I don’t know who to write about, my father-in-law (FIL) or my mother-in-law (MIL). In the end, I believe it will be about both.
First of all I want to say that I love and admire my mother-in-law. She is a strong woman, both physically and emotionally. My father-in-law, not so much. Lucky for him my mother-in-law is both physically and emotionally strong, otherwise, some say, he may have done some jail time because his beatings came close to killing her many a time. As it is, he should be in prison for other things his children say he has done, like having her signature forged on the divorce decree and other documents. My mother-in-law, aside from the above mentioned strengths, is also very kind hearted and forgiving. Again, lucky for my father-in-law.
My MIL says that whenever she sees a depiction of the Passion of Christ she is reminded of the physical abuse she sustained from him on a regular basis. Sometimes it was her head to the ceramic floor/wall/sink pounding, sometimes it was open hand slaps and/or punches and other times it was whippings with a thick leather belt, with him yelling at her that the next time it would be with the belt buckle. She was often dragged by her hair across the house prior to a beating. Why or how she survived, no one knows, perhaps to tell the story? She tells me she would be unable to walk or sit for days. Her son, my beloved and traumatized husband, tells me stories of all five children standing on the other side of the bedroom door wailing, pleading, crying, banging on the door begging him to stop, trying to knock the door down, not knowing if he would stop, praying that he would not kill her. If any of the children got in the way, he would hit them or send them flying, usually him and his older sister. The neighbors would run to her and tell her to hide because "the monster" was on his way home and he was angry about something or other and would surely take it out on her. My FIL has often used the excuse that she “was a jealous woman” my husband tells me that it wasn’t so much that she was a jealous woman, but instead she was a woman whose husband cheated on her on a regular basis. Some of his children have been heard using the same excuse, as if there is an excuse to justify a beating that can be compared to the Passion of Christ. My husband tells me that due to limited resources the five children had to sleep in one bed. He tells me that due to limited resources they had to cut out the tips of their shoes to wear them a bit longer. What little money there was, was used for my FIL’s cheating ways; women, including setting at least one of them up in her own apartment. But the ultimate betrayal was when he cheated on her with her own cousin. The cousin, who now flaunts the betrayal as a badge of honor, was having a rough time in her own life. My generous and kind hearted MIL took her in and shared what little my MIL had with her. The cousin, a woman who does not respect the bond of blood or the sacrament of marriage, plotted to dispose of his five children in one way or another. My FIL sent his children away if they were not married. Soon after, he married the cousin. She knew that if she had a child with him she could form a family unit and take him away from his other children. When she was unable to conceive they found a woman who was known to give or sell her children away. And that is what they did. They made arrangements to keep the child she was carrying. Some say that the cousin wore maternity clothes while the biological mother was pregnant to fool the townspeople and that they paid to have the birth certificate altered to reflect their names as the birth parents. This child who doesn’t know her birth mother or her biological siblings was raised by the most tender and loving father. Never did she see my FIL raise a hand to the woman who raised her. She has been given every luxury possible. While my husband does not begrudge that my FIL has paid for her multiple degrees abroad. He does begrudge that he and his siblings have been excluded in every possible way. They have been excluded emotionally and financially. My husband has questions that he wants answers to; what about the five siblings that grew up so traumatized by their father's abusive treatment? Why has it been so easy for him to discard them as if they are disposable? Why does he now reject them? I believe that the children he had with their mother represent a part of him that he is terribly ashamed of. Perhaps he regrets his past abusive actions. But then why doesn’t he simply acknowledge that it happened and ask for forgiveness and make things right and begin a relationship of inclusion? That is how true healing will begin. Unfortunately, as often happens, pride gets in the way.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Faith Shaken
I think, oh Jesus if only you had been here none of this would have happened. I am neither Mary nor Martha, nor is my father named Lazarus. His name is Luis. But I can imagine how Martha and Mary must have felt. If only…but Jesus is gone. Gone as in over 2,000 years gone. How can I count on Him when at times I cannot count on the people who share worldly spaces with me?
I always say, where there is life here is hope, where there is death there is faith. But there seems to be a scarcity of all of the above, no life, no hope and certainly no faith. What there is, is an abundance of death. My father fights for his life. He fell and shattered his cranium. His brain no longer functions, there appears to be no vision, no hearing, no voice, no memory, he lays there and grimaces, jerks around, looks straight at you without actually seeing. He is as close to a vegetable as they come.
