"Unless I accept life on life's terms, I can not be happy. I need to concentrate less on what needs to be changed in the world and more on what needs to be changed in me and my attitudes." Holding on to past hurts, anger and resentments holds us hostage to a time and place that ultimately causes us pain. We can't force people to love us or respect us or be kind to us...just because it's what we want in the moment. Making them "pay", by treating them with hostility only serves to harm our own spirits. Using our children to hurt a former partner or spouse only harms the spirit of our children. It all seems so unneccessary. Wouldn't it be so much nicer to recall the wonderful memories; the times we were happy with the people we are at odds with? I implore you to keep those loving memories locked up in a special place inside of your heart and visit them when you are hurting the most.
There are lessons that can be learned through pain, sorrow, loss and heartache. I have come to learn something so valuable....that sometimes letting go is the best way to hold on.
If you are content to just be "perfectly you" without making the commitment to yourself to strive for progress; then you are a prisoner of your own inability to grow as a human being. You will only ever be the Queen of Mediocrity, standing alone in your not-so-lucky, narcissistic little world, wishing you could soar but sorely lacking the courage to admit when you are wrong and embrace peace and forgiveness. Never settle for mediocre; be the Queen of your Castle~ your home, not an imaginary place but a loving place where your heart and your family and your dreams all come alive. Own your feelings. The Next Wives Club is a movement that encourages you to embrace being a work in progress; ever evolving, ever changing, ever growing, ever empowering....happily....ever after.
I wish you peace and the ability to recall the goodness....do whatever you can to keep your precious memories sacred; they are a gift to remind you of a time when things were sweet. You don't have to hold on to ugly memories that will keep you stagnant; the choice, the freedom is yours....you just have to be willing to do the work. xoxox Mrs. G
Friday, March 2, 2012
Thursday, March 1, 2012
My Marriage Isn't Perfect...It is The Perfect Work In Progress!
"Perfectionism is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. It will keep you cramped and insane your whole life. I think perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won't have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren't even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they're doing it." - Anne Lamott. Truer words have never been written! Perfect can be used to describe a marriage proposal or a wedding day, but not a marriage...especially not a "next marriage." That takes hard work, commitment, loyalty, communication, dedication, matching values, set boundaries and the ability to forgive the sins and hurts of past relationships/marriages so as not to drag that junk into the new relationship. My marriage is not perfect~it’s the perfect work in progress. We are committed to working together, as a team to overcome all the hardships and difficulties next marriages are faced with and to set a higher standard than we did in our past relationships. We are committed to each other and to our love and to making it work because we know that no matter how chaotic family blending and next marriages may be….With a true, loving PARTNER, it’s never too late to live happily ever after! 
xoxo Mrs. G Baby!
xoxo Mrs. G Baby!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
“The weak can never forgive. Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong.” Mahatma Gandhi
Immediately following my divorce from my first husband, I moved away from Las Vegas. Not so much because I was running away, but because I was losing my mind and needed a diversion so that I wouldn't go completely insane and commit suicide. That's the honest to God truth of the matter and I say it shamelessly. I don't share my stories asking for forgiveness or looking for retribution, my mission in life is only to share my experience, strength and hope with people who who may be living in pain. I don't claim to be an expert on any one thing...rather to be a student of life who attended the school of hard knocks located on the wrong side of the tracks and I'm taking continuing ed in survival. I just so happen to have an understanding that by sharing my journey, I am caring enough to help others. Now that we've got that all squared away...
When I entered the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory of Santa Monica, I was a nervous wreck. Having suffered a mental breakdown (in the not so distant past) one night after half a bottle of tequila and approximately 54 Xanax, the state of Nevada manditorily hospitalized me for postpartum depression with a dash of suicidal tendencies. They were so clever. I was kept under surveillance for a period of 82 hours. You'd think that after living that nightmare, trying to get into acting school would be a cinch. After all, I managed to act my way out of the looney bin and even managed to do it with a script for more Xanax...I was good. Now all I had to do was act my way in, easy peasy, right? Little did I know, the exercise my acting coach recommended would serve to exorcize my entire being.
He was a scary man with slicked back hair and a cheap, pinstriped suit who smoked a fat stogie and had a thick Sicilian accent. When I burst into his theater I was late and disheveled.
"Hi! I'm Sonja, so sorry I'm tardy to the party..." I started immediately.
He looked more than just a little surprised to see me and asked how I had gotten there. So, being the hot mess that I am on any given day, I explained, "Oh...I took the 15 South to the 10 I believe, traffic was a bitch so I got off on..."
"No. No! NO!" He hollered with his thick foreign accent. "I mean-a how did you get here-a? In my theater? I have a one year-a waiting-a list-a!" Smoke billowed out of his mouth and both of his hands were working the air like an orchestrator instead of The Dusa...Acting Coach Extraordinaire.
"Oh!" I exclaimed clear on his real question. "Yeah...I know, right? Well...your girl mentioned that on the phone but with your new classes starting, I had this feeling...you know...deep down in my gizzards that before you made any decisions, we should at least meet. I mean...like most big breasted, toasty beige starstruck knuckleheads from VEGAS....I wanna be an actress and when I researched schools, yours was the one I wanted to come to....So I figured..." I trailed off hoping he'd fill in the blanks.
"You figure? You just-a figure, right-a? You git in yo little-a car anna you drive-a to Da City of Angels anna you just-a figure you gonna be a big-a star-a? Is that-a right?"
"No." I answered honestly, spent and just a little desperate. "I just wanted a shot. If you hate me, no harm no foul...but if you give me a shot and you like what you see...you have the opportunity to make room in your upcoming classes and...heck...who knows?" His pause lasted a lifetime. Then...he presented his challenge. A challenge that truly changed my way of thinking...and quite possibly ~ saved my life.
"Ok-a...fine-a...here's -a what-a I wanna you to do-a.....you go to the coffee a shop-a~someplace...I don really care-a... and you write me a story. Not just-a any story...but I wanna you to put a chair in-a da middle of a da stage-a anna I will wann you to put someone in da chair...I don care who...yo mutha..yo fadda..yo sista..yo love-a...I don care who...but-a...some a one. I will want you to talk to dis some a one-a and tell dem a story...I don care-a you love dem, you hate dem, you kill dem...I jusssss wanna see many emotions...Love-a, Anger, Passion, Disgust...I don care....just show me many emotions...den...I will a decide if you are in-a or if you are out-a. Anna, keep dis in mine....I been doin' dis for a lone time...I will know if a you story is a real or a fake... you unerstan???"
Like Michael Corleone in The Godfather...I accepted the challenge and knew instinctively that if I could pull it off..I'd be part of Da Family.
I got back in my car and drove directly to Gladstones in Malibu. I had always been happy there. My ex-husband and I had had many a happy hour(s) there when visiting my out-laws. It was a good spot for me and I felt as though I could complete my mission there.
I wrote and I wrote and I crumpled up many a sheet of paper before my final coffee (I didn't want to cloud my writing with cocktails...I must have been growing). When I was certain I'd written the story I wanted to share with the perfect imaginary person sitting in the chair, center stage. I called it a night.
