An Unscheduled Tribute

It was the first day at a new school. I was transitioning from middle school to high school and to say it was overwhelming would be an understatement. Few of my junior high friends would be joining me and although my brother was a senior, he wanted nothing to do with me (a lowly freshman). Being the stubborn person I am, I took a deep breath and dove headfirst into my new adventure. After dealing with some registration issues, I received my schedule and gave it the once-over. I was pretty surprised to see Reading Comprehension listed as one of my classes, but I shrugged it off and headed to find my homeroom. When it came time to enter my reading class, I was still quite skeptical but took it all in stride. Because it was my first day and I was a newbie, I figured the school had to know what the right classes for me were. My teacher (Ms. Curtis) introduced herself and explained how the class would be structured. Right away, I knew that I was going to enjoy this class because it would give me a chance to do what I loved best: write. We were to keep a journal, where we could write about anything we wanted to and it would be kept between us and Ms. Curtis. In turn, she would respond to our entries and give us feedback. I was more than excited about this prospect and enthusiastically wrote to her every day. I began by writing about mundane topics, but I eventually wrote about more personal things as the semester progressed. Ms. Curtis became much more than a teacher to me in those weeks; she was a mentor and (I felt) a friend. I knew I could tell her absolutely anything and she wouldn’t judge me. She always gave me fantastic advice and I found myself feverishly anticipating her class. She treated all who were in her class equally and with a great amount of care and attention. I often found myself telling her things that I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone else and it meant a lot to me, the personal touch she gave my journal.

I wasn’t long in her class before the school discovered they had made a mistake with my schedule and I was never supposed to have been enrolled in a reading class. Although I was happy to know I would be placed in more advanced classes, I was going to miss this particular one a great deal. I felt as though I had been open and vulnerable in a way that helped me adjust to a major transition in my life. I may not have needed the class academically, but I know that I benefited from it on a much higher level. It may have been a mistake, but I’ll always believe that it was a divine mistake.

It wasn’t just me either, no; she touched many young lives at my high school. Even within my small circle of friends, we all loved her just the same. There aren’t many teachers who make you feel like family, but she did. I even had her over at my house once! I can’t say that about any other teacher I’ve ever had in my life. She’s a special woman, a rare gem. I’m blessed to have her in my life to this day and to have profited from her profound influence. She changed me (and my life) in so many ways. I wish I could explain the way she touched my heart, but I don’t think I need to. I see it; it comes out brilliantly in my writing and in my thought-processes. It’s almost as though I can envision her responses even though she is no longer writing them to me. I’m forever blessed by simply knowing her and I take great pride having been her student, mentee and now, friend.

Reading at the dinner table

When I was growing up, my parents insisted that we all have dinner together as family. With all of our lives so hectic (us kids in school and both parents working full-time jobs), dinner was sometimes the only quality time we had on any given day. We turned off the televisions and we didn’t answer the phone if it rang; this was our time. We normally chatted about our day or we might announce some exciting event, although sometimes we didn’t really talk at all (and that was okay). Even though we did have this steadfast rule, I happened to be the only exception. One of my passions has always been reading and most days you could find my face buried inside a book. Dinnertime was no different and my parents allowed me to do so at the table while we ate. I think they knew that if they didn’t make this exception, I might not even make it to the dinner table. And although it was important to have our family time, my parents also knew that reading was too. Every now and then, I was asked to put my book aside if someone had something newsworthy to share; otherwise, I was free to immerse myself in literature. I remember my sister complaining one night that it wasn’t fair that I was allowed to read but she couldn’t watch TV. My parents explained that she was more than welcome to bring a book to the dinner table, but TV was still off-limits. They told her that there was inherent value in reading a book whereas television was hardly enriching. I’m glad my parents let me do this because it encouraged my interest in reading and (I like to believe) writing as well. Although I’m not as much of an avid reader these days (I work full-time and have two kids), I still love to sit down with a good book when I have the time. I also encourage my boys to read as well and will have no problem letting them bring a book to the dinner table when we share our evenings together.

