Monday, September 24, 2007

Let’s Get Things Clear.....

Yesterday hubby and I took Dante to Dave and Buster's. It's a restaurant/arcade chain and we like to go there to play the games. Dante likes to run around and "play" the motorcycle or car games. I say "play" because he's only 14 months old so he really just holds on to the handlebars or steeringwheel and goes "brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr". Anyhow, Hubby and Dante were chasing eachother around and I was hiding behind games letting D catch me, when I noticed an elderly couple (probably grandparents) and the rest of the family doting on Dante and smiling at seeing he and my hubby playing. They were having a blast watching him, and then when Dante found me and I popped out of my hiding place, I heard the older couple say "Oh my god look at the mother!" and it passed on to each member of the family, "Look at the mother!" "Look at the mother" "Look at the mother!". Now, instead of smiling at a happy family playing with their son, I could see them shaking their heads and saying "what a shame", "oh how awful". No joke. I HEARD them say it.

Was I holding a butcher knife and threatening to slice my son's throat? No.
Was I hitting him? Nope.
Was I wearing skimpy inappropriate clothing with curse words all over it? No, actually I was in jeans and a plain t-shirt with my comfy sketchers and my hair was in a ponytail.

No, it wasn't my behavior that made these people all of a sudden change their minds about the happiness and well-being of my child. It was the fact that my hair is bright red and my arms are tattooed from shoulder to wrist. I'm assuming that is what, since I wasn't doing anything else other than playing with my son and husband.

So let me set the record straight for anyone who has ever "shaken their head" when they see that an Aging Goth Chick or Punk Chick or Rockabilly Chick is a mother with funny hair and tattoos. We're still good mothers. Our appearance has nothing to do with it. Will our children grow up and want to look like us? Who knows? I don't wear cheesy hippy clothes like my mother. Who is to say that Dante grows up and is a complete fashionista and only wears Prada and Armani? My job as a mother has no bearing on what color my hair is this week and how many tattoos I have.

end of rant.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Winnie, my friend

This is Winnie-the-Pooch. I adopted her when she was 6 months old. Winnie died today. I loved her very much.

Winnie-the-Pooch 1992-2007

Saturday, September 8, 2007

Justified Racism?

One of our Jack Russell terriers got out this afternoon. We have no idea how as our backyard is fenced. We think it was when Randy got home from work and Dante and I met him at the door. Both Salad and Carrots ran to the door to greet him and I suspect that Salad came back in while Carrots snuck out. That was at 4:30 pm. At 6, I went to feed them and I noticed only Salad was on the doggie beds. Thinking Carrots had sneaked onto the couch in the den, I went in there to find her. She was gone. Missing. Instantly Randy and I hit the streets. Dante in Randy's arms and me with the leash screaming "Carrots! Carrots!' throughout the neighborhood. Quite the visual.

We searched for an hour and nothing. So, I took Dante home, thinking that Carrots may have "gone home" like a good dog would, but then I realized I was talking about Carrots and "good" is not in her repertoire. Randy continued the search.

Around 7: 30 Randy called the house from his cell phone. He had found Carrots. She was across the railroad tracks in the part of town the racist idiots call "Brown Town" and was running through the graveyard. Mind you, our backyard overlooks another part of the graveyard and we always walk through it, so I think that is how Carrots was lured. She must be a Goth dog.

Anyhow, Randy was frantic on the phone, telling me to get over there IMMEDIATELY as he had cornered Carrots but she was hurt and that there were a bunch of people threatening to shoot him for being in "their" graveyard. I called my mom and she went to get him as I wasn't going to bring Dante to this situation.

Randy was trying to get our dog. He wasn't there defiling anyone's graves. He was called "Cracker" and threatened with physical violence. Why? He asked the men to help him and explained to them that he was trying to get our dog and these people said "We don't give a fuck about you or your dog". They even threw stones at him and Carrots. My mom arrived on the scene and quickly corralled both Randy and Carrots into the SUV, but what the hell?!

This is everyone's neighborhood! Are these men saying that if I am walking around the graveyard and I venture across the tracks that I am now an intruder in "their" land? Because of my skin color? Is it justifiable racism because of the hundreds of years of discrimination they and their ancestors have endured? Were that true, should I go around calling every German a Nazi for my ancestry lies buried under the green grass at Auschwitz and Dachau? Or should I call every Russian a murderer for the millions of Jews killed in pogroms?

I don't know what to think. Carrots is home, albeit her paws are a bit cut from her adventure. Randy is home safe, although we thought he'd suffered heat stroke from chasing the dog. But had my mother not shown up, would those men really have shot my husband and dog based solely on his skin color?