgia

After the break up with Willie, I was out of control.  My mom didn’t know what to do.  I felt worthless, unlovable, used up.  I began sleeping around and drinking to numb the pain.  My mom called my biodad and arranged for my sister Tammi and I to go visit him for the summer.   

My biodad lived in Georgia with his new wife Mini and their four children: Earl, Lizzie, Susan and Tommy.  They lived in governmental subsidized housing.  Beautiful brick homes in a lush, green setting with a wooded area where the neighborhood children played. 

Biodad left the house most days and I assume he went to work.  His wife stayed home with the children.  There wasn’t a lot of adult supervision. 

My sister Tammi and I stayed in the same room.  One morning Mini came into the room and breathlessly asked if we wanted to smoke a Thai stick.  I said sure.  She told me to go ask the garbageman for a lighter.  I ran off to catch the garbage truck before it left the neighborhood. 

I spent a lot of time that summer with siblings, new and old.  We hung out together in the woods.  Other teens were there pressuring Tammi into trying marijuana for the first time.  I took her aside and counseled her.  I told her if she wanted to try it, that’s one thing, go ahead but if she was just doing it because the others were telling her to, she didn’t have to and shouldn’t give in to peer pressure. 

I dated a young man in the neighborhood.  We hung out together and began having sex.  He gave me pills to take and I did, without knowing what they were.  He took me to the next state over to a seedy motel and tried to talk me into marrying him.  Thank God I chickened out. 

I was at my boyfriend’s house when the younger children came running to get me because my biodad was beating his wife Mini up.  I ran back to their house.  My biodad had Mini cornered in the living room and was punching her in the face.  I brought the children back outside and waited for the police to do their thing.  My biodad was arrested.  I’ll never forget Mini asking me, her 16 year old step-daughter what she should do.  I told her I’d never let a man beat me like that.  She replied that she loved him.  He had knocked her two front teeth through the flesh of her chin and she had a ragged, bloody gash from it. 

Grandma Pearl, biodad’s mom, came to get us and take us back to Indiana with her.  She took the girls, myself, Tammi, Lizzie and Susan.  She left the boys.  At some point, Mini spoke with my mother and told her I was out of control and could no longer stay there!  Grandma’s home was completely different, full of love and laughter, well kept, with family photos covering the living room wall. 

The first time Aunt Lizzie came to see us at Grandma’s, I asked her to check Susan’s hair for lice and told her that Susan frequently scratched her head.  Aunt Lizzie was a beautician and one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known.  Aunt Lizzie checked but didn’t see anything.  Later, we were all watching television and Susan fell asleep on the floor in front of us.  She started scratching in her sleep.  I pointed it out to Aunt Lizzie.  When Aunt Lizzie checked again, she found them.  Hordes of them.  Tammi and I had them too. 

Grandma Pearl called Mini and told her about the lice.  Mini told Grandma it was no big deal, the kids get them every year.  Her solution was to shave the boys’ heads and put mayonnaise on the girls.  Lizzie and Susan went back home.  I remember sitting on the floor with newspaper in my lap while I ran the fine-toothed comb that came with the Quell shampoo.  The lice would fall onto the paper unmoving and after a little bit, they’d start to squirm.  Blech!  I cried and cried. 

I didn’t see my biological father again for 10 years. 

Dishing Some Dirt About Myself

I’m a gossip. A tittle-tattler. A meddler.

My definition of gossip is now talking about someone when that person is not present in the conversation. The intent of the person talking has no bearing on whether or not it’s gossip.

Something had to change.

I talked to God about it and confessed it as sin. I asked Him to help me stop since it was a lifetime habit and I didn’t even know how to begin to change. I talked to my sponsor and 12 step friends about it. After decades of gossip, I knew I couldn’t possibly locate and make amends to all the people I’d talked about behind their backs. I decided to focus on the people I was most likely to continue to gossip about or with.

