You wouldn't know it looking at me today, but there's a rebel within me. All my life I've felt like I just didn't quite fit in and it showed. "I'm a rebel, Dottie, a loner." Those words may have been Pee Wee Herman's but they fit me too. Eventually in my late teens alcohol became my friend. Then I added a little marijuana to the mix. I starting dying my hair purplish-red, even had the bottom half buzzed and had a 6 inch braided tail. My wardrobe was all black, I carried a switch blade in my boots, and hung out at punk clubs in Salt Lake where I usually danced by myself next to the speakers. I smoked two packs a day and played pool in smoky, dingy pool halls. I had a homemade tattoo of a skull and crossbones on my shoulder. I dated guys with names like Billy Rat, and while a couple looked like Billy Idol, others sported mohawks. I had the cops draw their guns on me once. I had some psycho on drugs throw his fist through my car window shattering it in my face. I had lots of times I probably should have died driving drunk or high.
Then something changed. I checked myself into a treatment center. Months later, I ended up pregnant and became a single mom. I quit smoking, cold turkey. I went back to church. Went back to college.
Went back to blonde. I became a member of society and got a full time job. I volunteered at my son's elementary school every year. I dressed normal and even covered my skull and crossbones tattoo with a sunflower done by a guy named Bones. And after 10 years as a single mom, I even got married. Then I really became normal - even boring. There would be no more dancing. No more shooting pool in dingy, smoky pool halls. I even had an allergic reaction to my tattoo many years later and had it surgically removed. Now I have a four inch scar. I started my own business and I'm even the Chair of the Davis Chamber of Commerce Women in Business. I've been sober 22 years, smoke-free 18.
But the rebel is still within. In the last year or so I went back to dying my hair all sorts of different shades of red (much to the dismay of my mom). I still go to my Social Distortion concerts. I even hit the hard stuff twice a week. Yep, Diet Coke WITH the caffeine! I went back to playing soccer in my 30's and then again in my 40's. At 38 I took martial arts classes and earned my 1st degree black belt. I still long to play pool in smoky, dingy pool halls with Tom Waits playing on the jukebox. And sometimes, when I'm alone, I crank the music up and dance by myself. I still find guys like Mike Ness and Jesse James sexy with all their tattoos, not to mention Orlando Bloom when he had his mohawk. Heck, I still have the urge to get a mohawk myself...I just don't act on that one! I still love the sound of a Harley, and dream of driving a little red corvette. Marriage hasn't really worked out as I had planned. And sometimes I still feel like I don't fit in.
You see, it's still there. Sometimes I feel it so strong I think I might explode. Sometimes it makes me smile. And sometimes I even let it out to play a little. It's the rebel within.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
You Call That Honesty?
Our lesson in church last Sunday was on honesty. And honestly, some of the discussion really bothered me and has continued to fester in my head. So now I can't sleep until I throw it out there to the Universe and release it.
Most of us believe we have a good handle on what's honest but I want to question that a bit. As the discussion turned to being honest in our words and thoughts I feel the lesson took a horrible turn. You see, people wanted to justify not being totally honest because it can hurt feelings. It's commonly called being brutally honest. But is it really honesty at all? Some talked about not really telling people what you thought of their clothes or how fat they looked. One woman even mentioned that you wouldn't tell a woman that her baby was ugly. Do you really consider that honesty to even be thinking that in the first place? I would consider it more judgmental than honest.
Think of it this way. To God that baby is absolutely beautiful. To that mother who has waited so long to have that child, that baby is absolutely beautiful. I have an amazing, and very handsome son. I would have LOVED to have more children, but my husband didn't want to as much as I did. Any child that I would be blessed to have would be absolutely beautiful to me. So are they really being honest in thinking that way or are they looking at that child through worldly eyes?
And the person in the not-so-flattering clothing? We all have our own opinions of what looks good and who are we to say what is right for someone else. Honest or judgmental? Personally, I could stand to lose 30 pounds (again), my nose is pretty big, my ears are even bigger, I color my hair interesting colors at times. Speaking of hair, I used to have a lot more of it so it was easy back then to do pretty things with it. Through a series of stressful events over the last few years I'm now down to a third of what I used to have. I don't have money to spend on clothes so everything I own comes off the clearance rack. So by some people's standards, I'm not that pretty, or fashionable, or thin. But I know that to God I am still beautiful.
A few years back I saw a man walking across the street in Salt Lake. His thin body was deformed so he was bent over to one side and had difficulty walking. But there he was, crossing the street dressed in a nice dress shirt and pants, walking with his head held high and looking very confident. Down a couple more blocks I then saw a man with a large muscular body crossing the street. As he crossed the street he smoked his cigarette. Now by the world's standards the first man would not be considered an attractive man. Is that an honest opinion of the man? I saw two men who had both been blessed with a body. The first one was proud of the body he had been given and was taking care of it to the best of his ability. The second man, not so much. Where's the real honesty?
