I Am A Masculinist

One day, when I was in sixth grade, I had to give a presentation.  I was so nervous, I started to cry.  My teacher took me out into the hallway, looked me in the eyes, and said "Stop crying, it's time to grow up".  I was shocked.  I was clearly stressed out, and here, a teacher that I happened to like, was scolding me instead of comforting me.  My embarrassment from crying in front of my friends and peers turned into an even greater self-consciousness.  From that moment on, I tried to avoid showing what I thought to be 'unmanly' emotions.  You can imagine how difficult this was to do while living with an anxiety disorder.  My first reaction to a lot of things was to run and hide, to cry, or to do all of the above.
As a teenager and a young adult, I have still struggled with owning up to having anxiety.  Men aren't supposed to be afraid of anything.  And here I am, terrified of people, water, and cars.  I felt like I didn't fit in with the other boys.  To this day, I have more female friends than I do male friends.  I had to find friends who accepted me and 'unmanliness'.  This is why I'm a masculinist.
When I say I am a masculinist, I'm not talking about how men are superior to women, because they're not.  I'm not talking about being a fit, sport loving, COD playing womanizer who drinks beer as a hobby.  I'm talking about being true to myself and my gender.  I'm a sensitive, fun-loving, book worm.  I enjoy tennis, volleyball, and baseball, just for fun.  I like Nintendo games, especially Pokemon.  And I love helping others through their struggles.  I want to live in a masculinist world, where men aren't embarrassed and discouraged to talk about their feelings or to cry when they're afraid.  A world where women are respected, children are loved, and hearts are whole.  I don't know if I'll ever see a world like this in my lifetime, but I can do my best to help develop it for future generations.

Oh, For the Love of Philp pt. 2

(More gifts I have received from the boys.  Maracas from their trip to Mexico, a wall-mounting lizard from their trip to the Grand Canyon, and an orange rock the 12-year old purchased at a gift shop in Arizona.  "I got you an orange one because it's your favorite color.")

I recently broke the news to the boy:  at the end of Summer, I'll be moving to Idaho for school.  They took it a lot better than I thought they would.  "Okay.  Can So-and-So be our sitter again?"  Wow.  Thanks kid.  Not the reaction I was hoping for.
Two weeks later, though, things have begun to change.  I think the news of my leaving just took a little while to sink in.  The boys seem to bring up my big move everyday.  The 12-year old and I had a good conversation this week:

12-year old: Will you be gone forever?
Me: Of course not! I'll come back and visit.
12-year old: Why are you leaving again?
Me: I'm going to college. 
12-year old: College sucks.

I honestly think that's one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me!
And then there's the 13-year old.  As I mentioned in part 1, this kid and I have an awesome relationship.  He hated me at first, and then, out of the blue, we became best buds.  Our relationship is built on a lot of sarcasm and insults.  So when the 13-year old smiled and said "It's about time you're leaving!", I knew he was going to miss me.  Recently, he has asked me about what I am majoring in and why I decided to move to Idaho.  These questions were asked out of genuine care, not just genuine curiosity.
And finally, we come to the 6-year old, with whom I have spent the most time.  "You're leaving?!  You're not going to see us ever again?"  These are the questions I was expecting.  "You're going to miss my birthday?!" was the question I actually got.  This kid is weird about birthdays.  They are so sacred to him that only important people are allowed to attend.  So, he pretty much just told me I'm important to him.
To help him out with the transition, I made a countdown calendar to my last full day in Pennsylvania (only 84 more days!).  I also showed him a map of the United States so he could see how far apart Pennsylvania and Idaho are.  He told me he wants me to mail him a lizard for his birthday.  Priorities!  We finally agreed that we would Skype instead.
I love my parents.  I hate to say it, but I'm not worried about saying good-bye to them.  I've been ready for quite some time.  But the boys?  I was telling my dad the other day that it's normal to miss your child when they leave home.  But I've got it in reverse.  I am leaving my children (yes, I realize they're not actually my children.).  This is even more difficult.  The adult leaving with a feeling of guilt.  I have learned to love these boys more than I have ever loved anything (even my cat, and I love my cat a lot!).  Saying good-bye is going to be one of the most difficult things I'll ever do.  As much as I have disliked living in Pennsylvania for the past 12 years, a huge part of my heart will be staying there.  I'll have to come back and visit so it can continue to beat on.

Oh, For the Love of Philip!

(Gifts I have received from the boys:  a note from the 6-year old, and a loom bracelet and sour spray from the 11-year old.  "You'll need this to attract the ladies."  Hasn't worked yet.)