When I arrived back at the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica, I sat in the back at a table reading my self-written script. I was trying to memorize every word and emotion. Once class had finally finished and students scurried about, Piero himself, stinky, fat stogie in hand, came out to greet me. He saw me sitting there in all of my splendor, trying in vein to memorize my own words. He spat at me, "STOP! What are you doin??? You are a da one dat wrote da words...do you really think I will know if you don have it a memorized?"
Good Point.
I walked into the now empty, homemade theater and stood awkwardly in the center stage. I never felt so naked in my life. I watched silently as Piero took his usual spot in the corner, behind a wonky desk off stage. It was then that he asked me to take an empty chair and place it on a da stage-a.
He told me to walk off stage and enter when ready. I did exactly as he'd asked, like a robot taking orders.
I dutifully placed the empty chair in center stage then walked away, behind the curtain waiting for my cue to enter. I was a professional already, I just didn't know it.
Before my grand entrance', Piero asked me from his smokey perch, "Who do you have-a inna da chair?"
"My first lover," I answered numbly.
"Oh! I like it...very personal-a...okay...when-a you ready...enter, stage left..."
I inhaled deeply and started onto the stage with a purpose. I had no idea how empowering the excersice would prove or how the performance I was about to deliver would be more than just a try-out, but a silent forgiveness that would grant me passage to a place I had yet to discover.
I approached the empty chair with purpose and strength...a false strength that I had no idea I was faking at the time. I stopped shy of the chair that held nothing but emptiness but to me, in my mind's eye, held my very first lover, the stealer of my youth.
I had promised myself that I would not break character, no matter what. That I would deliver my monologue with all the poise and grace I could muster...then I'd let the chips fall where they may.
"Thank you for meeting me..." I started, standing diligently before the chair. "I was afraid you wouldn't come. I'm really glad you did. I have a few things I need to discuss with you, a few missing pieces of my life, I am hoping you will be able to fill them in for me." I leaned down, proposing to look straight into the face of the missing person in the seat.
"I was wondering if you remember the first time we were together...in that 'special' way...you know...not out for dinner our sitting around the house visiting and watching TV...but really 'together' in that 'special' way.... I started to pace the stage nervously. I needed answers but was suddenly afraid to ask the questions. It was as if I had been transported back to that moment in time...a moment that every girl remembers...her first time....
"We were at the drive-in movies. What were we seeing? Do you remember?" I asked the empty seat that was, at that moment SO filled with my lover. "Funny, I remember each and every detail of that night, but for the life of me...I can't seem to remember the damn movie." I giggled out loud. Too loudly.
"Anyway, I remember that we were in the backseat of your maroon Monte Carlo and we were very squished. I had fallen asleep...or at least pretended to be asleep, but you didn't let that stop you, did you, bad, bad boy!" I pointed in his face and scolded.
" The seat belt was cutting into my right shoulder blade and the weight of you was crushing. I was having such a hard time catching my breath...I was so afraid but you kept reassuring me...as you had in the past but this time, I felt sure we would go all the way and I was nervous and scared and coy and shy...but you were so reassuring and kind and gentle. You told me over and over how very much you loved me and how it was okay because it was between two people who loved one another and that was never a bad thing. You made me tell you how much I loved you and went on to promise that you'd love me forever...." And I believed you.
When you unzipped my jeans, I shook with fear but you just shushed away my fears, all the while telling me how special I was and how you would love me forever...
To this day, I remember being so afraid that I just closed my eyes tightly and went away in my mind....I went to a safe place where I was loved. I was a business woman and I came home to my beautiful house where my beautiful children ran to meet me and my handsome, successful husband took my briefcase out of my hand and let me into our kitchen which was filled with the scent of homemade bread and soup and all things warm and kind and loving. My husband held me and asked about my day and told me he loved me and that our children loved me and that I was safe....
But in reality...I was in the back seat of your Monte Carlo, your boozy breath on my neck, your words of love and encouragement so empty compared to the man in my dream. The man in my dream was my loving husband and he spoke of our loving children and I was safe and happy....In the back seat of the car...I was with someone's husband and father...but it was my mother's husband and my very own father... "
I paused for effect. But only for my own. It was the first time in my life that I had ever said those words out loud. "You were my father and you forced me to have sex with you. I was a little girl. I trusted you, I believed in you. I wanted you to be proud of me and acknowledge my accomplishments at school....and YOU STOLE MY CHILDHOOD IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE FAMILY CAR WITH MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS SAFELY WATCHING THE MOVIE FROM THE HOOD OF THE CAR YOU WERE RAPING ME IN!"
I screamed it into the imaginary face of my father who was no longer imaginary to me. My eyes welled up with tears as I spat the words. I was angry and hurt and broken and lost and scared and all I wanted at that moment was to tell him that what he had done had ruined me as a woman! I needed him to know that I had turned to drinking and promiscuity and how I ran away from my first husband becuase I felt that I was used goods and had to leave him before he found out! That I had the self-esteem of a fly on a turd because the first man in my life....my role model...had robbed me of my innocence! But after I'd said what needed to be said, a sudden calm filled me. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at the chair and my father, the man who was supposed to teach me all there was to know about unsavory characters and build my self esteem and help mold me into a woman to be reckoned with; and I realized...he had done all of that and more. By betraying me and using me and breaking my heart, he had molded me into the woman I had become: The Unsinkable, Unbreakable, Remarkable, Caring, Sharing, Loving, Giving Woman That I am Today...The One And Only Sonja Maria Lemos Flaherty (later to become Graff).
That realization struck me like a ton of bricks. And suddenly all the tears from all the years of hiding that ugly truth...melted away. I felt more free than I had ever in my life. I knelt down in front of the chair that now only held the memory of my sad, sick, pathetic father and I said, "I forgive you. I don't know what happened to you in your own childhood that caused you to think that type of behavior between a father and daughter would be okay...and I don't want to know. All I can do is pray for you. All I can do for myself is to forgive you. I brought you here today to ask you for one small favor...and I have never asked you for anything.....All I ask is that you take a good, long look at my back. I will be walking out of here and that is the very last thing of myself I am willing to give you. Take a good, long look and say goodbye..."
Then I exited...stage right....
Behind the curtain, I let out a sigh of relief that was over 30 years in the making. My entire body was shaking, but no longer with fear...with relief...I finally knew that forgiveness is an attribute of the strong and courageous. I am those things. Forgiving. Strong. Courageous.
Clap....Clap....clap, clap, clap.....I heard the applause of my future acting teacher but knew instinctively, I didn't need his approval. I got into the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory of Santa Monica, cut right past the one year waiting list...and it was a wonderful chapter of my life. Turns out, not only was I an actress...I was a bad actress... ;) But that does not define my experience. To date, I have not lost my mind or committed suicide...Guess that was a necessary part of my journey. I was growing and learning and facing my fears and ultimately....healing...and sometimes...that's as good as it gets.
I don't claim to be an expert on any one thing. I only promise to share from the heart and hope that in doing so, I stand as a constant reminder that bad things happen to good people but it does not have to define who we become. That which does not kill us...makes us want to live to kick the shit out of that which tries. I am a survivor. I wish you every happiness and above all else...the courage and strength to forgive.
