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Saturday, March 5, 2011

MY SON

I haven't written very much here about my son. He is currently in his final year at an university in Boston and is graduating with two degrees in engineering, a Bachelors and a Masters.

Last night he came over for some conversation, a meal and to watch a movie. We watched The Last Station. And he liked it. I had already seen it a couple of times. He mentioned that he had gotten in touch with Cynthia Auckerman, a journalist whom we had met back in 2005. By searching the internet, he finally was able to read articles written about him by her. This is one of the articles that she wrote after meeting us on our trip back to his childhood...

Child abuse: a personal view


By CYNTHIA AUKERMAN


Published: Sunday, January 2, 2005 8:18 PM EST

www.winchesternewsgazette.com

News-Gazette reporter

On the evening of Aug. 12, 1991, four-year-old Jonathan raced to the site where his brother had been struck by a vehicle. Jeremy was lying stomach down, but his head was facing upwards, twisted in a grotesque way.

One young life that had been lived in chaos was over, but Jonathan's life was about to get even worse.

Jonathan lived in several locations, including Union City. Now adopted and living in Rhode Island, he visited the local area this summer to explore his childhood memories.

Now he's writing about his experiences in the hopes of dealing effectively with the burdens that chaotic childhood left behind. And maybe - just maybe- his story can help other hurting people and those who are trying to help them.

"My mother began to treat my brother and me as though it was our fault that Jeremy died. Every chance she got, she blamed us for the accident. Being so young, I believed what my mother told me because I trusted her. Now I realize that's what you do when you are a child; you automatically trust your mother."

Here's a lesson. No matter the degree of abuse or neglect, the child's bond with his mother is intense.

Even before the accident, life was already a kind of hell for Jonathan. After the accident, Jonathan's mother spent increasingly more time away from the four-year-old and his nine-year-old brother. The two boys were left to fend for themselves when the mother left them home alone for long periods of time.

The mother increased her use of drugs and alcohol and there were "grungy" men in the home.

"The smell of those men made me feel like throwing up," Jonathan says.

The physical burden of caring for himself at a young age wasn't the only hardship Jonathan faced.

"I had nobody to talk to about my grief, and at the age of four, I had to deal with the loss of my beloved brother on my own."

He began to feel anxious, confused and scared when the mother was around because she turned her anger on her surviving sons.

Before Jeremy's death, there were times when the mother was not drunk or high. At times, the mother made Jonathan feel loved. After the accident, the mother became a cold and unattached person who could not love her surviving sons.

"I was four years old without a loving mother. I fell into a feeling of hopelessness like a big black hole. I could not rely on my mother for anything, and I had to rely on my brother more and more as a parent."

His mother's degeneration led to the family having to move, with one stop being in a trailer in Union City.

Less than two years after his brother was killed, Jonathan watched his trailer home burn. With his mother screaming in the background and sirens wailing, he realized the dogs were still in the house. One dog survived, but the boys later learned their mother's boyfriend broke the neck of the other dog. The fire apparently was the result of a domestic fight between the mother and her boyfriend.

Jonathan's life was about to take an even worse turn. His mother decided to move in with her mother and stepfather. Jonathan's grandmother had abandoned her own daughter when she was 11.

Another lesson: child abuse and neglect is often handed down from one generation to the next.

Leaving her two sons alone with the grandparents, the mother pursued her lifestyle of drug and alcohol abuse.

"The abuse my brother and I endured from these grandparents was more emotionally damaging than either the fire or my brother's death," Jonathan says.

He is not yet comfortable with sharing that part of his life, except to say that his brother and he had only each other.

Report child abuse: It's the law

childabuse part3

Published: Thursday, January 20, 2005 8:28 PM EST

Sunday, March 6, 2011, 10:00 p.m.
Stat counter removed

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Saturday, November 27, 2010

LIFE IS PERSONAL

November 27, 2010, Saturday

Today, was my day with my son. Although thanksgiving day was Thursday and this is Saturday, I have never insisted on him spending it with me and not be able to go to his dad's extended family's thanksgiving day gathering. There he receives the importance of a large family coming together that is inviting and welcoming. He needs that.

