Another Death Caused by Senseless Bullying

‘Happy kid’ kills himself over bullying at two NYC schools

NEW YORK CITY — A 12-year-old boy harassed by school bullies about his intelligence, his height and his deceased father killed himself in the New York City apartment he shared with his mother, according to relatives and those who knew him, NBCNewYork.com reported.

“I want to remember him as a happy kid,” his anguished sister told NBC 4 New York on Thursday.

Joel Morales, of East Harlem, moved to a different school after enduring incessant taunting for months, but the bullying persisted, the fifth-grader’s family said.

Kids chased Morales, threw sticks and pipes at him and teased him for his smarts and his 4-foot-9 stature, his family said.

Morales’ anguish reached a breaking point when bullies taunted him about his father, who died when he was four years old, according to relatives.

His mother, Lisbeth Babilonia, found him hanging in their apartment at about 11:30 p.m. Tuesday, hours after she had organized a search party when he didn’t return home on time from an after-school club.

An occupational therapist who worked with Morales at one of the schools because of his diminutive size told NBC 4 New York the boy only reluctantly talked about his problems.

“It was very difficult, especially with a child like Joel who wants so badly to please everyone, to see that he was really in pain, that he was struggling,” said Maria Ubiles.

Arlene Gago, a youth minister from a church group, said she spoke with Morales regularly at the Jefferson Houses where he lived but never knew of his distress.

“I always asked him, ‘How you doing? How’s school?'” she said. “We talked but he’d never tell me what was going on.”

A classmate told Morales’ family that the boy had said he was tired of the bullying and told them the details of the remark about his father that sent him over the edge.

School officials declined to comment on the alleged bullying, citing privacy issues.

Police said Morales left no suicide note.

By NBCNewYork.com

This is appalling! Suicide due to being bullied is really and truly an epidemic, and now the kids who feel there is no other option are getting younger and younger. Not only does the bullying need to stop, but parents need to communicate more with their children. Show them how drastic bullying can be to the victim  to help their kids better understand to what extreme it could go; and also make a plan for them in the case that they themselves are be bullied. If they know who to talk to and what to say, they will more likely have the courage to ask for help before giving up entirely.

Please, parents, teachers, neighbors, coaches…TALK to the kids in your life. They need to hear it from the trusted adults that they see everyday. They may even seem not to be listening or not to care, but when the time comes when it is important, they will remember. Sometimes the ONLY reason kids do what we prepare them to do is because they trust and respect the adults that take the time to care and will do the right thing for that very reason!

Please, do not fool yourself by believing that it could not be your kid who is the bully or that when your child seems fine that he or she must be doing okay. Ask them, share with them, and create a link between you and your children that is consistent, so when trouble arises, it will be the natural thing to do to discuss it with you. We talk to our kids about smoking, drinking, drugs, and the dangers of unsafe and irresponsible sex, and because bullying is more and more is ending in suicide, we need to prepare them for that too. No, we cannot protect them from everything and everyone, but we can create a dialogue that will help them make the right choices in how they treat others and how to ask for help by insuring them that they will be respected and kept safe. Come up with a plan, such as a code word, that the child can blurt out to alert you that they have something to say and that it is difficult to find the words. Then you can help them along by asking gentle, simple, yes or no questions and giving them your full and uninterrupted attention. Once the “secret” is out and they realize that you are on their side, the remaining details will come.

What you must understand is that for most, the bullying is not only very intimidating and frightening, but can be brutal (even when it is just words) and very traumatizing. Even when the individual weathers the storm and does not chose to end their life, the effects of bullying can last throughout their life and can affect them in so many ways that not all have been fully identified.  Pay attention to things your child says. They may try to talk to you, and it may be the only chance you get. Do NOT blow them off or minimize their experience or emotions. Because if you do, it may be the last interaction you, or anyone else, will have with your child.