When I entered the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory of Santa Monica, I was a nervous wreck. Having suffered a mental breakdown (in the not so distant past) one night after half a bottle of tequila and approximately 54 Xanax, the state of Nevada manditorily hospitalized me for postpartum depression with a dash of suicidal tendencies. They were so clever. I was kept under surveillance for a period of 82 hours. You'd think that after living that nightmare, trying to get into acting school would be a cinch. After all, I managed to act my way out of the looney bin and even managed to do it with a script for more Xanax...I was good. Now all I had to do was act my way in, easy peasy, right? Little did I know, the exercise my acting coach recommended would serve to exorcize my entire being.
He was a scary man with slicked back hair and a cheap, pinstriped suit who smoked a fat stogie and had a thick Sicilian accent. When I burst into his theater I was late and disheveled.
"Hi! I'm Sonja, so sorry I'm tardy to the party..." I started immediately.
He looked more than just a little surprised to see me and asked how I had gotten there. So, being the hot mess that I am on any given day, I explained, "Oh...I took the 15 South to the 10 I believe, traffic was a bitch so I got off on..."
"No. No! NO!" He hollered with his thick foreign accent. "I mean-a how did you get here-a? In my theater? I have a one year-a waiting-a list-a!" Smoke billowed out of his mouth and both of his hands were working the air like an orchestrator instead of The Dusa...Acting Coach Extraordinaire.
"Oh!" I exclaimed clear on his real question. "Yeah...I know, right? Well...your girl mentioned that on the phone but with your new classes starting, I had this feeling...you know...deep down in my gizzards that before you made any decisions, we should at least meet. I mean...like most big breasted, toasty beige starstruck knuckleheads from VEGAS....I wanna be an actress and when I researched schools, yours was the one I wanted to come to....So I figured..." I trailed off hoping he'd fill in the blanks.
"You figure? You just-a figure, right-a? You git in yo little-a car anna you drive-a to Da City of Angels anna you just-a figure you gonna be a big-a star-a? Is that-a right?"
"No." I answered honestly, spent and just a little desperate. "I just wanted a shot. If you hate me, no harm no foul...but if you give me a shot and you like what you see...you have the opportunity to make room in your upcoming classes and...heck...who knows?" His pause lasted a lifetime. Then...he presented his challenge. A challenge that truly changed my way of thinking...and quite possibly ~ saved my life.
"Ok-a...fine-a...here's -a what-a I wanna you to do-a.....you go to the coffee a shop-a~someplace...I don really care-a... and you write me a story. Not just-a any story...but I wanna you to put a chair in-a da middle of a da stage-a anna I will wann you to put someone in da chair...I don care who...yo mutha..yo fadda..yo sista..yo love-a...I don care who...but-a...some a one. I will want you to talk to dis some a one-a and tell dem a story...I don care-a you love dem, you hate dem, you kill dem...I jusssss wanna see many emotions...Love-a, Anger, Passion, Disgust...I don care....just show me many emotions...den...I will a decide if you are in-a or if you are out-a. Anna, keep dis in mine....I been doin' dis for a lone time...I will know if a you story is a real or a fake... you unerstan???"
Like Michael Corleone in The Godfather...I accepted the challenge and knew instinctively that if I could pull it off..I'd be part of Da Family.
I got back in my car and drove directly to Gladstones in Malibu. I had always been happy there. My ex-husband and I had had many a happy hour(s) there when visiting my out-laws. It was a good spot for me and I felt as though I could complete my mission there.
I wrote and I wrote and I crumpled up many a sheet of paper before my final coffee (I didn't want to cloud my writing with cocktails...I must have been growing). When I was certain I'd written the story I wanted to share with the perfect imaginary person sitting in the chair, center stage. I called it a night.
When I arrived back at the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory on the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica, I sat in the back at a table reading my self-written script. I was trying to memorize every word and emotion. Once class had finally finished and students scurried about, Piero himself, stinky, fat stogie in hand, came out to greet me. He saw me sitting there in all of my splendor, trying in vein to memorize my own words. He spat at me, "STOP! What are you doin??? You are a da one dat wrote da words...do you really think I will know if you don have it a memorized?"
Good Point.
I walked into the now empty, homemade theater and stood awkwardly in the center stage. I never felt so naked in my life. I watched silently as Piero took his usual spot in the corner, behind a wonky desk off stage. It was then that he asked me to take an empty chair and place it on a da stage-a.
He told me to walk off stage and enter when ready. I did exactly as he'd asked, like a robot taking orders.
I dutifully placed the empty chair in center stage then walked away, behind the curtain waiting for my cue to enter. I was a professional already, I just didn't know it.
Before my grand entrance', Piero asked me from his smokey perch, "Who do you have-a inna da chair?"
"My first lover," I answered numbly.
"Oh! I like it...very personal-a...okay...when-a you ready...enter, stage left..."
I inhaled deeply and started onto the stage with a purpose. I had no idea how empowering the excersice would prove or how the performance I was about to deliver would be more than just a try-out, but a silent forgiveness that would grant me passage to a place I had yet to discover.
I approached the empty chair with purpose and strength...a false strength that I had no idea I was faking at the time. I stopped shy of the chair that held nothing but emptiness but to me, in my mind's eye, held my very first lover, the stealer of my youth.
I had promised myself that I would not break character, no matter what. That I would deliver my monologue with all the poise and grace I could muster...then I'd let the chips fall where they may.
"Thank you for meeting me..." I started, standing diligently before the chair. "I was afraid you wouldn't come. I'm really glad you did. I have a few things I need to discuss with you, a few missing pieces of my life, I am hoping you will be able to fill them in for me." I leaned down, proposing to look straight into the face of the missing person in the seat.
"I was wondering if you remember the first time we were together...in that 'special' way...you know...not out for dinner our sitting around the house visiting and watching TV...but really 'together' in that 'special' way.... I started to pace the stage nervously. I needed answers but was suddenly afraid to ask the questions. It was as if I had been transported back to that moment in time...a moment that every girl remembers...her first time....
"We were at the drive-in movies. What were we seeing? Do you remember?" I asked the empty seat that was, at that moment SO filled with my lover. "Funny, I remember each and every detail of that night, but for the life of me...I can't seem to remember the damn movie." I giggled out loud. Too loudly.
"Anyway, I remember that we were in the backseat of your maroon Monte Carlo and we were very squished. I had fallen asleep...or at least pretended to be asleep, but you didn't let that stop you, did you, bad, bad boy!" I pointed in his face and scolded.
" The seat belt was cutting into my right shoulder blade and the weight of you was crushing. I was having such a hard time catching my breath...I was so afraid but you kept reassuring me...as you had in the past but this time, I felt sure we would go all the way and I was nervous and scared and coy and shy...but you were so reassuring and kind and gentle. You told me over and over how very much you loved me and how it was okay because it was between two people who loved one another and that was never a bad thing. You made me tell you how much I loved you and went on to promise that you'd love me forever...." And I believed you.
When you unzipped my jeans, I shook with fear but you just shushed away my fears, all the while telling me how special I was and how you would love me forever...
To this day, I remember being so afraid that I just closed my eyes tightly and went away in my mind....I went to a safe place where I was loved. I was a business woman and I came home to my beautiful house where my beautiful children ran to meet me and my handsome, successful husband took my briefcase out of my hand and let me into our kitchen which was filled with the scent of homemade bread and soup and all things warm and kind and loving. My husband held me and asked about my day and told me he loved me and that our children loved me and that I was safe....