Often I want to share what I write in my journal, but then I don't because it may be too personal. Recently, I started another journal and will share some writings from it.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Journal #22, pages s15 - 17

(My son's name)

The miracle in my life.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Resilience, tenderness, courage, strength in spirit ~

the best in our humanness.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Kindness

Giving or receiving kindness lifts your spirit, lifts the universe.

No translation needed.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

Imagine your life with no one in it who treats you with kindness. You never experience a person who helps you when you are down. The only way you have connection with another human being who is an adult is by abuse, and worse, neglect.

If you are not even important enough to have even negative attention, how can you feel worthy to be alive? Many children live this life. November 11, 2010

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Pages 18 - 19

This I Know

So much of my experience has been either transient, let me down, betrayed me or simply been too little to fill me up and certainly never taken me to 'overflowing'.

But music has been there always for the taking and giving.

It has been a constant in my life. It has saved me from despair. It comforts me, lifts me up, inspires and been the vessel for my inspiration.

It is the vessel for my tears, my delight, my exuberance, my spirit.

For me music is a refuge in a world that isolates and tries to exile you from your own soul, at times. Music is a refuge in an often cold world.

Music is a gift that is for the soul and is born in the soul of Life.

November 14, 2010

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I was in the kitchen doing something I rarely do. Cook. My son was coming and this is what I do for him. It is a meal he loves. Thankfully, because it is the only thing I have kept in the cooking repertoire.

A Hole That Weighs Heavy

Sandra Hammel

It happened again today.

Like an anchor residing in my chest.

Burning hard and intense.

It has come and come again

and it doesn't lessen.

It's always the same. Deep and wide pain.

A hole that weighs heavy.

The skin around my eyes sting, my chest wells up and releases hot tear drops that I feel in the corners of my eyes. My cheeks flush with blood.

You have said the words. But I haven't felt it.

When these times come, I know.

When I stood by the apples on the counter with a paring knife in my hand, I froze and made the tears stop. I forced my face muscles to harden. Immediately, I took inventory of why I needed to be strong. Why it had to be okay that I'm not loved. But it sure feels like being loved would have healed the hole I carry around.

The hole you left me to heal.

❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧❧

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Uploaded by Thespadecaller

There is a website - www.gratefulness.org - that as a part of it, you can light a candle for anyone, any group or sometimes I light a candle for myself. I just did that again and called the page Soul
Sometimes I name it Spirit instead.

Also, a long time ago, I started a page for Darfuris. When a page is opened but the candles all burn out (in 48 hours) and not one candle burns, that page ceases to exist, until someone starts the page anew. But the page I opened for Darfur - Darfr - never goes away, not even when no candle is burning anymore. What that means, I do not know, but I think it is wonderful that it never ceases to be, no matter what.

Where I sometimes light a candle also for

Jon - my son

Dad

ami (friend)

Heath
Ledger

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Saturday, November 28, 2009

THE BEST THING I EVER DID IN MY LIFE

I met my son when I was a music teacher in the public schools. He was in second grade and enrolled just before Halloween, that October. He wasn’t my son, then.

November is National Adoption Month and I am getting this in just before the end of the month. But in celebration of the great time we shared this afternoon and the best thing I have ever done, below is uploaded a video and some photos from today. It is not easy to get him to stand for a picture, but we had a ball watching the video that we made together today.

“Did you know it would take less than one percent of the U.S. population to provide a forever family for every child in foster care available for adoption? November is National Adoption Month and we’re part of a coordinated effort between the U.S. Children’s Bureau, Ad Council, and Child Welfare Information Gateway to make the difference of a lifetime for about 130,000 children who deserve a family of their own.” www.adoptuskids.org

I met him when he was eight. Now, he is 22, getting his Bachelors and Masters degrees, simultaneously in engineering at Northeastern University in Boston, Massachusetts. A great young man.