Related articles

• ‘Happy kid’ kills himself over bullying at two NYC schools (usnews.msnbc.msn.com)
• Joel Morales, NYC Fifth-Grader, Commits Suicide over Bullying (VIDEO) (blippitt.com)

Whoo-Hoo, But Dangit!

 

Is it possible to be happy and excited and be disappointed at the same time? I think it is. Let me tell you why. Yesterday when I woke up, I saw that I had 270 hits on my blog. I was so excited! I immediately checked my email to see if I had been notified that I had been “Freshly Pressed,” but there was not a message to that effect. So, I went to the freshly pressed page and looked and looked, but again, nothing. During this time, I had another 50 hits on my blog. I was confused and couldn’t figure it out. There had to be a reason. I clicked around my blog a bit and discovered that the hits were coming from StumbleUpon and that the post that was drawing all the attention was my post, The Hilarious Nag Song.

By day’s end, I had accumulated 643 total hits to my blog in one day’s time! My biggest week to date was 707 hits, but all this in one day? How very cool! Yet, at the same time, I felt very disappointed. I, like everyone else, have been, and apparently still am, waiting for the day that one of myposts is chosen to be freshly pressed. I thought yesterday was that day, but unfortunately for my ego, it was not. I suppose the bright side to this is that I still have something to look forward to, yes?

This is icon for social networking website. This is part of Open Icon Library’s webpage icon package. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Harvey Milk Day

Gay Pride Flag above Harvey Milk Plaza in the Castro neighborhood, San Francisco
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Harvey (right) and his older brother Robert in 1934
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Harvey Bernard Milk was born on May 22, 1930 in Woodmere, New York, on Long Island, to William Milk and Minerva Karns. He was the younger son of Lithuanian Jewish parents and the grandson of Morris Milk, a department store owner who helped to organize the first synagogue in the area. As a child, Harvey was teased for his protruding ears, big nose, and oversized feet, and tended to grab attention as a class clown. He played football in school, and developed a passion for opera; in his teens, he acknowledged his homosexuality, but kept it a closely guarded secret. Under his name in the high school yearbook, it read, “Glimpy Milk—and they say WOMEN are never at a loss for words”. 

Milk graduated from Bay Shore High School in Bay Shore, New York, in 1947 and attended New York State College for Teachers in Albany (now the State University of New York at Albany) from 1947 to 1951, majoring in mathematics. He wrote for the college newspaper and earned a reputation as a gregarious, friendly student. None of his friends in high school or college suspected that he was gay. As one classmate remembered, “He was never thought of as a possible queer—that’s what you called them then—he was a man’s man”.

Milk was an American politician who became the first openly gay man to be elected to public office in California when he won a seat on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. Politics and gay activism were not his early interests; he was not open about his homosexuality and did not participate in civic matters until around the age of 40, after his experiences in the counterculture of the 1960s.

Milk moved from New York City to settle in San Francisco in 1972 amid a migration of gay men to the Castro District. He took advantage of the growing political and economic power of the neighborhood to promote his interests, and ran unsuccessfully for political office three times. His theatrical campaigns earned him increasing popularity, and Milk won a seat as a city supervisor in 1977, part of the broader social changes the city was experiencing.

Milk served almost 11 months in office and was responsible for passing a stringent gay rights ordinance for the city. On November 27, 1978, Milk and Mayor George Moscone were assassinated by Dan White, another city supervisor who had recently resigned but wanted his job back. Milk’s election was made possible by and was a key component of a shift in San Francisco politics. The assassinations and the ensuing events were the result of continuing ideological conflicts in the city.

Milk in 1978 at Major Moscone’s Desk
Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Despite his short career in politics, Milk became an icon in San Francisco and a martyr in the gay community. In 2002, Milk was called “the most famous and most significantly open LGBT official ever elected in the United States”. Anne Kronenberg, his final campaign manager, wrote of him: “What set Harvey apart from you or me was that he was a visionary. He imagined a righteous world inside his head and then he set about to create it for real, for all of us.” Milk was posthumously awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 2009.

