ohsweetjeebus

Let’s discuss for a minute how amazing these boots are. I...

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 11:05:11 -0400

Let’s discuss for a minute how amazing these boots are. I love them with the heat of a thousand suns. They’re obscenely comfortable, perfectly worn in, AND I paid exactly $22 for them. I am poor (well, not really but I’m trying this new thing where I live my life according to a budget and pay all of my bills on time). Unsurprisingly, this foray into adulthood has not stopped me from spending the last few weeks eying various Frye boots that cost an arm and half of a leg. I wanted new boots. Needed new boots. The future of my life’s happiness depended on it (ignore for a minute how shallow that last statement was/is).

On Saturday, while strolling through Park Slope, I wandered into Beacon’s Closet and saw these boots. My boots. I picked them up, tried them on and then stared down everyone else in the store who might contemplate taking them from me.

In conclusion: I have new boots and they are the greatest boots in all of The Bootdom.

meaghano: Don’t press play yet! I’ll tell you when! My mom...

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 09:12:00 -0400

meaghano:

Don’t press play yet! I’ll tell you when!

My mom tries to never give me advice unsolicited. In fact, it is funny now, the way I cling to her for answers and is the first person I think of when I feel stuck or screwed or scared or really fucking upset, because there was a time when I would sooner die than consider her insights [Because I was a snotty, defensive, precocious brat who thought I knew everything (was! was!)]. BUT THAT IS BESIDES THE POINT.

But the one thing she would always preach about— and by preach I mean write into birthday cards when I was in far-off places, or slip into those letters the Catholics are always making you write (am I the only one? Were they not always mandating that our parents write us letters, at retreats, at sacraments, on the first day of college, etc, etc? I think because they knew! They knew they gave us all of this shame and guilt, so much that we couldn’t communicate under normal terms and these Life Change Letters were the only chance we had! Well let the record stand: they were right! Thx Catholicism!)— anyway the one thing she would beg me to consider, was grace. Grace. Not really a fun one, in my opinion. As a baby’s name? Sure! Cute baby name! But gift of the holy spirit? I had seen better. I never really knew what it was; it didn’t interest me.

Do things with grace! she would say. Or probably something that sounded a little better. Grace? Fuck it. Grace is for ballerinas. I was never graceful. I was a wreck, I was sarcastic and self-righteous and I danced on the tables at gifted class with my teacher’s inflatable emperor penguin when she left the room. Grace was not my strong suit. Throwing girl’s purses across the room so that her pantyliners flew across the floor while she looked on in horror because I hated her for mispronouncing ‘fury’ as ‘furry’ in our halloween puppet show? My strong suit.

(Although, really, I was mostly a painfully shy, dorky, and well-behaved. I won the Best Christian award in 2nd grade! BEST CHRISTIAN. They gave it to someone every year! I was literally the best Christian in 1992).

Anyway: grace. I had it not. So I just looked it up in Wikipedia. Buckle up your safety belts. My dad always said, “Hold onto your asses!” when he was switching into his federal agent, car-chase style driving. Hold onto your asses! Is that a thing? I don’t think it is. Hats? yes. Asses? No. Although I’ve never been so impressed by my father (and I do mean never) than when he crossed 6 lanes of traffic, practically driving parallel, without hesitation.

Okay Wikipedia has a lot to say. The basic idea is that it is not deserved. It’s God’s Love that we fucked up a long time ago (DEBATABLE!) (I should be a Theology professor, eh?) but that still finds its way to us, because, well, the Catholics say it’s because Jesus jumped up on the cross but I would say Love still exists in grace because, my god! That is all there is! There has to be. We have to believe that: that God/Love can sort of miraculously wiggle into situations where we did not earn it. That is the great consolation of Life, is it not?

I think the reason I never wrapped my head around Grace, despite my mother’s best intentions, is that I always confused it with mercy (TELLING, RIGHT?). Mercy? I am great at mercy. Too good sometimes. And then very bad, to make up for being too good at it. But yes: mercy. Ya know, the thing Uncle Jesse says after he kisses Aunt Becky? Haha.

