Words

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me."

I don’t know who came up with this saying as a comeback or mantra for little kids who are being bullied or getting called names. But it’s not correct. Words can DO hurt. A lot, actually.

Take it from this “fat kid” who was suicidal as a teenager because I had no friends that EVER stood up for me, while I was bullied literally every single day. Or take it from my skinny friend whose parents told her she “shouldn't eat that” because she didn't fit in her mom’s wedding dress. Or take it from the gay neighbor guy, who hears his sexual orientation being used as a slang term for anything “uncool”.  Or take it from the special needs adult that works at the local ice cream shop, whose developmental delay is used torepresent anything from “ignorant” to “irrational”. Or just take a moment to think back to a time in your own life when the words that came out of someone else’s mouth shocked you.

You’re probably curious what started this rant. Today at work, I heard the word “retarded” used 4 times. FOUR! I was am so disgusted, I could scream! Worst part? One of my own coworkers is the one who used it. First, it was used to describe a customer who was holding, waiting for an answer to a question. Second, it was used when a technician was asking questions on behalf of the customer whose home he was at. Third, it was used to explain the feeling of (apparently) frustration at the task this person was assigned to complete. Last, it was muttered under her breath when I asked a question about a call that she took and put on the board without consulting dispatch (me) and that should not have been put on for tonight and led to me having to call another customer and cancel. Frustrating? Yes. Retarded? Uh, no, definitely not. Here's a handy flow chart to help. Maybe I'll print one and leave it on her desk.

Photo credit: Huffington Post

Words can heal, I have proof of this. I've heard a story first-hand from a medical office front desk representative of someone calling to get an appointment to see the doctor and later telling the receptionist that she intended to end her life if that person on the other end of the phone couldn't have helped her. I have had the personal experience of talking a suicidal individual into coming down from a picnic table. Those stories are something that can really restore your faith in humanity.

But how often do you remember an event when someone said something to you that wasn't out of the ordinary? I make it a point to be positive in my words as much as I can. I try to tell everyone I pass to have a nice day and I do my best to say “please” and “thank you” whenever it fits. People might be teetering on an edge, ready to crumble over one side or the other. What you say to them could be the difference between making their day better or worse. It could even mean the difference between life and death, you just never know.

Try to remember that people are people, too. Don’t say things – even under your breath – if you wouldn’t want to hear them in passing. And never say something to intentionally cut down or hurt another person. It’s unnecessary and cruel. Plus, you never know the long-term outcome of something spat out in the heat of the moment. Usually, they aren’t good consequences.

More graffiti later,

~A

Brother

Myself, my partner-in-awesomeness, and my brother.

Today is my big brother's birthday. Ahem, even though his 3 children think it's hilarious to remind me that they all think he's my younger brother. Not my fault that I act more mature than he does! Ha! But in reality, he's MUCH older than I am.

He's been part of my family since I was 8. He was instantly the older brother I always wanted and couldn't understand why I couldn't have one! When mom took a work trip, he called me in sick to school every day and we spent the time together instead (Oh, just in case you all didn't know: you can't play Clue with 2 people!) As a teenager, he was always reminding me to make good choices, but also keeping in mind that it's ok to have fun. He protected me by coming out in the middle of the night to get me from somewhere when I realized I wasn't safe. He saved me.

Now, he lets me be a big part of the lives of his 3 kids, and I am grateful for that. We are both at a point where we are about to venture on into the unknown with the next phase of our lives. And that's ok. Because we'll do it together and see what happens. Always there with a sarcastic comment, or sincere advice from the heart, he's the brother I had always dreamed of. 

We've been through some ups and some downs, but I know he'll be there for me whenever I need him. And he should know the same goes for him needing me. He's made me laugh, made me cry and makes me want to punch or break something on an almost daily basis. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

More graffiti soon!

~A

Niki

My sister was the most amazing woman I've ever known.

Today is her 41st birthday. I say it that way - using the word "is" - not because I don't know how to otherwise express it, but because there isn't a better way to do so. Last night, I was chatting with a coworker of mine. I mentioned that I made the mistake of picking up the closing shift tonight and "it would have been my sister's birthday." His reply was a joking "Well, it still is her birthday" because he didn't know. What he thought he meant was just because I wouldn't be there to join the family dinner, doesn't mean it's not still her birthday. He was wrong about my absence being the one to change the celebration. But he was also so right.

