It's June 5th, and today is a special day for two reasons:
1) On June 5, 1968, Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated at the Ambassador Hotel in LA shortly after winning the California Democratic primary. It's staggering to imagine how much different this country, and the world, might be if he had survived to win the Democratic nomination and run against Nixon in the presidential race that fall.
"There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?"
"Ultimately, America's answer to the intolerant man is diversity, the very diversity which our heritage of religious freedom has inspired."
"It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope."
"It is not enough to understand, or to see clearly. The future will be shaped in the arena of human activity, by those willing to commit their minds and their bodies to the task."
"Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly."
"Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies."
"I believe that, as long as there is plenty, poverty is evil."
"What is objectionable, what is dangerous, about extremists is not that they are extreme, but that they are intolerant. The evil is not what they say about their cause, but what they say about their opponents."
*****************************
2) On June 5, 1945, my mother was born. My mother was, in a lot of ways, one of the strongest persons I have ever known, and I can say without any hesitation that she has had a greater influence on my life than any other single person.
My mother had a rough life, and lived through things that would have killed most other people, but nevertheless managed to maintain an attitude of selflessness and love towards those around her. When she was still a young girl of eight years old, she lost her father, something that no child should ever go through. Her mother remarried later, to an abusive drunk who would never be a real father to her. When she was a teenager, her older brother Michael, after whom I am named, was killed in a car accident mere months before he was supposed to graduate from high school. Despite the tragedy that she had already seen, and despite being a bit of a wild child, she graduated herself, becoming one of the first in my family to complete high school (and still one of the few to do so).
My mother's first husband, like her stepfather, was an abusive alcoholic, and he beat my mother so badly that he did permanent damage to her womb. Because of this, despite being pregnant several times, I was the only child she was able to carry to term without having either a miscarriage or a stillbirth. The man who did this to her was in and out of jail for most of their marriage, and my mother ultimately came to her senses and took steps to leave this man during one of his stints in jail. He came looking for her after he got out, and found her one night at a bar they used to go to. He wanted her to leave with him, but she didn't want to go, so he tried to get violent with her. She shot him in the arm in front of several witnesses, one of whom was a Dallas County sheriff, and all of whom were friends of my mother's and who knew what she had gone through. They backed her up and corroborated the fact that she had acted in self-defense, so she didn't have to go to jail. Her husband survivied his injury, got the point, and left her alone after that.
After another (thankfully less eventful) failed marriage, my mother met my father, and they began a relationship that would last for about 12 years. Early on in their relationship, my dad, who was never a drunk but could be an asshole when he thought he could get away with it, made the mistake of slapping my mom one day during an argument. It never went any further than that, and my dad went to bed that night thinking that the whole thing was over with. He woke up a few hours later with my mother sitting on top of him and a handgun pointed to his head, and was told in no uncertain terms that if he ever hit her again, he had better sleep light after doing it, because the next time she got the gun out she wasn't going to wake him up first. It was my dad's gun, and he got rid of it shortly thereafter, but he never again laid a finger on her in anger, thoguh he did plenty of non-violent stuff to make her miserable throughout the course of their relationship.
My mother loved children, and she was always happy to babysit for anyone who asked her to do so. My older sister from my dad's first marriage had two children, but neither she nor her husband were ever mature enough to raise them. She ran off to do her own thing for several years, and abandoned her two children to my mom and dad. My mom shrugged it off, and raised them both as if they were her own. She also raised my two older brothers, because their mother (my dad's first wife), though she was older than my sister, was no more mature. I say she raised them, because my dad was almost never around to. He worked nights, and slept most of the day, so for most of the early part of my childhood he was pretty much a non-factor - he would dispense the occasional ass-whipping when one of us had really misbehaved, but beyond that we didn't really interact much with him.
In addition to raising five children and babysitting scores more of them, my mother was also a pioneer of sorts in the telemarketing industry. She worked for a charity, soliciting donations for a Goodwill-like enterprise. She worked her ass off, often as many as 12 hours a day, so that she could supplement my dad's meager income and give us a relatively decent standard of living and big Christmases. Through all this, she still somehow managed to corral a houseful of kids and not lose her sanity. The stress had to have been significant, though, and when tragedy came back to her life it was probably inevitable that she would have a breakdown of some sort.
My uncle, who like so many other people in my family loved to drink and generally indulge in irresponsible behavior, died one night in June of 1983 outside a bar in Dallas. He was involved with a waitress there who happened to be a married woman, and was confronted that night by her husband and a few other guys while he waited to get off work. His girlfriend, afraid for his safety, called the police, which was ironically the worst thing she could have done. My uncle was carrying an unloaded pistol at the time, and had the misfortune of producing the weapon in an attempt to scare off his would-be attackers at almost exactly the same time as the police showed up. They saw my uncle brandishing the gun around and thought he was about to shoot at them, so they fired at him. His death was emotionally devastating to my mom, but it was even harder on my grandmother, who became ill a few months later. Despite a protracted battle for her life, she died almost exactly a year after my uncle was shot to death.