The City of San Francisco has paid tribute to Milk by naming several locations after him. Where Market and Castro streets intersect in San Francisco flies an enormous Gay Pride flag, situated in Harvey Milk Plaza. The San Francisco Gay Democratic Club changed its name to the Harvey Milk Memorial Gay Democratic Club in 1978 (it is currently named the Harvey Milk Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender Democratic Club) and boasts that it is the largest Democratic organization in San Francisco. In New York City, Harvey Milk High School is a school program for at-risk youth that concentrates on the needs of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender students and operates out of the Hetrick Martin Institute.

In 1982, freelance reporter Randy Shilts completed his first book: a biography of Milk, titled The Mayor of Castro Street. Shilts wrote the book while unable to find a steady job as an openly gay reporter. The Times of Harvey Milk, a documentary film based on the book’s material, won the 1984 Academy Award for Documentary Feature. Director Rob Epstein spoke later about why he chose the subject of Milk’s life: “At the time, for those of us who lived in San Francisco, it felt like it was life changing, that all the eyes of the world were upon us, but in fact most of the world outside of San Francisco had no idea. It was just a really brief, provincial, localized current events story that the mayor and a city council member in San Francisco were killed. It didn’t have much reverberation.” Milk’s life has been the subject of a musical theater production, an opera, a children’s picture book, and the biopic Milk, released in 2008 after 15 years in the making. The film was directed by Gus Van Sant and starred Sean Penn as Milk and Josh Brolin as Dan White, and won two Academy Awards for Best Original Screenplay and Best Actor. It took eight weeks to film, and often used extras who had been present at the actual events for large crowd scenes, including a scene depicting Milk’s “Hope Speech” at the 1978 Gay Freedom Day Parade.

Milk was included in the “Time 100 Heroes and Icons of the 20th Century” as “a symbol of what gays can accomplish and the dangers they face in doing so”. Despite his antics and publicity stunts, according to writer John Cloud, “none understood how his public role could affect private lives better than Milk … [he] knew that the root cause of the gay predicament was invisibility”. The Advocate listed Milk third in their “40 Heroes” of the 20th century issue, quoting Dianne Feinstein: “His homosexuality gave him an insight into the scars which all oppressed people wear. He believed that no sacrifice was too great a price to pay for the cause of human rights.”

In August 2009, President Barack Obama posthumously awarded Milk the Presidential Medal of Freedom for his contribution to the gay rights movement stating “he fought discrimination with visionary courage and conviction”. Milk’s nephew, Stuart, accepted for his uncle. Shortly after, Stuart co-founded the Harvey Milk Foundation with Anne Kronenberg with the support of Desmond Tutu, co-recipient of 2009 Presidential Medal of Freedom and now a member of the Foundation’s Advisory Board.  Later in the year, California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger designated May 22 as “Harvey Milk Day“, and inducted Milk in the California Hall of Fame. Since 2003, the story of Harvey Milk has been featured in three exhibitions created by the GLBT Historical Society, a San Francisco–based museum, archives, and research center, to which the estate of Scott Smith donated Milk’s personal belongings that were preserved after his death.

Harry Britt summarized Milk’s impact the evening Milk was shot in 1978: “No matter what the world has taught us about ourselves, we can be beautiful and we can get our thing together … Harvey was a prophet … he lived by a vision … Something very special is going to happen in this city and it will have Harvey Milk’s name on it.”

