It may or may not be a surprise, but Dominic made it to and through graduation.
During COVID, he just checked out of school. (Let’s be honest: He wasn’t exactly a star student before COVID either.) He just wouldn’t turn things in. He’d procrastinate until the very end then scrape by.
“So what are his plans now?”
Many, many people have asked. If I had a dollar for every time … well, you know.
I understand that it comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but I really am tired of saying, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know because Dominic doesn’t know.
He’s in teenage limbo where he has not yet found his passion and purpose.
I always knew what I wanted to do. I’ve always had a plan. I am not the kind of person who drifts through life.
But some people are, and that’s fine. He’s one of them. I’m not trying to impose my will on him.
He might work for a year.
He might go to college.
He might go into the military.
His friends know what they are going to do, and that adds pressure.
He’ll figure it out. The frontal lobe is still developing.
In the meantime, at least he’s passed this milestone. I’m proud of him.
And I’m as interested as everyone else in what’s next.
Let me get this straight: You lost your mind over requiring people to wear masks a couple of years ago to stop the spread of COVID, but now you are forcing women to wear sleeves?
You claim it was to clarify language to be “equal” to men. (By the way, you really should hire a PR person or copy editor or SOMEONE to help you with your writing skills.)
Sure it was.
I can’t believe it was adopted 105-51. (Note that the House is made up of 116 men and 43 women. Party affiliation for reference: 111 R, 52 D.)
I can’t believe you wasted any time on this at all. Have you seen the state rankings? Just look!
I swear to God — you are affecting my healthcare: my mental health!
I really don’t know why I’m surprised at either of the things above. It’s so much easier to control women and what they do and wear rather than tackle big issues in all people’s lives. Right, Ann?
What an embarrassment this is for the state. You want to be in the international consciousness with this foolishness?
I’m so glad my representative didn’t vote for this nonsense. (Granted, I think he was absent that day.)
Pull yourself together, please. Focus on important issues.
Sincerely, Beth, a Missouri resident with sense
Bare arms vs. bear arms (God forbid she wears a mask.) Photo credit here.
But in the words of the late, great Rodney King, “Can’t we all get along?”
Despite the inauspicious start, I get along with both my next-door neighbors, and I’m close with about a dozen of you in our neighborhood. And some of you must like me a little as you voted me into a leadership role. I also took on the task of editing the neighborhood newspaper. Because of course I did.
As I have free rein with the paper, I want to start an advice column to help resolve minor conflicts. Like alley clippings. Neighbor friends Kathy and Marlane have agreed to help.
I think it could be fun. Also, it may raise everyone’s self awareness and tolerance.
But probably not. 😬😉
Anyway, I’m just trying to help. No need to get knickers in a twist over Christmas lights and weeds, when there is the VERY REAL problem of holiday creep.
My friend Jude sent me evidence of Valentine’s Day merch in a store on Dec. 27.
It’s been quite a journey (Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)
Here are the takeaways:
Genetics are cool. Over the course of about two years, I have met more than 30 new people to whom I am blood related. Seeing myself in people other than the two I made is incredible. I see my eyes in my sister, my dimples in my brother, my laugh in my father, my inability to sit still in my mother, etc.
Love isn’t like pie. More for some doesn’t mean less for others. I can love my adopted parents and extended family with my whole heart (and do) and also love my found family.
Love is love is love. No boundaries. Some of the most wonderful messages I’ve received are from adopted cousins. Add to those messages all the heartfelt ones from friends and relations by marriage and new people tangential to the story, and you see that this has been a moving experience for more people than just myself.
The human capacity for love, understanding and acceptance is astounding. Everyone in this story (except one**) has seemed to be so happy about this late-in-life connection. I have been amazed at how excited people seem to be to add me to the family. I’m still on my best behavior of course. I don’t want anyone to regret the welcome. 😉
I am fortunate. Not every adoptee has a positive experience. And I have had it on both sides. One of my friends found her birth mother, and mom turned out to be … not a good person. Another friend found his, who said she didn’t want a relationship: “I gave you up for a reason.” Kathy is fond of saying that this could have been a Lifetime movie, but it turned out to be a Hallmark one.
Me: That’s why I was careful to explain in my letter that I’m a normal, stable person.
Alaina (my niece): That’s exactly what a crazy person would say.
The next logical step was to contact my birth father.
Folks, this was easier said than done.
Not that he was hard to find. As soon as I had his name, I put my reporter experience to work and tracked down his address.
It was more that I wasn’t sure how to make this connection. The problem? He didn’t know about me. At all.
For a variety of reasons (including the fact that they had broken up), Kathy didn’t tell him she was pregnant.
So.
Do I call him? Show up at his house? Contact another relative I found (à la Cousin Laura for Kathy)? Eeesh.
I decided to go with the snail-mail route. It had worked before, so maybe it would work again.
But how do I start THAT letter?
