I Can't Wait to Be an Adult

I hate being a kid. Yeah, I know every adult thinks being a kid is great. They think it's all fun and games, no worries. When you're a kid you get taken care of and have no responsibilities. Well, it not all it's cracked up to be. Because you have no rights either. Adults boss you around and don't take you seriously. You don't get to make your own choices. You have no control over your life. You have no say. It's not fair.

So I'm a kid. I'm only 9 years old. But that doesn't mean I am stupid. In fact, I am very smart. Most adults are stupid. They think I have no idea what is really going on. But I've learned how to play their game. You just act really good, like mr. teacher's pet and mr. goody two-shoes. Then you get all these privileges and lots of freedom. Then you can get away with anything. No one suspects mr. perfect, because HE couldn't do anything wrong! Right? Wrong!

Here's what I got away with recently:

1) Getting my little sister into trouble - So she climbed out of her crib, again. She snuck into my room. "Can I sleep wit you?" She asked sweetly. "No, you have to sleep in your own bed." Sure, I was flattered that she wanted to sleep with me. But if she did I would get NO sleep at all. I mean, she hogs all the covers and even farts in her sleep. "Dad!" I yell from my bed. "Stacy is out of her crib again!" My dad comes storming down the hall. My sister doesn't even cry as he smacks her on the butt. Being the "perfect" child he nods in approval that I've done the right thing. But really I was just being selfish.

2) Not turning in my homework - I "lost" my homework. No really, I'm bad at spelling, very bad. So I threw my spelling worksheet in the trash. I told my teacher it was on my desk and someone stole it. Guess what? Since I am the teacher's pet, she believed me! There's no way I, a model student, could have lost it or done ANYTHING wrong. Being perfect has perks, let me tell you.

3) Eating all my peas, not! - I hate peas! My dad wants me to eat them. But I won't. So he tells me he will pay me 5 cents for every pea that I eat. I eat 20 peas and get a dollar! But not really. Because while he is trying to get my little sister to eat HER peas, I am putting each pea from my fork into the top front of my mouth . . . you know the space between your gums and your lips. Those peas are pretty squishy, so they flatten easily. Then I take my glass of water in the tall colored plastic cup, and as I pretend to drink I am actually moving the peas with my top lip into the cup. He has NO idea. I make a few dollars in no time.

4) Missing school because I was sick - It's that classic thermometer in the light bulb trick. But the reason most kids get caught is because they take the thermometer from the light bulb and give it directly to the parents right away. The real trick is putting the thermometer under your tongue for a bit after you've heated the mercury in the lamp. That cools it down, enough to be believable but still high enough for a fever. If you've got one of those newer thermometers, just heat your forehead or your ear with something warm, like a heating pad or space heater. Regular kids, do not try this at home! It could be dangerous and you can hurt yourself if you're not smart like me. But I get away with missing school all the time with different ailments. And since I am a straight A student, with excellent grades, no one cares if I miss every now and then.

5) Stealing a toy from that kid's house my parents made me go to and pretend to be his friend - One of the things I HATE the most . . . my parents take me to a stranger's house and expect me to be OK with it. They think since these people are THEIR friends that I should automatically like them too, and their bratty snotty kids. My parents never once ask, "What do you think?" or "Would you like to meet so-and-so?" or "I'd like you to meet my friends but just because they are my friends doesn't mean their kids will automatically be your friends." I hate that they just assume I'll like these people, their kids, and be OK. So I go to the kids' houses. My parents send me "off to play." And each time, I steal a toy from the bratty kids' rooms, just to show that adults can't win. That is my silent protest. The toys are usually small, nothing major or super-expensive. It's not about the money. And I NEVER once make friends with any of those kids. That is a big NO-NO. They can make me go, but they can't make me like it.

I can't wait to be an adult. I will make my own choices. No one will control me. I'll have freedom to set up my life the way I want it, and make friends with who I want, and have a job doing what I like.

Being a kid stinks. Once I am an adult I'll never look back. I'll forget all about "childhood" that is made to be this fairy-tale, magical time. Being an adult is what I was born to be.