I think I do mercy too well because I lose faith in grace. Grace is different.

Wikipedia sez:

Grace is often distinguished from mercy in that mercy is seen as not receiving punishment that one deserves to receive, whereas grace is the receipt of a positive benefit that one does not deserve to receive.

Oh god that is terrifying, right? It is to me. Because I am insane? Catholic? That’s not something i feel like I can count on too well! I can do the mercy thing because I can hope that maybe if I suffer e-fucking-nough I will earn grace. But, wait! Fuck! You can’t earn grace! Well, fuck me, that fucking sucks. That’s why I hate grace! It requires faith! DAMMIT.

Anyway, I’ll let you know when I go on the road with that little exegesis so you can all reserve front row seats.

So last night after having a day of interpersonal exchange that might have made God puke if he wasn’t so busy not existing— HAH— I realized I hadn’t eaten a goddamn thing all day. So, I called up my friends and we went to get sushi.

Now this was one of those God-puke-worthy situations where the waitress comes to the table no less than 3x to ask if we are ready to order and we still haven’t opened our menus because I am so caught up in the overwrought emotional drama of my own ridiculous attempts at, well, life. In a word (what? that’s so untrue, I just love saying the phrase, ‘in a word’), it was what it sometimes means to be a woman. We have already been over this.

Okay hit play.

So in this restaurant, and it was a fucking SUSHI place I might add, not a diner, not a goddamn MCDONALD’S, they are playing goddamn motherfucking Delilah. COME ON, GOD. ENOUGH FUCKING WITH ME. And pretty soon, this song comes on.

Now until this point, I am pretty fucking serious and dramatic. I am wearing the Hoodie of Great Personal Trauma. It is blue. I quite like it.

My hair was a mess, and filled with a lot of self-righteous indignation. A lot of shaking my fist at the universe. Then this song came on. Then Lindsay buried her face in her hands laughing. WHAT I said, WHAT??? (I was very high strung, if I haven’t hammered that home yet). I CAN’T HEAR THE SONG WHAT IS IT?? And she told me not to listen but she laughed and Halle laughed and through all of that, I started to hear the words.

And I yelled at laughed and slammed my hands on the table and what’s the word when you are like, I DEFY YOU STARS!!! Whatever that was. Beseeching? I was hilariously, hilariously bemused. Like ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME WITH THIS?

And we all laughed so much and I couldn’t help but have that moment of, YOU GUESSED IT, mother fucking GRACE. I was detached from my bullshit drama that means nothing in the grand scheme of things and was so filled with my own ego i can’t even begin to tell you, and I could not help but laugh. There existed myself, suffering and flailing and indignant, and there was this other me, the Self me, who wanted to hug Sad Me and laugh at her. And laugh at this fucking ridiculous song that yes, wiggled its way into my life where I maybe didn’t deserve it (okay, I totally deserved it) (just kidding) and into this silly point in my life that filled with things I did and did not deserve- which after awhile makes you reconsider the notion of deserving anything (but that just may be a whole different set of issues).

So, anyway that— that moment of levity, that lightning bolt of What Matters and Who I Was and that peace amidst anything but— that is (right Mom?) Grace.

Little miracles when you don’t even believe in them.

SO THANKS, MOM. THANKS, CATHOLICS. THANKS DAN HILL AND VONDA SHEPHERD. (I know, who the hell??).

Best Christian! Don’t you forget it!

Hah. Apparently, I am not the only one who thinks about these things. Philip Yancy says this:

Grace means there is nothing we can do to make God love us more - no amount of spiritual callisthenics and renunciations , no amount of knowledge gained from seminaries and divinity schools, no amount of crusading on behalf of righteous causes. And grace means there is nothing we can do to make God love us less - no amount of racism or pride or pornography or adultery or even murder. Grace means that God already loves us as much as an infinite God can possibly love.

