HELLO, 2107!

THIS IS MALACHI WITH HIS ELDEST BROTHER JORDAN.  His expression speaks volumes, especially if you know Malachi well.  He has never spent twenty-four hours with his brother.  I was never declared unfit; no TPR exists--not a real one, anyway.  I might not live to see it, but GOD HAS GOT THE RECORD.  Justice will come--it always does.

My boys have grown to men.  Both of them top six feet tall.  William is getting a mustache; Malachi's got a full-fledged beard and a broken heart to get over.  College is going well for him--though he has hit a few frosh bumps in the road.  He has lived and learned--the hard way.  I wasn't there to mop up behind him, and he survived.

Family is still fam.  My mom passed away, and my sister died so long ago, but these two, Bryant and Kari, are still my brother and sister.  They proved it after a thirty year break, too.

So this is me today.  I have made a change.  FOR ME.  There is more to come.

"AND NOW FOR OUR NEXT ACT..."

SO NOW IT'S TIME FOR REAL COLLEGE.  Gotta get through this summer first.  Malachi made the Sunday paper above the fold, and they must really think his face can sell papers, because there is no Monday edition.

He called me from his grandparents' house to tell me he'd made the front page, and he sounded--well, humbled.  I was pretty shocked too.  I had thought the news photographer was taking his picture. I saw this expression from my vantage point, heard his deep bullfrog bellow of joy above all the others, too. We have a joke about his baritone making it impossible for him to whisper, and it's pretty much true. Sounded just like it looks in this picture, for sure! 

The day was surreal.  Of course, it rained, and now I have some terrible hair pictures for posterity, but I'll be okay.

I cannot believe it's over and done.  Turned out to be fifty-one college credits, not fifty-nine, but I'm not complaining.  Still will cut his college debt by two-thirds.  He's gotten a couple of scholarships, but he could have gotten more...procrastination is deadly, but now he is grown, and I'm done taking the important things out of his hands and giving them back completed.

Mom wore the same outfit to her sister's funeral--maybe her thoughts of making me out to be an incompetent mom were finally laid to rest.  I helped her through spinal fusion surgery, and she's just as grateful and happy about it all as she appears.  Poor Pop Pop.  Should have taken my advice....

This is Jerome.  That's his mom seated at the left.  Malachi's brother Ashton went out of his way for JJ, and I'm just as proud of him as I am of Mali.  See, JJ has been through even more stuff than we have; he's been on his own for about six months now, and his siblings, still in foster care, were not permitted to attend the young man's graduation.  We filled in, and I am so glad to know I have caring kids.

So now, on to the next chapter.  We slept in on Monday, but now it's back to business.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.

"I'M SO GLAD WE HAD THIS TIME TOGETHER...."

"JUST TO HAVE A LAUGH AND SING A SONNNGG."

I love that Carol Burnett theme, and I've always had a sneaking suspicion that it is Betty Wright's "The CleanUp Woman's" blonde, blue-eyed first cousin.  I would sing it loudly around closing time in the Gifts Department at SteinMart when I worked there many moons ago.

Well, now it applies to Malachi, and his Early College High School days.  Tomorrow is graduation.  He made it out with 58 out of 60 college credits, so no Associate's, but I'm not complaining.  He did not go on that People To People trip, and I'm not sure I will ever stop regretting it.  Lily's been dead nearly three years.  I think he misses her as badly as I do.  She slept beside him every night of her life.

Malachi is a hardworking kid.  There really isn't too much more a mom could ask for in a son.  He hasn't done any serious housework like ever, but that's pretty much my only complaint.  He has managed to avoid most of the pitfalls available to a young person, though I'm certain he has taken a test-drive through a few of them.

Still, as a young black man, he has done well.  His barber told me that when his peers get tired of looking unsavory, they check out what Malachi is wearing.  Today when we were there getting haircuts in advance of tomorrow's graduation ceremony, I noticed that nearly every man under thirty and all the kids are sporting some version of his hairstyle (except his brother--he chose a "first day at Parris Island"-type cut).  I told him he could have a Mohawk, but no.