Wikipedia

Related articles

• SOCIAL ACTIVISM: Harvey Milk Day (alwaysquestionauthority.com)
• Harvey Milk Day Recognizes Fallen San Francisco Hero (PHOTOS) (huffingtonpost.com)
• Happy Harvey Milk Day! Event Notice and Video (bilerico.com)
• Harvey Milk’s legacy is progress (sfgate.com)
• Happy Birthday, Harvey May 22, 1930 – November 27, 1978 (ronskemp.wordpress.com)
• Harvey Milk’s Nephew Remembers, as San Diego Plans Street Dedication on Third Official ‘Harvey Milk Day’ (towleroad.com)

Angels for Sara—reblogged

I recently started following  A Life Less Scripted, and the first post I read on her blog was titled Angels for Sara. A horrible thing happened to a very kind woman and the effects are still haunting her and her family. I am all for awareness, so I am reposting this for all my blog followers to read. Though I have been in a situation where my district Manager’s husband touched and tickled me inappropriately and made me extremely uncomfortable, and I was not fired, but quit because of it, I cannot even begin to fathom what poor Sara is dealing with and having to face on a daily basis. Please, please read this short post written by Karen and reposted from her blog, A Life Less Scripted. If anyone can help in any way, whether it is monetary, legally, in the form of helping her find work, or affordable counseling, or, like Karen says, just kind words and genuine support, please do so!

Sara, a business associate of my husband’s, was raped by her boss a couple months ago. Hubster found out about it because she posted a link on her Facebook page asking for help. He sent me the link and said, “You remember Sara. She’s the one who gave C the little blue sunglasses and outfit when he was born.”

Yes, I remember Sara. Sara, who always asks about the kids whenever she comes into Hubster’s office. Sara, who has 3 kids of her own and a huge heart. Sara, who cares so much about other people, even total strangers.

I can’t believe this happened to Sara.

Sara reached out to her friends on Facebook because she doesn’t know what else to do. She lost her job and has been struggling to find another job since, even though she is barely emotionally able to function. Her utilities are in jeopardy of being cut off and her rent is behind. She’s trying to be strong and wants to protect her 3 children from what happened to her. She is lost and scared and hopeful and praying.

Her story is heartbreaking and tough to read because it’s so real. It’s not professionally edited. It’s sometimes hard to follow because she wrote it under duress. Her pain is raw and she’s trying so hard to be strong.

Sara needs angels. She needs people who can spare a little money, who can give her encouragement and who can help her make sense of what she’s going through.

Please read her story. Please help in any way you can. Not everyone can help financially but prayers and words of encouragement are free. Share this link or the MicroGiving link with everyone you know. Please be one of Sara’s angels.

http://www.microgiving.com/profile/Feefer1979

You can send her encouragement through the MicroGiving site or email her directly at feefer1979 at hotmail dot com.

Blessings,

Karen

74-Year-Old, Olivia Morgan, University Valedictorian

How could I not post this incredibly inspiring story! Not that I ever felt that I was too old to go to college (I attended my first class when I was 36; I am 41 and still going), but this proves to anyone out there who thinks they are too old, they most certainly are not! Most of what can be found on Google, about Olivia Martin, are news videos (I have included two of these at the end of this post), but I did find a thorough interview by Dennis Taylor from Mercury News. I have a really hard time with paraphrasing and summarizing, and though this would have been a great piece to practice on, I did not want a single detail left out. This is such a wonderful story and I would like you to enjoy Olivia Martin’s success as much as I have.

When a 47-year relationship with her husband ended abruptly as she approached her 70th birthday, Olivia Morgan found herself feeling sad and frightened in equal parts.

Not only was she alone for the first time since her early 20s, Morgan suddenly found herself financially vulnerable.

“Not only was I devastated by the emotional trauma of the end of a long-term marriage, but I also had some very real financial problems,” said Morgan, 74, a California resident since she moved here from her native Wales in 1962. “I realized I had to supplement my tiny Social Security check.”

Her solution was to fall back on 40 years as an educator in Great Britain and the U.S. — including a 24-year stint at Santa Catalina School in Monterey — and become a substitute teacher in public schools.

The bad news, she discovered, was that California didn’t care about four decades of experience or the lifetime teaching degree she earned with highest honors in 1959 from the University of Wales, an extension of Oxford University. In the eyes of the state, she had no credentials to teach in California’s public school system.

