The Three Rules of Dating

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“I’m going on a date next week, do you have any advice”

“Yes”

“Really?”

“You have to know three things.  If you know them you will get to have a boyfriend.”

“Three things, OK, tell me what they are”

“Number one, the girl never says I love you before the boy says I love you.  Number two, never kiss on the first date.”

“Wait a minute, I’ve known this guy, we’ve been friends, I can’t kiss him on the first date?”

Pause

“No, never kiss on the first date even if you have been friends.  It’s a rule.”

“That may be hard but OK, what’s the third thing?”

“Be yourself.”

“Really?”

“Really, be yourself, this is the most important thing because you have to do this to be happy.”

“OK, and even though you’re only nine years old you know these things.”

“Yes. These are the rules.”

“What if I’m just annoying and can’t get boys to date me.”

“You are not annoying, but follow the rules.”

They Are Watching

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The government has been watching us for years. So am I stressed about the new allegations? No, not so much.

I had the power of the system work on my behalf eight years ago so I may be tainted.  It only took the government a mere 24 hours to track down and locate my birth mother.

The back story. I paid the local authorities $50 to have my adoption papers opened. (Let’s be honest, they did check me out before taking my money and approving the request) Then another $250 to have a special social worker do the search and initial contact.  In the end it took less than a day to track her down and give her a phone call.

Not a happy day for my dear old mom.

From her perspective having the government know so much about how, why and where was devastating.  No one is ever ready for a call proclaiming they know what you did 47 years ago and it’s coming back to bite you. It’s worse when you thought it was a secret deep in a confidential document.  Surprise!

So a sucky day for my birth mother.  She actually tried to deny the connection but was told, “We know, we’re the government”.

Awkward.

Being part of that process made me realize there are people all around that know too much.  About me, and probably about you.

My only defense is to tell the world my secrets first so maybe the sting of the reveal won’t cause so much chaos and pain.

Just my opinion… though I’m sure my birth mother begs to differ.

But I wouldn’t know, she refused to speak to me.

 

 

Long Lost Scot

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It’s odd to keep a letter from someone you hardly know.  Even odder to come across it twenty three years later.  When do you think this type of happening is serendipity and not just coincidence? Add in the Scottish connection and I could fabricate a full blown conspiracy theory!  OK, I’m kidding, no conspiracy here…

This weekend I found a letter sent to me in 1990 from a young Scottish lad that had been visiting Vancouver.  As I read the long note I started to remember the time we spent together.  A passing friendship with someone on vacation.

This was a time long before emails ruled our world.  It was a chatty note reminiscing about his time in Vancouver.  He thanked me for hiring him to appear in a television commercial I was producing at the time.  Apparently the $100 I paid him was much needed.  He also goes on to tell me in great detail about a new business idea he is working on.  I remember thinking the plan was crazy but it might be something so outlandish it could work.  I’m sure I also thought his young man was a little crazy.

Back in 1990 I had not yet discovered my own Scottish roots.  This was years before I opened my adoption papers and embraced my heritage.  Rick being from Glasgow was not a point I noted any more than it giving him a fun accent.  Meeting someone from Scotland meant I could talk to them about Billy Connolly.  The fact made no huge or lasting impression.

Last night I opted to do a google search on this long lost Scot.  A total crap shoot but his being from Scotland was enough to perk my interest.  It didn’t take long for the name to appear all over the web.  I discovered Rick E. from Glasgow is an infamous businessman.  At times he’s been worth millions.  All the indications show this is the same young man that wrote the letter.

It’s not so much of a leap to assume the savvy person with the great business idea back in 1990 is the same person to make big ideas become reality.

I wonder how many times we cross paths with people and never know what they become. I sit here and question if this is the same Rick I met so many years ago.

Serendipity?  Who knows…

Raise Your Hand

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The only good thing about a loss is what it might teach you.  I hate that we are meant to look for the lesson when things go bad.  Fuck that.  When things go bad there is nothing good to say.  Bad is bad.

Upon reflection on how crummy you feel it might dawn on you how much crap there is all around us.  There is pain behind so many smiles.  People go through shit all the time.  Sometimes it’s easier to deal with and sometimes the pain will cripple forever.

I watch myself cry each day.  And I’ve done that for the last 97 days. No one else knows.  The world only sees me carry on. I work, I play, I write, I even laugh.  Then when I least expect it there is a flash of what I’ve lost and the tears come.  My grief has become a silent pursuit.  It’s not that I believe no one cares but I believe no one needs to be a witness.  My story has become boring and not worth the counsel or examination people offered three months ago.

I blanch when asked how I am. There is no need to tell the truth.  Lying is the way to cover the grief.  On my worst days I feel anger at having to carry on and pretend all is fine.  Quit asking me questions and forcing me to lie to you.  Please stop. My wave of self-pity can easily turn to thoughts of hate and revenge.

When is the line, “I will never be happy again” not a cry for help but a simple statement?

So what am I learning?  I am not alone.  At least I’m not alone in what I’m going through. Now when I look at people I try to grasp what devastation is behind their smiling face.  I can’t stop taking the extra second to search for a glimmer of truth of what is really going on inside each person I meet.  What pain are you hiding?  Have you had to cry today?  Is your heart so broken you may never be whole?  Is your loss stealing every ounce of joy?  How are you surviving?  And what the hell do you answer when asked “How are you today?”

One day I’ll ask for a show of hands of who is hiding their pain.