My mother died one year ago on May 20th, 2016. She had been in poor health for the last year and in a lot of pain from arthritis, and she had undergone major surgery three weeks before she died. Since I’m almost 2,000 miles away and had work to contend with, I did not make it back to see her before she died. I have mixed feelings about that, but my brothers told me that she was moaning and in pain and unconscious much of the time, and when she was conscious, she didn’t always recognize them. I decided that I wanted to remember my mother in happier times, and I did not want to be haunted by images of her in pain and suffering. Since my brothers were a presence for her in her final hours, I am comforted in knowing that she was not alone.
     I am the youngest of her four children, and she always called me her baby. I have fond memories of my mother, and some not-so-pleasant memories, and those memories have come more to the surface now that she has transitioned to another plane. I will talk about the positive and negative aspects of our relationship in other postings, but here I would like to focus on the positive.
     I am grateful for mom introducing me to wonderful things that are a big part of my life today. Mother loved to read, and she encouraged me to read. She led by example, and I always received books for my birthday and Christmas. My father loved to travel, and the six of us would pile into a pickup camper every summer to explore a new place for two weeks. Before the trip, we would go to the library, and I would take a stack of books with me.
     Life could be difficult in my family. My parents bickered a lot, and my brothers and I fought for our mother’s affection, which she could not always give, because she would shut down and would have to rejuvenate, disappearing to her room and not emerging for hours. In books I found escape from the suffocating, toxic energy that permeated our small house. I began writing stories at around age 10, and mother was also encouraging with that. I don’t know how much of my own writing mom ever read, but she encouraged me and she prompted me to keep in contact with my teachers, who could help me and guide me, and she took me to different school related writing and artistic events, knowing they were important to me.
     Mom also introduced me to movies. There were essentially two single screen movie theaters in town when I was growing up, the Michigan and the State. I saw my first movies, Disney movies, in those theaters beginning around the age of four. The richness of the color in the animation and the conflict between the characters sparked my imagination at a young age. When I was 12, she took me to see Gone With the Wind. After seeing the movie, she encouraged me to read the novel. I believe that it was the first long novel I ever read, and that led to other novels and more classic movies.
     At around that same age, I discovered Masterpiece Theatre through my mother. She and I watched The Six Wives of Henry the VIII. From that point on I devoured any English history books I could read, and that led to my exploration and love of English literature. Though I had chores to do around the house and in the yard, once I was finished with those, I could read and watch tv till the cows came home.
     My mother was a simple woman with a high school degree, and I would count reading and television and movies as simple pleasures, which I continue to enjoy to this day. My own writing hopefully brings enjoyment and comfort to others, and I am pleased and grateful that my mother and I had this connection.
     The biggest thing that I am thankful for is my mother’s support. She knew that I was different from my brothers. I was somewhat effeminate when I was little, and she never made me feel that I was unloved because of that; unfortunately, my father and at least one of my brothers made me feel that I was less than normal, but not my mother. In my teens and college and adult years, she was always loving and supportive. She was a good, kind person, and I hope that I continue to be a source of support and generous spirit to young people. Thanks, Mom. I miss you.

     If someone is opposed to gay people and makes that opposition public, I withdraw my energy from that person, or their business. I do not financially support people who believe that I am evil or that my soul is going to hell. I have thought about my convictions while the recent “Religious Freedom” bills have been foisted on the public in certain states.
     I grew up outside of the small industrial city of Jackson, Michigan, a rather conservative area of my home state, and I lived for many years in the smaller city and rural surroundings of Traverse City, an even more conservative area. I also lived in the somewhat liberal island of Louisville in the conservative state of Kentucky. Even in conservative Jackson, Traverse City and Louisville, one can find liberals who offer many services. I’m sure that if I wanted to get married to another man, there would be a progressive baker or florist within 30 miles who would provide the needed services for my wedding. Though I personally have never been wild about weddings, gay or straight, (and I’ve never understood why people pour so much money into them), I recognize that many gay and straight people want to publicly celebrate their unions, and they are free to spend their money how they see fit. However, I can’t see hiring people who pass judgment on me and believe that I am fundamentally flawed. I have worked hard to get where I am, and I’m not sharing my wealth with haters and hypocrites.
     I have a difficult time with the lawsuits brought by gay couples against bakers and florists and planners who refuse to supply their services because those people are against homosexuality. Yes, I do believe that we all have the basic right to be served. But do the aggrieved couples really want to hire someone who despises them? If I lived in a rural area, and someone refused me services, I’d ask a supportive friend to help me with my wedding. Or, if I knew that the service provider would take my money but badmouth me, I’d go to the next large city for the cake or flowers, or just have the marriage vows at the courthouse and throw a party afterwards.
    Even if a service provider is personally nice to me, if I know that they will give a portion of their profits to their church, which will in turn work against me (for example, the Church of Latter-Day Saints actively worked to defeat the right to marry in California), I won’t support that business.
     Though this may sound impractical, I really would like to see a provision added to the “Religious Freedom” bills. I think that every business should be made to publicly disclose that they do not believe in the rights of homosexuals. I want to know who those people are, so that I don’t unwittingly give them my hard-earned money.