But in reality...I was in the back seat of your Monte Carlo, your boozy breath on my neck, your words of love and encouragement so empty compared to the man in my dream. The man in my dream was my loving husband and he spoke of our loving children and I was safe and happy....In the back seat of the car...I was with someone's husband and father...but it was my mother's husband and my very own father... "
I paused for effect. But only for my own. It was the first time in my life that I had ever said those words out loud. "You were my father and you forced me to have sex with you. I was a little girl. I trusted you, I believed in you. I wanted you to be proud of me and acknowledge my accomplishments at school....and YOU STOLE MY CHILDHOOD IN THE BACKSEAT OF THE FAMILY CAR WITH MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS SAFELY WATCHING THE MOVIE FROM THE HOOD OF THE CAR YOU WERE RAPING ME IN!"
I screamed it into the imaginary face of my father who was no longer imaginary to me. My eyes welled up with tears as I spat the words. I was angry and hurt and broken and lost and scared and all I wanted at that moment was to tell him that what he had done had ruined me as a woman! I needed him to know that I had turned to drinking and promiscuity and how I ran away from my first husband becuase I felt that I was used goods and had to leave him before he found out! That I had the self-esteem of a fly on a turd because the first man in my life....my role model...had robbed me of my innocence! But after I'd said what needed to be said, a sudden calm filled me. I stopped dead in my tracks and looked at the chair and my father, the man who was supposed to teach me all there was to know about unsavory characters and build my self esteem and help mold me into a woman to be reckoned with; and I realized...he had done all of that and more. By betraying me and using me and breaking my heart, he had molded me into the woman I had become: The Unsinkable, Unbreakable, Remarkable, Caring, Sharing, Loving, Giving Woman That I am Today...The One And Only Sonja Maria Lemos Flaherty (later to become Graff).
That realization struck me like a ton of bricks. And suddenly all the tears from all the years of hiding that ugly truth...melted away. I felt more free than I had ever in my life. I knelt down in front of the chair that now only held the memory of my sad, sick, pathetic father and I said, "I forgive you. I don't know what happened to you in your own childhood that caused you to think that type of behavior between a father and daughter would be okay...and I don't want to know. All I can do is pray for you. All I can do for myself is to forgive you. I brought you here today to ask you for one small favor...and I have never asked you for anything.....All I ask is that you take a good, long look at my back. I will be walking out of here and that is the very last thing of myself I am willing to give you. Take a good, long look and say goodbye..."
Then I exited...stage right....
Behind the curtain, I let out a sigh of relief that was over 30 years in the making. My entire body was shaking, but no longer with fear...with relief...I finally knew that forgiveness is an attribute of the strong and courageous. I am those things. Forgiving. Strong. Courageous.
Clap....Clap....clap, clap, clap.....I heard the applause of my future acting teacher but knew instinctively, I didn't need his approval. I got into the Piero Dusa Acting Conservatory of Santa Monica, cut right past the one year waiting list...and it was a wonderful chapter of my life. Turns out, not only was I an actress...I was a bad actress... ;) But that does not define my experience. To date, I have not lost my mind or committed suicide...Guess that was a necessary part of my journey. I was growing and learning and facing my fears and ultimately....healing...and sometimes...that's as good as it gets.
I don't claim to be an expert on any one thing. I only promise to share from the heart and hope that in doing so, I stand as a constant reminder that bad things happen to good people but it does not have to define who we become. That which does not kill us...makes us want to live to kick the shit out of that which tries. I am a survivor. I wish you every happiness and above all else...the courage and strength to forgive.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
“Our greatest strength as a human race is our ability to acknowledge our differences, our greatest weakness is our failure to embrace them.” Judith Henderson. Written with love and dedicated to anyone who has ever suffered at the hands of a bully.
People often ask me, "When did you know your son was gay?"
I suppose in hindsight, I always knew. Not just because he asked for ruby red slippers after having watched The Wizard of Oz for the skillionth time, or because instead of actually playing soccer, he skipped across the field holding hands with the other boys and picking dandelions at age four, but because inherently, I just knew. And I didn't care one way or the other; he is my son and I adore him just the way he is.
I was sitting in my cubicle at Greenspun Media Group when the phone rang. I was an Account Executive for VEGAS Magazine and also had a well read column in The Las Vegas Weekly entitled WINK. Although I was a divorced, single mother of two, I had managed to maintain a strong, reverential relationship with my ex- husband. He respected my successes as they were self earned. The world was my oyster and on any given day, I felt pretty darned invincible. I was self assured that even in divorce, my ex and I were managing to raise our children as confident, poised individuals. But, like anything we think we own, confidence can be stripped away from us in the blink of an eye.
"This is Sonja Flaherty," I answered.
There was a pause on the other end, then I heard the exhale which immediately turned into gasping then sobs.
"Who is this?" I asked, fear filling my body immediately.
"Mom....Mom..." more sobbing.
"Son? Is that you??? What's wrong? What happened? Are you OK? Where are you?" I was filled with panic but trying to remain calm.
"I did what you said, I just tried to...I can't believe it...Mom..." he broke off.
"Son, I need you to take a deep breath and tell me what happened." I said as calmly as I could muster.
"In the locker room, he threw wet towels at my head...punched me in the face...he called me a homo and a faggot...." he kept speaking but I was having a difficult time concentrating. My blood boiling, my teeth grinding, my hands in tight fists on my desk. My first reaction was to race across town, pick my son up in my arms and hold him and rock him and kiss him and protect him from the cruel, cruel world.
My second: to hunt down the bullying bastard who had hurt my boy and rip his scrotum sack off with my bare hands, hold the bloody, gooey mess up to his face before shoving it down his throat. I'd kick him until his eyeballs popped out of their sockets...then I'd take a not-so-lady-like squat over his stupid face and urinate into his ocular cavities.
No. But that was bad, vulgar, highly immoral and, against the law. So instead of over reacting, I chilled.
I asked my son for all of the facts. What events had taken place that led to the locker room beat down?
"Remember when I told you that I had a secret crush? Remember when I asked you what I should do and you suggested I write a letter to my crush and tell them how I felt?"
"Yes," I said cautiously.
"Well, my crush was the captain of the baseball team." he shared shyly.
Shoot.
I guess I should have asked more questions before counseling him to write a love letter. Not that sharing one's feelings is a bad thing, moreover because it is one hell of a way to "out" oneself. Shoot. ~ the captain of the baseball team? Like mother like gay son, go big or go home...
"Anyway," he continued shakily, "when I walked into class, a girl was reading the letter out loud...."
"What girl," I interrupted, making a mental note that her ocular cavities were no longer safe around me either.
"I don't know, Mom...some girl...anyway, I tried to get the letter but they all laughed at me and passed it around the room, I was humiliated. When class ended, I had to go to P.E. I was in the locker room and this kid, Joe, he's best friends with my crush, started in on me. He called me a fag and threw wet paper towels at my head and was smacking at me. I tried to stand up for myself, I threw a punch...but I missed..."
"Wait..." I said, "You threw a punch? AND YOU MISSED?" I was disappointed that he felt that he had been pushed to violence instead of using his words, something I don't condone; but a little proud that he had the gumption to stand up for himself, but then a little disappointed that there was a swing 'n a miss.