I like this definition. Its implications are completely scandalous.

http://www.zachwilliams.com/

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 13:25:42 -0400

http://www.zachwilliams.com/:

Zach Williams. Brilliant songwriter. Better when seen live. Also happens to be the guy who sings on Sundays.

church etc.

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 12:57:00 -0400

Unless Your presence goes with us, do not lead us up from here. - Exodus 33

I spent years distancing myself from The Church. I couldn’t get behind the version of it I saw projected into homes across the country every Sunday between the hours of 9AM and 12:45. That version was slicked back and polished. It offered insight that lacked real depth. There was very little about what as said from the pulpit that I could abide by. I didn’t think it was right for the church as an institution to stand in the way of the legal rights of the gays and lesbians that live in this country. This country that promises equality for all. This country that fought for that right. This country that once stared down the face of slavery and decided that it just wouldn’t do.

I couldn’t understand this thing, that I was raised to believe in, but in no way reflected the truth of who I thought Jesus was.

It lacked grace.

I spent four years of college sporadically trying churches out and then dismissing them for one reason or another. Mostly because what I found there didn’t differ all that much from what was espoused on the Fox News network. Churches that resided in the heart of the “black” districts of Grand Rapids opened their doors every Sunday, but apparently not so wide as to allow the members of the surrounding communities to join in with them.

My mom is a pastor. One Christmas vacation I was home visiting and I went off. “I don’t get how the church can point to abortion and gay marriage as the only things worth discussing. What about the environment we’re called to care for? What about the fact that we spend billions each year building new churches and yet in our own neighborhoods there are people who aren’t eating, who don’t have access to health care or education? We fight against abortion but refuse to figure out a plan for long term care of the women that choose to keep their babies. We make it about the “sin” of them getting pregnant and we condemn to a life of poverty if they choose to do the “right” thing. What part of that reflects the truth of who Christ is? I just… I just don’t think that’s how the church is supposed to work.”

On some level, I was asking her permission to give up. I was throwing down everything I didn’t agree with and begging her to tell me that I was just looking at it wrong. That I was naive. That things weren’t as bad as I imagined them to be.

My mom stared me straight in the eye and said “You’re right. I’ve tried to do it differently. But… you’re right.” Somehow that was enough. I just needed to know that I wasn’t wrong but that there were pastors who could acknowledge that there were things that were seriously wrong with the institution at large.

A few months later I started going to Mars Hill, a church that was willing to question whether or not it was right for us to be in this war. A church that in no way wanted to dismiss the sacrifice of the men and women there, but wondered, out loud if America had turned into an Empire and if we had, if perhaps the anger directed our way was justified. We were asked to consider if we, as a country, were demanding resources and sacrifices on the part of the global community that we weren’t actually entitled to.

Two years after I graduated from college, I moved to New York City. It took about a year to find Trinity Grace. It wasn’t a coincidence that around that same time, New York began to feel like home. One I couldn’t imagine ever leaving. My life was richer here. I was happier than I’d been in years. I found a place that I could claim as my own. A group of friends who wouldn’t wince and question the state of my soul when I called things that were fucking ridiculous, exactly that. This church was a community of people who got me. Who questioned the things I questioned. Who showed each other grace, in spite of the messy lives that we each brought to the table. Who loved each other relentlessly. Who showed up when things got hard and committed to getting through it together. Who were generous with their time and with their resources. Who made me laugh until I cried. It hasn’t been perfect. It hasn’t always made sense. But it feels real. It feels authentic. It feels like God is in this thing.

We’re starting services in Brooklyn on Sunday. I cannot wait to see what happens next.

the object of our affection.