People stop me in the street to tell me they are proud of Malachi.  A young lady named Ashley said, "He doesn't know who I am," rather wistfully, I thought.  "Yes he does," I told her with confidence.  She's his classmate.  It was weeks later when I thought to mention it.  "Oh yeah, Ashley," he confirmed.  "She's kinda shy.  Why wouldn't I know her?"  

That's what I like about my kid.  He's willing to know everybody.

It's been fun raising Malachi.  He did his homework unsupervised and brought back good grades.  He is respectful.  He's talented.  Relatively self-contained, there were few meltdowns, and very little sass from him.  I can recall Sunday afternoons playing Monopoly with Mali and William, and later in the evening, the sound of music emanating from their cramped bedroom, soothing me that everything was gonna be okay.  

We have been through a lot since those sun-dusted days in the fishing cottage, some of it really, really bad, but we made it.

 My sons will tell you, "We had a real childhood!" They mean it.  I've always been the type of mom who would get outdoors with her children.  I had sons, and I did not want to cause them to be athletically inept because I wouldn't get off the couch.  It's paid off in an extra measure of good health, and sons who are pretty accomplished at sports.  This is as close to baseball as Malachi will ever get, though.

My children have known suffering.  They've had experience with lack, loss, and disappointment.  I believe it has strengthened them immensely.  They know who God is, and they know that "He may not come when you want Him, but He is always right on time!"  They have prayed beside me when there was nothing left to do, and they have seen the LORD come through for us in supernatural ways.

There was the stormy time when they called me into the bedroom at Johnnie Evans.  "Look mom," said William and Malachi, their voices just a bit uncertain.  The two tall pines outside their window were bent low in a howling wind.  Their very tops were touching the ground.  

"What's gonna happen when the wind lets them up?" asked Malachi.  He was about nine.

"Let's just pray."

"Thy will be done," was all we had time for.

LORD, whatever happens, make it quick , I thought, as visions of them whipping back from their prone position and splitting our 720 square foot fishin' cottage in half filled my mind.  We stood watching, me in the middle with a hand on each of their shoulders, for ten or fifteen eternal seconds.

The wind stopped.

If you ever meet my sons, ask them and they will confirm: those two trees rose from the ground like two prostrate human beings bending upward from the waist, and did not touch our house.

I remember the boys looking at me, two pairs of enormous brown and blue eyes stretched wide in bewildered faces.  I shrugged.  They shrugged.

"God is good," they called out in unison, their backs to me.  They sat down on their beds to look out of the window at the two trees, now gently swaying and flinging raindrops onto the panes.  I staggered away to fling myself down beside my bed and thank Him, oh, how I thanked Him.

They're not very churchy, but my sons have real faith.

Recently, someone told me that my worldview was eloquently displayed in the demeanor of my children.  I was mystified.

"You can tell what a person believes by the way their children act," said my friend.

I never thought of it like that.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.

HOW YOU LIVING?

MALACHI WENT TO SEE MY MOM before he went to prom last weekend.

She was overjoyed, and I was truly pleased with him, because he had a real desire to do it.  Her appearance shocks him every time he sees her. 

Her appearance in pictures is what I find so shocking.  

It has been a long road.  I have raised my sons as a single parent, with no child support of any kind.  I abandoned bitterness and rage a couple years ago (shoulda done it sooo much sooner) and just put my head down and committed to being available for my two youngest sons.

That's how I've been living, and it has borne the fruit in the suit you see there.

Now, when my mom became ill, my best friend from high school called to tell me.  She thought I would be hardhearted and stiffnecked, but I chose otherwise.  The MRI which showed the herniated disc that was about to paralyze her completely, I took her.  It was supposed to last 45 minutes, but 20 minutes in, it was over.  "Either she's perfectly healthy, or the tech found something serious."  Four days later, she was undergoing cervical fusion.  They could not find any vein to draw blood.  Dr. Kantor, the anesthesiologist threw up her hands.  

"I vill naht geev upp!" she cried, and proceeded to perform a technique they don't do here.  The entire surgical team stayed beyond their shift.  They rearranged the OR schedule.  Every team in the hospital had tried to draw my mom's blood, and they threw protocol to the winds and saved her life.  

She'd (purposely) eaten before the procedure and thrown everything into chaos.  

Mom turned accusing eyes to me.  "You didn't tell me."  