A fall that was totally and completely preventable.
But I will deal with that anger later.
Right now I have to keep the angel of death at bay as he is circling the periphery of life. I am, however, ready to invite him in. I can no longer bear to watch my father suffer. He is attached to life by machines and liquids dripping upside down from bags on hooks. The scent of death is camouflaged by antiseptic washes. The sound of death comes from pings and beeps, a symphony of machinery designed to keep someone tethered to this world much longer than anyone in their right mind would want to. I fight back the bitterest of tears and tell him that it is okay to go, if he is tired and wants to go, he is free to go, we will send him off so that the Others can greet him. By now I am fighting the daily sobs. I wonder how much longer before the doctor throws in the proverbial towel and says “we have done all that we can.” I know, I will tell him. But Jesus never showed up to say “open the tomb.”
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Sharks in Suits and the Company They Keep
First of all, my apologies. My apologies to all my friends and family members who work in our legal system (i.e. attorneys, paralegals, etc…). God knows you have helped us out on many occasions. But I must say, our legal system is whacked. Perhaps at one time it hummed evenly on its axis, but now? It is clearly out of balance.
I recently was called to serve on a jury. Little did I know how this would end. But first, let me tell you the process. It began very much like being picked to be on a team in 7th grade gym class. Attorneys (team captains) would ask questions according to jurors' experiences, professions and opinions. If there was something that stood out as being beneficial to their case they'd keep you, if there was something said that they did not feel was advantageous to their case, they'd ask the judge to have the juror dismissed. Unfortunately for me, both team captains wanted me. I did not want to be on either of their teams. I did not even want to play their game. But before I knew it they had me hooked into their cat and mouse, gotcha and legal ping-pong game. I quickly learned that no one was allowed to lie, except of course, the attorneys. They lied by omission, they lied by slanting their perspective of their stories, they lied by stretching the truth so far it snapped in your face. But still I was enthralled by the story, many times struggling to contain my expression of "you've got to be kidding me?" or the rolling of my eyes (a technique I have learned from my teenage daughter). The trial involved a man, a train, the man's employer, and their legal teams. One legal team (plaintiff's attorneys) came all the way from St. Louis, MO. They were a team of relatively young lawyers with dollar signs in their eyes, lots of dollar signs. The opposing legal team, the defendant's attorneys, were local, a pair of older attorneys and probably had their jobs on the line.
The story is laid out in front of us. The judge explained that real life trials were not at all like TV trials. Perhaps true, but equally entertaining nonetheless. The plaintiff worked for a railroad yard and was on the premises when he was hit by a train. His claim was that in spite of several warnings and near-misses the railroad yard failed to place nothing more than a stop sign at the crossing, making it unsafe and perilous. The company claimed that they had met the standards as required by the government (they would have looked much better had they EXCEEDED the standards, in my humble opinion). The plaintiff had sustained several serious injuries, but appeared to be fine after several years. He could sit for long periods of time without being in any obvious pain, he could walk, he could take his coat on and off without any assistance. He had not seen a physician in years nor was he taking any medication. He had not left the stove unattended causing a fire or displayed any other long term effects due to head trauma. When he took the witness stand he seemed to be mentally and emotionally equipped to handle the line of questioning by the defense, and many times even appearing glib, making the plaintiff's claim that he needed 16 hours of care every day (to the tune of about 15 million dollars) seem incredulous. Furthermore, he spent the day playing video games, calling his friends and navigating on MySpace. The legal sparring kept me on the edge of my Lilliputian juror's seat (ever sit in one of those? They are cramped, tiny and made for the rear of a person born in the 1800's). Each side brought in their legal expert witnesses. Well paid too, ranging anywhere from $10,000 to $24,000. What a racket. They should pass a law making it illegal to pay expert witnesses; it’s a lot like campaign financing. You scratch my back and I will scratch, massage and apply sweet smelling cream to cover up the stench on yours. Okay, I am perhaps, just a little jaded from this experience.
The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back....
It was towards the end of the trial that I noticed something that made me want to scream, "Wait a cotton-picking minute!" I could not believe my eyes. The highly paid expert witness appeared to be trying to sway the jury with what was in my opinion, questionable means. At first I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the more I thought about it the more I came to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing.