So two years ago, Morgan went back to college, enrolling in an accelerated, two-year course at the Monterey extension of Chapman University, recently renamed Brandman University.

On Saturday she’ll stand before her fellow graduates, their families, her three adult sons and her grandchildren to deliver the commencement speech as valedictorian of her class.

“My speech is about going back to college, but also about getting rheumatic fever when I was 11, being told I’d never walk again, then getting it again at 15,” she said. “A specialist said I might walk someday if I did years of physical therapy. I looked in the mirror and said, ‘I can do that,’ and I did. I actually danced with my dad on Christmas Eve.”

Born in 1938, Morgan’s earliest memory is huddling with her family in the dark and dampness beneath the streets of Swanzea, Wales, as German planes bombed the village.

“The house next door, where my best friend lived, got bombed and everybody was killed,” she said. “Our school was destroyed. It was a terrible, terrible time.”

She was the oldest of nine children born to a German mother and Italian father — not a desirable ethnic mix for residents of Great Britain during World War II.

“My parents had a lot of their property confiscated during the war and they never got it back, similar to what happened to the Japanese in the United States,” she said. “We all used my mom’s maiden name — Jones — during the war.” (Morgan’s birth name was Olivia Romano.)

In childhood she lived next door to the sister of future actor Richard Burton, whom she remembers as a handsome teenager with an unforgettable voice that made her believe, even then, that he was destined for great things.

As a 16-year-old she was hired as a cub reporter at her local newspaper, writing stories about singer Shirley Bassey, scuba diving, a scandalous “pajama dance” at the university, and whether drivers were more likely to change a flat tire for a pretty girl, as opposed to a homely one.

Morgan grew to be a statuesque beauty, winning 38 pageants in her youth — “Silly things, like ‘Miss Tea & Crumpets’ and ‘Miss Marilyn Monroe,’ she said with a blush — a trait that ran in the family. In 1960, her grandmother, a gymnast into her 90s, was named “Fittest Old Age Pensioner in Great Britain.” Her mother was “Mrs. Great Britain,” and 22-year-old Olivia won the “Miss Wales” pageant — an award that earned her a full-ride scholarship to the University of Wales.

From left: Hanora Jones (Olivia’s grandmother), Olivia Morgan and Olga Romano (Olivia’s mother) in a photo from 1960. (VERN FISHER/The Herald)

The same year she traveled to German for a study vacation, became lost and was rescued by a handsome American, Kelly Morgan, who helped her find a place to stay.

“I went back that Christmas to go skiing and saw him again,” she said. “Eighteen months later we were married.”

Morgan taught in Stuttgart, Germany, before moving with her husband to America in 1962, where she found a teaching job in an all-Latino class in East Los Angeles.

“They didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak Spanish. It was a nightmare,” she said. “I was mostly babysitting, but they were nice kids.”

In addition to the teaching job she held to put her husband through school, Morgan raised her three sons while attending night classes at L.A. City College.

They moved in 1968 to the Monterey Peninsula, where Kelly became Monterey’s city planner and she was hired to teach at Santa Catalina, a job she kept for 2½ decades.

“I’ve always felt very confident about my teaching abilities, perhaps because I had eight younger siblings,” she said. “I’ve always believed in breaking the traditional teaching rules and doing things a bit differently.”

She once escorted Santa Catalina students into the pouring rain for a lesson about writing rain poetry. (The students had brought a change of clothes.) Another time she fed second-graders at Junipero Serra School “horse food” — oatmeal with dried apricots, cranberries and almonds — during a lesson about equines.

She regularly shows up at classrooms with her “Mary Poppins bag,” filled with lesson-related surprises for the children. And she showed up dressed as Cleopatra, bearing oat cakes made from a 500-year-old recipe, for a presentation on ancient Egyptian history at Chapman University.