No regrets.

The music my son was playing initially, while we were having some fun after sharing our meal together, was David Bowie’s “Space Oddity”.

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Uploaded by cutelisha

However, I was afraid that if I wanted to upload this to Youtube, it would be banned. And I had already tested some songs from Susan Tedeschi’s CD Just Won’t Burn for another Heath Ledger video tribute, so I put the song, It Hurt So Bad on and here is “our fun”.

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Uploaded by ilovemylifesblog
The picture at 2:28 is the day of his legal adoption.
We had just left the court room and were at JW's Seafood Grill
with his dad, and his dad's mom and dad.

His dad and I are no longer together,
but still help each other out,
when one or the other asked.

I sent food for his dad after our "little party".

Before we ate today, I asked Jonathan to say one thing he is grateful about life and one thing he is grateful for - about me... and I did the same for him.

He said:
I am grateful for your love, the way that you love me.... And for the understanding that you have for me not being able to talk to you, as I am studying and tutoring so much...

And I am grateful that I am able to do the work (in his engineering courses) - that I have the ability to do it (and so well, I added).

I said:

I am grateful that I have been with such great spirits lately. And I am grateful that Jonathan came to be with me, today.

It was a lovely idea and I thought he put "it" so nicely.


Jonathan's First Video - May 27, 1996
This is blocked in Germany due to the music we had playing in the background for Jonathan to dance to. This is when Jonathan was my student and visiting my home on Memorial Day. I gave him piano lessons at that time. We had planted a evergreen bush in the front yard and named it Jonathan.

9 Ways To Help Children in Foster Care

Map Quest for my area - Beautiful

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Rafa lost his third round-robin match
to Novak Djokovic 6-7(5), 3-6



Rafael Nadal of Spain reacts during the men's singles round robin match against Novak Djokovic of Serbia during the Barclays ATP World Tour Finals at the O2 Arena on November 27, 2009 in London, England. November 26, 2009Photo credit: Julian Finney/Getty Images Europe

17 pictures: Rafael+Nadal

Tournaments Website: www.barclaysatpworldtourfinals


Final
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Singles
2.30 pm London Time
9.30 am USA EST
Davydenko vs. del Potro



Online viewing ( for a fee): www.tennistv.com

You might try these links for free viewing:

www.atdhe.net

www.channelsurfing.net

Great Sources of Information

vamosbrigade.com

Sponsored by Babolat

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(I Ain't) Missing You Heath
Uploaded by mimccd
This tribute is about Heath's early films
Two Hands and The Things I Hate About You



A Very Young Heath in Roar
Uploaded by jopicca

I ordered both Two-Hands and Roar this week from Amazon. Roar came today! Two Hands is shipped and on its way.

A LITTLE STEP UP ON MY SOAPBOX

I was motivated to purchase these two dvds because
mimccd and jopicca posted these two videos. Just wanted to say that ~ because of the battle over copyright infringement issues on youtube....and the problem of being able to post movies and especially, music on youtube. As I have said before the whole copyright issue and banning use on youtube-type sites is way behind the curve on utilizing the benefits of gaining sales by our use, not losing sales. Get with it, WMG, Sony Music, Warner Brothers, and whoever else is banning music and movie use on youtube type sites. Think outside the box

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GENOCIDE IS NOT OKAY

USE YOUR VOICE
TO CALL UPON OUR LEADERS
TO DO WHAT IS RIGHT
ABOUT SOMETHING THAT IS VERY WRONG

standnow.org
www.savedarfur.org
whilewewaitsudan.blogspot.com

www.henryjacksonsociety.org/stories


Sandra from Rhode Island, but pictured here, many years ago in Paris.

That is the Arc de Triomphe in the background.