This expert witness, a well known psychologist, stated that the plaintiff was a psychopath. He determined this after spending an hour with him. There were no facts presented to back up his claim. No lengthy criminal record was presented. No other psychological reports noting a history of pathology or dysfunction other than a self assessment indicating that at times he felt depressed. In fact, the only information presented by the defense was that he lied on his MySpace profile saying he made a lot more money then he actually did. Men lie about two things and how much money they make is one of them. Use your imagination for the second lie. If they counted these lies as a sign of pathology then we'd sure have a lot of psychopaths walking around. The psychologist gave us the definition of a psychopath, he said its not a ruthless, cold blooded killer like we see on television. A psychopath is a manipulator; he uses manipulation for his personal gain. We have a saying in Spanish; "look at the donkey talk about long ears."
This psychologist was the highest paid expert witness on this case. He had made $24,000 for perhaps 2 days worth of work. Furthermore, this was not the first time he provided expert testimony for this client. This was, in fact, approximately the 10th time he provided services to this client. Holy smoke, and I was sitting there making $40.00 a day as a juror, subtract my parking fee of $10.00, I am down to $30.00 a day, minus my $6.00-$7.00 lunch as there are no refrigerators to store or microwaves to heat lunches brought from home in the jurors room.
The psychologist had a lot of money riding on this, his client needed to win. And he was about to prove (in my eyes) that he'd do anything possible to make it happen.
During a sidebar, while the defense and plaintiff's attorneys were busy with the judge the expert witness held a book up titled "Without Conscience" by Robert Hare, a leading expert on the subject of psychopaths. How convenient I thought to have with him a book about psychopaths available and secondly for him to have carried it to the witness stand. He was no dummy; here he was with a PhD in psychology with years of varied experience, education and knowledge. This did not appear to me to be an accident. Or perhaps it was as we say in Spanish, "un accidente a propósito" an "intentional accident," on purpose, with a motive and an objective. He held the book up for the jury to see. His eyes did not appear to be reading, it seemed that he was actually paying attention to what was going on to his left, where the sidebar was taking place. When the sidebar broke up, he put his book away. That afternoon I went home confused. Unfortunately, I could not talk to anyone about it. I had to figure this one out myself. I could not call my psychologist friends or my attorney friends and ask what their opinion was or ask for advice. That night I tossed and turned and at 3:00 in the morning I decided I would write the judge a letter and tell her what had happened. Then it would be in her hands to decide how to proceed. When I walked in to the jury room the next day, I asked my fellow jurors, if they had seen something they felt was inappropriate would they say something to the judge? One juror said that if it really bothered me then I should let the judge know. I told them that I could not say what I saw to them but felt so strongly about it that I was going to inform the judge. I gave my letter to the bailiff.
It was customary to have late starts, we'd have to report at 9:00 am but usually we'd be called in to the courtroom around 10:00 am. Today was no different, except this day I was the only one called in. The judge read my letter to the two legal teams. The defense team no longer wanted me in the game and they made their case before the judge. The judge at that point had no choice other than to release me. She was very kind in dismissing me and felt I had acted according to my conscience; she said she liked me and appreciated my honesty.
And with those words, I was dismissed. I walked into the jury room and collected my things and the bailiff escorted me to the elevators. I visited my good friend Eileen for coffee that day and she reassured me that I had done the right thing.
I was crushed and felt that I was honest in my civil commitment and had invested time and energy into this and yet I was so easily dismissed. Why wasn't the expert witness called out on the carpet? Perhaps he was. Why didn't the defense legal team read him the riot act and ask for their money back? Perhaps they did. I, however, could not help but feel slighted. I had fully participated in this legal charade. I had followed the rules, why hadn't they? "They" being the participants in this very jaded legal system. I had invested time, money, emotion, brain power. And for them, it was a money game. A real shell game.
The Outcome
I had up to this point felt that the plaintiff did not deserve much of a settlement. His attorneys had failed to make much of a case. However, at the same time, I felt the defendants failed to protect any idiot from crossing the railroad track. I was not convinced they were blameless. There were no cross bucks, no bells, no whistles, no lights, just a moveable stop sign that drunken teenagers could move or take. If anything, I think I would have awarded the plaintiff a token to serve as a wake-up call to both sides of the legal aisle. But the jury that was left did not entertain such scenarios. Instead the jury declared that the railroad company was completely free of any responsibility and the plaintiff was entitled to nothing. So be aware that if you accidentally turn on to a railroad yard you could be hit by a train because the company may be too lazy, too stubborn or too cheap to warn you.