Recently, without intending to, the older boys have expressed how much they enjoy being with me.  It's easy with the 6-year old.  He has told me that he likes me a lot.  He has given me a hug.  Just one.  But a hug's a hug, right?  He even drew me a picture a few weeks ago.  The older boys, though, express themselves through their actions.  I mean, seriously.  You really think an 11-year old and a 13-year old are going to tell their manny that they love him?  You must be crazy.
The 13-year old loves talking with me.  Usually about global warming.  He's convinced that's how it's all going to end.  We joke around, poke fun at each other.  You have to understand that for about eight months, this young man wanted nothing to do with me.  He would avoid me like the plague, only talking to me when necessary.  So this is huge for me that he is enjoying my company.  He invited me to watch him play games on his computer once.  It wasn't much fun for me, but it showed him that I care and want to support him.
The 11-year old has a very strange way of showing his affection.  He has always been comfortable talking with me and being around me.  So it took me a while to realize that he liked having me around, that I wasn't just another babysitter.  I found this out two weeks ago.
The 11-year old has a lot of energy, especially in the mornings.  One morning, he decided to jump onto my back.  So I took him around the living room on my back for a little, then I sat on the couch.  On top of him.  Now, most kids giggle and let go.  This kid giggled and held on tighter.  Every time I tried to stand up, he pulled me back down.  So, we sat like that, just watching TV.  He put his head on my shoulder so he could see the show better.  It was awkward, but heart warming at the same time.
For the umpteenth time, I love my job.  I love the boys and getting to work with them.  I love seeing them grow and develop.  And I love being a part of their lives.

What the BLEEP?!

One day, at the tender age of four years old, I called a kid an unkind word.  My older sister told my mom and I got to taste dish soap for the first (and last) time.  A couple of years ago, I was talking to my mom about this incident.  I didn't understand why I got my mouth washed out for calling someone a name.  My mom told me that I didn't just call someone a name.  I used the 'F' word. 
The word that I haven't used since that day 22 years ago is 'fraidy cat'.  (Notice that 'fraidy' starts with an 'F'.)  My older sister had told my mom that I had said the 'F' word. 
Needless to say, as a child, I was very careful about what I said.  If a fun-hearted name calling resulted in me drinking suds, what would something really vulgar result in?  Like poopy-face?  Or fartknocker?  Then I entered middle school.  It was like everyone was speaking a different language. 
My mom had taught my siblings and I to ask her or dad if we didn't know what a word meant.  So I knew better than to repeat any of the words I was hearing, especially after seeing the teachers' reactions to them.
Next came high school.  The language got even worse.  There was no way to get away from it.  Even after graduation.  I was surrounded by profanity at work and at college.  It just comes out so naturally from some people, without a thought.
So it came as no surprise to me when the 13-year old accused me of being a hypocrite.  In a previous post, I explained the 13-year old's "What the What" jar, in which he receives a token every time he curses.  (I'm proud to say that I haven't used it in a couple months.)  One day, after I put a token in the jar, the 13-year old confronts me.  He felt that it was unfair that he couldn't curse.
"You're an adult," he said.  "You curse all the time when you're not here."
Wow.  Just wow.
I guess I can see where he's coming from.  He probably hears profanity all the time in school, on the street, on TV, on the radio.  To him, it truly is an adult thing to do.  I tried to convince him that I did not use foul language.  He didn't believe me.  It honestly hurt my feelings, being accused of something I don't do.  But like I said, I can see where the 13-year old was coming from.
I believe that using profane language is plain dumb.  What does it accomplish?  Isn't there a better way to express yourself?  Shut the front door, there is a better way?  Well by golly, see if you can figure it out for yourself.

Text Speak: What Did You Just Say?

Call me old fashioned.  I still have a flip phone, an iPod, a GPS, and a digital camera.  Not all in one device.  I have four separate devices.  It may surprise you to hear this, but I use my phone to call and text people.  And that's about it, other than occasionally using it as an alarm.
Call me old fashioned again.  When I text, I use proper grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure.  I capitalize letters, use Oxford commas, and, yes, I spell out every single word.  No silly acronyms from me.  Not even an LOL!
As much as I love writing, I often have difficulty expressing my feelings and opinions in a way that my readers can understand.  I especially find it difficult to express myself in text messages.  I'll send a text and worry that the person receiving the text will think I sound bossy or angry.  I may or may not have a small addiction to exclamation points...
When 'text speak' became a thing, I was still pretty young.  I never really got into it, though.  And now, as an adult, I am paying the price for missing out.  I don't understand what other people are trying to express.  Everyday, I find myself on Google.  Today, I googled 'WYD'.  I have seen 'WYD' multiple times on Facebook and I finally got around to looking it up.  'What you doing?'.  Well no wonder I could never figure out what it meant.  That's not even correct grammar!
What's the point of text speak anyways?  Does it really save you that much time?  What are you going to do with that extra 8 seconds you saved by typing 'brb' instead of 'be right back'?
Now, I'm not hatin' on anyone who uses texting short cuts.  No, I'm just expressing what I feel.  With real words.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I've 'got to go' assist my friend who is 'rolling on the floor laughing'.  I mean, who does that?