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Comments Welcome

Thank you for stopping by.


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Friday, March 14, 2008

BARACK OBAMA'S MOTHER ~ A GREAT ROLE MODEL

I wanted to include this with the post below, but it was too long to post together.
So, now here is the front page New York Times article from today:

The Long Run

* A Free-Spirited Wanderer Who Set Obama’s Path

By JANNY SCOTT

In the capsule version of the Barack Obama story, his mother is simply the white woman from Kansas. The phrase comes coupled alliteratively to its counterpart, the black father from Kenya. On the campaign trail, he has called her his “single mom.” But neither description begins to capture the unconventional life of Stanley Ann Dunham Soetoro, the parent who most shaped Mr. Obama.

Kansas was merely a way station in her childhood, wheeling westward in the slipstream of her furniture-salesman father. In Hawaii, she married an African student at age 18. Then she married an Indonesian, moved to Jakarta, became an anthropologist, wrote an 800-page dissertation on peasant blacksmithing in Java, worked for the Ford Foundation, championed women’s work and helped bring microcredit to the world’s poor.

She had high expectations for her children. In Indonesia, she would wake her son at 4 a.m. for correspondence courses in English before school; she brought home recordings of Mahalia Jackson, speeches by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. And when Mr. Obama asked to stay in Hawaii for high school rather than return to Asia, she accepted living apart — a decision her daughter says was one of the hardest in Ms. Soetoro’s life.

“She felt that somehow, wandering through uncharted territory, we might stumble upon something that will, in an instant, seem to represent who we are at the core,” said Maya Soetoro-Ng, Mr. Obama’s half-sister. “That was very much her philosophy of life — to not be limited by fear or narrow definitions, to not build walls around ourselves and to do our best to find kinship and beauty in unexpected places.”

Ms. Soetoro, who died of ovarian cancer in 1995, was the parent who raised Mr. Obama, the Illinois senator running for the Democratic presidential nomination. He barely saw his father after the age of 2. Though it is impossible to pinpoint the imprint of a parent on the life of a grown child, people who knew Ms. Soetoro well say they see her influence unmistakably in Mr. Obama.

They were close, her friends and his half-sister say, though they spent much of their lives with oceans or continents between them. He would not be where he is today, he has said, had it not been for her. Yet he has also made some different choices — marrying into a tightly knit African-American family rooted in the South Side of Chicago, becoming a churchgoing Christian, publicly recounting his search for his identity as a black man.

Some of what he has said about his mother seems tinged with a mix of love and regret. He has said his biggest mistake was not being at her bedside when she died. And when The Associated Press asked the candidates about “prized keepsakes” — others mentioned signed baseballs, a pocket watch, a “trophy wife” — Mr. Obama said his was a photograph of the cliffs of the South Shore of Oahu in Hawaii where his mother’s ashes were scattered.

“I think sometimes that had I known she would not survive her illness, I might have written a different book — less a meditation on the absent parent, more a celebration of the one who was the single constant in my life,” he wrote in the preface to his memoir, “Dreams From My Father.” He added, “I know that she was the kindest, most generous spirit I have ever known, and that what is best in me I owe to her.”

In a campaign in which Senator John McCain, the presumptive Republican nominee, has made liberal use of his globe-trotting 96-year-old mother to answer suspicions that he might be an antique at 71, Mr. Obama, who declined to be interviewed for this article, invokes his mother’s memory sparingly. In one television advertisement, she appears fleetingly — porcelain-skinned, raven-haired and holding her toddler son. “My mother died of cancer at 53,” he says in the ad, which focuses on health care. “In those last painful months, she was more worried about paying her medical bills than getting well.”

‘A Very, Very Big Thinker’

He has described her as a teenage mother, a single mother, a mother who worked, went to school and raised children at the same time. He has credited her with giving him a great education and confidence in his ability to do the right thing. But, in interviews, friends and colleagues of Ms. Soetoro shed light on a side of her that is less well known.