I truly hope I never have to participate in this warped legal system again.
First of all, my apologies. My apologies to all my friends and family members who work in our legal system (i.e. attorneys, paralegals, etc…). God knows you have helped us out on many occasions. But I must say, our legal system is whacked. Perhaps at one time it hummed evenly on its axis, but now? It is clearly out of balance.
I recently was called to serve on a jury. Little did I know how this would end. But first, let me tell you the process. It began very much like being picked to be on a team in 7th grade gym class. Attorneys (team captains) would ask questions according to jurors' experiences, professions and opinions. If there was something that stood out as being beneficial to their case they'd keep you, if there was something said that they did not feel was advantageous to their case, they'd ask the judge to have the juror dismissed. Unfortunately for me, both team captains wanted me. I did not want to be on either of their teams. I did not even want to play their game. But before I knew it they had me hooked into their cat and mouse, gotcha and legal ping-pong game. I quickly learned that no one was allowed to lie, except of course, the attorneys. They lied by omission, they lied by slanting their perspective of their stories, they lied by stretching the truth so far it snapped in your face. But still I was enthralled by the story, many times struggling to contain my expression of "you've got to be kidding me?" or the rolling of my eyes (a technique I have learned from my teenage daughter). The trial involved a man, a train, the man's employer, and their legal teams. One legal team (plaintiff's attorneys) came all the way from St. Louis, MO. They were a team of relatively young lawyers with dollar signs in their eyes, lots of dollar signs. The opposing legal team, the defendant's attorneys, were local, a pair of older attorneys and probably had their jobs on the line.
The story is laid out in front of us. The judge explained that real life trials were not at all like TV trials. Perhaps true, but equally entertaining nonetheless. The plaintiff worked for a railroad yard and was on the premises when he was hit by a train. His claim was that in spite of several warnings and near-misses the railroad yard failed to place nothing more than a stop sign at the crossing, making it unsafe and perilous. The company claimed that they had met the standards as required by the government (they would have looked much better had they EXCEEDED the standards, in my humble opinion). The plaintiff had sustained several serious injuries, but appeared to be fine after several years. He could sit for long periods of time without being in any obvious pain, he could walk, he could take his coat on and off without any assistance. He had not seen a physician in years nor was he taking any medication. He had not left the stove unattended causing a fire or displayed any other long term effects due to head trauma. When he took the witness stand he seemed to be mentally and emotionally equipped to handle the line of questioning by the defense, and many times even appearing glib, making the plaintiff's claim that he needed 16 hours of care every day (to the tune of about 15 million dollars) seem incredulous. Furthermore, he spent the day playing video games, calling his friends and navigating on MySpace. The legal sparring kept me on the edge of my Lilliputian juror's seat (ever sit in one of those? They are cramped, tiny and made for the rear of a person born in the 1800's). Each side brought in their legal expert witnesses. Well paid too, ranging anywhere from $10,000 to $24,000. What a racket. They should pass a law making it illegal to pay expert witnesses; it’s a lot like campaign financing. You scratch my back and I will scratch, massage and apply sweet smelling cream to cover up the stench on yours. Okay, I am perhaps, just a little jaded from this experience.
The Straw That Broke the Camel's Back....
It was towards the end of the trial that I noticed something that made me want to scream, "Wait a cotton-picking minute!" I could not believe my eyes. The highly paid expert witness appeared to be trying to sway the jury with what was in my opinion, questionable means. At first I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the more I thought about it the more I came to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing.
This expert witness, a well known psychologist, stated that the plaintiff was a psychopath. He determined this after spending an hour with him. There were no facts presented to back up his claim. No lengthy criminal record was presented. No other psychological reports noting a history of pathology or dysfunction other than a self assessment indicating that at times he felt depressed. In fact, the only information presented by the defense was that he lied on his MySpace profile saying he made a lot more money then he actually did. Men lie about two things and how much money they make is one of them. Use your imagination for the second lie. If they counted these lies as a sign of pathology then we'd sure have a lot of psychopaths walking around. The psychologist gave us the definition of a psychopath, he said its not a ruthless, cold blooded killer like we see on television. A psychopath is a manipulator; he uses manipulation for his personal gain. We have a saying in Spanish; "look at the donkey talk about long ears."