"Yes she did," said her husband.

"You didn't come in my room and stop me," she rejoined, as if she had not heard.

"Okay mom. I'm not sure I knew you were eating a croissant behind your closed bedroom door."

"Well, you should have known, and came in there and stopped me."

That is how she is living.  Been blaming me since the day I was born, like I came to the world on purpose to prove she was sleeping with that woman's husband.

I had to walk away from that toxicity.  But now she has no one except me, her husband with his untreated diabetic issues, and my children.  The one who is becoming rich off the income of my eldest son pops in now and then, to ask where I've been, mostly.

I am living in a season of penitence.  I'm not bitter, I'm better.  If it were not for faith, I'd have done something besides wait on the LORD, yew betcha.  Apostle John Eckhardt gave a word on recompense, which is justice and vindication after times of injustice and unfairness patiently endured, that I am embracing today.

  

I had a dream in which I met a giant farm combine in the middle of the road.  I had to go around it.  The farmer tipped his battered straw hat as I maneuvered around him.  It could have been Eckhardt, 'cause he really looks like a white guy.  I visited old men and families in whitewashed houses.  There were times of fog and storm.  Just before I woke, the sun came out.  I looked over and away, and there was that green and yellow Deere harvester, reaping.  The tiny figure in the cab threw up his plaid-shirted arm in salute to me.  My harvest.  It's coming.

That is how I'm living.

Thanks for taking time to read this blog.

WE ARE STILL FRIENDS!

https://soundcloud.com/mill_trill/city-of-hope

SO MY KID IS NOW ALL GROWN UP.

There are so many things that I wish he'd done that he chose not (failed) to do.  Yet, he has been successful.  His worldview is his own, but I can see the hand I have had in it.  My desire to assist him has not waned.  Not at all.

The question is, how???  

The answer is simple:  You have to let your children make their own mistakes.  You have to let go and let them walk out into the world.  Stay in their corner, but stay in their corner.  Don't go chasing behind them.  Malachi's prom date--her mother actually went to the Prom!  She said, "Are you going?"  I was like, "Nooooo."  What in the world??? I know my kid is a good kid.  I know if them two wanna roll around somewhere, I can do nothing to stop it, LIKE CRASH THEIR PROM.  

He made it back.  She left her flip-flops, though.

So this "City of Hope" track.  I like it.  I found it on my own, while  I was revisiting "World Traveler" from 2014.  I love technology.  Soundcloud redirected me to Malachi's new stuff, and it has got real potential.

So I decided to come on back to the blog.

Thanks for taking the time to read it.  No matter how long I neglect it, it is always there waiting, just like an old friend.

"IT'S ME AGAIN, AND I'M BACK."

I THOUGHT I LOOKED BAD IN THIS PICTURE.  Didn't like my skin, my hair; thought I was wrinkled.

Well.

I look a lot more tired and stressed out now, I think.  I was talking to a new friend of mine about starting an online magazine.  Then I remembered blogspot.  Then I remembered #friendsofmalachimaxwellglass.

I have to say, the previous post is a gut-wrenching read.  No wonder I'm looking sadder.  I'm feeling wiser, without a doubt.  As much as I'd been through when I took that selphy with my brand new phone, there was plenty more to come.  More heartache, more disappointment, more persevering.

I really grieved the loss of my dog.  It was raining, and I'd made her stay outside, to please someone who was never there.  The toll it took is clear to me in this picture.  You never know when a decision is really a bad one when you are making it.  Everyone has to get older, but the unhappiness that has settled into my countenance is unacceptable to me.  The dogs I have now are deeply loved, but I never will stop missing my Lily.  I don't think of her every day anymore, just most days.

And then there is what happens when you are forced to realize that you are doing all the heavy lifting in a relationship.  You're in love all by yourself!  It was the biggest heartbreak I've ever experienced, including finally getting that not only does Mom not love me all that much, also she'd laid careful plans to prevent my success at all costs.  She still doesn't like me, but she officially needs me more than I need her.  Grandma said it would happen.  My goal is to repay evil with good, and I'm getting there, a little closer every day.

I've always been a resilient sort.  I'm also kinda cute when I'm seething.  Even if you don't really love me, I enjoy Italian.  Even come dressed to match the tableware.