So there's my soap box. Don't get me wrong, this is not something I am perfect in. This is a lesson as much for me as anyone else who chooses to look at it. Sometimes we hide behind our own judgmental opinions by calling it brutal honesty. But if we choose not to look at the world and the people in it through human eyes but by the light of Christ instead, we just might see things differently and find real honesty. Excuse me for being brutally honest ;)
Most of us believe we have a good handle on what's honest but I want to question that a bit. As the discussion turned to being honest in our words and thoughts I feel the lesson took a horrible turn. You see, people wanted to justify not being totally honest because it can hurt feelings. It's commonly called being brutally honest. But is it really honesty at all? Some talked about not really telling people what you thought of their clothes or how fat they looked. One woman even mentioned that you wouldn't tell a woman that her baby was ugly. Do you really consider that honesty to even be thinking that in the first place? I would consider it more judgmental than honest.
Think of it this way. To God that baby is absolutely beautiful. To that mother who has waited so long to have that child, that baby is absolutely beautiful. I have an amazing, and very handsome son. I would have LOVED to have more children, but my husband didn't want to as much as I did. Any child that I would be blessed to have would be absolutely beautiful to me. So are they really being honest in thinking that way or are they looking at that child through worldly eyes?
And the person in the not-so-flattering clothing? We all have our own opinions of what looks good and who are we to say what is right for someone else. Honest or judgmental? Personally, I could stand to lose 30 pounds (again), my nose is pretty big, my ears are even bigger, I color my hair interesting colors at times. Speaking of hair, I used to have a lot more of it so it was easy back then to do pretty things with it. Through a series of stressful events over the last few years I'm now down to a third of what I used to have. I don't have money to spend on clothes so everything I own comes off the clearance rack. So by some people's standards, I'm not that pretty, or fashionable, or thin. But I know that to God I am still beautiful.
A few years back I saw a man walking across the street in Salt Lake. His thin body was deformed so he was bent over to one side and had difficulty walking. But there he was, crossing the street dressed in a nice dress shirt and pants, walking with his head held high and looking very confident. Down a couple more blocks I then saw a man with a large muscular body crossing the street. As he crossed the street he smoked his cigarette. Now by the world's standards the first man would not be considered an attractive man. Is that an honest opinion of the man? I saw two men who had both been blessed with a body. The first one was proud of the body he had been given and was taking care of it to the best of his ability. The second man, not so much. Where's the real honesty?
So there's my soap box. Don't get me wrong, this is not something I am perfect in. This is a lesson as much for me as anyone else who chooses to look at it. Sometimes we hide behind our own judgmental opinions by calling it brutal honesty. But if we choose not to look at the world and the people in it through human eyes but by the light of Christ instead, we just might see things differently and find real honesty. Excuse me for being brutally honest ;)
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Once a Soccer Mom, Always a Soccer Mom
It's that time of year when I wax nostalgic. The sun is starting to shine again, the days are getting warmer, trees are budding and flowers are sprouting up. But my favorite thing about this time of year would be the sights and sounds of soccer season. The cheering. The whistles blowing. The orange slices at halftime and the donuts after. I love this time of year. You see, I'm a soccer player AND a soccer mom. The best of both worlds. I have played all my life, and am still playing soccer. Yes, I'm in my forties and I am still loving soccer. But being a soccer mom is just as much fun to me. I have seen moms putting comments on Facebook today about how fun their kids games were. I have also in the past seen moms complain about being a soccer mom. My son turns 21 in a couple of months and I totally miss being the full-time soccer mom. I still go to some of his indoor games, and have even played on a couple of indoor teams WITH him, but it's not the same. So I'm going to share some of my soccer mom memories with anyone who will listen (or read).
I bought my son his first soccer ball before he was born. Poor kid didn't have a chance.
As soon as my son could walk he was dribbling the soccer ball. By the time he was two I was kicking the ball at him and making him dive on it. I figured the worst position he could play was goalie and I didn't want him to have any fear of the ball. Good thing since he ended up as the Varsity goalie at his high school.
He played on his first team when he was 4. No, he didn't have the killer instinct yet. Instead , he would watch his shadow or chase blowing leaves across the field. Then he would suddenly notice the game was going on, run over, take the ball down and score. Then go back to chasing leaves.
And my son has always been a sucker for girls, even on the soccer field. One game I watched him pick a dandelion in the middle of a game, spit on it, then give it to a girl on the other team. Awww shucks!