This psychologist was the highest paid expert witness on this case. He had made $24,000 for perhaps 2 days worth of work. Furthermore, this was not the first time he provided expert testimony for this client. This was, in fact, approximately the 10th time he provided services to this client. Holy smoke, and I was sitting there making $40.00 a day as a juror, subtract my parking fee of $10.00, I am down to $30.00 a day, minus my $6.00-$7.00 lunch as there are no refrigerators to store or microwaves to heat lunches brought from home in the jurors room.
The psychologist had a lot of money riding on this, his client needed to win. And he was about to prove (in my eyes) that he'd do anything possible to make it happen.
During a sidebar, while the defense and plaintiff's attorneys were busy with the judge the expert witness held a book up titled "Without Conscience" by Robert Hare, a leading expert on the subject of psychopaths. How convenient I thought to have with him a book about psychopaths available and secondly for him to have carried it to the witness stand. He was no dummy; here he was with a PhD in psychology with years of varied experience, education and knowledge. This did not appear to me to be an accident. Or perhaps it was as we say in Spanish, "un accidente a propósito" an "intentional accident," on purpose, with a motive and an objective. He held the book up for the jury to see. His eyes did not appear to be reading, it seemed that he was actually paying attention to what was going on to his left, where the sidebar was taking place. When the sidebar broke up, he put his book away. That afternoon I went home confused. Unfortunately, I could not talk to anyone about it. I had to figure this one out myself. I could not call my psychologist friends or my attorney friends and ask what their opinion was or ask for advice. That night I tossed and turned and at 3:00 in the morning I decided I would write the judge a letter and tell her what had happened. Then it would be in her hands to decide how to proceed. When I walked in to the jury room the next day, I asked my fellow jurors, if they had seen something they felt was inappropriate would they say something to the judge? One juror said that if it really bothered me then I should let the judge know. I told them that I could not say what I saw to them but felt so strongly about it that I was going to inform the judge. I gave my letter to the bailiff.
It was customary to have late starts, we'd have to report at 9:00 am but usually we'd be called in to the courtroom around 10:00 am. Today was no different, except this day I was the only one called in. The judge read my letter to the two legal teams. The defense team no longer wanted me in the game and they made their case before the judge. The judge at that point had no choice other than to release me. She was very kind in dismissing me and felt I had acted according to my conscience; she said she liked me and appreciated my honesty.
And with those words, I was dismissed. I walked into the jury room and collected my things and the bailiff escorted me to the elevators. I visited my good friend Eileen for coffee that day and she reassured me that I had done the right thing.
I was crushed and felt that I was honest in my civil commitment and had invested time and energy into this and yet I was so easily dismissed. Why wasn't the expert witness called out on the carpet? Perhaps he was. Why didn't the defense legal team read him the riot act and ask for their money back? Perhaps they did. I, however, could not help but feel slighted. I had fully participated in this legal charade. I had followed the rules, why hadn't they? "They" being the participants in this very jaded legal system. I had invested time, money, emotion, brain power. And for them, it was a money game. A real shell game.
The Outcome
I had up to this point felt that the plaintiff did not deserve much of a settlement. His attorneys had failed to make much of a case. However, at the same time, I felt the defendants failed to protect any idiot from crossing the railroad track. I was not convinced they were blameless. There were no cross bucks, no bells, no whistles, no lights, just a moveable stop sign that drunken teenagers could move or take. If anything, I think I would have awarded the plaintiff a token to serve as a wake-up call to both sides of the legal aisle. But the jury that was left did not entertain such scenarios. Instead the jury declared that the railroad company was completely free of any responsibility and the plaintiff was entitled to nothing. So be aware that if you accidentally turn on to a railroad yard you could be hit by a train because the company may be too lazy, too stubborn or too cheap to warn you.
I truly hope I never have to participate in this warped legal system again.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
A Listening Heart
"A LISTENING HEART"
What do four women; ages 68, 64, 22 and 18 have in common? The common thread is their desire to bring peace to an area torn by daily violence, bloodshed, tears and despair. These brave women will travel to Juarez, Mexico on August 31st for a four month stay.