HAD I KNOWN ALL THE HAIR IN FRONT WOULD BREAK TO HALF AN INCH, I'd have looked even angrier, certainly.  I thought the stylist had done me a solid.  Today I have bangs.  I did not ask for bangs.  But, flax seeds will grow it back, and in a year or two, all my hair will be the same length again. So I get sympathy from no one.  See, I have no desire to go natural, say what you please.  Frizzy, crazy hair was NOT IN STYLE when I had it, so pardon me if I prefer the sodium hydroxide.  I'd dyed my hair purple, trying to feel better, but the previous time, I had not bleached it first.  I was seriously in a tizzy.  Nothing in my life was to my liking. (Not much has changed--just my attitude toward things, yo.)

Nothing like a night job to rob you of your cute.  My baby son always takes pictures that make me look loved, and I really appreciate that.  My sleep cycles will be out of whack for a long, long time.  I am grateful to have gotten back into the work world, but a $76 paycheck...makes you look limp and lifeless.

I haven't lost my ability to smile.  I've always been willing to smile, even with the misalignment I've been saddled with for a lifetime.  I won't ever stop searching for something to smile about, no matter what is going on at any given moment.  I have not stopped believing in me.  I've learned to have more faith in myself.  I am grateful to be in good health, and I won't let circumstances rob me of that.  Sometimes its tough to stay upbeat; even harder to stay focused, but I will never give up striving for a better life.  My counselor asked me what I wanted most from life, and my response genuinely shocked him:

"Peace of mind."

"No one's ever told me that," he said.  "I've heard all kinds of stuff, but never anything just that simple."

"Well," I asked him, "Doesn't peace of mind encompass all the things people think they want--comfort, stability, financial security, solid relationships?"

"Yes, of course," he responded.  "But most people come to me because they don't get that."

I get it.  I want it.  I'll have it.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.

A Brand-New Bittersweet Season

Things change.  People change. Seasons change.  

That's an old Wilson-Phillips lyric, and it haunts me as I write this.

(actually, a one-hit wonder by Expose', but it may as well be Wilson-Phillips.)


Malachi did not go with +People to People Student Travel .  They are still holding a place for him.

So much has changed, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot help but feel a failure because he did not fulfill the commitment he made.  I'm looking hard for the lesson, and when I think about it too much, I become impotent with frustration and resentment.

I don't spend too much time with those two emotions, and it is preventing me from taking the lessons I need from this spectacular disappointment.


My beloved Lily is gone.  Gone forever, and I was silent on this platform, bereft and mute with grief and loss.  I've lost many people and circumstances in my life, but this one ranks right up there.

I still dig being me, and even I have to give me credit for a special kind of resilience.

 I still have dreams, plans, and goals for the future, and you all still want to hear what I've got to say.

It's hard to believe people still come by to read this blog, after I left it to languish for so long.  I'm grateful.  Better yet, I'm hopeful.

 Seasons change, leaving nothing but memories.

If we are wise, we learn from the bitter, and retain the taste of sweetness as much as we can.

Malachi has changed.  He works.  He dates.

He grew a mustache.

I'm still there for him, but things are not the same.  I saw an audience of women respond to the question,

"Do you put yourself first or last in relation to your family?"

I was shocked to discover that I now inhabit a minority.

Moms, wives, daughters, and women in general now think it's normal to put themselves first.

I need time to think about that.  Stay tuned for what it means for Malachi.


Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.  I think I'll keep it for Malachi's future.

FAILURE: Everyone Talks About It, But No One Can DO Anything About It.

I was wondering how long it would be before I could bring myself back to this blog.  Look at that face.  There's some guilt there.  Some maturity, maybe.  Our relationship is not the same, and it never will be.  I only tell Malachi things once now.  If he falls on his face, I only reach out a helping hand if he asks for one.  I am willing to let him wallow.  I am willing to watch him fail.  I permit him to walk around needing help and too proud to request it, and it's not that hard on me, either.

Welcome to adulthood, Malachi, where even your own mamma will leave you to the consequences of your actions if you become sufficiently unappreciative and self-absorbed.

