Saturday, September 20, 2014

Why do I feel like this

      Usually on a Saturday I set my alarm to get up at 8:30, bound out of bed, dressing and packing a light snack for the day, and tear out of the door, camera in hand headed for the football field. I spend about 7 hours there taking pictures of the 3 games of the day. My children never played football. I don't have any grandchildren that play football anymore here in town. I've done this for 12 years. It's just something I've always enjoyed doing. For the first 8 or 9 years, it was because my grandchildren and nephews played in the league.

Today, I'm just not feeling it. It's not that I'm sick. It's that I'm "sick and tired". 

     When I was young growing up, I heard "you'll never amount to anything" once too many times. It gave me a very low self asteem and I never strived to do any better. I didn't want to disappoint all those people who felt I'd always just be mediocre. I was one of 6 children in a family where only my father worked and drove, so the only way we could be a part of something is if we earned our money and found our own way there.  My only enjoyment was gym class in school where I could do something I enjoyed and was good at doing.  I was the class clown in gym and could make people laugh. I worked during the summer of my sophmore year so I could be a part of the Drill team in my junior year. No one was there to take photos of me; none of my family showed up to watch. But I never graduated. I got married, had children and succeeded at becoming that person who everyone expected me to be; the person who would never amount to anything.  Eventually when my marriage failed, I did go back and get my G.E.D., but I still only worked mediocre jobs like waitressing, or as a housekeeper at a motel.  

I guess if you talk to some people, they would even tell you that I was a mediocre parent. I was a mediocre house keeper, a mediocre cook, and held mediocre jobs when I did work. The only thing I did different was I did try to allow my children the chance to be in sports. I even volunteered to be a coach if they needed one. I did excell one time when I went to school for Automotive Technology.  I studied hard, worked hard and graduated with a 3.75 grade point average in a field dominated by men.

It became important to me to take photos of my grandchildren playing sports.  I wanted to show them that whatever they did was important to someone besides them. I started out just taking photos of them playing, which led to taking photos of their teams playing, and that led to taking pictures of other teams as well.  Parents would tell me how much the appreciated it, and tell me that I was really good at taking pictures.  It gave me confidence and made me feel like finally I was breaking out of that "You'll never amount to anythng" role.  When my grandchildren moved away, I continued to take football picturs every Saturday out of loneliness.  It gave me an escape from my house every weekend.  Parents would ask me to take photos of their children playing and were very appreciative that I would take good photos of their children.  I even started taking photos of a semi-pro football team that really respect my ability.  A friend suggested I go to college for Photography and even suggested the course and school he was taking.

It frightened me at first.  I was never more than an average student in High school. Could I even keep up in college?  My first challenge was an entrance exam, which was suprisingly easy enough for me.  Soon I realized that I could probably do this and even make it through to graduation with honors.  After the first full year and still remaining on the Honors list I had gained confidence enough to think that I had finally broken out of my fate...I could amount to something.

But alas, now I am hearing the same negativity.  Maybe I am not good enough to be anything besides that person on the sidelines trying to be something I'm not.  I'm just another person with a camera.  My work isn't that doesn't compare to that quality of people who take photos for a living...

Maybe I'll never amount to anything after all.  

Words hurt people more sometimes that punches.  Bruises heal, the hurt that comes from always being told something negative never go away.  They remain in your head forever.  And just when you feel like you have beat them down, they return to hurt again.

So that's how I feel now...Why bothering trying to be someone I'll never be.  There will always be those words reminding me I'll never amount to anything.

Monday, March 3, 2014

Home Plate


Home Plate

Hello, Dad

I thought of you today

Walking home from work.

Like I have so many days

I stopped off for a cold one with the boys,

Ordered one to go.

I felt your hand on my shoulder,

But when I turned no one was there.

I took the short cut through the field

Where the school once stood

Only the ball diamond remains unchanged

Where you taught me how to play.

I remembered your arms around me

Showing me how to hold the bat.

Life lessons taught in innings.