- end -

Snowflake Poem

SNOWFLAKE

Small rain drops frozen
Now you can make a snowman
Oh
Wonderful snow
Full of joy
Lucky for snow to fall
Always like snow
Kind of wet
Ending of snow is cool and sad

—by my son Hayden B, age 8

I am water

Note: My astrological sign is Cancer (the crab!) and I have always felt connected to water. I love it and also fear it. It calms me and scares me. Here is a poem I wrote to explain my connection.

I am water.
Water is strong, moving, calm, flexible,
clean, fun, powerful, soothing, happy, clear.
Water moves, flows, cleanses, soothes,
quenches, changes, crashes, ripples, and is still.
I, Suzi, am water.

I am water, strong.
No obstacle can stop me.
I go over, under, around, and through.
I change forms
to steam or ice or rain.
I cleanse and soothe,
move or sit still.
I bring life wherever I go.
I touch everyone I meet.
I, Suzi, am water.

Written May 17, 1996

Excuses

My adoring fans (of what, like 3 people?) have wondered why I have not submitted a new post since July 25. There goes my goal of 1 new post per week! Well, I do have some legitimate excuses all lined up . . .

Here's my excuses (in order of occurance):
1) Vacation -- getting ready for, going on, and unpacking from 7/26-8/2
2) Getting ready for start of school 8/3-8/8
3) Visit from Aunt Amy from Florida 8/10-8/14
4) Child care problems (nanny's been out sick various days) 8/2-8/18
5) Loss of air conditioning and electricity this week, displacing me from my computer 8/17-8/19
I do, dear fans, have 2 story outlines in the works. We'll see what I can do in the next 3-4 weeks with the continuous child care issues, juggling work and home, etc. Thanks for your encouragement and support!

Night Visitor — a short story

First came the cold moist feeling in my outstretched hand. This was followed by the warm wet feeling of licking. I groaned, pulled my hand back under the covers, and rolled over, not wanting to wake up.

But Brandy didn’t give up so easily. She stretched, bottom up with front legs extended towards the bed, and gave a loud squeaky yawn. Then she launched herself up on her hind legs, and propelled her body against the side of the bed with a big “whap!” She sneezed impatiently as I slowly sat up, rubbed my eyes and glanced at my alarm clock instinctively. “One a.m., Brandy? I whispered, “You want to go out NOW, girl?”

I don’t know why I acted so surprised. Ever since Mitch and I adopted Brandy six months ago she always had to go out at least once in the middle of the night, usually between the hours of twelve and two a.m., like clockwork. And since we lived in an apartment, without a fenced in yard or patio, it meant one of us getting up and taking her outside for the nightly walk.

It wasn’t that bad really. She was usually pretty quick about her business, and we took turns each night. The routine had become a habit, almost like sleepwalking. “Just think of it as training,” Mitch had teased, “for when we have a baby. We’ll need to be used to getting up in the middle of the night.”

I had made a face at him then, because even though we’d been married three years already, I felt no where near ready to have a baby, any more than I did 12 months ago when he first suggested it. So we got a dog instead. And now here I am getting up in the middle of the night to deal with pee. I knew Mitch had a big day ahead of him at work tomorrow, Monday. So tonight was my turn.

“Okay, okay,” I whispered, pulling on my sweats as Brandy danced around like a circus dog. Her foster mom said she was a mutt, but Mitch and I thought she must have some poodle in her. She didn’t look anything like one, but she sure was hyper! She was a small dog, about 25 pounds, cream colored like a Golden Retriever but with scruffy fur like a small Terrier breed. She was beautiful to me. In the short time she’d been with us, Brandy had in fact become my “baby.”

I slipped into my sneakers, attached Brandy’s leash and stumbled sleepily out the front door. I woke up as the crisp night air hit my face. While Brandy sniffed here and there, looking for the perfect spot, I glanced nervously around the complex. We lived in a safe area, a tiny apartment community nestled between two neighborhoods and one block from an elementary school. Still, being out in the middle of the night as a woman all alone, made me nervous.

“Shit,” I muttered to myself. “Forgot to lock the front door.” I had turned the corner and couldn’t see it anymore. That seemed to increase my anxiety. Whenever I talked about the “dangerous” nightly walks to Mitch, he called me paranoid. He assured me that I’d be fine, being gone for five minutes, especially with Brandy at my side. “Humph,” I had muttered, glancing at Brandy. “What’s she gonna do, lick my attacker into submission?” Mitch had laughed. “If you’re that worried, lock the door and carry your keys and cell phone with you.” In the meantime, we were saving up for a house—with a fenced in yard!