Being an expressive, emotional person

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always been very in tune with my emotions. I’m a sensitive person and as such, I feel things quite deeply. As I’ve grown, I’ve learned to handle the stronger emotions in a more efficient way, but there’s no doubt that my experiences have truly touched the depths of my heart and soul. I can distinctly remember being a pre-teen and putting my headphones on, only to sit in front of an open window and feel the cool breeze through the window screen. I’d close my eyes and allow myself to become lost in the music. I’d let the lyrics soak into my mind as the tempo took over my body. I recall doing this a lot when I had arguments with friends or boyfriends. There was a serenity of sorts felt within by doing this simple thing. Even today, when I think about those times, I can almost feel the air flowing through the room.
            There have been times when it was suggested that I try to suppress the things I was feeling. I have never been good at doing that nor have I ever understood why I needed to. In my experience, whenever I’ve held back, I’ve become an angry and irritable person, one whom I’m not fond of. Even when my emotions are messy or intense, it’s been necessary for me to release them however I need to. In retrospect, I think the notion of suppression may have been an attempt to consider how others were affected by my feelings. I’m not advocating that people should express themselves without any thought to how it will make those around them feel, but I don’t think it’s fair to ask a person to hold back because of what others might think. My feelings are just that; mine. And while I’m more than happy to share them, I’m not inclined to take away from them to make someone else more comfortable. I would never ask someone to hide their feelings because they made me uncomfortable. Life doesn’t always promise us comfort, but we should be allowed to express our feelings in our way (except in regards to physical harm, to others or ourselves).
            I’ve learned to embrace my emotions and other people’s as well. In fact, I believe that it is because I’m so self-aware that I’m able to empathize with other people. The only downside is that I tend to overinvest in what other people are feeling to the point that it begins to affect me. While this can be good on some levels, it isn’t always optimal for me to do that. I find it easy to be able to imagine myself in someone’s shoes and think of how I might feel in the same situation. While I won’t always be able to fully understand, just being able to try can be meaningful. I’ve gained new perspectives and attitudes due to this ability. It’s also why I chose psychology for my major in college. I enjoy being able to connect with others in such a real and raw manner.
            It isn’t always easy being able to comprehend how you’re feeling and why. I’ve found myself to be in the wrong on many occasions and I’ll admit; I’m a stubborn person. I do not like to admit when I’m incorrect, but I find it easier to recognize when I am. I can decipher the thought process that led me to that conclusion, but it still doesn’t make me right. It can also be overwhelming at times. Just because I understand my feelings so well doesn’t make them any easier to digest. I think sometimes ignorance can be a friend to us. Unfortunately, for me, I know too much about my feelings to be able to pretend that I don’t.  I’m working on trying to express these sentiments through my writing and my hope is that I am able to touch someone who is on the other side, reading along. Don’t be afraid of your emotions and let yourself feel things, even when it isn’t easy to do so. It’ll help you (hopefully) come to terms with things and perhaps learn something about yourself in the process.

When the shoe didn't fit (alternate Cinderella ending)