I need a vacation.  All this sacrificing has turned me into a whiny, blaming, hostile BORE, and I don't like it.  It's ME TIME now, and I hope I have not alienated many.

Malachi is still a good kid.  He got a job, and I know part of the reason his heart was not in going to Europe this past summer is because he did not want to leave me and his brother in our current situation.  I am still despondent though, because I couldn't make him realize that his breakthrough was going to be the door I walked through after he'd had his once-in-a-lifetime adventure.  I wanted to know that I could pull this off for him, and plant my flag as a bona fide social media influencer.  I gave it my best, and now I'll be giving my best to my own endeavors--though I'll be available to this child of mine for help whenever he needs me.  He may have to wait, communicate, delegate, or MARINATE, but I'm still there for him.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.

In Malachi's Own Words...Priceless!

DESTINY AWAITS!
Timeless
Timeless. Just like music, my experiences in Europe will last forever. Music is a part of me, and when I am without it or not involved in creating it, I feel like a part of me is missing. I always want to find a way to incorporate music into what I do, because it gives me a sense of comfort. When I go to Europe I plan to take music with me, so I have to start here. Envisioning myself in Europe while creating music always gives a different feel to my music. It comes out sounding nothing like anything I've created in the past few weeks. A lot of the time my music gets created on "accident". I find myself like random tinkling on the keys as I start a new project. This beat, duly entitled "Timeless" happened just that way. Sitting in front of the computer with my fingers on the keyboard, I tinkled a melody and then a cord, and stumbled upon something I liked. After that, there was no looking back, as everything I added to the chords seemed to fit perfectly. Music is a part of me, so it will go where I go. To school, to practice, and even across seas to a country I have never been before, where the experiences will be timeless.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass
Timeless

"DON'T MAKE ME COME IN THERE."

I was in kindergarten when this picture was taken.  It's one of the very few of me that I like.  I wish I could be inside that child's head again, just for a moment.  I need to recall what it's like to live without the kind of soul-numbing discouragement I face every day.  I came onto G+ for my son, whose capacity for discouragement and disappointment falls far short of his mother's.  Maybe that's the metaphysical trade-off that comes with being popular and making friends easily.  Neither of these things was true of me when I was in school.  I'm still not really sure who likes me at any given moment.  That's why I figured I'd better learn to enjoy my own company a looooong time ago.  Now I'm at the point where I don't need everyone to be my friend, or to be liked all the time.  I just really, really want to be a part of something positive.  I thought helping my son get to Europe with People to People was gonna be the thing. But no.  No.  The boy is churlishly certain that he should just give up NOW and avoid the rush.  His brother came in here just now, bowed his head and asked God to PLEASE help his brother "quit whining his way to Europe!"  Made me feel somewhat better.  I told you all that I was going to ride herd on my son who makes commitments and then just abandons them.  I DO NOT RAISE QUITTERS.  He can fail all he likes, but you don't put me on this kind of mission for you and then casually indicate you can't be bothered.  He doesn't realize I'm gonna make him write a post EVERY DAY for the next month.  He damn well better improve from today's offering, believe it.

The journey between these two pictures was not an easy one. It had its share of disillusionment and disappointment.    I wanted to
join "Up With People" the year this was taken.  Some girls made sure I overheard them laughing at me while I was speaking with a member of the troupe, and I let their ridicule keep me from a life-changing adventure. "Don't let them do this," the Dutch kid said, with real feeling. They pushed harder, teased louder, and I gave up on the spot. I can still see the glow fading from his face when he realized what was happening. Why did they bother? I didn't even know them.  I can't get that opportunity back.

I had no cheerleader at home. ("Go outside with that violin. You can practice out there. Your sister can't hear the television.") I recall becoming very still.  "You really think I'm going to stand outside and practice the violin."  It wasn't a question. My mom made this little choking sound that still sounds like suppressed laughter in my memory. It's not good to see your mom smirk your dreams. It is what it is. I'm all right.  I thought this would be different. I thought what I could do now is knuckle down with Malachi and get this done for him.  I told him, "The only thing better than me getting to go to Europe is you getting to go," and I meant it.  Every time I asked that boy if he wanted to go abroad he said yes until the day before yesterday.  I want to jump on him.