“Find the spot and let’s go,” I begged. Brandy crouched. When she was finished, she did her little doggie foot dance. ‘Why do dogs do that anyway?’ I wondered heading back quickly. Brandy stopped to sniff cigarette butts along the sidewalk. “Hurry girl, come on!” I pulled her back into the apartment.

As closed the door behind me and dropped the leash on the front hall table, I instinctively felt something was wrong. Someone else was here, in the room. In our small apartment it was just a few short steps from the front door to the living room. I froze, held my breath and saw a figure sitting on the couch! It was only split second before the person, a man, stood up and reached out for me. I was about to scream when he said, "Jenni, it’s me!”

The moon cast its light across the face of the man, my brother-in-law, Michael. “Oh my god” I breathed, “What the hell!? You gave me such a scare!” I sunk wearily into the couch where he had just been sitting. I now realized why Brandy didn’t bark at the stranger when we had come in. And why there had been cigarette butts just outside on the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to scare you. I was driving by. I just dropped Jessica off at her parent’s house after the party at Cole’s, and I saw you walking Brandy outside.” I could see Michael’s face more clearly now. “It was a killer party,” he added with a sly grin and a sparkle in his eye.

Between the two brothers, Mitch and Michael, no one could decide who was more charming. And they were both good looking, in different ways. Both had sandy blond hair, a boyish face, broad shoulders and a trim build. Okay, Mitch’s hair was a little bit darker. His hazel eyes were magnetic, yet calming. And the way those eyes drew me to him was something I couldn’t fight, nor did I want to.

Mike had penetrating deep blue eyes, and a look that melted girls off their feet, at least I am told. Because between the two of them, Mitch was the “good catch” and Michael was the “one you couldn’t catch.” While Mitch was charming yet comforting, Michael was devilish and daring. While we enjoyed evenings of romantic dinners and dancing, Mike took to drinking and partying. On Sunday afternoons Mitch and I snuggled on the couch watching ESPN, while Mike preferred sleeping the day away after the previous late night’s antics. Mitch and I enjoyed every day things, like teasing each other playfully while grocery shopping. Mike preferred driving fast cars and lots of women.

I love Mike as my brother-in-law, but he is a bit too dangerous for me. He liked to live his life “bungi jumping off a cliff” as he put it. He had been with more women and had more girlfriends in the short time that I had known him, than all the boyfriends I had ever had in my entire life. And he was younger than us­­—Mitch by five years, and me by two.

Maybe it was because we were both older, and also the first born in our families, but Mitch and I were constantly onto Mike about his habits, acting as his second set of parents. It wasn’t just the smoking, but also the girls, the drinking, and the partying. Mitch and I were the “responsible ones,” starting out with solid jobs in our careers, married for three years, and saving up for a house. Mike couldn’t keep a job for longer than nine months. He just kept saying he couldn’t figure out his life, but Mitch always said that was just an excuse.

“Well, I gotta get to sleep,” I yawned, getting to my feet. I started towards the bedroom when Mike stopped me. “Look,” he said, “I just want you to know that it’s gonna be okay.” “What . . . ?” I started to say, when Mike did something unexpected . . . he leaned over and hugged me. This was totally out of character for Mike. Although I knew he loved me as a sister-in-law, he was always all jokes and flirts. He always seemd to either entertain me, shock me or scare me. I felt that he had accepted me into the family, but he never before showed me any affection.

As he wrapped his arms around me, I felt a wave of warmth and comfort that I had never felt before in Mike’s presence. I relaxed and let him hold me. I took a deep breath and let the feeling of safety seep in. I felt waves of calm wash over me, and as I stood there a week’s worth of stress and emotional turmoil slowly emptied out of my body. It was as if Mike’s hug transferred his strength and confidence into the sea of fear and anxiety I felt just minutes before. I sighed deeply. I hugged him back.