Just because she isn't here to open presents doesn't mean she isn't here. Her not being in the same room with us doesn't mean her life and her spirit didn't change the lives of others over the last year. I know that thinking about her and wondering what kind of advice she would have has definitely changed the course of my life. Probably more in the last year than any other influence has. Her physical absence doesn't mean she isn't so very present in so many aspects of my life. And it DEFINITELY doesn't mean that we can't celebrate her life.

So today I sit at my desk, eating peanut butter and pickles (yep, still *gross*!) and letting out a "rawr" when I hang up with a fussy customer. And I can hear her laugh. And I can sense her presence. And I can feel her love. And it gives me reason to celebrate.

Comments are always welcome, but they'll be moderated. This one is more than just punctuated graffiti.
~A

Fooled

I have always had very clear intentions when it comes to interacting with people and don't hide who I am or what I think just because people might not want to know the truth. Well, not everyone thinks the same. I've learned this countless times, so it shouldn't be so shocking anymore. This time was different, though. Because this time, I never saw it coming.

I met a guy. A marine who served 3 tours of duty. He was here from out of town for work. We spent quite a bit of time together before he left for his "home office" for their quarterly regional meeting stuff. Blah blah blah... It was fun. And I felt pretty damned cool that somebody would be interested in ME. Until I decided to look him up on Facebook so we could chat while he was gone. And the reality of what had happened hit me like a bag of bricks.

Finding out someone has been lying to you from the moment they introduced themselves isn't a great feeling. Discovering the lengths they went to in order to convince you that they were being honest and you could trust them is shocking. Learning that they stooped to levels you didn't even know could cross the mind of a person is utterly terrifying and can rip you apart. If you choose to let it.

I'm choosing not to let it ruin me. I'm choosing to let go of it. And in the process, I realized that what I needed to do was write it out and give those feelings back to the person wretch who caused them in the first part. Writing it was relieving. Sending it was liberating. Sharing it here with you is freeing.

I'm not a big enough idiot to think that he'll even consider responding. But if he does, you'll get to see it.
After all, it's just punctuated graffiti.
~A

Family

At the beginning of last week, I had the joy of going to visit some of my more extended family. And while I was there, I celebrated the upcoming birth of a baby. Then I laughed so hard my drink came out of my nose (not pretty!). And I shed some tears when we were reminiscing about the ones who couldn't meet with us for different reasons. Then, on my 4-hour drive home, I got to thinking about visiting family and what that meant. Not “visiting family” defined as “taking time [possibly traveling] to be in the same location and converse with those that you share mutual DNA with”, but “visiting family” defined by us in our own way. Which this time meant “spending time loving those around you”.

The family members I visited last week are a mixture of blood, marriage, and claim. Most of our time was spent with my grandmother’s sister’s kid (so, a cousin). She is closer with my mom than they are to some of their own siblings. I visited some of my other family at the cemetery, including a few people who we've always considered family but no one has ever been able to figure out how they got there.

Then, there was the trip to the farm. Here is where I met 5 amazing kids and re-connected with their mom, who has been a member of my family since I was a kid, only because we claim her to be. Someone asked me how we are related to them and my response of “it’s complicated, but they've always been family” didn't appease her curiosity. So, I broke it down for her: my mother’s now-dead ex-husband’s previous wife’s sister’s kid. [Did you follow the bouncing ball there?] Her response was “so, we’re not related.” Well, only if you want to be… Husband and wife got divorced, the family kept in touch with the husband, through his marriage and divorce from my mom, and then they kept in touch with her. Best part? Growing up, my mom, my dad, and I used to go visit them. And it was NEVER weird! Because it was just more family.

See, my family hasn’t EVER been defined by blood relation or matching last names. I was born an only child but gained an older brother and sister, by label alone. I think you can define family as whoever you want to be there with you to celebrate the good times. Add in those that support you during the struggles and weep with you during times of grief, and you’ve got a solid family. See, my “sister” was technically (by blood) my first cousin, but I don’t remember a happy or sad time not spent with her by my side, up until the moment she passed away. And my “brother” isn’t blood related to me at all. He came to Minnesota from his own hometown chasing love. His 3 kids are my blood relatives because he married someone that is blood related to me, but that doesn’t mean she’s more my family than he is.

Life changes with time, and with those changes, you gain and lose family members for varying reasons. Some are born, some die, some marry, some divorce. Some slowly become a part of the family and some abruptly leave it. People come and go throughout your life, but everyone leaves their footprints on your heart – good or bad. In the end, it’s not about who you’re “related” to, but who you choose to associate as family.

Life is about the laughter that turns into tears, nights that turn into mornings, and friends who become family. These are the people that I’m grateful for. These are the people I love.

More graffiti soon,

~A