I find this picture of me with the violin really hard to look at. Those loose bowstrings anger me.  Every bow on the wall in that store is strung too loosely to work properly.  Maybe it's to make you think you need lessons.  I don't like it because I'm not as young as I used to be, although I'm looking pretty good for my age.  I don't like it because that is as happy as I've been in a long, long time.  I see a bit of the sparkle in my eye, and that's good.  The joy of living has been on hiatus for me for a while now, however.  I don't see the sweet spirit that shines from the child's and the teenager's eyes anymore.  When I look at pictures of me now, all I see is someone whose eyes look tired and sad.

No matter what, I won't give up.  The next month is gonna be an ugly one around here, because I don't tolerate quitting.  Fail, get knocked down, fall apart, do what you have to, but don't quit.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

BLOOD FROM A TURNIP: SEE IT HERE.

Life is an endeavor. Determination is a trait most all people want but not all people have. with any task or difficulty that is thrown in your way in life determination to overcome it is a must. That kind of determination is the same determination that i must have if i am to be successful in going to Europe. Unfortunately, at this moment, i do not have that determination. I wish that i did. But when life sets in front of you continuous let downs and setbacks, it's hard to have determination when you face a strenuous task. it has been hard for me to muster up the will to even want to go in the last few weeks. I just do not see it coming forth. With that said I have to find the will somewhere within me, wherever it may be.

Because I Said So.

Malachi is GOING to Europe next summer.  He's discouraged, but I'm not.  He may not like me very much for the next few months, but he'll thank me later in life, Lord willing.

If you want things, you have to work for them.  You have to sacrifice.  You have to take chances.  There are risks; risk of failure, risk of disappointment, risk of distraction.  Risk can paralyze you with fear or galvanize you into action.  It's up to you.  I've been known to start things with a big fanfare, and then get discouraged, distracted, disoriented.  Not this time.  Today is January 31.  This is the last day Malachi gets to lollygag.  He doesn't get to fail.  He doesn't get to quit.  He doesn't have to like me.  I am not Malachi's friend.  I'm his mother, and I am not letting him flake off on his commitment.  I haven't flaked off on mine.  You see fewer posts because it's not about me anymore.  I've done what I needed to do to prove I'm in it for the long haul.  90 days of blogging once a week or more without fail.  For the first 30 days I blogged every day.  It was easy, because I had plenty of angst to be shed.  I stuck my toe into the SEO pool and found it to my liking. I'm going back, so get out your sunblock.  A sizzling-hot day is about to dawn on you all.
But Malachi.

This blog has plenty of readers and no followers, but I'm not giving up on it.  I'm going to keep building it up.  I know it's going to help me get my son to Europe.  I haven't got much time, but I've got plenty of faith.  I've got to teach my son to keep the faith.  He needs to put in the work, so he can understand how to reach a goal that seems beyond his capability.  He's ready to let himself down, and ready to be angry with me for not permitting him to do it, but again, I am not this boy's friend. If I were his friend, I might tease him about wanting to go abroad.  If I were his friend, I might undermine his confidence every chance I got.  If I were his friend, I might tell him that he shouldn't be expecting his mom to raise that kind of money for a trip when so much other stuff is called for.  It's a good thing I am not his friend.  He would never accomplish anything with me reassuring him that mediocrity and the status quo are all he should hope for.

Malachi is a fine son and a strong person.  Our Lily got into a bad scrap and was bleeding profusely from the healed wound you see there.  Malachi is the one who kept her from bleeding to death at 10 pm on a Thursday night, and she hasn't forgotten it.  Nor have I.  He kept calm and packed the wound with cobwebs to stop the bleeding.  It worked.  He then bound her up with black electrical tape, which Miss Lillers removed herself three days later.  Nice work.  Now why doesn't this kid have more faith in himself?  I ran around and collected spiderwebs from behind the washer in the laundry room, but he calmly washed the puncture, packed and bound it.  Blood was everywhere.  His brother was caterwauling. I wasn't so good, either.  Malachi took charge and saved his friend's life.  Now, like Erica Jong, I've got to teach him how to save his own.