This is how gossip, typically, played out in my life. I have a loving mother and three siblings she gave birth to in my life. My Mom is Peony. My brother is Adam. My sisters are Tammi and Rhonda. I have a plethora of extended family. Tammi and I would be at Peony’s and we would end up talking about problems Adam was facing and how he could resolve them. Adam wasn’t present. Rhonda and I would go out to lunch and end up talking about problems Mom was facing and how she could resolve them. Mom wasn’t present. Rarely did I go to the person for whom we were brainstorming solutions to share our ideas with them.

I spoke with Mom, Adam, Tammi, and Rhonda. I spoke with my sons, Fergus and Samson. I explained to each of them that I had realized I’m a gossip and I was determined to change. I confessed I had gossiped about each of them. I apologized for being disrespectful both in gossiping about them and in thinking I could solve their problems or even needed to solve them. I told them, going forward, I would not be speaking about them unless they’re present.

It was awkward at first. What do you talk about when you’ve always talked about other people you both know when you get together? Well, you eventually start talking about yourselves. You share more deeply than you ever have before if the person you’re talking to is someone you care about and are safe with. Some family members were offended. Some were hurt. Some were glad I’d finally figured this out about myself.

It is something I still struggle with a bit. Sometimes my unwillingness to gossip is viewed as disrespectful to the person who wants me to tell them details about another person’s life. Sometimes it’s viewed as denial or keeping secrets. Relationships are complicated. My interactions with a loved one may affect me so deeply that I need to discuss it with someone else, now I talk to a 12 step friend rather than another loved one. Sometimes it’s unavoidable: a discussion between two family members must be had when a third family member is incapacitated by health.

I try to follow a few guidelines:

1) Don’t talk about the person if they’re not there.

2) Don’t share someone else’s story.

3) Choose a couple of  non-relatives who are safe to run things past. 

4) Ask myself, “What’s Your Motive?”

5) Direct the person asking for detail about someone else to speak to the someone else directly.

My two sons, Fergus and Samson, are examples of the opposite extremes people feel about the details of their lives being shared by others. Perfectly natural to ask a sibling about their children. Right? I have 10 nieces and nephews. It’s much easier to ask 3 siblings for updates on their children, than to contact the 10 nieces and nephews. It also conveys to the sibling that I love them, and I love their children. Right? My son Fergus could care less if you talk about him. If he’s having successes, he wants his family to celebrate with him. If he’s having problems, he wants our prayers. My son Samson is the opposite, he doesn’t want to be talked about whether it’s good or bad. Period. He is highly offended when he discovers someone has talked about him. Neither is right or wrong, it’s just their preference. I do my best to respect their wishes.

Today, my relationships with the people I love are more honest and respectful.

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject of gossip!

The Destruction of a Family

Since Ariel’s birth, Fergus and Joanna’s relationship has deteriorated as Joanna realized Fergus is not going to marry her even though they share a child together. She’s always been a brusque woman. She’s emotionally damaged from a bad relationship with her mother. Her mother is very controlling. Joanna ran away from home as a young teen. Although she returned, their relationship is strained.

Joanna became verbally abusive to my son after she realized he was not going to marry her. Thanksgiving 2015, Fergus and Joanna brought the girls to Washington state to celebrate with myself and my other adult son Samson. Samson lived closest to the restaurant Joanna chose for our shared meal, so we all stayed with him. He didn’t have enough bedrooms, so most of us slept in the living room. Joanna was on the couch and I was in a sleeping bag on the floor. In the middle of the night, I was wakened by Joanna yelling at Fergus to come get Ariel to change her diaper and how she had been up all night changing diapers for the girls and taking kids to the bathroom while he did nothing. Fergus responded in a reasonable tone and reported there were no dirty diapers in the trash; so her claim was untrue and he was up and taking care of the dirty diaper. Joanna continued to loudly berate him; despite the fact that it was the middle of the night, the diaper was being changed, and there was a household of sleeping relatives and their four children she was disturbing with her tirade.

