He was in turmoil, on trial, looking at a prison sentence.
He was also loved.
We had a barbecue the day before and I now know, he said goodbye.
To our little cousins, to me, to the world.
I went to bed, in a state of calmness because of this.
The next day, Memorial Day, everything changed.
He was gone.
Energy had shifted in real time.
It was the worst day I’ve ever known. The worst I hope to know.
On Memorial Day, so many years ago, the news was broken.
My parents were broken.
I was broken.
But, that evening, there was a mocking bird. Singing a beautiful song. As we sat in our living room. Holding hands.
Nothing could’ve changed our devastation but that birds song helped.
It was as if he was there. In a different form. Comforting us.
It was mesmerizing. Uplifting.
I believe it was him.
Letting us know, “I’m okay now”. “Don’t worry”.
That night I had a dream.
He was in our house.
He came to me and said, “let mom know her chicken was the best. Be there for her.”
He turned to go back downstairs,where his room was.
He stopped and looked at me.
As a twin, he didn’t need to put anything into words.
I knew what he meant.
He’d be there for the next few weeks.
He’d be there to watch over us.
He’d be there when any of us crossed over.
Memorial Day is to remember those who’ve been in service of the greater good.
In our little family, we remember him. All the times he made us laugh. All the times we celebrated his accomplishments. All the times we spent with him.
I don’t fear death, only dying. But I believe in that moment he will be the one to take me to wherever we’re going.
Watching previously loved 90’s films like Clueless and currently Mean Girls.
Problematic to say the least but it wasn’t recognized at this time.
Terms like “retarded” we’re thrown around at will. Any gay character was comic relief nothing else. Asians were “nerds”, there may or may not of been black characters, if there were they were downtrodden, villains or just tokens. All of them not really there but there anyway because they were on the white periphery.
Watching these movies now is both nostalgic, and nauseating, because I was blind at the time.
But, Mean Girls…
This idea of “girl world”.
A manipulative, petty, frivolous and complicated disrespectful reflection of the female experience.
However, I did dip my toe into this world.
I took ballet from the time I was 5.
I loved it.
I quit after a run in with extreme prejudice in casting our yearly production of the nutcracker but that’s beside the point.
In fifth grade, I joined a toe class. It took a lot to get there. I was told I had flat feet and worked over time every day to strengthen the many bones in my feet to warrant toe shoes.
For those who don’t know, that’s when dancers lift themselves up on their toes and dance.
I question now if that wasn’t a race thing because the one other not white girl was placed in the same category. She was black and WAY better than me and most come to think about it.
I digress.
On my first day, an older girl came over to me and asked me what school I went to.
I told her.
She asked me who I was friends with.
I asked her why she needed to know.
Her response was shocking to me.
“I need to see if you’re cool. Are you cool?”
I said yes. She took my word for it. Maybe because I had boobs? Didn’t have braces? Wore eye makeup? Finally had bangs I could feather? All of the above?
She was cool with me for a few classes. Acted like we were besties.
Then, one day, she came to me angry.
“You don’t know this person or that person! You’re NOT COOL!”
I was filled with indignation. I responded.
“So!? What’s your problem? We were fine for the last few weeks!? I’m not cool because I don’t know the people you want me to know!?”
I feel like having boobs gave me confidence. After all, mine were bigger than hers.
I think I even pushed them out when I said this. Can’t believe I did this or even thought this was a source of power.
She walked away. And never talked to me again.
The next day at school, one of the girls this person mentioned came up to me in the hallway.
“Just so you know, I hate that bitch too.” She smiled at me and walked away. We’d never spoken before.
I immediately hated the whole situation. I felt so guilty.
I initially let the dance class girl think I was “on her side”. Whatever that means.
I wasn’t friends with the girl that came up to me in the hallway and called the dance class girl a “bitch”.
It was honestly the first time I had heard any woman called this in real life. And I hated it.
We weren’t even women. We were 12 year old girls.
I continued in dance class, kept my head down. Avoiding that girl like the plague.
I avoided that girl in the hallway too.
I had a few friends, didn’t need any more and I was never again singled out.
I was friends with pretty much everyone else, girls and boys with no problem.
I think about this often.
How in pop culture women are still seen as petty, manipulative, problematic while men don’t have any of these attributes. Or so we think.
It drives me crazy that even today, as much as I love reality TV like the real housewives still glom onto this rare phenomenon of women being divisive with each other, manipulative, petty, ridiculous and immature. Like 12 year olds in dance class. And even though it’s extremely rare, it seems to be what society wants to believe.