Something is going to break.  Opportunity will come.  Faith is not just for church.  It's for standing firm.  Not just against ideological bullies, but for standing up to your circumstances and changing them from sheer force of will.  Will begins with a transformation of mind and heart.  It is a refusal to accept defeat, rejection, and ridicule and continue to go hard for you goals.  Will looks beyond circumstances; past situations, through intrigues, and  across shifting tides of favor and locks on to its desire.  My desire is to show my kid that his dreams are worth having, and I will not be denied.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

ATTENTION DEFICIT

Malachi was able to get sound out of a sax the first time he picked one up.  I told him how remarkable that was.  He wasn't with us the day we went to the music store.  He got to hang out with his friends, but I saw a wistful expression cross his features for a second as he looked at my pictures of all the gleaming instruments.  That the place is not thronged with a Scarborough Fair of people making music at all hours is a mystery to me.  I wanted to run around like a six-year-old and tootle and honk on everything!  I wanted to hear someone play!  Musicians are withholders.  You gotta pay to hear em play, and who can blame them?

There is not enough music for our children anymore.  No one is teaching them how to use these precious instruments.  Music lessons were of no importance in my branch of the family.  At all.  So I was completely and hopelessly cut off from them.  I don't want the same thing to befall my children.  Shoot, I haven't given up on me.  I don't like that picture of me I posted, but my goofy, joyful expression tells me I'd better dare to look dumb some more.  We've forgotten that our kids want to learn to make music.  We're not investing their limited, finite resources of time and attention into music, art, dance, poetry, the humanities, at anywhere near the rate we ought  to be.  Not everyone will wind up on a production crew for Ang Lee, or Peter Jackson.  We cain't all be on Glee.  But kids need music.  To learn with.  To live with.  To grow and develop with.  They can be emotionally stunted without it.  A plugged outlet.  I know how that feels.

Creativity bubbling like steam in a pot with a tight-fitting lid.  Your kid is wilding out and you don't know why.  Maybe he needs to paint.  He could have a frustrated tap routine bothering his brain.  Might need to sculpt or carve something, and never even know it. 

What if your child would love to create in wrought iron? How would you know?  I remember the Polish ironworkers in Riverhead.  Some of those men could craft the most delicate forms in iron--fence finials, balustrades, porch railings, and a special form of ironwork whose intricate patterns indicated to fellow Poles where they would be welcomed and understood.  Sometimes interlocking circles, always three birds in flight, articulated within confining bars, somehow.  I remember suddenly coming to grips with this visual symbol on a street full of Poles, (on my way to Pulaski Street Elementary) and how two or three of the eldest women turned, startled, to gape at me.  I had been looking at the intricate form of the low iron railing in front of an old Polish doctor's office, Dr. Bryzcynzski, I believe.  I looked at that awesome collection of consonants every day on my way to school, and the funny little ironwork rail, just above ankle high, that outlined his little slab of pavement near the corner of Ostrander and Roanoake. I had seen the elderly ones lining up to get into his office, and their bright head kerchiefs stood out in the new morning air as I approached.  It was springtime, and the snap in the air was just pleasant enough to remind them of home.  All of them.  As as happened to me since before I knew it did not happen to other people, I was overcome by a sense of limitless ocean, and the birds suddenly appearing on the horizon, indicating land, America, in fact. Beautiful  Land at the end of a long and arduous journey.  Many of the ironworkers, barkeeps, beer-truck drivers, grocers, and cobblers in my hometown were Polish Jews.  Some were Greek Jews.  Some of them were Italian and German Jews.  Even then, I took it all in through the eyes of a writer--with an eye toward memory, place, time, and recall.  I cannot tell you what I had for breakfast last Tuesday, but I do know that Polish craftsmen also make fine chocolates and exquisite violins. And pastry. And cold cuts!

I went to first grade with a delightful little girl whose first and only words to me in flawless American English were: "I've come too far ever to be an outcast again.  I come here and find out I look completely American.  I can never look back.  I will always value your friendship.  I will always know you are my friend.  But this will be our only conversation!"  And it was.  I'm still her friend, too.  This was in spring; 1969 or '70.  She'd arrived from Poland the previous fall not speaking a single word of English.  I'm a Q, and she was an S, so she was seated in the row across from me.  I watched her enormous china blue eyes on that first day, taking in the big warm, room, me, the other kids, Mrs. Leahy, the teacher, me again...I am terrified, she thought. I wish someone would take my hand. So I did. It was ice cold, so I held it until it warmed up, and then just dropped it.  She decided not to faint, and that it was all going to be ok.  A Brit's riff on Paul Revere brought beautiful Anna Stremsky to mind again, with her bright, blonde, Dresden-doll curls and rosy cheeks--how close she came to missing freedom altogether.