“She was a very, very big thinker,” said Nancy Barry, a former president of Women’s World Banking, an international network of microfinance providers, where Ms. Soetoro worked in New York City in the early 1990s. “I think she was not at all personally ambitious, I think she cared about the core issues, and I think she was not afraid to speak truth to power.”

Her parents were from Kansas — her mother from Augusta, her father from El Dorado, a place Mr. Obama first visited in a campaign stop in January. Stanley Ann (her father wanted a boy so he gave her his name) was born on an Army base during World War II. The family moved to California, Kansas, Texas and Washington in restless pursuit of opportunity before landing in Honolulu in 1960.

In a Russian class at the University of Hawaii, she met the college’s first African student, Barack Obama. They married and had a son in August 1961, in an era when interracial marriage was rare in the United States. Her parents were upset, Senator Obama learned years later from his mother, but they adapted. “I am a little dubious of the things that people from foreign countries tell me,” the senator’s grandmother told an interviewer several years ago.

The marriage was brief. In 1963, Mr. Obama left for Harvard, leaving his wife and child. She then married Lolo Soetoro, an Indonesian student. When he was summoned home in 1966 after the turmoil surrounding the rise of Suharto, Ms. Soetoro and Barack followed.

Those choices were not entirely surprising, said several high school friends of Ms. Soetoro, whom they remembered as unusually intelligent, curious and open. She never dated “the crew-cut white boys,” said one friend, Susan Blake: “She had a world view, even as a young girl. It was embracing the different, rather than that ethnocentric thing of shunning the different. That was where her mind took her.”

Her second marriage faded, too, in the 1970s. Ms. Soetoro wanted to work, one friend said, and Mr. Soetoro wanted more children. He became more American, she once said, as she became more Javanese. “There’s a Javanese belief that if you’re married to someone and it doesn’t work, it will make you sick,” said Alice G. Dewey, an anthropologist and friend. “It’s just stupid to stay married.”

That both unions ended is beside the point, some friends suggested. Ms. Soetoro remained loyal to both husbands and encouraged her children to feel connected to their fathers. (In reading drafts of her son’s memoir, Mr. Obama has said, she did not comment upon his depiction of her but was “quick to explain or defend the less flattering aspects of my father’s character.”)

“She always felt that marriage as an institution was not particularly essential or important,” said Nina Nayar, who later became a close friend of Ms. Soetoro. What mattered to her, Ms. Nayar said, was to have loved deeply.

By 1974, Ms. Soetoro was back in Honolulu, a graduate student and raising Barack and Maya, nine years younger. Barack was on scholarship at a prestigious prep school, Punahou. When Ms. Soetoro decided to return to Indonesia three years later for her field work, Barack chose not to go.

“I doubted what Indonesia now had to offer and wearied of being new all over again,” he wrote in his memoir. “More than that, I’d arrived at an unspoken pact with my grandparents: I could live with them and they’d leave me alone so long as I kept my trouble out of sight.” During those years, he was “engaged in a fitful interior struggle. I was trying to raise myself to be a black man in America.” Ms. Soetoro-Ng recalled her mother’s quandary. “She wanted him to be with her,” Ms. Soetoro-Ng said. But she added: “Although it was painful to be separated from him for his last four years of high school, she recognized that it was perhaps the best thing for him. And she had to go to Indonesia at that time.”

That time apart was hard for both mother and son.

“She longed for him,” said Georgia McCauley, who became a friend of Ms. Soetoro in Jakarta. Barack spent summers and Christmas vacations with his mother; they communicated by letters, his illustrated with cartoons. Her first topic of conversation was always her son, her female friends said. As for him, he was grappling with questions of racial identity, alienation and belonging.

“There were certainly times in his life in those four years when he could have used her presence on a more daily basis,” Ms. Soetoro-Ng said. “But I think he did all right for himself.”