Through all this, my dad, who was either indifferent to or clueless of what my mother was going through, gave her no emotional support whatsoever, and shortly after my grandmother's death, she ran off and went on a drinking binge that escalated rapidly into drug abuse. Within a few months, she was using heroin, and for the next decade or so of her life she was on and off drugs, and in and out of jail or prison.
During her last stint in jail, she found a lump in her breast one day that turned out to be breast cancer, which had spread into her lymph nodes. She was given little chance of survival, but nonetheless fought for her life and, after extensive radiation and chemotherapy, managed to get her cancer into remission. She got out of prison for the last time in 1996, and during the last five years of her life managed, at least in my opinion, to redeem herself for the mistakes she had made. She moved to East Texas to care for a friend that she had met in prison, and saw this lady through the last few months of her life. Shortly thereafter, she decided to return to work because she was finally well enough to do so, and took a job as a cleaning lady at a local nursing home. She was never a nurse and certainly was never paid the salary of a nurse, but in her time there she became probably the most loved person in the whole nursing home, because she was one of the few people there who treated the patients with kindness, respect, and concern. She often went out of her way to make sure that patients were getting needed care and not being neglected. During her free time, she began babysitting again, watching the grandchildren of one of her neighbors. The kids loved her, and so did pretty much everyone she came in contact with, because my mother was always unselfish and loving in her interactions with those around her. She was a tough bitch when she needed to be, but never towards anyone who didn't deserve it.
In February of 2000, my mother found out that her cancer had come back, and that it had spread to her lungs and brain. I was with her for the last year of her life, and was able to witness what a profound effect she had on those around her during the last years of her life. She died in April of 2001, and wasn't here to see me finally graduate from college a few years later. I'm an agnostic, so I don't believe in the idea of heaven or hell, but if I'm wrong and those places exist, I know my mother is in the former and not the latter. She suffered way too much in this life and yet did far too much good for those around her for me to believe any differently.
Here's a picture of my mom when she was knocked up with yours truly (the man behind her is my dad):
She would have been sixty years old today. She's not here to blow out any candles or open birthday gifts, but if you're so inclined, you can honor her birthday by going to this web site and clickling on the pink button. Or better yet, if you are a smoker, you can honor my mom, and do yourself a big favor, by committing yourself today to kick the habit. I know it's a hard thing to do - my mother didn't quit until she was literally physicaly unable to get out of her hospice bed to smoke anymore - but it's worth it.
1) On June 5, 1968, Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated at the Ambassador Hotel in LA shortly after winning the California Democratic primary. It's staggering to imagine how much different this country, and the world, might be if he had survived to win the Democratic nomination and run against Nixon in the presidential race that fall.
"There are those who look at things the way they are, and ask why... I dream of things that never were, and ask why not?"
"Ultimately, America's answer to the intolerant man is diversity, the very diversity which our heritage of religious freedom has inspired."
"It is from numberless diverse acts of courage and belief that human history is shaped. Each time a man stands up for an ideal, or acts to improve the lot of others, or strikes out against injustice, he sends forth a tiny ripple of hope."
"It is not enough to understand, or to see clearly. The future will be shaped in the arena of human activity, by those willing to commit their minds and their bodies to the task."
"Only those who dare to fail greatly can ever achieve greatly."
"Progress is a nice word. But change is its motivator. And change has its enemies."
"I believe that, as long as there is plenty, poverty is evil."
"What is objectionable, what is dangerous, about extremists is not that they are extreme, but that they are intolerant. The evil is not what they say about their cause, but what they say about their opponents."
*****************************
2) On June 5, 1945, my mother was born. My mother was, in a lot of ways, one of the strongest persons I have ever known, and I can say without any hesitation that she has had a greater influence on my life than any other single person.
My mother had a rough life, and lived through things that would have killed most other people, but nevertheless managed to maintain an attitude of selflessness and love towards those around her. When she was still a young girl of eight years old, she lost her father, something that no child should ever go through. Her mother remarried later, to an abusive drunk who would never be a real father to her. When she was a teenager, her older brother Michael, after whom I am named, was killed in a car accident mere months before he was supposed to graduate from high school. Despite the tragedy that she had already seen, and despite being a bit of a wild child, she graduated herself, becoming one of the first in my family to complete high school (and still one of the few to do so).
My mother's first husband, like her stepfather, was an abusive alcoholic, and he beat my mother so badly that he did permanent damage to her womb. Because of this, despite being pregnant several times, I was the only child she was able to carry to term without having either a miscarriage or a stillbirth. The man who did this to her was in and out of jail for most of their marriage, and my mother ultimately came to her senses and took steps to leave this man during one of his stints in jail. He came looking for her after he got out, and found her one night at a bar they used to go to. He wanted her to leave with him, but she didn't want to go, so he tried to get violent with her. She shot him in the arm in front of several witnesses, one of whom was a Dallas County sheriff, and all of whom were friends of my mother's and who knew what she had gone through. They backed her up and corroborated the fact that she had acted in self-defense, so she didn't have to go to jail. Her husband survivied his injury, got the point, and left her alone after that.