A human rights (derechos humanos) group from Mexico has asked the Michigan Peace Team to provide a presence in this conflicted area. Who better than the Michigan Peace Team? That is what they do. They walk with those in pain, they mediate and act as a buffer in areas around the world where those with power think that violence is the only way to solve anything. These brave women take with them seeds of hope. Their mission is a simple one--- to go with "a listening heart". They will accompany those who long for tranquility and justice. They will become living instruments of peace and bear witness to Juarez's pain. Talk about carrying the Cross. They are my heroes.
If you know nothing about Juarez, all you have to do is Google "Juarez, Mexico" and article after article will surface about violent drug cartels, dire poverty and the mysterious disappearances of young women only to be found dead after rape and mutilation of their bodies. No one ever becomes accustomed to acts of violence.
One of these four women is someone who is near and dear to my heart, Sr. Nina Rodriguez, she is practically a family member. My parents, as a young newlywed couple, rented a flat from her parents before I was born. Sr. Nina has known me since I first stepped foot on this planet. She was a mentor to me during my trying teenage years. She is a member of my "village". Thank God. And now she is going to give to another village.
Sr. Nina and the three other women have all the inner resources required for such a demanding trip, in fact, they are quite gifted spiritually. What they lack are the financial resources. Sr. Nina called me on behalf of the other women, especially the two younger women asking for assistance. They are selling items from Guatemala as a means of funding their trip. If you are in need of beautifully embroidered items, such as table runners, bags, purses, pillowcases and other handmade items, please contact me directly (313-282-1340 or luliss27@aol.com) you can also contact Sr. Nina directly at 313-638-1428 or by e-mail nrodriguez@csjoseph.org. If you do not wish to purchase anything, she will gladly take your donation, and there is no amount that is too small, feel free to mail any checks to the Michigan Peace Team:
Michigan Peace Team
808 W. Barnes Ave.
Lansing MI. 48910-1304
michiganpeaceteam.org
Memo line should read: Juarez Peace Team
Those of you who belonged to the Detroit Ste. Anne's Youth Club back in the 70's and 80's I am making a special appeal to you on behalf of Sr. Nina.
Godspeed Sr. Nina. I look forward to your return when you will once again teach us the lessons of life, love and peace.
Lourdes
What do four women; ages 68, 64, 22 and 18 have in common? The common thread is their desire to bring peace to an area torn by daily violence, bloodshed, tears and despair. These brave women will travel to Juarez, Mexico on August 31st for a four month stay.
A human rights (derechos humanos) group from Mexico has asked the Michigan Peace Team to provide a presence in this conflicted area. Who better than the Michigan Peace Team? That is what they do. They walk with those in pain, they mediate and act as a buffer in areas around the world where those with power think that violence is the only way to solve anything. These brave women take with them seeds of hope. Their mission is a simple one--- to go with "a listening heart". They will accompany those who long for tranquility and justice. They will become living instruments of peace and bear witness to Juarez's pain. Talk about carrying the Cross. They are my heroes.
If you know nothing about Juarez, all you have to do is Google "Juarez, Mexico" and article after article will surface about violent drug cartels, dire poverty and the mysterious disappearances of young women only to be found dead after rape and mutilation of their bodies. No one ever becomes accustomed to acts of violence.
One of these four women is someone who is near and dear to my heart, Sr. Nina Rodriguez, she is practically a family member. My parents, as a young newlywed couple, rented a flat from her parents before I was born. Sr. Nina has known me since I first stepped foot on this planet. She was a mentor to me during my trying teenage years. She is a member of my "village". Thank God. And now she is going to give to another village.
Sr. Nina and the three other women have all the inner resources required for such a demanding trip, in fact, they are quite gifted spiritually. What they lack are the financial resources. Sr. Nina called me on behalf of the other women, especially the two younger women asking for assistance. They are selling items from Guatemala as a means of funding their trip. If you are in need of beautifully embroidered items, such as table runners, bags, purses, pillowcases and other handmade items, please contact me directly (313-282-1340 or luliss27@aol.com) you can also contact Sr. Nina directly at 313-638-1428 or by e-mail nrodriguez@csjoseph.org. If you do not wish to purchase anything, she will gladly take your donation, and there is no amount that is too small, feel free to mail any checks to the Michigan Peace Team:
Michigan Peace Team
808 W. Barnes Ave.
Lansing MI. 48910-1304
michiganpeaceteam.org
Memo line should read: Juarez Peace Team
Those of you who belonged to the Detroit Ste. Anne's Youth Club back in the 70's and 80's I am making a special appeal to you on behalf of Sr. Nina.