He did get more serious and more emotional about soccer. The big guys were really hard on him because he could dribble circles around them. But after getting teary-eyed he'd get real mad.
When he was eleven, he was scoring on average 6 goals a game. He was unstoppable. One game was against a team coached by our neighbor. As I was sitting on the sidelines watching the game, a mom from the other team told the coach that she heard my son was so good because his mom had played semi-pro soccer. Astonished, my neighbor turned to me and asked if it was true. Unfortunately not, but it made me smile. My son had become the stuff of legends!
High school soccer was tough on this soccer mom. Goalie is the loneliest spot on the field. That first game that the coach pulled the varsity goalie and put my son in was terrifying. It was his junior year and he was the varsity goalie from there on out. The team went from last place to being in a 3-way tie for a spot in the playoffs. My son was awarded the Impact Player of the Year by his coach.
Oh but we're not done yet. My son practiced last year with the Weber State team and I'm sure he'll be playing with them in no time. He's a determined kid. Good thing, 'cause I'm not ready to give up the title of soccer mom. Enjoy it while it lasts ladies, because you'll miss it when it's gone. Now where are those orange slices?
I bought my son his first soccer ball before he was born. Poor kid didn't have a chance.
As soon as my son could walk he was dribbling the soccer ball. By the time he was two I was kicking the ball at him and making him dive on it. I figured the worst position he could play was goalie and I didn't want him to have any fear of the ball. Good thing since he ended up as the Varsity goalie at his high school.
He played on his first team when he was 4. No, he didn't have the killer instinct yet. Instead , he would watch his shadow or chase blowing leaves across the field. Then he would suddenly notice the game was going on, run over, take the ball down and score. Then go back to chasing leaves.
And my son has always been a sucker for girls, even on the soccer field. One game I watched him pick a dandelion in the middle of a game, spit on it, then give it to a girl on the other team. Awww shucks!
He did get more serious and more emotional about soccer. The big guys were really hard on him because he could dribble circles around them. But after getting teary-eyed he'd get real mad.
When he was eleven, he was scoring on average 6 goals a game. He was unstoppable. One game was against a team coached by our neighbor. As I was sitting on the sidelines watching the game, a mom from the other team told the coach that she heard my son was so good because his mom had played semi-pro soccer. Astonished, my neighbor turned to me and asked if it was true. Unfortunately not, but it made me smile. My son had become the stuff of legends!
High school soccer was tough on this soccer mom. Goalie is the loneliest spot on the field. That first game that the coach pulled the varsity goalie and put my son in was terrifying. It was his junior year and he was the varsity goalie from there on out. The team went from last place to being in a 3-way tie for a spot in the playoffs. My son was awarded the Impact Player of the Year by his coach.
Oh but we're not done yet. My son practiced last year with the Weber State team and I'm sure he'll be playing with them in no time. He's a determined kid. Good thing, 'cause I'm not ready to give up the title of soccer mom. Enjoy it while it lasts ladies, because you'll miss it when it's gone. Now where are those orange slices?
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
To save a superhero
When my son was little he loved playing the superhero. As Zorro he carved his signature Z into the dresser. As a teenage mutant ninja turtle his swords had to be strapped on just right. But most days he was Superman. One day, when he was 4 years old, he heard the neighbor girls screaming next door. He came running to me for help getting his cape on because he said he needed to save them. He darted out the door with determination on his face only to return a minute later totally dejected. With the saddest face he told me "They didn't want to be saved." Even Superman has bad days.
Flash forward 16 years and my little Superman is all grown up but he'll always be my superhero. Tomorrow morning he faces one of his toughest obstacles as he soars through life and as his mom, I can't save him from this one. Even Superman had a hard time with Kryptonite. Even Superman had parents that tried to protect him only to have him face a new set of challenges on another planet. But I don't have some pod to place him in and ship him to another planet and I don't have a solution for kryptonite. All I can do is make sure he has his cape and be there when he comes back from this battle. After all, how do you save a Superhero?
Good luck Superman. Your mom loves you!
Flash forward 16 years and my little Superman is all grown up but he'll always be my superhero. Tomorrow morning he faces one of his toughest obstacles as he soars through life and as his mom, I can't save him from this one. Even Superman had a hard time with Kryptonite. Even Superman had parents that tried to protect him only to have him face a new set of challenges on another planet. But I don't have some pod to place him in and ship him to another planet and I don't have a solution for kryptonite. All I can do is make sure he has his cape and be there when he comes back from this battle. After all, how do you save a Superhero?
Good luck Superman. Your mom loves you!