Mike leaned away but looked me in the eye. “It’s all gonna be okay,” he repeated, and started to slowly walk me back to my bedroom, one arm still around my shoulder. We walked into the dark room where Brandy had curled up at the foot of the bed. Mitch was fast asleep. “Take care of him, okay? He glanced in Mitch’s direction. “Use the strength inside you, and you’ll be fine,” Mike said, helping me to the bed.

“Mmmm hmmm,” I nodded, slipping out of my shoes, crawling into bed, and pulling up the covers. By now I felt completely relaxed and at ease. Within minutes I was asleep.

“Hrrufff!” Brandy’s doggie dream woke me. I slowly turned over and squinted at my alarm clock instinctively. Two a.m. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Two a.m.?!

It was one week ago exactly, at two a.m. last Sunday night that the police had showed up at our door to tell us that Mike had been killed. Mitch had answered the door, ran back into the bedroom saying, “Jenni, wake up. Mike is dead. There’s been an accident. Mike is dead!”

It had been one week of grief-stricken anguish, tears, and rollercoaster emotions. We rushed to Mitch’s parent’s house where the family was slowly gathering. We all held each other, stumbled through the funeral, the gravesite ceremony, and the questions: Why? Why him? Why us? Why now?

It was one whole week of people coming in and out of the house. One week of Mitch and I, the two oldest children in our families, rushing to make arrangements and sparring his parents of any further pain. We called family friends for help; we read the police reports; we identified Mike’s sports car at the impoundment lot, where it stood totaled.

It has been one week since Mike and his on and off again girlfriend were coming home from a party at Cole’s. Mike had known Jessica since high school, for about 10 years now. No matter how many women he went out with, partied with, or slept with, after a few stints he seemed to always want Jessica. She had been in town visiting her parents during Christmas vacation. In a few days she was scheduled to return to law school. So Mike had convinced her, in his charming way, to go out partying with him for old time’s sake.

Friends said they’d left the party around one a.m. Mike’s car hit the embankment on the expressway. The pavement curved sharply at one point. Mike’s car went straight. Who knows what they were thinking or doing or talking about at the time. They died instantly.

As I sat there half-awake in my bed, with Mitch sleeping soundly beside me, I thought it was all a dream. Mike didn’t die. He was just here, in my apartment, in this room. He hugged me a told me everything would be okay. He told me to be strong. He gave me his strength . . . . and then the realization set in . . . no, THAT was the dream. Mike was never here. Mike is gone, really gone.

Or is he? Did Mike visit me tonight? Was he trying to tell me something? Mitch and I both start back at work in the morning. In just six hours we would both have to face the world, do our jobs, and function normally knowing Mike was gone, as if nothing had ever happened. How are we going to do it?

Hmmmmm . . . Mike?

Hey, Mike! I got the message. And I still feel your hug. I think we’ll be okay.

You know that Mitch and I always worried about you, always tried to look out for you. But now I feel that you’re out there, looking out for us. We never expected this, never wanted it to be this way. But I think I got your message. I feel better knowing that you’ll always be there for us.

And Mike, come visit me again soon, okay?

- end -

Innocence — a short story

Hi. My name is Elizabeth. Except I don’t like that name. It sounds so big and grown-up, not like me. So as soon as I started kindergarten I asked my teachers to call me Lizzy. And now everyone does, except my parents of course. They still call me Elizabeth ‘cause that’s what they named me.

I’m 7. Right now it’s summer. But when school starts again I’ll be a 2nd grader. I can’t wait. I really like school. I know a lot of kids who don’t, but summer time is so boring for me. I don’t get to see my friends from school, and there’s not much to do at my house. Both my parents are teachers, and my dad even works in the summer because he teaches at the college, so we don’t go on vacations much.

So its summer now and I’ve got nothing to do. I’ve already spent all morning drawing, which I love to do. And then I played with my Barbies some, but after I set up the house and arranged my Barbie furniture, I’m bored already. There’s not many other girls my age that live on my street to play with. Besides, I’m the shy one and I don’t have a lot of friends. That’s what my mom always says when we meet new people. She says Kristen (my sister) is outgoing, but Elizabeth is the shy one. Since she says it, it must be true. So I try to act shy as much as possible and I don’t talk much.