Godspeed Sr. Nina. I look forward to your return when you will once again teach us the lessons of life, love and peace.
Lourdes
Monday, June 7, 2010
The Bully
I was on the corner of Michigan Ave. and Outer Dr. at a red light MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS when a man in the next car motions to me. At first I thought he was going to ask me for directions or something about my car, like what kind of gas mileage I get since it is a hybrid. The outcome was very different.
This is the exchange that took place:
Him: "Hey, how's that change?" He asks in an angry tone
Me: "Change? I am sorry, I don't understand?"
Him: "I see you voted for Obama, how's that change going for you?" again he asks in an angry, smug and mocking tone.
By now I have figured out that he has spotted my Obama bumper sticker (located right next to my peace bumper sticker, which he has completely overlooked as its obvious to me that he WAS looking for a fight.) I smile and shake my head saying, "nope, not going there buddy...." he condescendingly nods his head "yea, aha...right.." and steps on the gas, so that now he doesn't have to listen to my answer. But had I decided to engage this "gentleman" I would have answered: "THE CHANGE WAS GETTING THOSE THUGS OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE, SO I'D SAY IT'S GOING QUITE WELL!"
I started to think about this; (it was a long light, traffic was backed up due to the torrential rain we had earlier.) I bet if I were a MAN he would NOT have said anything to me. Not one word. He would not have had the "you know what" to, but he sees a woman, in a hybrid with a peace sticker, obviously an easy target. What a bully, well I got news for him; I am no easy target, no shrinking violet. What a coward I think, so I decide to tell him. I yell out "hey buddy, you are a coward, a real coward!" Even though he is a car in front and to the right of me, I can see that his veins are about to pop out of his neck. He hangs out his window hysterically motioning me to pull over. Yea, a real misogynist, he wouldn't pull this little stunt with a man. He is so angry; I have questioned his manhood (actually his lack of manhood). The light changed to green, had I had more time I would have told him to start looking for his missing anatomy.
He is fit to be tied. He looks like he is about to turn himself inside out he is so angry, and you think I am going to pull over? I shake my head, smile and I lock my doors. I drive straight ahead ignoring his tantrum, I may be crazy but not as crazy as you, are "Sir"....Where is Keith Olbermann to yell "WORSE PERSON IN THE WORLD!"????
This is the exchange that took place:
Him: "Hey, how's that change?" He asks in an angry tone
Me: "Change? I am sorry, I don't understand?"
Him: "I see you voted for Obama, how's that change going for you?" again he asks in an angry, smug and mocking tone.
By now I have figured out that he has spotted my Obama bumper sticker (located right next to my peace bumper sticker, which he has completely overlooked as its obvious to me that he WAS looking for a fight.) I smile and shake my head saying, "nope, not going there buddy...." he condescendingly nods his head "yea, aha...right.." and steps on the gas, so that now he doesn't have to listen to my answer. But had I decided to engage this "gentleman" I would have answered: "THE CHANGE WAS GETTING THOSE THUGS OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE, SO I'D SAY IT'S GOING QUITE WELL!"
I started to think about this; (it was a long light, traffic was backed up due to the torrential rain we had earlier.) I bet if I were a MAN he would NOT have said anything to me. Not one word. He would not have had the "you know what" to, but he sees a woman, in a hybrid with a peace sticker, obviously an easy target. What a bully, well I got news for him; I am no easy target, no shrinking violet. What a coward I think, so I decide to tell him. I yell out "hey buddy, you are a coward, a real coward!" Even though he is a car in front and to the right of me, I can see that his veins are about to pop out of his neck. He hangs out his window hysterically motioning me to pull over. Yea, a real misogynist, he wouldn't pull this little stunt with a man. He is so angry; I have questioned his manhood (actually his lack of manhood). The light changed to green, had I had more time I would have told him to start looking for his missing anatomy.
He is fit to be tied. He looks like he is about to turn himself inside out he is so angry, and you think I am going to pull over? I shake my head, smile and I lock my doors. I drive straight ahead ignoring his tantrum, I may be crazy but not as crazy as you, are "Sir"....Where is Keith Olbermann to yell "WORSE PERSON IN THE WORLD!"????
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