"Yeah...that's when he punched me in the face. Hard. Twice. But that's not the worst part," he said.
To my way of thinking, getting punched in the money maker is bad enough, what could 'the worst part' be?
As if he were reading my mind, my son answered, "Now Joe keeps calling my cell phone! He wants to finish the fight. He wants me to meet him in the parking lot next to Target! He said if I don't show, it will prove what a faggot I am and he will beat me up tomorrow in front of the whole school! What should I do? MOM! What should I do????"
It is important to note here that my mother was unconventional at best, but there was always a method to her madness; so too was there a method to mine.
"You're going to meet him." I said.
"WHAT?" screeched my terrified son.
"The way I see it, if you don't meet him, he will continue to terrorize you, bully you and probably beat you up everyday. If you offer to meet him, hopefully he will at least have respect for the fact that you refuse to just hide out and take any future ass whoopings he feels like doling out. Son, today is a hard day, but it is a day that will teach you what it means to stand up for yourself and for what you believe in. Now, give me his number and I will set the fight up." I felt confident that what I was saying made sense and because he trusted me completely, my son agreed to meet his aggressor and finish the fight.
After I wrote down Joe's cell number, I asked my son to go home and put on some comfortable clothes, nothing too tight or binding. I also asked him to stretch, I'd hate for him to pull a hammy during battle.
I dialed Joe immediately. I had a gut feeling about something and planned on getting to root of this kid's hatred.
Riiiiiing. Riiiiiiiing. Riiiiiing. Oh, come on you little bullying bastard, answer the phone. Riiii...."Hello?"
"Hi," I said sounding cheery, "Is this Joe?"
"Yeah, who's this?" he asked.
"Oh, forgive me, my name is Sonja. I believe you punched my son in the face today and called him a faggot?"
Pause.
"Hello? Joe, you still there?" I asked.
"Yeah. But do you wanna know what he did?" he asked defensively.
"I know what he did. He wrote a letter to your best friend, the captain of the baseball team, right?"
"Yeah, but it wasn't just a letter..." I cut him off.
"Oh, I know what kind of letter it was, Joe. It was a love letter, wasn't it? He told your bff how he felt about him and wanted to know if he felt the same, right Joe?" I spat his name more than spoke it.
No answer.
"Is that right, Joe?" I prodded.
"Yeah. You know about your son?" he asked quizzically.
"I sure do, and you want to know what I think? I think my son is the bravest boy in the world. I think it takes a lot of balls to know who you are and what you feel and follow your heart. I also think your friend should feel flattered. My son is very handsome and smart, that friend of yours could do a lot worse for himself."
"What the???" he said.
"So, Joe, my son says you want to meet in the Target parking lot near school to finish the fight. Is that right?"
"Yeah, but if he's too chicken..." he started.
"No,no," I assured him, "He's not too chicken at all. In fact, if I leave my office now I can pick my son up and be at the parking lot in 45 minutes. Does that work for you?" I asked.
"Really?" he asked, obviously caught off guard.
"Really," I said. "You see, Joe, my son refuses to back down to a bully like you. In fact, he thinks you are weak minded and afraid of him because you fear what you don't understand or what you have been taught is different or wrong or dirty, is that what you think of my son, Joe?"
"Your son is gay!" he spat with obvious disgust, "my mom says all fags should be put on an island and the island set on fire."
Ah ha! My gut feeling had been spot on.
"Oh," I said, "So, your mom taught you to hate homosexuals, is that it, Joe?"
"Yeah, so what?" he said indignantly, protecting his narrow minded simp of a mother.
"Just trying to get all the facts. No problem whatsoever. I will see you in the parking lot in 45 minutes."
"Cool," he said.
"Oh, and Joe, there's just one more thing," I said, "I need you to bring your mom to the parking lot with you, OK?"
"What? Why?" he asked.
"Because I'm not angry with you Joe. You see, you are a just an innocent product of your environment. You have been raised by a woman who has taught you to hate and bully boys that seem weaker and different than you. She is raising an animal, not a compassionate human being ~ and for that, Joe....I'm going to beat the ever living snot out of your mom. I'm going to punch her in her stupid face so hard that she is going to wish she had never met your father and created such a low-life bully of a son. Oh, then I'm going to pee into her eye sockets," I just had to add it for shock value. "So, 45 minutes you say?"
Silence.
I gave it a few moments to sink in. Then I said, "Joe? See you at Target?"
"Dude," he said, his cocky attitude seemingly missing, "I don't want you to beat my mom up or pee on her eyes!"
"Yeah?" I asked, "Do you think I wanted you to beat my son up or throw towels at his head or call him a dirty homo?? No. I didn't, Joe. But you did it anyway and you learned that behavior from someplace, I'm guessing from our conversation that you learned it from your mom....now I, like you, have to teach that silly, weak bitch a lesson."
"But..." he was shaken to the core, I could feel it.
"But what, Joe??? The golden rule is to treat people the way you want to be treated. You have thrown down the gauntlet. You obviously want a fight, I'm offering you that fight but I am also going to teach your mother the same lesson you tried to teach my boy. Or..." I paused for effect.
"Or what?" he asked hopefully.
"Or you can apologize to my son for bullying him, to me for disrespecting my family and to your mom for nearly causing her to spit out her teeth after I take out my anger on her. Then you can make a promise to me that not only will you never lay a hand on my son again, but that you will protect him from anyone else who is stupid enough to bully him. Do we have a deal, Joe?"
Pause.
"Yes. I'm sorry, ma'am. I understand what you're saying and I am sorry I disrespected your family. Thank you for not beatin' my mom up. I promise no one will ever mess with your son again."
I accepted his apology and called my boy to tell him that Joe was just a misguided young man who recognized the error of his ways and that I didn't expect any more trouble from him. I felt his relief through the telephone wires. He exhaled loudly and thanked me profusely.
The next day after school, my son called me to tell me that Joe had apologized and even went as far as to shake his hand and tell him that if anyone ever bothered him again, he would take care of it.
"I don't know what you did mom..." said my little man, "but it worked!"
What I had done? I flipped the script. I bullied a bully. Two wrongs don't make a right! I had sunk to an all time low... and I had zero regrets.
What I did was protect my child in the best way I could think of in the moment. Was it right? Was it wrong? I don't believe in right or wrong. I believe there are choices we make and choices we don't make and that those choices come with consequences. I believe it is my duty to teach my children to love and be loved. I believe who they choose is entirely up to them. I believe our children are products of the environment that they are raised in. I believe that if you raise your child to hate and bully others, that you are the hater and the bully....and you'd better believe this: Hell hath no fury like that of the mother of a bullied child.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
In-Laws ~ Out-Laws ~ Upside Down Laws & An All Expense Paid Trip To County Jail
"Girrrrl, you so stupid!" said the sweet natured, barefoot, African American prostitute clad only in her "one-size- does- not- truly- fit-all-silver, spandex, mini dress; shackled in the seat next to me in the Clark County Detention Center. She had given me the once over so many times it was more like the skillionth over and when curiosity had finally killed her cat, had to ask what crime I had committed that brought me to jail.
I had been strongly warned by the truly amazing bicycle officer at family court who had (against the rules) snuck me a fruit cup and some white milk a few hours into my incarceration; to keep my eyes down, not to talk to anyone and most of all, no matter how scared I was...NOT TO APPEAR AFRAID.