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 11:39:17 -0400

the object of our affection.

on John Krasinkski - The Engagement - Pt. 2

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 11:18:12 -0400

me: watching The Office/grieving.

sUSA!n: me tooooooooo!

me: Emily Blunt? Really?! Emily Blunt doesn't have the patriotism he needs and deserves. I wonder if she's in it for the greencard.

sUSA!n: I bet you're right!! An arranged business deal.

me: a loveless marriage of convenience.

on John Krasinkski - Pt. 1

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 11:17:00 -0400

sUSA!n: What if we did a weekend vacation in Boston?? Southwest has a deal right now, at least from Midway in Chicago...I've never been to Boston. Have you guys?? I just want to meet Matt Damon AND JOHN KRASINSKI!!!!!!!

me: Doesn't our collective boyfriend have a girlfriend? Not that I wouldn't oogle him.... but I think John has found his real-world Pam and I for one, totally hate her. I have never been to Boston even though I have a cousin who lives there. Who else do we know who would host us and show us the pubs where all the cool kids hang out? Or, more specifically where I can find Krasinki's doorstep.

Christina: My sister in law just moved from there last year. Maybe I can quick try to be best friends with her friends.

sUSA!n: do we care that he has a girlfriend? First of all, she's british. So he's only in it for the accent. once that allure wears off and he realizes their offspring would have a jacked up mouth full of yellow teeth he'll move on. He'll then realize he wants a tall, strong-willed, educated Dutch woman who appreciates his height and wit. Someone who doesn't want to be in the spotlight but would rather have a beer and some french fries at a hole-in-the-wall pub by his parents house. Heck, invite the parents! We've been raised in a parent-friendly environment. I'd wow them with my knowledge of social work policy history, America's racist origins, and my love for the underdog (and HOT dogs). We're both the babies of the family, so John and I would bond over our childhoods filled with being overlooked, ignored, not taken seriously...only to grow up into over-acheivers who everyone likes better than their older siblings and who spell better and have better handwriting (a skill acquired during those afternoons alone, with only a Nintendo and a chalkboard to play with). We'd call Conan, a fellow-Bostonian to meet us for a hockey game, or a baseball game (it IS america's pasttime and i think i've already demonstrated my patriotism) and then have a potluck dinner, watching an America's Next Top Model marathon.

Christina: after reading that, I'm in.

me: I think this ranks up there with our plan to stake out Oprah's front lawn and read select passages from her Book Club books.

Andre

Thu, 27 Aug 2009 18:41:00 -0400

I am scrubbing the tub and he’s folding his clothes in the other room, packing for a weekend away.

“You’re CLEANING?”, he yells. “It’s not even 7AM!”

“I’m in the mood to clean”, I yell over my shoulder as I walk towards the kitchen to grab the brush. The one I prefer for tub cleaning. The one that would scrub the face right off of a child, were ever used in such a capacity.

From the kitchen I continue, “I’m never in the mood to clean. And I don’t have time to do it this week. I’m booked until Sunday! So I’m cleaning. Go with it.”

I glance up. He is standing in the doorway staring down at me as I rummage through the cupboards.

“Are you sure you’re cleaning just because? OR, are you having a boy come over tonight, while I’m away?”

I grin. He grins back.

“No boy. It’s just been a crazy week and the bathroom was gross.”

He resumes his packing. I resume my cleaning.

We meet in the hallway at 7:32 and hug our goodbyes. On his way out the door, with his tux in hand, he reminds me to turn off the computer and put my keys in my purse so I don’t lock myself out. And as much as I’d like to dismiss this last bit of advice, I do have a tendency to lock myself out so instead, I smile and say “OK. I’ll remember.”

He moves out in a month. I’ll be sad to see him go.

when you don't have the easy answer.

Mon, 24 Aug 2009 12:22:58 -0400

It is easier to be funny than it is to be honest. To laugh and draw others in so that they smile beside you rather than look you directly in the eyes and ask, sincerely, how you are doing.

The last few weeks haven’t been “fine”, even if that was my rote response to the question as it was asked. I wasn’t fine and things weren’t fine. Things were hard and complicated. I felt young again. Not in the way that we all aspire to be, but in the way that leaves you at a loss. What comes next?

I am so rarely at a loss.