My mom sees that I am bored. She says “Why don’t you go down the street to Adam’s house to play? His parents are very nice, and they’re Christian.” She is always trying to get me to be friends with other kids who have parents that go to our church. I can tell that my parents think that Christians, especially the ones at our church, are special people. If they go to our church, they must be nice. I can tell my parents think that. Except I don’t always like the kids that are there. Just because my parents like those parents, does that mean I have to like the kids?

My mom is still talking, “I’ll call Adam’s mom. I’m sure she’ll be okay with you coming over. She told me Adam didn’t have much to do today either. You can even walk over there and she’ll call me when you get there.” This is exciting to me, ‘cause my mom hardly ever lets me go anywhere alone. I’ll be like a 5th grader!

So I walk to Adam’s house. When I get there his parents are in the living room. They smile at me and are real nice. His mom says, “Go right in Lizzy. Adam and Gretchen are already playing in his room.”

Gretchen?! This is news to me. I know Gretchen. She’s a year younger than Adam and I. She’s going into 1st grade. I’m not so sure about playing with her. It’s not because she’s younger but, well, there’s something about her. But I go down the hall to Adam’s room and knock on the door.

Adam opens the door and gives me a big grin when he sees me. That makes me feel good. Gretchen stops what she is doing and eyes me suspiciously. “What’s she doing here?” she asks, not so nicely. I give her a look of mine---my dad calls it the “evil eye”.

“It’s okay,” Adam tells her. “Lizzy is cool.” Again, I feel good. “What are you playing?” I ask. “House,” Adam says. “I’m the dad and Gretchen is already the mom. So you can be the doggie or the baby.” “Okay,” I sigh. Since I am the littlest girl in our grade, I never get to be the mom. I usually have to be the baby, but since Adam gave me a choice I’ll pick the doggie. Puppies are cute! “Arf arf!” I say jumping up and down. Gretchen and Adam both giggle and I feel happy that they like my doggie act.

We play for a while and it is fun. Adam pretends to go to work and come home. Gretchen cooks dinner and I fetch the newspaper. Then we get bored. “Let’s play a new game,” Adam says. “What?” I ask. “I know, Operation!” Adam smiles. Gretchen smiles too. I think, this must be a game they’ve played together before, but I never have. “How do you play?” I ask. Adam explains, “Gretchen lies down on the operating table,” he points to the bed “and I examine her.” Then we switch. You can have a turn too. “Okay,” I say, happy to be part of their game.

Gretchen lies down on the bed and Adam takes out his doctor toys. He has a thermometer, a tongue stick, a bunch of real band aides, a pretend shot, and a thing for listening to the heart. “Okay,” he says to Gretchen, “now pull your pants down.”

“Wait,” I say. Something doesn’t feel right to me about now. “Are you sure that’s okay?” “Sure,” he says, “we do it all the time.” Gretchen smiles at me. I want Adam and Gretchen to be my friends, so I say, “Um, okay but I don’t think I will play. I’ll just watch.” Adam sends Gretchen a look. I am not sure what that means. “Okay, sure,” he says.

Gretchen pulls her pants down. I feel a little weird, but okay. I mean, I have a little sister and we take baths together all the time. So I know it’s okay for girls to see each other naked. Adam touches her privates. Her eyes are closed and she has a funny look on her face. I start to feel not good. I close my eyes but still stay in the same spot.

I hear Adam say, “Okay, my turn.” I open my eyes. Gretchen is dressed and Adam is getting onto the bed. Before he pulls his pants down I start to feel kinda sick. I am looking at them, but without turning around I remember Adam has tall windows in his room that are behind me. The windows have long drapes with fabric that hangs down from the ceiling to the floor. I quickly speak and move at the same time, “You can go ahead but I am going to hide behind the curtains.”

I am behind the curtains already. I can’t see anything. I hear Adam say “Lizzy, you have to look. That’s part of the game!” “No thanks,” I say. I can hear moving. “Gretchen, get Lizzy and make her look.” I can tell that Adam and Gretchen are moving toward me. Adam says to her “Pull your pants down too, make her look!” I look down at the floor and see their feet. They both are very close to me, with their pants down at their ankles. I close my eyes shut and put my hands over them. Adam and Gretchen reach for me behind the curtain. They grab my arms and try to peel them away from my face. My heart is beating so fast, I must get away. I try to remember how far it is to the door. In a split second with my eyes still closed, I kick at them with my feet, push them down with my hands, and run towards the door. When I am almost there I open my eyes to see the door knob. Out of the corner of my eye I see their movement and hear Adam shouting, “Gretchen, get her! Don’t let her escape! Lizzy, if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you!”