          Cinderella was patiently waiting for her Prince to come and rescue her. She knew it was only a matter of time before he discovered who the shoe belonged to, but when? She was finding it hard to continue her daily chores while falling head over heels for her “true love.” Days passed without any indication of the Prince’s discovery and Cinderella was just about to give up hope when she heard a knock at the door. Startled and excited, she ran to the door and practically ripped it off it's hinges as she opened it. There he was...her Prince, standing on her doorstep! She couldn’t wait until the moment she could leap in his arms and leave with him to live happily ever after.
            After a few moments of silence, the Prince asked to speak with all of the ladies who lived in the house. Cinderella’s stepmother suddenly appeared in the doorway and told the Prince she’d be delighted to have him speak to her two beautiful daughters. The Prince looked and noticed the two step-sisters sitting on the sofa and was slightly confused. He asked about the girl who answered the door. “Oh, she’s nobody,” the stepmother replied. The Prince persisted and reluctantly, the stepmother obliged and asked Cinderella to join them in the living area. Cinderella appeared and the Prince explained that he was searching for the girl with the glass slipper from his royal ball two weeks prior. He continued by saying that she left one of the slippers behind and he had searched high and low, without any luck of finding his princess. He pulled the shoe from the inside of his coat pocket and presented it to the ladies. He politely asked the stepmother to try it on first since she was the matriarch of the family. A little flustered and slightly flattered, the stepmother approached the shoe and tried it on, noting that it was likely not her shoe and probably belonged to one of her daughters. Upon affirming the shoe did not fit Lady Tremaine, he then approached Drizella with the shoe. After many attempts to force it to fit, she relented and sulked as the Prince approached Cinderella. She could hardly contain herself as she began to slide her foot into the shoe. However, once her foot was in the shoe, she was horrified to learn that the shoe didn’t fit at all! For some reason, the shoe was much narrower than she remembered and she was terribly confused. “Ha! See, I told you it didn’t fit,” said the stepmother gleefully. Dejected, Cinderella slumped into her chair and tears began to stream down her face. The Prince then directed his attention to Anastasia and moved to place the shoe on her foot. With perfect ease, the shoe slid right onto her foot. It fit! Although Anastasia seemed a bit surprised, she jumped up from her chair and squealed with delight. The Prince appeared to be happy that he had found his princess, but also confused because he thought the shoe belonged to Cinderella as well. He stole a glance at her tear-stained face and felt a tug at his heart. He approached Anastasia and said, “Now that I have found the rightful owner of the glass slipper, I would like for you to come away with me and I will make you my bride, the royal princess.” Anastasia took her Prince’s offered arm and walked with him outside to his awaiting steed. Lady Tremaine was beside herself with happiness as her daughter would now be in line to inherit the throne. As the new couple rode off into the sunset, Cinderella was left at the house brokenhearted. How could such a thing happen?! She was the one who danced the night away with the Prince. She was the one who had stolen his heart, yet she was not the one on her way to her happily ever after. While she was completely devastated by this revelation, she was also furious! This was not how the story was supposed to go and she refused to let this ruin her happy ending. At that moment of despair, she was renewed with a sense of courage and determination. She whipped off her apron and informed her stepmother that she would no longer be a servant in her own home, a home that first belonged to her father. Lady Tremaine looked surprised, but was glad to finally see Cinderella stand up for herself. Although she might have still been in a daze from what just happened with Anastasia, she told Cinderella that she no longer had to do the excessive labor she had been performing for years. Drizella looked confused and objected to her mother’s statement. Lady Tremaine cut her off and said that they would all share in the household chores, unless Drizella was offering to do all of Cinderella’s work now. With a pout, Drizella reluctantly agreed.
            Meanwhile, back at the castle, the Prince was questioning his decision about his soon-to-be bride. This was not the girl he had fallen for, he was sure of it. But without any proof (other than the slipper), he had no choice but to honor his new commitment. He began to get to know Anastasia and realized that she wasn’t as hateful as he had previously thought. She told him that he had saved her from many torturous years of abuse at the hands of her mother and how she would not let him down as a wife. She also told him that she never agreed with her mother’s treatment of Cinderella but was afraid to speak out against her. She intended to try and make things right with her stepsister when she had the opportunity to do so. She and the Prince spent their days together, learning about each other and falling in love. Perhaps this was not the union the Prince thought it would be, but he was enjoying himself and Anastasia as well.
            Cinderella now spent her days getting to know her stepmother and Drizella. She found that they were not particularly distasteful people as she once thought, now that they weren’t barking orders at her all the time. She often wondered about Anastasia and hoped they would get a chance to speak someday. She didn’t have to wait long. Anastasia reached out to her and invited her to the castle one sunny afternoon. They sat and enjoyed tea as they awkwardly made small talk. Cinderella looked around, casually eyeing all that she believed should be rightfully hers. Even though some time had passed, it hurt to see her stepsister here with the Prince. She tried to muster a smile as Anastasia described all of the fine parties she had been to and the exotic new foods she had tasted. She told Cinderella that she had a confession. “What’s that?” Cinderella asked, nonchalantly. “That shoe shouldn’t have fit me; it was always your shoe.” She looked down at the floor, as the words spilled from her lips. Cinderella angrily jumped from her chair and screamed, “What?!!!!” at Anastasia. “It’s true,” replied Anastasia. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Cinderella demanded. “Because you don’t know how much I needed an ending like this…you don’t know what life was like for us, Cin. We were abused and the word ‘happy’ never meant anything to me, until I met him,” she replied. Suddenly Cinderella felt pretty awful. She had never taken into account what her stepsisters had gone through or even known them well enough to try! She tried to put aside her feelings and understand where Anastasia was coming from, but it was hard considering her own strong feelings for the Prince. Anastasia knew this and told her that even though it would take some time, she really hoped to get to know Cinderella so that they could try out the possibility of friendship. They idly chatted for a short while longer and Cinderella excused herself to leave the castle. She headed towards home, replaying all the events that led her here and tried to have them make sense. She knew that her life would never be the same again, but perhaps this was how the story was always supposed to end. And maybe, just maybe her happy ending was on the other side of the rainbow.