Fluent in Indonesian, Ms. Soetoro moved with Maya first to Yogyakarta, the center of Javanese handicrafts. A weaver in college, she was fascinated with what Ms. Soetoro-Ng calls “life’s gorgeous minutiae.” That interest inspired her study of village industries, which became the basis of her 1992 doctoral dissertation.

“She loved living in Java,” said Dr. Dewey, who recalled accompanying Ms. Soetoro to a metalworking village. “People said: ‘Hi! How are you?’ She said: ‘How’s your wife? Did your daughter have the baby?’ They were friends. Then she’d whip out her notebook and she’d say: ‘How many of you have electricity? Are you having trouble getting iron?’ ”

She became a consultant for the United States Agency for International Development on setting up a village credit program, then a Ford Foundation program officer in Jakarta specializing in women’s work. Later, she was a consultant in Pakistan, then joined Indonesia’s oldest bank to work on what is described as the world’s largest sustainable microfinance program, creating services like credit and savings for the poor.

Visitors flowed constantly through her Ford Foundation office in downtown Jakarta and through her house in a neighborhood to the south, where papaya and banana trees grew in the front yard and Javanese dishes like opor ayam were served for dinner. Her guests were leaders in the Indonesian human rights movement, people from women’s organizations, representatives of community groups doing grass-roots development.

“I didn’t know a lot of them and would often ask after, ‘Who was that?’ ” said David S. McCauley, now an environmental economist at the Asian Development Bank in Manila, who had the office next door. “You’d find out it was the head of some big organization in with thousands of members from central Java or someplace, somebody that she had met some time ago, and they would make a point of coming to see her when they came to Jakarta.”

An Exacting Idealist

As a mother, Ms. Soetoro was both idealistic and exacting. Friends describe her as variously informal and intense, humorous and hardheaded. She preached to her young son the importance of honesty, straight talk, independent judgment. When he balked at her early-morning home schooling, she retorted, “This is no picnic for me either, buster.”

When Barack was in high school, she confronted him about his seeming lack of ambition, Mr. Obama wrote. He could get into any college in the country, she told him, with just a little effort. (“Remember what that’s like? Effort?”) He says he looked at her, so earnest and sure of his destiny: “I suddenly felt like puncturing that certainty of hers, letting her know that her experiment with me had failed.”

Ms. Soetoro-Ng, who herself became an anthropologist, remembers conversations with her mother about philosophy or politics, books, esoteric Indonesian woodworking motifs. One Christmas in Indonesia, Ms. Soetoro found a scrawny tree and decorated it with red and green chili peppers and popcorn balls.

“She gave us a very broad understanding of the world,” her daughter said. “She hated bigotry. She was very determined to be remembered for a life of service and thought that service was really the true measure of a life.” Many of her friends see her legacy in Mr. Obama — in his self-assurance and drive, his boundary bridging, even his apparent comfort with strong women. Some say she changed them, too.

“I feel she taught me how to live,” said Ms. Nayar, who was in her 20s when she met Ms. Soetoro at Women’s World Banking. “She was not particularly concerned about what society would say about working women, single women, women marrying outside their culture, women who were fearless and who dreamed big.”

The Final Months

After her diagnosis, Ms. Soetoro spent the last months of her life in Hawaii, near her mother. (Her father had died.) Mr. Obama has recalled talking with her in her hospital bed about her fears of ending up broke. She was not ready to die, he has said. Even so, she helped him and Maya “push on with our lives, despite our dread, our denials, our sudden constrictions of the heart.”

She died in November 1995, as Mr. Obama was starting his first campaign for public office. After a memorial service at the University of Hawaii, one friend said, a small group of friends drove to the South Shore in Oahu. With the wind whipping the waves onto the rocks, Mr. Obama and Ms. Soetoro-Ng placed their mother’s ashes in the Pacific, sending them off in the direction of Indonesia.

Source: www.nytimes.com March 14, 2008


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