So, when she asked me what my crime was, I sat upright, pushed back my shoulders and throwing caution to the wind I looked the barefoot lady of the night straight in the eye and replied with all the conviction I could muster, "I killed someone."
She snickered at me...hard. So hard that a boogey bubble popped out of her left nostril. "Soccer Mom," she said, rolling her eyes, "they don't put yo ass in County if you ice some body...come on....what'd you do? Steal from the P.T.A? Or was you sellin' ass too?"
I thought I understood the question and was actually a bit flattered that she thought me a prostitute, but even more so that she thought me a P.T.A mom. My ego getting the best of me I fantasized that perhaps she had me pegged as one of those high priced hookers like the ones I'd seen on Cleopatra's Barge at Caesar's Palace.
"Um. Well. No. It's a crazy, long story...." I started.
"Where I gotta be girl?" she asked.
"Yes. True that...as it were..." I said lamely, reminiscent of the scene in the movie "Airplane" when the uptight old white woman declares, "I speak jive."
"Well," I inhaled deeply and started to share my story, "my ex-husband was one of the biggest, most well-known land developers in Las Vegas. Everybody loved Andy Flaherty....especially me. We never went to divorce court, just hired an attorney we found in the Yellow Pages to file our paperwork. We went over the details in the attorney's lobby and after about 20 minutes of splitting assets, went to lunch. You see, even though we had decided that we didn't want to be married any longer, we respected the fact that we were once very much in love and had created two children in the course of our marriage. In the nine years of our divorce, we never, ever stepped foot inside a courtroom. We always agreed that anything that had to do with our children could be settled at Starbucks and we pinky swore we would never take one another to court, as it could damage the kids. Unfortunately, he was diagnosed with MS," it was then that she cut me off.
"MS...? Is that a venereal disorder?" she queried.
"NO!" I answered quickly wanting to put her fears to rest, "MS is caused by damage to the myelin sheath, the protective covering that surrounds nerve cells. When this nerve covering is damaged, nerve impulses are slowed down or stopped.The nerve damage is caused by inflammation. Inflammation occurs when the body's own immune cells attack the nervous system. Repeated episodes of inflammation can occur along any area of the brain, optic nerve, and spinal cord."
"Oh....aright then," she said. "So...hoe's don't give it to ya? Can we git it from a John?" She asked me seriously.
"No dear," I said, "although researchers are not sure what triggers the inflammation. The most common theories point to a virus or genetic defect, or a combination of both. Geographic studies indicate there may be an environmental factor involved."
"Awe...aright....that's cool...go on then...." she prodded, a look of relief in her eyes.
"So you see, after contracting MS, my ex, who was already being treated for a bi-polar manic depression...."
"OOOOOOH! I know I heard about that shit...it's SEE-REE-US..." she said counting off syllables as though it were three separate words.
"Yes...that shit IS serious," I said, truly appreciating her participation in the conversation. "He...well..he..." I choked back the lump that still arose in my throat whenever I said the next words, "He jumped off the 39th floor balcony of a high-rise."
"Shut the f**k up girl! No he didn't! For real?" She said, her compassion shining through.
"For real," I said, my eyes starting to water.
"You betta stop that shit right now girl...." she cautioned in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the room of criminal types. "You don't never let these bitches in County see you cry, ya hear?"
I batted my lids quickly hoping to dry my eyes before the tears slipped onto my cheeks.
"GRAFF...SONJA!" yelled the female officer in booking. It startled me.
"Is that you?" asked my new friend. I nodded numbly.
"Go head on then, but hurry back girl, don't leave me hangin'!"
I mustered a smile as I slid off the hard plastic chair and shuffled my way over for what turned out to be finger printing and a pat down (which it must be said included a rubber gloved hand underneath my skirt which brushed across my lady parts...in the same room as a mixed bag of less than savory male and female characters.) Humiliation knows no boundaries in County jail.
Now it is important to mention, in an effort to make a good impression on Judge Mathew Harter, I had dressed up for court and spared no expense. Christian Louboutin shoes, silk blouse from Ted Baker and a black, satin pencil skirt from Bebe. Couple that with my brand spankin' new Great Lengths hair extensions by Tonja Monroe and I suppose it was easy to see why my new friend mistook me for a high dollar prostitute. Of course, at the time of the actual booking, my fancy, pumped up skips had been swapped out for orange, rubber shower shoes...at least two sizes too big.
When sentencing me, Judge Harter accused me of having winked at him; as in a flirt. I wonder how he would feel knowing that for nearly 4 years I wrote the relationship column in The Las Vegas Weekly entitled: WINK, named after of a subconscious, nervous wink that that my editor picked up on which occurs whenever I am uncomfortable. Yeah...like I'd flirt with a creep like him before being sentenced to jail?
When I returned to my seat next to my African American angel, as I'd come to think of her, I was close to my breaking point. She must have sensed my humiliation because instead of prodding me for more information, she decided to tell me a little about her.
Turns out, she too was a mother. She had just dropped her "fat, little baby girl" as she referred to her, at pre-school and had decided after a long, hard week to stop at 7-11 for an ice cold 40, some beef jerkey and some incense. She was thrilled to let me in on the secret that you can get THREE different scents of incense for only $1.00. She had chosen cotton candy, pina colada and some punkin' pie shit, she animatedly informed me. Upon her departure from the mini-mart, she was stopped by a man in a pick-up truck who was inquiring how much she might charge for....a hand release. She said she didn't need the money as she had at least $22 in her purse back at her apartment. She said she "just got all greedy" and figured she could use a few extra bucks, that way she could buy a pizza for the kids...her fat, little baby girl loved her some pizza. "Shit, I was picturin' eatin' pizza and enjoyin' a Red Box movie...." she said dreamily.
Needless to say, the dude was five-oh and she got stone, cold busted.
I shook my head in disgust. She was just a woman mindin' her own business, eager to get back home to a hot bath, a cold 40 and some cotton candy incense to take her mind off of her stressful life. Sounded like entrapment to me, but she was quick to inform me that once she named her price, she had broken the law. Humph...ya learn something new everyday.
"Now. You go on with yo story girl...and don't leave nothin' out, ya hear?" she said.
"Um...I forgot...."
"Yo baby daddy jumped off the damn balcony girl!" she whispered...loudly.
"Oh. Of course," I continued. "It was a terrible, terrible loss to everyone. Andy Flaherty was an angel among men and as I mentioned, everyone loved him...especially me. Suffice it to say that once he was gone, his brother, Michael became the trustee of his estate, as per his last will and testament. Andy was a self made millionaire and knew he needed to have someone he trusted take care of his affairs after his death. His brother promptly took me to court, initially hoping to win custody of my two children!"
"WHAT?" she yelled in complete shock."That there is some bullshit!"