Y’all, I’m a writer, but that was THE HARDEST LETTER to write. How do you announce your existence to someone who helped make you? That’s a big deal.
Kathy was worried about me and my plan. She told me she wasn’t sure how he would react.
Yeah.
For TWO FULL YEARS, I agonized over what to say, how to write that damn letter.
My friend Tyler (who cuts my hair) told me, “Don’t come back unless you have an update.” She was kidding. I think.
That was in March 2022. I pulled myself together.
The good stationery and penmanship came out again.
I chose the “rip off the Band-Aid” method:
I've wanted to write this letter for a while, but I didn't know exactly what to say or how to begin. I'm still not sure this is the right way, but I have to start somewhere.
You don't know me or know about me, but I'm your daughter.
I planned for it to arrive by Father’s Day. 😬😉 The tracking indicated it took FOUR DAYS to leave the St. Louis post office. I was dying.
Then on June 23, 2022, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It showed up as Columbia, MD, but I didn’t have my glasses on. I thought it said, “Columbia, MO,” so I assumed it was a work call. I answered.
“This is Beth.” “Hi Beth, this is David.”
My people, I cannot express just how many emotions were vying for the top spot: happiness, surprise, nervousness, etc.
Gideon and Eddie saw my face. They were curious and concerned.
I mouthed, “My father.” Their eyes nearly sprung out of their sockets.
I went into another room so I could focus.
It was, in a word, unreal.
And clearly too much to explain in this one post. Get ready for Part 5 and 6. Thanks for joining me on this journey.
Ladies, I’ve tried my best to ensure they understand our anatomy. Once, I even pulled out a diagram of our bits at the dinner table.
(Look. Listen. Education has no boundaries.)
I never ever want them to be like these idiots:
I’ve told them porn isn’t realistic. I mean, I’ve never once gotten off by someone slapping my parts. I don’t know any woman who has an instant orgasm from penetration. There are no naked pizza delivery drivers in my neighborhood.
If you have and can, and there are, good for you! No shade.
I should share this with them and really make it weird:
It’s a good explanation.
Of course, there are plenty of other … uh … aspects of and tactics for gratification.
Just know that I have told them they need to make sure you get yours. And to listen to what you say about how to do that.
Also, we’ve discussed various methods of birth control and THEIR responsibility.
Not that I’m advocating for sex willy nilly, but I am realistic.
They are still teenagers, so they have plenty to learn. Just know I’ve done my best.
Looking forward to getting to know you!
Sincerely, Your boyfriend’s mom
*Before anyone gets hot and bothered, let me say that I used to start off sentences with, “When you date someone, and he, she or they …” I just wanted to leave the door open. But every time I said that, they informed me they like girls. The door is still open; I don’t care.
Some of y’all need a refresher in how to behave in airports and on planes.
Auntie Beth is here to help.
DO move to the side of the terminal walkway if you want to text, eat your food or walk slowly. DON’T eat your chicken wings in the middle of the walkway between gates with your suitcase two feet away from you (and also in the middle of the walkway).
DO give up the armrest to the person in the middle. DON’T be the person in the middle who also manspreads and elbows the people on the aisle and window.
DO remember that people around you have ears. DON’T talk to your seatmate at the top of your voice, take phone calls, FaceTime or watch videos without headphones. (I can’t believe I have to remind you.)
DO be aware of personal space. DON’T run over people with your suitcase, whack someone with your backpack or sling your Doritos bag around with crumbs flying everywhere.
DO follow instructions. DON’T be a complete idiot.
Folks, there’s an image. How hard is it to follow directions?
DO have manners in general. DON’T act like the plane is your personal living room.
This man was a complete boor. So loud. Stopped in the doorway to keep talking to his seatmate. I mean, just look at his foot on the seat. That tells you everything you need to know.
It’s very simple: BE CONSIDERATE. We will all thank you.
Let’s make traveling as irritant-free as possible.
At least I think that’s your name. Hard to remember when lightheaded from blood loss.
I hope you remember me. I was strapped to your machine for a hour Friday.
When you originally asked if I wanted to donate two pints of blood, I said, “Sure.”
You said it would take no longer than 30 minutes.
But then the machine started “acting up.”
Not something anyone in my position wants to hear.
Finally, I was free to go.
Maybe a few more minutes with you would have been good, though. Maybe with my donation arm up over my head. Maybe with a little more pressure applied to my new wound.
I got to my car, and suddenly I looked like I had been in a knife fight.
You’ve heard of a shy colon? Apparently, I have an extroverted vein.
Back in the blood mobile, you and everyone else sprung into action.
I kept saying I was ok, though.
No one believed me. I got loads of attention, some apple juice and a snack.
I even got an offer of drycleaning.
You should see the other guy!
No need. Hydrogen peroxide worked wonders.
And today I’m barely bruised.
You know what else I am? Happy I successfully donated blood when the need is critical.
Observe and report 