Moral of the story – Walt Disney lied to us! Real life doesn’t always have a happy ending and issues are not magically solved by riding off into the sunset. Real life is messy and doesn’t always end up the way we think it will. Happily ever after is better left in fairy tales. We have to create our own happy ending with the things (and people) life has given us.

The Great Tip Debate

I have been on both sides of the table, so I know (and understand) the arguments from each position. As a patron, I expect to be greeted politely and taken care of. You do not have to be overly animated or have a sparkling personality. All you have to do is be respectful, attempt to get my order correct and bring my food/drinks in a timely manner. If those needs are met, I have no problem with tipping. And I do understand when things don’t quite go right or when the kitchen is backed up and it takes longer to get my food. However, I also take into consideration how busy the restaurant is, how busy my server is and other factors that might come into play. Essentially, I’m a pretty easygoing customer. Having said all of that, I can be a pain in the rear if these simple expectations cannot be met or are returned with a snide attitude. After all, I was once a server too. I take that into account each time I go out to eat. It does not excuse you from acting in a professional manner, as would be expected in any other job. From the customer standpoint, I can understand why some feel they shouldn’t have to tip. I’ve read all of the arguments and I do agree that what it boils down to a lot is the attitude of the server, whether it is an existing attitude or an attitude that resulted from something going wrong. Servers: please understand that if I get upset, it isn’t necessarily an affront to your character. I’m likely just irritated for having to wait for an excessive amount of time, upset that I have to wait for food to be sent back after being incorrect or angry that you aren’t being attentive. Please don’t try to place the blame on anyone, just remedy the situation, period. That’s really all I want, unless I happen to specifically mention your attitude towards me.