"I know, right?" I continued. "When he realized he couldn't win a custody battle he sued me for visitation. He said I had alienated my children from their paternal side of the family in some evil scheme to get money. Mind you, I didn't take any of Andy's money in our divorce...when I was entitled to it so I certainly wasn't looking to score after his suicide. We fought for months, until I was near bankrupt. Exasperated, I did agree to the visitation, but after being court ordered to spend time with the grandparents and their evil uncle Michael, who had moved his wife and kids into Andy's and my children's mansion and started driving his cars and paying himself hundreds of thousands of dollars to "manage the estate for the children", the kids begged and pleaded with me not to force the visits. They said the grandparents were so sad that all they did was make the kids look at videos of their dad and pictures of their dad and that they would cry and pray and it made the kids very unhappy. Oh, for the record, my son was 16 and my daughter was 11 when their dad killed himself. They were not babies, but old enough to know what they wanted and what they didn't want. They did not want to be forced to visit their dad's side of the family.
I remarried and moved out of state for a fresh start when my son went away to college in Florida. The paternal side of the family had retained attorney Edward Kainen, Attorney / Shareholder / Partner / Owner at Ecker & Kainen who basically painted the picture that I was an awful mother and unlawful citizen who should be locked up for not following the court's orders for visitation...long story long...Judge Harter found me in contempt and instead of coming up with a visitation schedule that might work for the grandparents and my daughter now living in California, I was handcuffed and sentenced to a week in this hellhole for not forcing my now 18 year old college bound son and 13 year old daughter to visit their uncle and grandparents."
"I can't believe this shit.! Judge Harter? Name aughtta be Judge HATER," said my black angel, shaking her head. "Girl, it would be easier for me to believe yo first story that you killed some body than to believe that any judge and f***ked up lawyer would throw some body's mama in County for such bullshit! It's like the wild, wild west up in that courtroom." Her disgust was apparent which I gathered strength from. "Did the kids at least tell the stupid ass judge they didn't wanna see those mutha f***kers?"
"The judge refused to ever interview to the children. He said that I disregarded his specific orders to force the visits that I had originally agreed to + failed to force therapy upon my grieving children + antagonizing the paternal side of the family = his ruling to have me thrown in jail. He actually cleared the courtroom and asked the Flaherty's if they would have any problem with him ordering my incarceration, they refused to make eye contact with me and all of them agreed it was the only way they could think of to force me to abide by the visitation order, even though they were all fully aware that when Andy was alive, we had NEVER stepped foot inside of a court room and remained the best of friends. In short, the judge had a choice to make and because he thought I'd winked at him, refused to do what he demanded of me, listened to the half-truths presented by Ed Kainen and obviously didn't like me, he chose to throw a mother in jail for a week, without bail, for protecting her children's wishes. Were my civil rights violated? You decide...."
Bahahaha! She laughed...hard. A belly laugh that was contagious. Before I knew what was happening, I was laughing out loud as well. Although, I had no idea what was so funny, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
"Y'all bitches need to shut the f**k up fore I shut yo asses up fo good!" hollered a filthy African American man seated in the row in front of us.
"I apologize..." I started to say but was promptly cut off by my laughing partner in crime.
"Soccer Mom, you so stupid....ain't no law against laughin'....f**k that crack head!"
My eyes went wide with fear and my initial response was to explain to the angry crack head that I was sorry and that I would hold it down in the future, but I didn't. I had to remember where I was and that in order to survive, I would need to appear bad. Bad to the bone.
"Yeah....what she said!" I added matching her audacity. Oddly he turned around in his seat and minded his own business. Wow. Note to self: bad to the bone works!
After our exchange with the angry crack head I just had to ask, "What was so funny?"
"Girl...you so stupid," it wasn't the first time she had mentioned it and I was starting to feel a little self conscience. Dare I ask why? Nope. Better to just smile and nod my head.
"You don't even know why you smilin', do ya?" she asked. It was as if she was living in my head.
I instinctively shook my head no...tears stinging my eyes.
"Bitch! Stop yo cryin'....you won. Don't you see? You fought for yo babies ... shit... you in jail for yo babies...that's what mamas do. You told me the judge warned you he might throw yo ass in jail if you didn't follow his instructions. You fought fo yo babies.....Girl, be proud. You my mutha f***kin' hero right now. They gonna git theirs, mark my words, those mutha's gonna git theirs and what ends up costin' you a week of your life is gonna cost them the rest of their time on this Earth without them grandbabies. You won."
Oh. My. God. She was right.
I wanted to thank her with a big hug but the chains and handcuffs and guards all kept me from it. At that moment, my name was called again, time for my mugshot. "You go on now baby girl, and you smile for the camera like you takin' a mutha f***kin' glamma shot, ya hear? You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of...oh, and one more thing...when you get out, make damn sure that Michael dick head Flaherty didn't use yo babies estate money to pay that lyin', theivin' attorney asshole, Ed Kainen neither!" Doggone she was smart, why hadn't I thought of that?? Come to find out, he did exactly that...but that's a story for another day. "Now pick yo self up, do yo time and remember one thang....."
It was that last thing that she said as I was escorted away that struck a chord and resonated deep inside of me. To this day, I continue to draw strength and hope from those words.
This story is about meeting angels on Earth. About finding strength when you have been beaten to the ground and question if you will ever recover. It is written to attest to the fact that no matter how horrible a blended family situation can get; no obstacle is ever insurmountable. The strength of the human spirit knows now boundaries. Most of all it is about Angelique, my barefoot, prostitute angel who gave without taking by sharing her words of encouragement and wisdom which unbeknownst to her, protected my spirit and saved my life. I love you, my sister. I thank you. I will never, ever forget you. And that very last thing you said to me? You were right girl....It's Never Too Late To Live Happily Ever After...
I had been strongly warned by the truly amazing bicycle officer at family court who had (against the rules) snuck me a fruit cup and some white milk a few hours into my incarceration; to keep my eyes down, not to talk to anyone and most of all, no matter how scared I was...NOT TO APPEAR AFRAID.
So, when she asked me what my crime was, I sat upright, pushed back my shoulders and throwing caution to the wind I looked the barefoot lady of the night straight in the eye and replied with all the conviction I could muster, "I killed someone."
She snickered at me...hard. So hard that a boogey bubble popped out of her left nostril. "Soccer Mom," she said, rolling her eyes, "they don't put yo ass in County if you ice some body...come on....what'd you do? Steal from the P.T.A? Or was you sellin' ass too?"
I thought I understood the question and was actually a bit flattered that she thought me a prostitute, but even more so that she thought me a P.T.A mom. My ego getting the best of me I fantasized that perhaps she had me pegged as one of those high priced hookers like the ones I'd seen on Cleopatra's Barge at Caesar's Palace.
"Um. Well. No. It's a crazy, long story...." I started.
"Where I gotta be girl?" she asked.
"Yes. True that...as it were..." I said lamely, reminiscent of the scene in the movie "Airplane" when the uptight old white woman declares, "I speak jive."
"Well," I inhaled deeply and started to share my story, "my ex-husband was one of the biggest, most well-known land developers in Las Vegas. Everybody loved Andy Flaherty....especially me. We never went to divorce court, just hired an attorney we found in the Yellow Pages to file our paperwork. We went over the details in the attorney's lobby and after about 20 minutes of splitting assets, went to lunch. You see, even though we had decided that we didn't want to be married any longer, we respected the fact that we were once very much in love and had created two children in the course of our marriage. In the nine years of our divorce, we never, ever stepped foot inside a courtroom. We always agreed that anything that had to do with our children could be settled at Starbucks and we pinky swore we would never take one another to court, as it could damage the kids. Unfortunately, he was diagnosed with MS," it was then that she cut me off.