I am a person that can fill a room with their words, that can describe exactly how I am feeling and often, where I am heading. All of this is true. But last week, I wasn’t fine. I sat on the phone with my mom, trying to catch my breath and wondered how this broken thing would be fixed again. I cried, for what was happening now and for what happened when I was 16. I cried a gasping, heaving sort of cry. My mom hasn’t heard me cry like that in years.

Sometimes though, even in the darkest of moments, there is a grace that sneaks in. It shows up in the places where we least expect to find it and loosens, ever so gently, the grip of the thing that’s causing us pain. These moments of grace are a small reminder that there is light at the end of this. That wounds, the ones we inflict and the ones inflicted upon us, do eventually heal. And there’s this: the prayer that in spite of how flawed we all are, something bigger is at work.

apropos of nothing at all...

Mon, 17 Aug 2009 12:22:35 -0400

I am not an “earing” girl. Don’t always wear them, don’t always notice them. But MY GOODNESS I would auction off my first child for several of these confections.

One exception, however is this pair, which I think would make me look like Bat Boy.

You guys. You. Guys. Y’all know I love me some Gossip...

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 10:30:00 -0400

You guys. You. Guys. Y’all know I love me some Gossip Girl. In my inbox, there are 312 emails that somehow reference the show. Missives that are brilliant and hilarious and private because they are supremely inappropriate in nature. However, it is worth mentioning (because it’s funny) that we’ve renamed some of the characters. Boobs McGee as an easy example. Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I realize homegirl paid good money, but Blake Lively needs to tuck those things away. This isn’t groundbreaking news. In fact, I’m sure most people would agree with me. Were we in a gospel church right now, I would yell “Can I get a witness?”, and the entire congregation would yell “AYYYY-MEN”. That’s how obvious it is.

I tell you all this so you understand that I am (admittedly) not coming from an unbiased place. Still, based on the photo above, I have concerns. ~~Ed Westwick~~ Chuck Bass appears to have been hitting the sauce a little bit aggressively. So much so that he’s dancing around like a monkey. A monkey who finds it perfectly acceptable to wear rolled jeans. And I KNOW, he’s Chuck Bass. Chuck Bass does what Chuck Bass wants even if it involves referring to himself in the third person, a habit THAT IS SO VERY LAME, CHUCK BASS.

Ahem.

I also cannot be the only person who saw this photo and wondered if indeed, Chuck Bass hails from New Jersey. Or in other words, the land where hairy chests, wee little man boobs, and chains about one’s neck are perfectly acceptable accoutrements… speaking of which, I think I just came up with the new state motto. You’re welcome, NJ.

wherein I suspect that I am dying

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 12:14:15 -0400

ME: Today at work I was super dizzy. I thought that maybe my blood sugar was low? But I wasn't hungry, so I drank a hot chocolate instead.
MED SCHOOL FRIEND: And?
ME: It didn't help! So then I Web MD'd it.
MED SCHOOL FRIEND: Never google your symptoms! You'll think your dying!!!
ME: I totally did. And I decided that I had an inner ear thing that was going to plague me for the rest of my life. Or, a brain tumor. But then I started trying to figure out the last time I drank some water....
MED SCHOOL FRIEND: You are not telling me this. On some of the hottest days of the year, you haven't been drinking water?
ME: Sunday.... no wait...Monday. I had some on Monday.
MED SCHOOL FRIEND: IT'S WEDNESDAY!!! So you've been drinking what? Juice, coffee and beer??
ME: Ummm yes. Pretty much exactly that. So anyway, I drank some water and 20 minutes later ALL BETTER! Not dying!!
MED SCHOOL FRIEND: *eye roll*

soradioactive: Lello Bookshop Porto, Portugal [insert jaw drop...

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 10:49:56 -0400

soradioactive:

Lello Bookshop
Porto, Portugal

[insert jaw drop here]

Art project. I’m hoping to post a new illustration each...

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 15:00:00 -0400

Art project. I’m hoping to post a new illustration each week.