Definitely a way to keep women down and less powerful. That way, when a woman shows any emotion, it can be another case of why women can’t be trusted. In any way. It’s their nature right? It’s those crazy hormones that they can’t control!
I had control of my hormones at 12. Most women do at an early age.
I remember this case. I along with everyone condemned her. She killed her kid so she could party like most people in their early 20’s. That was the narrative.
How could she smile when her child was missing?
Why was her child missing for a month and she didn’t report it?
It’s answered in this documentary. Somewhat, unfortunately for her.
I can’t imagine the horrible pain she went through. Losing her child, and everyone, including her family, blaming her.
No one wants to believe that such horrible things would happen to a child.
But they do.
Everyday and every night.
It’s easier to condemn than it is to work things out. Easier to believe a mother would murder her child, and call her “evil” than it is to try and understand systemic abuse.
Casey was as much a victim as was her daughter.
It’s not easy to reconcile that as humans. We are designed to survive.
I’m glad she gathered the strength to participate in this doc.
She had to.
I know, that experience of being silenced has to end in order to go on. It’s imperative to survive.
It doesn’t make anything go away though,the pain will always be there. You will never not blame yourself. The difference is crucial though.
The difference is, the narrative, it could be, You’re crazy and a liar,or, this happened and you’re telling the truth.
When you’re a child in the throes of abuse, you don’t know what’s happening. And you most likely blame yourself. It’s often done by someone you and everyone else loves. So,what case do you have? You compartmentalize it. it wasn’t this person.
If this is your experience,it changes you.
Completely and for good.
This doc affected me greatly. Mostly because of the certainty of the investigating officers. They had no idea that trauma was a thing. And they had every responsibility to.
After all, they were orchestrating a person’s potential death.
Hat’s off to Casey Anthony for this.
I wish I could hug her, even though hugging isn’t safe for people who’ve been sexually abused. Even though we do it all the time and turn ourselves off when it’s happening.
We reserve the right to rescind hugs. Without question.
Bergen, Norway. The singer is Evior, the female voice and the one playing the drum, a Faroes singer. From the Faroe Islands. This was a tech rehearsal for a music festival.
I visited Scandinavia a couple years ago. Couldn’t tell you how many exactly, there were a couple years that disappeared in the pandemic.
I was shocked at their philosophy when it comes to government and what the government does for the people.
They have a philosophy. From the cradle to the grave.
It means, you will be taken care of your whole life by the government.
In America, that might read as, “you don’t have to work,or do anything,you can be a lazy piece of shit, and others will pay for you.”
In Scandinavia,because this is their mindset from the beginning, it’s completely different.
They pay a lot of taxes to be sure but they see where their money goes.
They have a mindset that they all take care of children, parents of children (we don’t make this connection in the States), and the elderly as well as themselves.
From the cradle to the grave.
There are other vital differences.
Norwegian people are said to be the happiest people and I can contest to that.
And Norway has months where the sun doesn’t really rise, so that’s saying a lot.
We’re a capitalist society, a blame the individual society, it’s not healthy and we often have to figure out how to be calm amongst chaos.
Traveling shows you alternate ways of thinking.
Cheers to you, Norway, and cheers to traveling to see different ways of life.
They taught me ancient Egypt mythology, Greek mythology and read from a book that had its protagonist, a happy go lucky kid burns their eyes out by illegal fireworks.
It was life changing. The way it was explained. In a perfect way a child could understand.
I loved Mrs. Mann, and now I see that this person was trans. Back in the 80’s.
I remember they were called a “her” at assembly. Yet, They wore a tie and pants everyday.
I remember a time when we all were talking about Mrs Mann. Why does she wear the clothes she does? They’re man’s clothes.
They heard this and offered answers. “I look like a woman but I wear mens cloths. Do you have any questions?”
We didn’t because we had no context.
That’s what I remember.
There was no way to understand this. But, I loved Mrs. Mann. I didn’t understand them though.
I learned a lot from them.
It was a moment before we appreciated the moment.
Gender is fluid.
Gender roles are thankfully not a thing.
Women are not barefoot and pregnant
Men are not unfeeling robots who pay bills.
Somehow this is lost on the older generations.
Certainly lost on me until I took a look at it.
I have such great confidence in the newer generations.
I support the idea of “them”. It means women aren’t immediately thought of as home makers, men aren’t immediately though if as providers.