Creativity will have its expression.  It will impose itself upon you and  make you see it.   It seethes like lava under a restless volcano, in places closer than we'd care to admit.  It will usurp the goodwill of others to get its point across.  We would be unwise to ignore this.  I like good grafitti.  I sure wish I knew where the tagger Search was right now.  Search tagged throughout Raleigh, Apex, and Chapel Hill through most of the 90s.  "The Search is ON" rolled by on countless rail cars on their way through my back yard in Cary, North Carolina.  I wonder if there's still a tag hidden somewhere.  Let me know if you find it.  On the other hand, this LI chick is aware of disaffected youth and the mayhem they can cause.  Creativity and Destruction are siblings.  One is always alongside the other.  At any given moment, one or the other is dominant in a situation.  I choose blogging as a form of creativity.  I thereby intend to destroy poverty, inertia, and lack of ambition in my worldview and circumstances.  It's happening.  Sometimes I put a foot wrong, but I'mma keep trekkin' forward.
Thank you for taking the time to read this blog.

#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass

Easier Said Than Done

We all know the definition of insanity: "Doing the same thing in the same way and expecting a different outcome."  Les Brown always says, "If we knew better, we would do better!"  Well, I've no idea how to get my kid to Europe on a shoestring, so I have got to build a bridge from what I do know outward.  I've got to stand on what I know, and reach out toward the unknown.  It's scary.  Malachi is too afraid even to attempt it.  We've tried this before.  He remembers what happened.  I remember him dropping to his knees when he found out he would not be going on an educational retreat because I had not raised the money, and the scholarship application had closed.  Educational marketing is such that I was forced to do a fundraiser in order to be eligible for the scholarship.  The scholarship closed unexpectedly a day or so after I'd raised $300 to send them.  I had to tell Malachi.  I did not know it would break his heart.  Seven years later, his apathy tells me it's STILL broken.  He won't even try.

I've been tryna help myself and this kid a long time, and I'll never stop.

His non-involvement is hard on me.  I feel like I'm plugging away on his future without any input from him.  I vacillate between wanting to chuck the entire endeavor and stage-managing this whole thing without him.  He's got some awesome music on my hard drive.  I've been asking him for permission to shop it so he can pay his OWN daggone way!  He has slow-walked me since OCTOBER.  If he went to school one day and could not take a step for the throngs of people complementing him on his most recent beats, he would think I've done him wrong.  Even if it turned out for the best.  I know him.  This is what I mean by the convenience of stuck-ness.  That boy knows I respect him and his intellectual property so much that I won't administer it without his permission, even for his own good.  What he doesn't seem to comprehend is that I know what I'm doing.  No pedophile or perpetrator or poseur wants to take ME on. Not anymore, anyway.  I can destroy your credibility by means of a single hashtag, and I have done it.  No more posting black women bound with ball gags on my kid's profile for YOU, Dr. Cyanide.  I know the Godfather.

It's time to order a passport.  I'd have done it by now, but as you see, I'm panhandling this thing on my own.  Another few weeks and I won't be able to get it done in time.  I don't want to fail Malachi, even as he is busy failing himself.  He has insulated himself from reality.  If he doesn't do anything, there's no disappointment to be felt.  If I don't pull this off, he can tell himself it was never meant to be.  I've been listening here on The Plus.  I cannot allow my son to embrace this pattern of avoidance!  It will ruin his life.

I don't give up.  I don't back down.  I try to learn from Disappointment and Defeat.  One thing those two will never willingly teach you is how to WIN.  You have to FIGHT to wrest that knowledge from those two old instructors.  Their class is free, and you can enroll on a minute-to-minute basis.

Thanks for taking the time to read this blog.
#FriendsofMalachiMaxwellGlass