Joanna started attempting to control me through phone calls and texts demanding that I assist her in controlling Fergus and making him do what she wanted. I explained to her on many occasions she can only control herself and she needed to identify her part in the problems in their relationship and fix her part, because that’s what she could control. This frustrated her a great deal. At one point, she decided I was a horrible person and would not allow me to even talk to my granddaughters on the phone. She called me a drug pusher for following doctor’s recommendations when Fergus was a child to treat his ADHD, stating that I’d given him meth. She sent me unsolicited private details about their sex life. She sent random texts to Samson’s girlfriend telling her how to raise her child and to stay out of Joanna’s business.

In late 2016, Fergus informed me they were living in a travel trailer and Joanna had decided she wanted to have sex with other men in the trailer while Fergus watched their children. He was not agreeable to that plan. He also indicated she was using illegal drugs intravenously and hiding the needles in the woods around her parents’ home. She was shooting up in her legs and was telling people the bruising she was causing was because he was getting physical with her. Fergus became homeless when she moved the trailer to her parents’ property and kicked him out. He was very concerned about her erratic behaviors and the effects on the girls.

Joanna disappeared in 2017 while on a business trip for her parents in another state. Neither Fergus, nor her parents, nor her daughters knew how to get in touch with her. She was eventually found in a mental health hospital recovering from the effects of illegal drug use. During this time, Fergus went to court to get custody of his daughters back because Joanna’s parents had them and would not return them to Fergus or even allow visitation. Fergus was unable to get custody of Carmen because she is not his biological or legal child, despite parenting and loving her for years. He was awarded full custody of the other three girls: Amiya, Beatrice and Ariel. Fergus has made certain the girls have a relationship with their mother and their maternal grandparents and extended family.

Joanna returned to California but wasn’t mentally able to parent. She left the state a second time to go to rehabilitation in another state. For the second time in their young lives, the girls’ mother disappeared with no way for them to contact her. She returned the end of 2018 and told Fergus she was planning to marry someone she met during her last extended period away from her children.

She has no job, no home and limited mental functioning. Fergus made certain she spent time with the girls and was in the process of setting up supervised visitation when she filed a motion requesting an order of protection claiming he has stolen from her and raped her.

It’s safe to say this family has been destroyed by drugs and addictions.

Tittle-Tattler

I was a gossip. A tittle-tattler.

My son Samson had caught me with my lips flapping, gossiping about he and his girlfriend Callie Stafford. I was mortified but confused.

Fast forward weeks or months. I’m at a large 12 step meeting. I’m listening to each person share about the topic of gossip. Initially I felt like it didn’t apply to me. I wasn’t talking about Samson out of meanness or to make myself look better. He’s my son and I want only good for him. I was concerned the choices he was making were going to negatively impact his future. I was voicing my concerns which were born out of my love for him. That’s not gossip! Right?

As I reflected, I realized that I often had conversations with people I have in common with other people I worried about. I thought I knew how to fix the talked about person’s problems, and I was telling our mutual person how the talked about person can fix all their problems. Only I rarely talked to the person we were talking about to share all this great advice. Wait a minute? Who put me in charge? What made me think I could fix anyone else’s life? Look at the unholy mess I had created out of my life; listening to my best advice!

I have no right to try to fix someone else’s life and if I’m really trying to “help” them, why aren’t I talking to them directly?

Duh!

I hadn’t been able to figure out how to fix my problems, so I had started focusing on fixing other people’s problems. It wasn’t intentional but it happened anyway. So, I had plenty to say about other people. I didn’t have much to say about myself.

I wasn’t okay with myself or silence. I felt like I had to fill the gaps in conversation, so I filled them with talk about other people.

I realized I needed to make a major change in my life, and it was going to be uncomfortable and awkward for a while.

I decided to ask my Higher Power for insight into what to do next.