But the prospect of switching from teacher to student at age 72 was daunting and unsettling. Surrounded by students bearing laptop computers, Morgan took her notes in shorthand she’d learned six decades earlier in Wales. A statistics class overwhelmed her, in part because she also had to learn how to use Excel computer software. She was unimpressed with some online classes she was required to complete, mostly because of the lack of teacher-student interaction.

“And I found out you don’t hand in your paper anymore — you attach a document to an email,” she said. “I accidentally sent the professor my favorite chocolate cake recipe, instead of my paper, on my first try.”

Classes often lasted until 10 p.m., and professors assigned four hours of homework for each hour of class.

“It was very intense, a full-time job,” she said. “But my love for learning returned, and, after feeling overwhelmed for a while, I looked in the mirror one day and said, ‘You can do this!’ And I did.”

She’ll celebrate graduation with a visit to Wales, where her family still lives, then plans to have hip-replacement surgery before applying for work in the local public school systems.

“I was reluctant to tell this story. I’m a humble person,” she said. “But I think it might inspire other seniors.

“And I’m very nervous about giving my speech to all those people at graduation — especially when I know my three sons and grandchildren probably will be making faces at me the whole time.”

By DENNIS TAYLOR from Mercury News

Ghost Town

Ooooooo! Eerie! Spooky! Almost creepy, even. I am traveling to New York to pick up our good ol’ pup client, Tucker. I have my phone with me and get all my emails directly, and I keep my eyes peeled for new posts as we cruise along the highway. No, I am not driving, just riding along enjoying the scenery and the sunshine.

I am shocked at how very few new posts have hit my inbox. I am not complaining or criticizing in any way, but it is very unusual. I am guessing that between the nice weather and Mother’s day this weekend, all are out and about and enjoying life.

Good for you! But, please don’t be gone long. Selfish, I know, but I will miss you otherwise.

Happy Mother’s Day and have a Happy Weekend!

No Excuses

I just viewed this video on Rockdweller’s Blog, and I must share it with my followers! This man’s journey did not at all surprise me, because I am one who believes this kind of thing can be done, but his success touched me deeply and left me in tears. How very inspiring! Please do take the five minutes to watch this video. You won’t regret it! And after watching this, you should realize that anything you want or need to do can be done. No excuses!

Puerto Rico

Puerto Rico; I love the way that sounds when I say it out loud, especially when I can roll the r’s correctly. I have never been there, but would not be opposed to putting it on my bucket list. So, of all the many countries, why Puerto Rico for this post? The main reason is to give recognition and honor this little country for being the 50^th country to visit my blog. This visit occurred on March 25, 2012. I couldn’t be happier that out of the many countries that have come before it, after it, and have yet to visit my blog, Puerto Rico was the 50^th.

Here again, is another interesting little tidbit about me I am going to share with all of you. Though my parents divorced when I was about 10, and both of them led very different lives from then on, what is interesting is their marriage, at least to me. My Pappy, who is also my mother’s father, was stationed in Puerto Rico at the time my mother was in her senior year of high school. My father, also in the Air Force at that time, was stationed in Puerto Rico, and as luck would have it, their paths crossed. The luck is because years later I was born into this world and, well, aren’t you glad I am here? Of course you are! Anyway, at some point, they both returned to the states, my father to Michigan, and my mother…I am honestly not quite sure at that time. Could have been Alabama, her birth state, Tennessee, where my grandparents lived for a while when I was just a wee-little baby, or Florida, though I don’t think that came until later. Again, I cannot be sure of some of the details, only the ones I remember being told. Once my mother and father decided to be married, they thought since they met in Puerto Rico, they should be married there as well, and so they were.

Here is another part that I am semi-guessing and semi-calculating logically. I know I was born four years after my parents were married, which was in February of 1971. My guess would be that the year they were married was in 1967. I want to say that I remember their anniversary to be September 30^th, but the problem with that memory is I also remember that date being the end the fiscal year for the Air Force, where my mother worked until her untimely death. My sister and I used to make posters and cards for her that said “Happy New Year” that she would find on the kitchen counter when she returned home from work, usually just before or just after midnight. She was a budget analyst and it was that date that the budget had to be closed out for the year. It meant many extra hours and late hours, so we would celebrate the finalization of that with the hand-made tokens of love and appreciation. Am I am confusing one date for the other or did it just so happen to be the same date for both? Maybe if my sister reads this post, and if she knows the details any better, she can comment the corrections.

