This Reminds Me

Archive for September, 2008

I can tell we’re back to normal, post-Ike.  Why?  Because I’m hearing, “It’s not fair.”

I’ve noticed when we have a mission as a family – when ministering to evacuees, or filling Samaritan’s Purse boxes, or working in Vacation Bible School, or whatever – I don’t hear “It’s not fair” so often.

Julia’s learned the “It’s not fair” mantra from her sisters.  She’s grown a bit more (hooray!), so we’ve dug out the put-away, larger-sized clothing, and made a trip to Wal-mart for necessities.  While at Wal-mart, I heard “It’s not fair” when denying her a new DS game, Halloween bedroom slippers and a bag of circus peanuts.

So thankful for friends with daughters who wear larger childrens clothing.  There’s such a size gap between Hannah and Julia – I’m not saving anything of Hannah’s.

After we got home, I heard “It’s not fair” from her sisters when asking them to stand at the stove and brown hamburger, take out the trash, carry in groceries and empty the dishwasher.   When they dare tell Keith “it’s not fair,” he chants in a gravel-y voice,  “Life is not fair.  My dad is so mean.”  Then generally ladles on another chore.  So he hears it less often.

These two weeks, we’ve had gas in our cars, air conditioning in our house, hot food on our plates and tap water in our glasses – unlike our friends and family in Houston.  Not fair!  There is no hole in our roof, nor dead fish rotting in our chain link fence, nor sand piled in our den, nor downed trees blocking our streets.  Not fair!

When Julia says, “It’s not fair” – Keith and I often exchange a quick, bemused look.  No, life isn’t fair.  That’s why she’s here instead of in Children’s Home #47.

Because “fairness” – while often desired – is not always something for which to be thankful.

Hurricane Ike.

There’s the news.

Then there are the stories.

The story for my family:

Sarah, Joe and their two kiddos arrived Sunday from Pearland.  Their power is now back on, so they’re returning tomorrow.  (Theirs is one of the few homes with power, because they’re on a grid with some nearby businesses.)  They’ve lost some fencing and have a hole in their roof.  They have plenty of bottled water at home but – to be safe – they’ll also take some from here.  They’d tossed their fridge and freezer contents before they left.

My brilliant niece Sarah and her family arrived Sunday from Pearland.  She’s fixing spinach lasagna for dinner tonight.  No, you cannot borrow her.

Sarah’s hubby Joe supervised the ‘hood in the cul de sac. As far as I’m concerned – they can stay forever.

I’m practicing grandparenting on my great niece and nephew, Laura and James.  My kids will tell you I’m a much better aunt than I am a mother.

My sister Judy and her husband Carl have no power.  No home damage.  They have a generator for their fridge and freezer which will run as long as their gas holds out.  They’ve been sleeping on their patio to catch the breeze, which is great – until the mosquitoes start hatching.  They have plenty of bottled water and food stuffs.

Keith’s parents have a hole in their roof, and are also missing fencing.  No power.  Emptied the fridge and freezer.  We are hoping they’ll come here as soon as they find a temporary fix for the roof.  Keith’s brother Bruce – no power – also home repairs needed.

We’ve heard from a few friends.  Thank God – no one hurt.  But our good friends the Edwards in Pearland have a huge section of roof torn away, and their second story is threatening to collapse.  They’ve gone to family in Beeville.  Sandi has always made us so welcome and been such a good friend for so long.

My dear friend Konen who has generously loaned us her Bolivar beach house for a week each summer these many years found that abode on a google earth map.  She thinks the house itself is standing, but is missing the deck at minimum.  That’s all she can really tell, and they’re not allowing anyone into Bolivar yet.  Bolivar was hit hardest of all communities.  Most of it is simply not there.  We have had some of our happiest memories as a family in that beach house.  Grilling chicken sandwiches at the end of a sand-filled day.  Watching the fireworks from the deck.  Feeding the sea gulls on the ferry.  I know the house itself is just “stuff” and I am thankful Konen’s entire family is safe but still – it makes me sad to think it’s so heavily damaged.

Saddest to me of all – I read in an email from the pastor of Westbury Baptist, which we used to attend, this news of my growing-up church in Houston:  The news isn’t so good for a sister church.  I heard from a fellow minister that SW Central Church of Christ suffered major storm damage.  Keep those folks in your prayers.  If you have time and the ability to volunteer to help them, your help would be appreciated.

I left a message at the home of that  “fellow minister.”  Prayer they’re getting right now.  Wish it was more.

We’ve called other friends but gotten no answers.  If anyone in Houston is reading this and we’ve not communicated – please “comment” below and tell us what’s happening.  And remember – the door here is always open.

And that’s our story.

I wish it was the end.  But it’s not.  Because rebuilding Houston and the lives in it is going to take time.

Sure, I like Ike  – and this commemorative plate I bought in an estate sale.