            Now, let’s visit the other side of the table. When I was waiting tables, I always went to work with a fresh, positive attitude when I first began my shift. Sadly, by the end of my shift, I was ready to drink myself under the table. Yes patrons, it really is that bad and it’s usually only a four hour shift (that feels like eight after being on your feet the entire time without a break)! Whatever your feelings are about tipping (and I am personally not a fan of it), doesn't change that this is just the reality (a reality servers didn’t choose). Yes, I did choose to wait tables, but it doesn’t mean that I chose to put up with the constant stream of bull that I endure, table after table. As a server, I was yelled at, cussed at, accused of all types of things, talked down to and then stiffed at the end. Maybe people who work in the higher-end restaurants are more satisfied, but there is a reason for high turnover rates in the industry. Let me give you all a breakdown of how a shift might go: You must arrive an hour or two earlier than the restaurant’s opening time (perhaps earlier in some) and begin prepping your tables and getting the restaurant ready for service (i.e. brewing tea, pouring salt/pepper into shakers, stocking fridges, etc…). When the restaurant first opens, there are usually only a couple of servers staffed. Servers usually continue to stream in as the lunch shift really gets underway and this is when the chaos starts. Lunch is particularly bad because everyone is in such a rush to get back to work (although I’ve never understood going to lunch at a busy restaurant when you’re in a time crunch). You might have 3-4 tables who all want something at the same time and each one gets angry when you don’t attend to them that very second (I once had a customer who asked for a side of dressing and got upset with me for not producing it when I hadn’t even left the table yet). You are asked inane questions about the menu, asked to order things that aren’t even on the menu at all and when the bill comes, they want it split four ways and everyone hands you a $20 bill, which you don’t have change for (servers are usually only required to carry a small amount of change). That means you must go to the bar for change, wait on the bartender (who is usually slammed) and by the time you get back with the change, patrons are angry they had to wait so long that they leave you a crummy tip or not one at all! People seem to get into this line of thinking that servers make a ton of money because they add up what a server “should” make and assume that everyone is tipping that well. Trust me, they’re not. Just because people should tip 15-20% doesn’t mean they do. Many people (at least at the establishment I worked at) would leave 10% or less! I would have to kiss major ass to make my 15% (maybe sometimes 20). And I have no problem working hard in order to accomplish this. But I know that there are some people who do not tip based on the service, they tip based on attractiveness, race and other things that are completely out of the server’s control. Where else do people get to determine your pay based on factors that don’t even pertain to the job? I’m not saying this is right, but it is the reality. And yes, I could get another job, but most jobs are not usually as flexible and when I was in college, that’s exactly what I needed. In addition, yes servers really do have to tip share with other people who work in the restaurant. At the place I worked for, we had to tip out the bussers and bartenders (some places you even tip out the hostess). And yes, my base pay was $2.15 an hour. And yes, the restaurant is “supposed” to make up the difference if you do not make minimum wage. Want to know something funny about that? At the end of your shift, the computer asks you how much you made in tips. If you put in a number that the computer determines is too low, you either have to change the number or get a manager to override it for you. Do you how many nights that happened to me? And even though I could’ve waited for a manager to override it, most nights it wasn’t worth tracking down a manager to do that. After the day I just had, I’d rather just lie and say I made enough for the night. I can guarantee that I wasn’t the only one to do that. Is that the patron’s fault? Certainly not, but patrons need to understand exactly what a server goes through to placate the most finicky people. I’ve run around the restaurant like a mad woman, getting things for my tables to cater to them and still got left with a sucky tip (or again, no tip at all). I’ve given roses to moms on Mother’s Day, candy and small toys to children, been as friendly and polite as I can (after being stiffed by the last two tables) and tried to accommodate my customers as much as I can only to be insulted, yelled at and not given a tip. It was a good thing that my wait job was only meant to supplement my income because I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. I walked out of a shift once with $14! Fourteen! I might as well have stayed home for that. The thing is that people claim they tip based on service, but a lot of times they don’t. They take things out on the server that isn’t their fault and treat them like servants in the process. The managers in a restaurant tell their servers constantly that a bigger check means a bigger tip; this is such a falsehood. I found that most times when the check was bigger, my tip would be smaller.  Oh and did I mention the people who completely run out on their tabs? The management tends to assume that if this happens consistently, the server must be allowing it to happen. There was a policy instituted at the restaurant I worked for where if someone ran out on their tab, you either had to pay for it or you had to be written up. There was an incident that happened many years back at a local restaurant. A young waitress had a couple of people run out on their tab. Fearing she might have to pay the tab herself or get into trouble, she followed them out of the restaurant and they ran her over! She died because someone decided they didn’t want to pay for their food and management places the responsibility for that onto the server.  For something that is no fault of the servers, they have to face this penalty; it’s ridiculous.

            Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed serving food to people. There were many friendly patrons who were easy to take care of and didn’t go ballistic when something went wrong. But we also had patrons who had obnoxious children running around, people who made messes that they likely wouldn’t make in their own homes, people who complained on such a consistent basis we knew who they were, people who snapped their fingers and hurled insults at the wait staff and many other ugly things. Yes, we should provide your meal hot, correct and with a smile, but we do not owe you our souls for bringing your food. Do I wish it could be different? Most definitely; I hated going to a job where I wasn’t ever sure how much money I would be bringing home. There would’ve been no way to make a decent living waiting tables unless each patron did their due diligence and ponied up their tip. Be kind to your server; they are attempting to do their job as I’m sure you do as well (and you’ve had bad days at work too). I would like to abolish tipping too as to be fair to both patrons and servers, but until that happens, please have a little respect for the people who bring you your food. It’s not as easy of a job as you might think it is.