     My father passed away in May of 2012. I had already made my peace with him, thankfully, before he died. I’ve been through years of therapy, and I have had to heal a lot of the story that I created of myself, based on how my father treated me. I always tell people that he was a good man, but he was not a nice man. Through my child’s eyes, and the vision that I continued to carry into much of my adulthood, he was a tyrant and a bully. He was a person who could not control his temper, and perhaps, in today’s society, his definition of discipline might be considered abuse.

     I have several strong memories of how he went out of his head with anger, and how that affected me personally. I am the youngest of four boys and my older brothers received a lot more of my dad’s discipline than I did. His favorite form of punishment was to use his belt on our backsides and across the backs of our legs. I can’t remember the number of times he used the belt; using it one time was one too many. I will always remember a day my father abused us with his belt. My two oldest brothers were making a joke about something, and I remember my third oldest brother and I laughing along. My father did not think whatever they said was funny, and came in, whipped off his belt, and he started flailing at everyone. It hurt both physically and emotionally. I was so puzzled, because I was an innocent bystander, and I never did understand why I was punished. What I did learn was to keep my mouth shut and fly under the radar as much as possible around my father.

     There were countless whippings with his belt. I received my last whipping when I was around 12 years old, outside of our house. My brother and I were having a verbal argument and my father came out of the house, his belt flailing us on our backsides and legs. Whether neighbors witnessed this or not, I don’t know, but I was very embarrassed. Being whipped like that is harmful and degrading to children. I had such low self-esteem that I sought out other people for affirmation, and sometimes I allowed myself to be abused almost in worse ways than my father had harmed me. Perhaps the worst thing resulting from his whippings was that I held deep hatred for my father for decades.

     After Minnesota Vikings player Adrian Peterson was arrested for beating his four-year-old son, there was a discussion about whether or not corporal punishment was good for children. Many commentators have said that it teaches them discipline and respect. Yes, I was always respectful and courteous, but I don’t think it had anything to do with being beaten. I’ve known of people who raised their children with a “time out,” and who used respect and reasoning with children who were misbehaving, and those children have grown up to be respecting and respectful, members of society.

     What I do know is that my father’s whippings degraded me and scarred me for years. A skillful therapist has helped me to deal with my anger and to boost my self-esteem. Violence begets violence, and corporal punishment only contributes to making angry people who have a higher probability of harming others in all parts of society, whether it is road rage, public arguments and assaults, domestic violence and murder. I have to admit that I have succumbed to road rage and my anger has gotten the best of me.

     Mr. Peterson might think that he’s rightfully disciplining his son, but I guarantee that his son is suffering and will suffer for years, and that he will take his anger out in ways that harm those around him. What will hurt Mr. Peterson even more is the fact that his son will hate him, and the damage in that relationship is not worth the lesson in discipline.

In 1986, I was 25 years old, and I had a memorable conversation with an older gentleman. The off-year elections were coming up in November of that year, and I had made a comment that I wasn’t going to vote because I felt that my vote didn’t matter. We were Democrats living in Northern Michigan, in an area heavily controlled by Republicans. The older gentleman said to me, “Oh, but you have to vote. It’s your right. People fought and died for you to have that right, and you must exercise it.”
     That one conversation changed my attitude about voting and politics. From that time, I have voted in every election, whether for school board members, judges, ballot proposals, bonds, high offices, you name it. Even though my two U.S. Senators are not up for reelection this fall, and the U.S. Representative serving my solid blue district will most likely be reelected, I will vote. I am also giving money to other Democratic candidates in tough races in other parts of the country, to help them get out the vote and convince people who might think like I formerly did.
     If I vote, I feel justified in sending notes to my representatives or senators, or to the Speaker of the House, telling them how I feel about what they are doing with my tax dollars. If people don’t take the time to vote, we get the kind of representation, or perhaps, non-representation, that we have now. I was very discouraged to hear that only 18% of the population voted in the primary elections in June. I think about all those people in “developing” countries, walking miles and standing in long lines to vote. And 90% of those populations vote. 90% vote! I want to shake the American people some times.
        I recently heard of the idea that we could fine people who don’t vote. I like that idea. If it were implemented, I’m sure people would vote in the next election to throw the bums out who had the audacity to fine the non-voters. It seems to hold true that people don’t really pay attention or make changes until they are hit in the wallet.
      If you don’t vote, you don’t have the right to gripe about how things need to change. I don’t buy the victim mentality of those who say their vote doesn’t matter or that we don’t have any power. We have a system in place. We don’t need a revolution; we don’t need violent protests. We need to get off of our butts and exercise the rights we already have in this great country. When politicians act opposite my values and waste my tax dollars, I have the obligation to make the changes, or at least go on record as voicing my active opposition. I wish other people were more active too.