After another (thankfully less eventful) failed marriage, my mother met my father, and they began a relationship that would last for about 12 years. Early on in their relationship, my dad, who was never a drunk but could be an asshole when he thought he could get away with it, made the mistake of slapping my mom one day during an argument. It never went any further than that, and my dad went to bed that night thinking that the whole thing was over with. He woke up a few hours later with my mother sitting on top of him and a handgun pointed to his head, and was told in no uncertain terms that if he ever hit her again, he had better sleep light after doing it, because the next time she got the gun out she wasn't going to wake him up first. It was my dad's gun, and he got rid of it shortly thereafter, but he never again laid a finger on her in anger, thoguh he did plenty of non-violent stuff to make her miserable throughout the course of their relationship.
My mother loved children, and she was always happy to babysit for anyone who asked her to do so. My older sister from my dad's first marriage had two children, but neither she nor her husband were ever mature enough to raise them. She ran off to do her own thing for several years, and abandoned her two children to my mom and dad. My mom shrugged it off, and raised them both as if they were her own. She also raised my two older brothers, because their mother (my dad's first wife), though she was older than my sister, was no more mature. I say she raised them, because my dad was almost never around to. He worked nights, and slept most of the day, so for most of the early part of my childhood he was pretty much a non-factor - he would dispense the occasional ass-whipping when one of us had really misbehaved, but beyond that we didn't really interact much with him.
In addition to raising five children and babysitting scores more of them, my mother was also a pioneer of sorts in the telemarketing industry. She worked for a charity, soliciting donations for a Goodwill-like enterprise. She worked her ass off, often as many as 12 hours a day, so that she could supplement my dad's meager income and give us a relatively decent standard of living and big Christmases. Through all this, she still somehow managed to corral a houseful of kids and not lose her sanity. The stress had to have been significant, though, and when tragedy came back to her life it was probably inevitable that she would have a breakdown of some sort.
My uncle, who like so many other people in my family loved to drink and generally indulge in irresponsible behavior, died one night in June of 1983 outside a bar in Dallas. He was involved with a waitress there who happened to be a married woman, and was confronted that night by her husband and a few other guys while he waited to get off work. His girlfriend, afraid for his safety, called the police, which was ironically the worst thing she could have done. My uncle was carrying an unloaded pistol at the time, and had the misfortune of producing the weapon in an attempt to scare off his would-be attackers at almost exactly the same time as the police showed up. They saw my uncle brandishing the gun around and thought he was about to shoot at them, so they fired at him. His death was emotionally devastating to my mom, but it was even harder on my grandmother, who became ill a few months later. Despite a protracted battle for her life, she died almost exactly a year after my uncle was shot to death.
Through all this, my dad, who was either indifferent to or clueless of what my mother was going through, gave her no emotional support whatsoever, and shortly after my grandmother's death, she ran off and went on a drinking binge that escalated rapidly into drug abuse. Within a few months, she was using heroin, and for the next decade or so of her life she was on and off drugs, and in and out of jail or prison.
During her last stint in jail, she found a lump in her breast one day that turned out to be breast cancer, which had spread into her lymph nodes. She was given little chance of survival, but nonetheless fought for her life and, after extensive radiation and chemotherapy, managed to get her cancer into remission. She got out of prison for the last time in 1996, and during the last five years of her life managed, at least in my opinion, to redeem herself for the mistakes she had made. She moved to East Texas to care for a friend that she had met in prison, and saw this lady through the last few months of her life. Shortly thereafter, she decided to return to work because she was finally well enough to do so, and took a job as a cleaning lady at a local nursing home. She was never a nurse and certainly was never paid the salary of a nurse, but in her time there she became probably the most loved person in the whole nursing home, because she was one of the few people there who treated the patients with kindness, respect, and concern. She often went out of her way to make sure that patients were getting needed care and not being neglected. During her free time, she began babysitting again, watching the grandchildren of one of her neighbors. The kids loved her, and so did pretty much everyone she came in contact with, because my mother was always unselfish and loving in her interactions with those around her. She was a tough bitch when she needed to be, but never towards anyone who didn't deserve it.
In February of 2000, my mother found out that her cancer had come back, and that it had spread to her lungs and brain. I was with her for the last year of her life, and was able to witness what a profound effect she had on those around her during the last years of her life. She died in April of 2001, and wasn't here to see me finally graduate from college a few years later. I'm an agnostic, so I don't believe in the idea of heaven or hell, but if I'm wrong and those places exist, I know my mother is in the former and not the latter. She suffered way too much in this life and yet did far too much good for those around her for me to believe any differently.
Here's a picture of my mom when she was knocked up with yours truly (the man behind her is my dad):
She would have been sixty years old today. She's not here to blow out any candles or open birthday gifts, but if you're so inclined, you can honor her birthday by going to this web site and clickling on the pink button. Or better yet, if you are a smoker, you can honor my mom, and do yourself a big favor, by committing yourself today to kick the habit. I know it's a hard thing to do - my mother didn't quit until she was literally physicaly unable to get out of her hospice bed to smoke anymore - but it's worth it.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
i aint queer or nothin, dawg...
i'm not, right? RIGHT!?
Boothe was a male model.