My whole point is, Puerto Rico was the 50^th country to visit my blog, was where my parents were married, and incidentally, I watched West Side Story for the first time last night. If you have never seen it, the significance is that the West Side Story takes place on the west side of Manhattan, New York City, and is set in the mid 1950’s, when many Puerto Ricans moved to NYC. It depicts two gangs in the city; the Jets are from Manhattan and have ruled their “turf” for years, after defeating the Emeralds. The Sharks are from Puerto Rico. They have just recently come to NY, and want a “turf” of their own. Apparently, the West Side Story is a modern-day adaptation of the timeless classic, Romeo and Juliet, by William Shakespeare. They both involve two young people who fall in love, but are kept apart by their friends/families. This causes grave consequences (West Side Story).

All in all, thank you, Puerto Rico, for visiting my blog, for leading to my existence, and for your part in a wonderful, albeit sadly tragic, musical!

Related articles

• Puerto Rico’s flag day in East Harlem (harlemworldmag.com)
• Visiting Puerto Rico (johndcook.com)

“I’m Not Lost, Just Weird”

Yesterday, I spent the day with my bestie watching movies and relaxing, which was really nice and something I really needed. As a result, I did not write anything to post yesterday, so as you may guess, I am very eager to write some things today. Fortunately for me, and for you, I chose to do some reading first. I read some posts from about a dozen or so blogs, and then I ended up on I’m Not Lost, Just Weird. This is a blog I visit often because the author and my dear Zen friend posts some amazing things and if you are looking for food for thought, I would say to put her at the top of your list. Seriously!

Ok, I read her latest post, was appalled at the ridiculousness of some of her followers…hey! I am just telling it like it is, but if nothing else, they just gave her some new material for another great and honest post! After I made a comment and said what I had to say, I decided to click on one of her “categories” entitled Koffee Klatch and was first very intrigued by post titles. As I read one after another, I was hooked and it was with great pain I pulled myself away so I could write this post and give all of you the link to her blog, a most honored treasure. I so selflessly share this magnificence with you and hope you enjoy reading her very clever thoughts and arrangement of words as much as I do.

No excuses! I have provided direct links to her blog, I’m Not Lost, Just Weird, and to the category I am raving about, Koffee Klatch, twice now in the same post. Just click and start reading. How sad for you if you don’t.

 

Hometown…?

Being a student at Penn State University, one of the things most frequently asked in an introduction discussion board is to share your hometown. I know this may seem silly, but I truly have a hard time with this. What constitutes a person’s “hometown?” Here is why I ask.

I was born in Michigan, where I lived only four years of my life. I remember almost nothing from that time period. When I was four and my sister had just turned one, we moved to Florida, where I was raised. I spent the remainder of my childhood there in that southern state and shortly after I reached my 18^th birthday, I moved to Oregon once I had graduated high school. I lived there for 22 years. That is currently equivalent to over half of my lifetime. Both of my boys were born in Oregon. Now, for a little less than a year, I have been living in Pennsylvania, and I feel more at home here than I can remember elsewhere.

So, is my hometown where I was born? Is it where I was raised and graduated high school? Is it where I spent over half of my life and raised my own children? Or is the place I now call home? Do you see my dilemma? My guess is that Florida, the state in which I was raised, shared a “home” with my parents (until I was 10, and then it was only my mother) and my sister, and is where all of my “when I was growing up” memories and stories come from, would probably be the best choice when asked where my hometown is. But, then again, I really don’t know. Would anyone like to shed some light on this silly little concept for me? It will make posting my introduction to new classes so much easier!