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We Are More Than Our Worst Moments
Ted Kennedy has been eulogized, memorialized and laid to rest after a 15-month battle with brain cancer. I am truly saddened by his passing. Although he lived to an advanced age and quite a bit longer than the lives of his brothers, 77 seemed much too young for a man to leave us when there is still so much work to be done.
Born into wealth, Edward M. Kennedy could have spent a life of leisure, offering nothing of real value to society while benefiting from its system. But the “Lion of the Senate” as he came to be known, worked tirelessly in the halls of power, giving a voice to the common people. President Obama fittingly called Kennedy “The Soul od the Democratic Party.” With the employ of inspiring oratory, he worked hard on behalf the underprivileged and underserved.
There is no person alive in America, who does not benefit from his advocacy and with his passing, I wonder who will fill his shoes?
Too often those in power make our government a personal affair, forgetting the obligation to the people. Our Government it too often influenced by big moneyed-interests but a lifetime of legislative accomplishments is case in point that Kennedy’s promises were not just campaign slogans to garner votes, but responsibilities he followed through on.
You might be wondering why I am turning a blog about happiness into a political diatribe? Because the life of Ted Kennedy is proof positive that we are more than our worst moments.
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In the early 1990s when was caught in the grips of addiction, I roamed the Lower East Side of Manhattan with the sole mission to stay loaded every minute of my life. At Houston Street and Avenue A was an apartment building called “Red Square.” On the roof was a statue of Lenin and a clock with misplaced numbers. Painted near the clock was the phrase “Waste Not A Moment.” The statue and the clock are still there, but the phrase that antagonized me while I wasted my moments is gone.
Those wasted moments of my early 20s can be traced back to the day I discovered how easy it was to break into my parent’s liquor cabinet and began mixing not-so tasty drinks for the other neighborhood children. Of course, being only in elementary school, I didn’t understand that “mixing” drinks, meant mixing with “mixers” – like soda. My concoctions featured gin mixed with the rum and the vodka, etc. I stood at the bar mixing away and telling jokes while my peers sat on the couch bristling and chattering in the excitement of being “bad.” It was fun. Whether the drinks tasted good was not the point. I reveled my new “Dean Martin” identity much more than the one I truly held of a very sad little girl secretly taunted by the feeling that her mother didn’t love her.
When my parents eventually discovered the raided liquor cabinet, my older sister took the fall for my offense. I suppose that as far as my parents were concerned, I was too young to even be on the list of suspects. I can still hear my sister pleading her innocence as I sat on the couch listening with my mouth shut.
It didn’t take long before what started like an occasional toe in the water transformed into a daily ritual. For me, the phrase “getting ready for school” meant smoking pot through a makeshift tin-foil and toilet-paper roll bong while dangling my torso out my bedroom window. My mother sat smoking cigarettes at the kitchen table, staring into the curio cabinet while “golden oldies” blasted on the AM radio. On her way out the door for work at the local post office where she was the head clerk, she would bang 3 times on the wall to tell me it was my turn to leave and go to school. I HATED the banging and had repeatedly asked her to call me by name rather than bang on the wall. The BANG-BANG-BANG made me feel even more powerless and the lack of love and connection more profound.
In order to free myself from the ghost of yesterday’s angry incident, I have to clean up my side of the street. Today I decided that I will write a letter to my cousin’s husband. My goal is to stomp on this bug while it’s small so it doesn’t get the opportunity to grow and turn into a much uglier monster.
An incident like this can poison the air at family gatherings for years to come. I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable the next time we get together and I want to be free from negativity so I have to take responsibility for my part. Granted, in my opinion, my cousin’s husband played a part in what happened, but that is not the point. If I am to be truly free, the only one I can really control is myself. By letting go of this anger and clearing the air, I free my spirit and make room for other more positive things. If my cousin’s husband decides to hold on to it, then that’s a burden he will carry, not me. Resentments are the poison we take hoping someone else will die. It is said that the forgiving state of mind is a magnetic power for attracting good.
My family has enough challenges and we can’t afford another rip in the fabric. Besides… I really don’t want conflict – it’s just not worth the sleepless nights!
In case you were wondering the gist of the letter goes like this…
“We may not agree on politics, but I am sure we can find many more areas where we both see eye to eye. For instance, I am sure that we can both agree that we have shared far more numerous good memories than bad while together as a family….With that in mind, I hope that you can accept my sincere apology and desire to put this behind us with no hard feelings…”
The letter goes out tomorrow. I’ll keep you posted on what happens.