Missed Opportunity

I just finished reading the most disturbing manifesto I have ever come across. I didn’t want to read it, but I am truly fascinated by human behavior, especially abnormal human behavior. Besides, reading this struck several chords within me and I know I’ll burst if I don’t write some of it down.

I’m sure many have heard of the horrific tragedy that took place in California just about a week ago. I’ve heard some people say that they would not read the manifesto because it would only give attention to the killer and lose focus of the victims. I agree that the victims stories should be shared, their lives remembered and mourned, but I think it’s foolish to simply ignore (or write-off) the thoughts that led to this culmination of events. I wanted to see the world through the eyes of this man so that I could perhaps catch a glimpse of what he was going through. And no, this does not mean that I am siding with the killer. If we want to have any hope of helping people who have mental illness, we have to take a look into their mindset. We might be able to see the same signs in people around us and not simply dismiss them as “just talk.”

When I first started reading, I quickly established that this man did not have an unfortunate upbringing; on the contrary, he lived a life of extravagance and indulgence. In his first decade of life, he had seen more of the world than I have in almost thirty years. Sadly, this was not enough for him and while I won’t go so far as to blame money for his downfall, it certainly contributed to his outlook on life and the world around him. I could also tell early on (aside from the intro and what I already knew before reading this) that there was something not quite right about him. He seemed to be quite bothered by things that most likely wouldn’t affect others quite as much. He seemed to have an egotistical view of the world at quite a young age. Again, I won’t blame everything on this, but you have to consider it a contributing factor.

The more I read into this, the more disturbing it became to me. I have to assume that while some of this manifesto is factual, there are other parts that were likely exaggerated and/or distorted by his perceptions; having said that, it also seems to me that his parents were not there for him in the capacity that he needed them to be. I did not grow up in a life of luxury and I don’t know what it means to have a great excess beyond what is needed. Don’t get me wrong; my parents were not poor and provided me (and my siblings) with everything we needed and a little of what we desired. However, I have never known what it is like to have everything handed to you by your parents, going on exotic vacations and living in expansive homes. I believe his parents tried to solve a lot of his “problems” with money and this couldn’t have helped his mindset. His values were quite skewed and reflected (in my opinion) one of the downfalls of our society. Throughout his writing, he declares many times how having more money would be the only way he would attain the attention from women that he was seeking. He frequently writes about shopping for Hugo Boss, Giorgio Armani and other name-brand clothing to attract the attention of females. His parents funded not only his college education (which he foolishly squandered; an opportunity that others only dream of), but his apartment, his car and extra spending money as well. He had saved enough money to blow it on lottery tickets and a small arsenal of weapons as well.

It was also quite apparent that he had a social anxiety of sorts. He didn’t form friendships well (mostly because of how he perceived others to be, which makes me question the accuracy of his memories) and he didn’t interact well socially either. He came off as awkward, isolated and (I would think) slightly scary as well. Not scary in an intimidating way; scary in a way that might make people uncomfortable. He was also defensive and although I do believe he was bullied by others (due to his social awkwardness), he contributed (in his own way) to people’s reactions of him. He looked down on others and I’d be willing to bet that this attitude came across quite clearly. According to his manifesto, there were some people he associated with that questioned his behavior and believed he might do something with devastating consequences. However, I am inclined to believe that most people just brushed him off as “the weird kid.”

What’s funny is that I actually wanted to feel sorry for him in the first parts of his writing. I was also an awkward kid; overweight, sensitive, quiet and smart. This has always made me a prime target for bullying. The difference is that I was much more social and eventually overcame my awkwardness and learned to appreciate the good qualities about myself. I wanted to be sympathetic towards his plight for friends and a girlfriend. As I read on, I became less sympathetic and more agitated and angry. I was angry that no one attempted to understand why he wasn’t fitting in and just kept moving him from one place to another. One would think that after multiple failed attempts, it might be best to look at HIS behavior as opposed to everyone around him. I won’t deny that the bullying likely contributed to his distorted views, but at some point, you have to work on the individual because the world is not going to stop for one person.