—————

Gentleman, suffice it to say that if this doesn’t teach you a thing or twelve, then I give up.

twloha: Meet our youngest supporter, baby Loretta. She is the...

Tue, 04 Aug 2009 11:47:00 -0400

twloha:

Meet our youngest supporter, baby Loretta. She is the daughter of our musician friend Zach Williams, who played at Cornerstone Friday night on the Gallery Stage before Jamie spoke.

First off, TWLOHA is a fantastic organization and fully deserves whatever support you can throw behind them. But this? This, I was not expecting. Internet, meet Loretta. A baby who has the unique ability to make you question why you haven’t yet jumped aboard the baby train.

"My Brother and I used to play a game. I’d point to a chair. “THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,”..."

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 09:48:16 -0400

““My Brother and I used to play a game. I’d point to a chair. “THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,” I’d say. Bird would point to the table. “THIS IS NOT A TABLE.” “THIS IS NOT A WALL,” I’d say. “THAT IS NOT A CEILING.” We’d go on like that. “IT IS NOT RAINING OUT.” “MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!” Bird would yell. I’d point to my elbow. “THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE.” Bird would lift his knee. “THIS IS ALSO NOT A SCRAPE!” “THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!” “NOT A CUP!” “NOT A SPOON!” “NOT DIRTY DISHES!” We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: “I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!” “But you’re only seven,” I said.”

- The History of Love

"I love Hill Harper from the depths of my soul/loins/in the moment."

Thu, 30 Jul 2009 15:32:38 -0400

“I love Hill Harper from the depths of my soul/loins/in the moment.”

- CHANEL GRAHAM
Quite literally made me giggle out loud.

&$&#

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 12:10:00 -0400

I am trying to swear less. All of which was fine and dandy until I lopped off part of my finger last night whilst playing around with my brand new mandoline. See how fierce that thing looks? It will completely own your apendages if you’re not careful. It’s important to be careful. Even when you find yourself to be completely and totally enamored by the cute little cucumber slices that it’s spitting out.

Seriously, they’re adorable.

So I yelled. I’m pretty sure the neighbors heard me yell. And then I went back to swearing under my breath. When Andre came home, he noticed the massive wad of bloody paper towels and looked at me incredulously. I held up my hand by way of explanation. He grinned “What’d you do? Did you feel it or, did you only figure it out when you saw the blood?” I sighed. “No, I felt it. I knew immediately… I yelled ‘fuck’ and ran for the paper towels.” He grinned again. At least he thinks it’s a cute habit. I do not.

Then I remembered that according to my mom, the word fuck only qualifies as being crude. Swearing on the other hand involves taking the Lord’s name in vain. In her mind, cussing is OK, swearing is not. So, while I may be incredibly crude and prone to artful bouts of cussing, I am not actually much of a swearer. Therefore, I have already succeeded at this effort in self-improvement. Go me.

I suppose that now I should try to reign in the cussing. I don’t particularly want to be the person that forces mothers to cover the ears of their children. But based on last night, I suspect that I am fighting a losing battle. Approximate final scores are noted below:

Cussing: 45, Using Your Words: 0

Qi - Circulating life energy that is thought to be inherent in all things.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 13:44:00 -0400

This morning I glanced over at my desk, spied my beloved Scrabble board and thought “You know what? I’m going to memorize the two letter words and their meanings. That would be awesome. I would be totally unstoppable.”

I don’t think that I’ve ever divulged my ~~nerd-like~~ love for Scrabble in this forum, but in my family it is an acknowledged fact that I don’t really “do” board games. The single exception is Scrabble. I light up at the idea of playing, think far too long about my next move and experience a perverse kind of joy when I win. Once, on a date*, the guy I was playing somehow managed to come up with the word “fiery” on a triple-word IN THE VERY LAST ROUND. It earned him approximately a bajillion points and do you know how impossible that is?!? Can you tell that I’m still not over the loss even though it was a long, long time ago?? In case you hadn’t gathered, Scrabble is one of the few things I get truly competitive over.