I run out of Adam’s room, down the hall, into the living room where his mom and dad are sitting. They look up surpised and I quickly say, panting, “I have to go home now!” Before they can speak I run to the front door, and down the street to my own house. I shove open the door and start towards my room. I hear my mom in the kitchen, “Lizzie, is that you? Did you have a nice time?” “Yes,” I manage to say before turning the corner to the hallway to my room. When I get to my room I close the door behind me, and lean against it, trying to catch my breath. I am shaking all over.

I don’t tell anyone what happened at Adam’s house. He said he will kill me if I did. My parents wouldn’t believe me anyway. My dad would say maybe I made a mistake and didn’t understand. My mom would say it was all in my head. They would both say that Adam and his parents are very nice Christian people, and don’t do things like that. They will say I am a bad girl for thinking that way. I guess I am a bad girl. If my parents say it, it must be true.

- end -

In memory of Dad

My first blog post is in memory of my father, Dr. Jerome Eisenfeld, who passed away on October 25, 1999. This is from the passage I wrote to present at his funeral.

It has been an emotional rollercoaster since last Thursday night when Mom called to say my dad had fallen in the kitchen and she called for an ambulance to take him to the hospital.

I am so grateful that my husband Jeff and I were able to come immediately that night after we realized the situation was serious. Initially we thought dad was gone that first night at the hospital. But, G-d gave us a reprieve.

The next day, after they had told us there was no hope, it was a miracle! The nurses said dad was actually responding to commands! We went in and he tried to open his eyes. He tried to lift his head. He grabbed for our hands and squeezed them. We wondered how could this happen, when the doctors were so sure just the night before that he would never wake up. But, everyone here who knows Jerry knows he is a fighter. He has always been strong, passionate and determined.

The next morning, even after a 6-hour brain surgery the night before, dad was still doing well. His eyes were closed, his head back, but he still seemed responsive. I stayed with him for several hours, talked to him, and sang to him. I told him about all the people who had called and came to visit. I told him I loved him and it was going to be okay. I had to leave the hospital at 4 pm that day because I missed my son terribly, having not have seen him for 2 days. I was heartbroken to leave Dad. He kept reaching for my hand and squeezing it very hard. One time he squeezed my hand so hard it hurt! You all know how athletic and strong Jerry is. I tried to imagine what he was trying to tell me: "I love you." "Don't leave me, I'm scared." or "Don't worry, Suzi, I'll be okay."

I am thankful I was given the opportunity to communicate with dad on some level before he died. I’m not sure exactly what he was saying to me, but maybe it was “Goodbye.” So, I want to relay that message to all of you. Jerry says goodbye. When you get a chance, please come up to me and squeeze my hand so that I can pass along that message and any of the other messages dad was trying to give that day.

I am really proud of my father. I am proud of him for many things . . . for his intelligence, his determination, passion, sense of humor, how he kept himself physically fit---which I know he was proud of.

One aspect of his personality that you may not have known as well is his caring and sensitive nature. In his later years he spent a lot more time listening and learning from people, getting in touch with his own feelings. He was very sensitive and emotional at times. I know some might be uncomfortable with a man being emotional, but I was really proud of dad for that . . . for being able to cry. He shared with me very recently how he could release his feelings and share them with others. He used this newfound freedom to grow spiritually and mentally.

I was amazed when last year he broke his ribs and collarbone from a cycling accident. I didn’t even know about it until I saw him at the next family gathering. If he hadn’t told me I would never had known he had broken bones and was in pain. And you know how he was able to handle his injury? He said that he absorbed all the love and support from his bike club and all his other friends after the accident. This caring and emotion was able to heal him. It was truly amazing to me.

Dad, I love you. And I am proud of you. And, don’t worry, I will be okay. So will Mom and Candice. We have lots of love and support to help heal us. And yes, I will share your squeeze with everyone wants to receive it.