As I said previously, I felt this guy was seriously lacking in the things he valued in life. The most pressing issue in his life seemed to have been acquiring a girlfriend. This is quite a normal thing, but it was not normal the way he thought about this and how he went about (or didn’t go about) this. He never once tried to talk to a girl (outside of his childhood interactions). He expressed a desire to talk to girls, but never actually did. Then he turned his ire to the guys who were confident enough to talk to those same girls. He talks about girls denying him, but he never really put himself in a position to get rejected, so it was difficult to relate to his depression over this. I had the same issues with guys, except that I put myself out there. I talked to them, became their friend and faced rejection after rejection. It can be extremely depressing to watch other people your age with their boyfriends (or girlfriends, in his case) and question why you cannot have what they do. On that point, I completely understand where he is coming from and why he felt that way. However, this became an obsession for him and he lamented so much about this one thing that he completely missed out on some amazing experiences that some only dream to have. He blew off his education, he minimized the friendships he did have and he didn’t value much of anything, except power, status and money. This leads me to believe that he didn’t really care about having a girlfriend; he simply cared about the idea of having a girlfriend. He wanted another status symbol; an attractive blond to hang on his arm that he could show off to others. He cared a great deal about how other people perceived him and I don’t think he ever came out of the invisible audience stage of his teenage years. He talked a lot about how others saw him as a loser and while he was in high school, I might buy that. However, these perceptions followed him into college and adulthood and I honestly don’t believe that people probably gave him much thought as they were engrossed in their own lives.

I’m quite glad that I did not grow up in a wealthy household. I’m hesitant to judge this as I have not had the experience so it’s quite hard for me to assess what I would’ve had in this situation. Although, from what I have seen in my own world, children who come from wealthy families tend to be overindulged and place too much importance on material things. Seeing as though I was not afforded these luxuries in life, I placed my priorities on family, friends, love, respect, responsibility and other traditional values. That is not to say that I didn’t desire these same things (as many other people do), but their importance took a backseat to those other things (most times). And I’m not saying that kids who come from prestigious backgrounds are never taught these values, but material things do seem to take precedence over the others. And in this case, that seems to be pretty clear. I cannot be sure that his parents didn’t instill him with these things and I’m sure they hoped they were doing the right thing, but money doesn’t solve every problem nor do they make them go away.

I also noticed in his writings that he never mentioned what it was that he wanted from a woman, except for having a sexy, blond, white girlfriend that he wanted to lose his virginity to. It was quite obvious that he didn’t have any respect for women, their feelings or their attributes (except for the physical). I’m scared to think what might have happened if he had actually gotten a girlfriend. I can’t imagine that relationship lasting very long as this guy had some serious narcissistic ideals about himself and the world. I also can’t imagine what would’ve happened if he experienced some of the pitfalls of dating, particularly cheating. I doubt he would’ve handled this well and it would’ve likely only reaffirmed his stance on the female persona. I’m not sure what role his father played in his understanding of women, but I wish that he had sat down and talked to him before he hit puberty to explain things. There were many parts in his writing where I wondered if he was only interested in girls because he thought he should be. He didn’t seem ready to participate in this undertaking, at least until he hit puberty and began having sexual arousal towards women. He basically viewed women in a strictly carnal sense and he never truly appreciated the essence of a woman. Where these ideals came from is beyond me and I’m not sure I would have known how to approach it.

More than anything, I wish that people had taken him more seriously or paid attention to the obvious signs he was showing. He might not have been able to be forced into medication (or therapy) once he reached adulthood, but I believe it was already too late by then. Some of the signs showed up early on at a time when his parents could’ve made this decision for him. There was a lot of missed opportunity in this situation and it hurts my heart that someone didn’t reach out to help him before he committed such a heinous act.