That I would consider memorizing a portion of the dictionary and that I have never once thought “I should go practice my layup”, illustrates why in spite of my height, I was never destined to play in the WNBA. You know, apart from any considerations of actual athleticism and/or talent.**

* Jim, was that a date? I seem to remember falling asleep before things got fresh… which would explain some things. Like, for example, why I am still single. Sorry about that! So glad we’re still friends!

** I have no idea what the point of this post is, other than to say that 1. I really like Scrabble and 2. If you’re trying to date me, we probably shouldn’t ever play. Our relationship might not survive.

riding the G train

Mon, 20 Jul 2009 14:36:00 -0400

The F train, as it has a tendency to do on the weekends, was running on a different track. It was because of this, that I was sitting on the G train heading towards Metropolitan Avenue where I could transfer to the L. The point isn’t the route I was taking, the point is this: I wasn’t where I would usually be at 6:15 on a Sunday night.

A dad and his two kids climbed on board. They were approximately 4yrs old and 2yrs old. They were being noisy, but they were also just being boys. I made a point to smile at the younger one and then at the dad. The toddler had his faced pressed up against the window, watching the lights fly by. The older kid was jumping from seat to seat, his dad scolding him in their native language.

Again, I smiled at the dad.

I was trying to say that it was OK, that the train was relatively empty and that they weren’t bothering me. He acknowledged me with a glance, but went on scolding.

The older boy fell.

The dad started to beat him.

First, a swat. Harsh maybe, but excusable.

He kept hitting. Again and again on his back and on his side, all the while grabbing at the boy’s face and yelling at him.

I didn’t understand what he was saying. But the boy was crying now and I, who was raised on spankings, was appalled.

The dad had the boy by the arm and was pulling back his hand again when I raised my own voice yelling at him to stop. I yelled and then I held out my hand and said quietly, “Stop. Please. It’s ok. You don’t need to hit him again.” He looked at me. I really have no idea what he did or didn’t understand, but something shifted. He started talking to the boy in softer tones. He went from extraordinarily angry to relatively docile in a matter of seconds. He hugged the toddler and pulled the older son onto his lap. The rapid change in mood confirmed everything I’d ever read about physical abuse. It was incredibly disturbing to watch it happen right there in front of me.

I avoided eye contact and buried my face in my book, but I was nauseous. Someone else on the train finally caught my eye and gave a slight shake of their head.

I still feel sick thinking about it. Even if I stopped an unnecessary amount of pain in that moment, I have no idea what kind of life those kids are going home to. Did I make it worse by intervening? Do they understand that their dad’s behavior isn’t the standard? That it’s not OK?

The majority of the time, I am unapologetically in love with this city. Then there are the moments that break a small part of you. However uncomfortable I find this feeling to be, I don’t ever want to get to the point that I don’t care or don’t respond. I also hope that I misread the situation. That I was, in fact, completely out of line. I hope that the boy gets to be a boy and that their life isn’t colored by a pattern of abuse. I hope for this, but I am unconvinced.

ohsweetjeebus

Let’s discuss for a minute how amazing these boots are. I...

meaghano: Don’t press play yet! I’ll tell you when! My mom...

http://www.zachwilliams.com/

church etc.

the object of our affection.

on John Krasinkski - The Engagement - Pt. 2

on John Krasinkski - Pt. 1

Andre

when you don't have the easy answer.

apropos of nothing at all...

You guys. You. Guys. Y’all know I love me some Gossip...

wherein I suspect that I am dying

soradioactive: Lello Bookshop Porto, Portugal [insert jaw drop...

Art project. I’m hoping to post a new illustration each...

twloha: Meet our youngest supporter, baby Loretta. She is the...

"My Brother and I used to play a game. I’d point to a chair. “THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,”..."

"I love Hill Harper from the depths of my soul/loins/in the moment."

&*$&*#

Qi - Circulating life energy that is thought to be inherent in all things.

riding the G train

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