Though I was surprised – when taking this picture – to discover a near-exploding Uncrustable of unknown ownership hiding in plain site on the same shelf.

I like my Ike campaign buttons.  I used to wear a item from my collection each day when I was younger, and always an Ike button on my birthday since he was President when I was born.  A George Wallace button was sure to get me dismissed from jury duty, while my prize “No Third Term” pin brought puzzled looks from most.  A poll worker tried to keep me out of the voting booth in 1984 because of my “JFK for the USA” black and white flasher.  I solemnly broke the the news to her:  President Kennedy was dead and therefore I wasn’t promoting his run for office.


We have what Lois called an “Ike Sky” tonight.  The air is heavy in San Antonio.  As are many hearts.

Yep, sure, I like Ike – except for this week.  Like much of the rest of Texas, we’re sweating it out for our friends and family in Ike’s path.  Sarah’s family is riding it out at Judy’s house with some of Carl’s extended family, and Keith’s folks are staying in their house.  If the power’s out for days, our families will come here.  We’ve got air mattresses, and Pizza Hut delivers.

Our church is operating a special needs shelter again, so I’ve spent a lot of time online and on the phone this week.  Our church family is amazing.  Truly.  To do what they do for strangers – well, it’s humbling to be a member of this spiritual family.  Keith, Rachel and Lois are napping right now, so they can go up and work the 12M – 6 a.m. shift.

We know Ike is a bad one.  What we want is a quick one.  Come on through Galveston and then Houston, Ike.   Okay.  We know you’re coming.  But keep moving, buddy.  Don’t stall.  Don’t stand still and keep dumping water on the unending miles of concrete.  Just keep moving, Ike.

Move it!

My brother David used to say, “This world is not built for one-offs.”  He would have known, being born with no arms or legs.  His entire 42-year life was a dogged march of legless steps through narrow doorways in the gaping view of even more narrow minds.

I was five years old when David was born, the perfect age to enjoy a noisy, interactive doll.  You can believe this or not.  I never really saw him as different until a hot afternoon when I was maybe eight years old and we were playing shirtless somewhere with a full-length mirror.  From the corner of my eye, I caught a mirrored reflection of him with his right arm stub and left arm flipper reversed, and it startled me.  I gasped and reasoned, “That’s why.  That’s why people point and stare.”

I was never big on dolls, except this squirmy one.  Who later used to lick his one partial finger and swipe my glasses.

Having David affected our entire family.  Every day of his life.  And beyond.  In many, many ways, not the least of which was that we could accept one-offs.  People that were different – well, we might or might not like them.  But we could accept them.  Our range of experiences and associates was broader, even though our opportunities were him were more limited.  I couldn’t, for example, fit his wheelchair through the doors of most restaurants in Houston, but when we dressed for the midnight “Rocky Horror Picture Show” viewings, we’d share popcorn with whatever stoned patron plopped down next to us.  (Muttering, “Hey, man, great costume….”)

I’ve noticed time and again that people up close and personal with one-offs have a different attitude than those that haven’t had that experience.  They can’t be too comfortable or complacent, and they are more willing to acknowledge responsibility to others.  They know – they know – how fast circumstances can change.  The car crash.  The stray germ.  The extra chromosone.  The fluke circumstance.  And yes – the baby.  One minute you’ve got a nursery decorated and can’t stop thinking of those cute little outfits and the next minute – you’ve got the human life nobody expected and in the dark hours of harsh truth, nobody would have chosen.

David playing peek-a-boo with toddler niece Sarah, who is 36 years old today with two toddlers of her own.

I think experience with one-offs – perhaps more than any single experience – defines who a person is, and what a person could be.

We high-fived as we cheered through Sarah Palin’s speech last night.  Loved every minute.  I knew what she meant when she said, “To the families of special-needs children across this country, I have a message.  For years, you sought to make America a more welcoming place for your songs and daughters.”  Yes, we tried.  When Mom battled HISD to permit David and his classmates to eat lunch in the cafeteria and be allowed on the playground – she was trying.  When Judy lugged David on her hip into every store in Sharpstown mall – she was trying.  When Carl took him deer hunting – he was trying.  When Keith picked him up for innumerable holidays – he was trying.  When I pitched a fit with Southwest Airlines who wanted to refuse him entry on a plane – I was trying.  I have friends with children who – God love them – have to try and try every day after grinding day.

A no-armed, armed one-off…tread lightly….

I watched Sarah Palin’s kids closely last night.  Their hesitant smiles.  Their clasped hands.  Their straight-ahead eyes.  Their neat clothes and crisp haircuts.  Their interaction with each other.  Dad handing their baby brother off to the youngest daughter.  Oh, that baby brother.

I’d bet a buck that baby brother is going to define Sarah Palin’s older children far more than will their mother’s job.

She’ll be vice president for a season.

He’ll be their brother forever.