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
The Skin I'm In
Last night I went to the Bon Jovi concert with my husband and son. I love music and I love seeing bands live, especially great ones from the 80's. I've seen Bon Jovi live before and they put on an amazing show, so I knew I was in for a fun night. It was so much fun to be singing along with Bon Jovi and having my 20 year old son sitting next to me singing along too. As I watched the band play I thought back to my teenage years and this same band. Who would have thought that an 80's hair band would a: still be alive, b: would still be sane, and c: would still be putting out awesome music.
As I watched Jon Bon Jovi beautifully strutting his stuff on stage I noticed something about him. No, not the fact that he still looks great in tight pants. Okay, maybe that. But also, that this man is incredibly comfortable in his own skin. At that point I became a little jealous. Here is a man who is doing what he is passionate about and absolutely loving every minute of it. I firmly believe that even if he weren't making a fortune off of it, he would still be doing it because he loves it. He knows he is good at what he does, he believes completely in himself, and he is totally caught up in the moment and loving it.
I am not that comfortable in my own skin. Unfortunately. I wanted to stand up and shake it right along with Bon Jovi but didn't want to embarrass myself (or my son) by bringing that much attention to my 40-something body that has seen better days. Maybe if I were thinner. Maybe if I were younger. Maybe if I had on a cuter outfit. But no. I sat in my seat and clapped my hands and rocked a little bit. Why? Since when do you have to look amazing to enjoy a moment?
Being comfortable in my own skin is a huge issue for me. I know what my passion is. Art. Some days I think I'm good at it. Other days I think it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks as long as I enjoy doing it. Some days I feel I have the capacity to be great. But most days I'm holding myself back out of fear. I'm too scared to even pick up a pencil and sketch a little something. What if nobody likes what I draw? I'm still looking for others to find the worth in me instead of me just enjoying being me. Now. In this moment. Skin and all. Come on Denise. Suck it up. Live your life for you.
In the words of Jon Bon Jovi, "It's my life. It's now or never. I ain't going to live forever. I just wanna live while I'm alive."
As I watched Jon Bon Jovi beautifully strutting his stuff on stage I noticed something about him. No, not the fact that he still looks great in tight pants. Okay, maybe that. But also, that this man is incredibly comfortable in his own skin. At that point I became a little jealous. Here is a man who is doing what he is passionate about and absolutely loving every minute of it. I firmly believe that even if he weren't making a fortune off of it, he would still be doing it because he loves it. He knows he is good at what he does, he believes completely in himself, and he is totally caught up in the moment and loving it.
I am not that comfortable in my own skin. Unfortunately. I wanted to stand up and shake it right along with Bon Jovi but didn't want to embarrass myself (or my son) by bringing that much attention to my 40-something body that has seen better days. Maybe if I were thinner. Maybe if I were younger. Maybe if I had on a cuter outfit. But no. I sat in my seat and clapped my hands and rocked a little bit. Why? Since when do you have to look amazing to enjoy a moment?
Being comfortable in my own skin is a huge issue for me. I know what my passion is. Art. Some days I think I'm good at it. Other days I think it doesn't matter what anybody else thinks as long as I enjoy doing it. Some days I feel I have the capacity to be great. But most days I'm holding myself back out of fear. I'm too scared to even pick up a pencil and sketch a little something. What if nobody likes what I draw? I'm still looking for others to find the worth in me instead of me just enjoying being me. Now. In this moment. Skin and all. Come on Denise. Suck it up. Live your life for you.
In the words of Jon Bon Jovi, "It's my life. It's now or never. I ain't going to live forever. I just wanna live while I'm alive."
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Night journeys of a mad woman
Anyone who knows me well knows that I am a creature of the night. I love the night. I belong in the night. I thrive in the night. Nights when I try to go to bed at a human hour I end up lying there tossing and turning as my mind continues to spin and create. I've tried getting up and writing things down in hopes that I can release the ideas and go to sleep but it doesn't work. My creative mind takes the ideas and then proceeds to expand upon them...for hours.
So what do you do with all of that bizarre stuff that bounces around in your head at 2am? I decided to create a blog where I can hopefully put it out to the universe and move on. So that's what this is. This is a record of my random night journeys, the travels of a spirited soul trying to find her place in a world that feels so restrictive. Hopefully through this blog I can embrace the spirited me and find some way to bring her into the daylight and thrive there too. Stranger things have happened.
So what do you do with all of that bizarre stuff that bounces around in your head at 2am? I decided to create a blog where I can hopefully put it out to the universe and move on. So that's what this is. This is a record of my random night journeys, the travels of a spirited soul trying to find her place in a world that feels so restrictive. Hopefully through this blog I can embrace the spirited me and find some way to bring her into the daylight and thrive there too. Stranger things have happened.
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