What I have come away with from all of this is how I hope to direct my boys as they navigate their way through a complicated world with skewed values. First, I want to instill them with the same values that I found to be most important in life. I want them to know that although they will desire the things that society tells them they should have, those are not necessarily what is important in life. I also want them to know that while I believe they are amazing, intelligent and handsome boys who are special, there are billions of others who are being told the exact same thing. I want them to know that the world owes them nothing and if they want something in life, they will have to work hard and put themselves out there in order to attain/achieve it. The things they want will not simply be handed to them and they will likely face lots of rejection in their lifetime. I want them to grow from their failures and learn from their experiences. I want them to appreciate women and all they have to offer. I want them to know that women are people (just like them) with their own dreams, beliefs and ideals. I want them to have enough confidence to be able to go after what they want, but not so much that they believe they are entitled to it.

I hope that others take away from this the need to understand people who have mental illnesses and to watch for the signs. There is usually an underlying, nagging feeling we get when faced with people such as this man, yet we often brush it off as being paranoid or not wanting to get into someone else’s business. While I don’t believe we should take it upon ourselves to intrude in other people’s lives, I also believe we cannot ignore the signs of someone crying out for help. This guy often mused about other people understanding what he was going through and being able to see it, but for people who didn’t know him well, that would be practically impossible to see. He would just come off as shy or aloof. He thought a lot of himself and expected the world to come to him. When it didn’t, he hated the world and his place in it. There were certainly a lot of contributing factors to his violent outbursts, but the real culprit was his own mind and the way he perceived the world and the people in it. I’m not sure if this could have been prevented, but I hope it encourages people to speak up when they feel that someone might be mentally disturbed instead of just brushing it off.

Why it's about more than you and me...

I don’t think some people realize how difficult it is to return from darkness to the light. It requires a long journey filled with doubt and lots of introspection. It is not something that is easily done and once you have arrived at your destination, it’s a daily struggle to stay in that place. Most that are lost in the dark don’t care to return to light simply because of all it entails. You must strip away every layer of yourself, examine every piece of your heart and soul and face things about yourself that would be much easier to deny. To describe this process in one word: vulnerable. It is a powerful word and carries with it a great weight. Here you are, this person…a mere fragment of who you thought you were or who you envisioned yourself to be. If you are fortunate enough to survive that darkness and get to that place of light, you must fight like hell to remain there. And it always seems that the tiniest little thing could send you right back to that place you once were. Certainly life will throw you a few curve-balls, but for the person who has such a fragile spirit, it doesn’t take much to send them reeling. The demons of your past actions are already a force to be reckoned with, but to also face your inner demons…well, that’s just on an entirely different level. It’s bad enough that you must face yourself day in and day out; the number of insecurities present is ridiculously overwhelming. To take on other people’s insecurities can be just so that it threatens all the strides you have made.

                My past does not define me. However, it can never be undone. It is a constant reminder of the person I never want to be again. To be (or even feel) questioned without just cause draws out all of those insecurities and doubts I have ever had about myself. And while I know that I can’t hide from every query that will undoubtedly occur many times throughout my life, it hinders my progress to feel that way, especially when I have done nothing wrong. I know that a lot of this sounds like self-pity, but I do not feel sorry for myself or expect anyone else to feel sorry for me. I do not deny that I have made mistakes, some of which were monumental. However, to every inquiry that comes my way, I have to fight with myself that I am not becoming that person again. Perhaps there isn’t anyone who is holding my past against me and that (to me) is an accomplishment in itself. I tend to be my own worst enemy and take (what may seem like) innocuous things to heart. Even if it is someone else’s burden, if it involves me in any way, it becomes my burden as well. And to burden my heart with something that I cannot do anything about or that calls my character into question, is simply torturous. So, while you may think that you are not accusing, blaming or holding something against me, that is not how it is received. It took a lot for me to get to this place and I work on it daily. It has nothing to do with you, our relationship or even how I feel about you; this is much deeper than that. If you are going to bring me to this place, please make it over something substantial. Otherwise, the foundation that my heart and soul sits upon is compromised. I do realize that this is not your fault nor do I hold it against you. But that is the very thing I am trying to get across. All of this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I am doing so well; please do not make me question myself when it is not necessary. My greatest gift to you is continuing to move forward. My greatest fear is feeling inadequate and going backwards.