How to catch, and pitch and hit,

You taught me how to choke the bat,

How sometimes a bunt is better

Than a grand slam to left field.

I learned how to slide into home plate,

My body showing the bruises for weeks.

In my mind I could see the bleachers

Filled with friends, and proud parents

I smelled the scent of oiled leather,

And heard the crack of the bat

As it made contact with the ball

Winter has changed the landscape.

The bases are covered in a white blanket;

Winter’s icy wind steals my breath.

You wanted so much from me

An easier life than yours.

But, here I am, following in your boot prints.

A bottle in my hand.

Your lessons were not for me

I was going to be someone,

Leave this town far behind.

Monday, February 17, 2014

Response to Litany

You are the warm sand on Virginia Beach
And the white water on the tips of the waves.
You are the green grass of the meadows
And the white clouds in the sky.
You are the eggs and the flour
But you are not the noodles.
You are the sails in the wind,
However you are not the mud between my toes.
And you are certainly not the lightning in the sky
The thunder in the night,
Or the wind rattling the windows.
But you may be the milk in my cereal.
It is possible that you are the scent of the hyacinth,
Maybe even the soft feathers of a duckling,
But you are not even close
To being the smell of puppy’s breathe.
You are neither the dead leaves of winter’s trees
Nor the melting icicles dangling from the eaves.
I thought that you should know,
When it comes to how you make me feel
I am the thorn on the rose,
The sap on the maple tree
And the spider’s web along the path.
I may also be the crust on the bread
But I am not the peanut butter in the middle.
I also happen to be the tuna in the casserole
But I am not the peas and the cheese.
I am the camera in the photographer’s hand
But you are the photograph.
You are all the pleasant memories
But you are never the bad dreams.
You could never be a bad dream.
You will always be the warm sand on Virginia Beach
And perhaps, you will be the water
As it washes the sand beneath my feet.

Wednesday, February 12, 2014

Love Is a football game

Love is a football game.
The field stretched out 
With lines both horizontal and vertical
That define the boundaries of Love.
The goal posts stand like giants in the end zone.
Love is the stands where spectators watch with anticipation.
Love is the sound of helmets as they crash into each other
Love is the slap of pads
And the sounds of bodies colliding.
Love is the exhale of air as bodies thunder down the field.
Love is sweat, and tears and hard work.
Love is training and practice
And training some more.
Sometimes you just want to sit in the stands
And watch everyone else in love.
But often times, love wants to be on the field.
Love is offense and defense.
Love wants to be the quarterback
In charge of calling all the plays.
Love sends you on a slant pattern
And you are carried down the field
Love wants to be the one to score.
Sometimes you kick love
How far you go depends on the kicker.
You fly high, flipping over and over,
Spiraling through the crisp morning air
Hoping, waiting for love to catch you.
You soar through the goalpost of love.
And everyone cheers for you.
Love doesn’t always win.
Sometimes in love there is losing.
Love is trying your best
And hoping that you are better for trying.
Love is working with others,
Even if they are different from you.
Love knows the plays and how to execute them.
Love studies the play book.
Love knows the rules
There are no referees in Love;
No one to throw a flag
Or call a penalty for unsportsmanlike conduct.
Love is a give and take.
Sometimes you gain ten yards to a first down.
Sometimes love sets you back.
You may be tackled by love,
Or love sacks you in the backfield.
Love blind sides you if you aren't protected.
Love is taking the field or sitting on the sidelines.
You can be a starter or second string.
But do not sit the bench.
Even the water boy dreams of love,
Living vicariously through those who do love.
The football of love gets in your blood.
Love is overcoming the fear of loss,
Of someone stronger hitting you hard.
Love is a concussion, and hurt, and breaks.
Love is triumph in the face of defeat.
Love never keeps score.
There is no Super Bowl of Love,
Love drafts players.
Love is made up of owners,
Of Coaches and players.
Love has spectators, fans and sponsors.
You never truly know love until you play the game
Hope you Like my poem!
Hugs and Love to all:
Thank-you to all who inspire me!.