"MS...? Is that a venereal disorder?" she queried.
"NO!" I answered quickly wanting to put her fears to rest, "MS is caused by damage to the myelin sheath, the protective covering that surrounds nerve cells. When this nerve covering is damaged, nerve impulses are slowed down or stopped.The nerve damage is caused by inflammation. Inflammation occurs when the body's own immune cells attack the nervous system. Repeated episodes of inflammation can occur along any area of the brain, optic nerve, and spinal cord."
"Oh....aright then," she said. "So...hoe's don't give it to ya? Can we git it from a John?" She asked me seriously.
"No dear," I said, "although researchers are not sure what triggers the inflammation. The most common theories point to a virus or genetic defect, or a combination of both. Geographic studies indicate there may be an environmental factor involved."
"Awe...aright....that's cool...go on then...." she prodded, a look of relief in her eyes.
"So you see, after contracting MS, my ex, who was already being treated for a bi-polar manic depression...."
"OOOOOOH! I know I heard about that shit...it's SEE-REE-US..." she said counting off syllables as though it were three separate words.
"Yes...that shit IS serious," I said, truly appreciating her participation in the conversation. "He...well..he..." I choked back the lump that still arose in my throat whenever I said the next words, "He jumped off the 39th floor balcony of a high-rise."
"Shut the f**k up girl! No he didn't! For real?" She said, her compassion shining through.
"For real," I said, my eyes starting to water.
"You betta stop that shit right now girl...." she cautioned in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the room of criminal types. "You don't never let these bitches in County see you cry, ya hear?"
I batted my lids quickly hoping to dry my eyes before the tears slipped onto my cheeks.
"GRAFF...SONJA!" yelled the female officer in booking. It startled me.
"Is that you?" asked my new friend. I nodded numbly.
"Go head on then, but hurry back girl, don't leave me hangin'!"
I mustered a smile as I slid off the hard plastic chair and shuffled my way over for what turned out to be finger printing and a pat down (which it must be said included a rubber gloved hand underneath my skirt which brushed across my lady parts...in the same room as a mixed bag of less than savory male and female characters.) Humiliation knows no boundaries in County jail.
Now it is important to mention, in an effort to make a good impression on Judge Mathew Harter, I had dressed up for court and spared no expense. Christian Louboutin shoes, silk blouse from Ted Baker and a black, satin pencil skirt from Bebe. Couple that with my brand spankin' new Great Lengths hair extensions by Tonja Monroe and I suppose it was easy to see why my new friend mistook me for a high dollar prostitute. Of course, at the time of the actual booking, my fancy, pumped up skips had been swapped out for orange, rubber shower shoes...at least two sizes too big.
When sentencing me, Judge Harter accused me of having winked at him; as in a flirt. I wonder how he would feel knowing that for nearly 4 years I wrote the relationship column in The Las Vegas Weekly entitled: WINK, named after of a subconscious, nervous wink that that my editor picked up on which occurs whenever I am uncomfortable. Yeah...like I'd flirt with a creep like him before being sentenced to jail?
When I returned to my seat next to my African American angel, as I'd come to think of her, I was close to my breaking point. She must have sensed my humiliation because instead of prodding me for more information, she decided to tell me a little about her.
Turns out, she too was a mother. She had just dropped her "fat, little baby girl" as she referred to her, at pre-school and had decided after a long, hard week to stop at 7-11 for an ice cold 40, some beef jerkey and some incense. She was thrilled to let me in on the secret that you can get THREE different scents of incense for only $1.00. She had chosen cotton candy, pina colada and some punkin' pie shit, she animatedly informed me. Upon her departure from the mini-mart, she was stopped by a man in a pick-up truck who was inquiring how much she might charge for....a hand release. She said she didn't need the money as she had at least $22 in her purse back at her apartment. She said she "just got all greedy" and figured she could use a few extra bucks, that way she could buy a pizza for the kids...her fat, little baby girl loved her some pizza. "Shit, I was picturin' eatin' pizza and enjoyin' a Red Box movie...." she said dreamily.
Needless to say, the dude was five-oh and she got stone, cold busted.
I shook my head in disgust. She was just a woman mindin' her own business, eager to get back home to a hot bath, a cold 40 and some cotton candy incense to take her mind off of her stressful life. Sounded like entrapment to me, but she was quick to inform me that once she named her price, she had broken the law. Humph...ya learn something new everyday.
"Now. You go on with yo story girl...and don't leave nothin' out, ya hear?" she said.
"Um...I forgot...."
"Yo baby daddy jumped off the damn balcony girl!" she whispered...loudly.
"Oh. Of course," I continued. "It was a terrible, terrible loss to everyone. Andy Flaherty was an angel among men and as I mentioned, everyone loved him...especially me. Suffice it to say that once he was gone, his brother, Michael became the trustee of his estate, as per his last will and testament. Andy was a self made millionaire and knew he needed to have someone he trusted take care of his affairs after his death. His brother promptly took me to court, initially hoping to win custody of my two children!"
"WHAT?" she yelled in complete shock."That there is some bullshit!"
"I know, right?" I continued. "When he realized he couldn't win a custody battle he sued me for visitation. He said I had alienated my children from their paternal side of the family in some evil scheme to get money. Mind you, I didn't take any of Andy's money in our divorce...when I was entitled to it so I certainly wasn't looking to score after his suicide. We fought for months, until I was near bankrupt. Exasperated, I did agree to the visitation, but after being court ordered to spend time with the grandparents and their evil uncle Michael, who had moved his wife and kids into Andy's and my children's mansion and started driving his cars and paying himself hundreds of thousands of dollars to "manage the estate for the children", the kids begged and pleaded with me not to force the visits. They said the grandparents were so sad that all they did was make the kids look at videos of their dad and pictures of their dad and that they would cry and pray and it made the kids very unhappy. Oh, for the record, my son was 16 and my daughter was 11 when their dad killed himself. They were not babies, but old enough to know what they wanted and what they didn't want. They did not want to be forced to visit their dad's side of the family.
I remarried and moved out of state for a fresh start when my son went away to college in Florida. The paternal side of the family had retained attorney Edward Kainen, Attorney / Shareholder / Partner / Owner at Ecker & Kainen who basically painted the picture that I was an awful mother and unlawful citizen who should be locked up for not following the court's orders for visitation...long story long...Judge Harter found me in contempt and instead of coming up with a visitation schedule that might work for the grandparents and my daughter now living in California, I was handcuffed and sentenced to a week in this hellhole for not forcing my now 18 year old college bound son and 13 year old daughter to visit their uncle and grandparents."
"I can't believe this shit.! Judge Harter? Name aughtta be Judge HATER," said my black angel, shaking her head. "Girl, it would be easier for me to believe yo first story that you killed some body than to believe that any judge and f***ked up lawyer would throw some body's mama in County for such bullshit! It's like the wild, wild west up in that courtroom." Her disgust was apparent which I gathered strength from. "Did the kids at least tell the stupid ass judge they didn't wanna see those mutha f***kers?"
"The judge refused to ever interview to the children. He said that I disregarded his specific orders to force the visits that I had originally agreed to + failed to force therapy upon my grieving children + antagonizing the paternal side of the family = his ruling to have me thrown in jail. He actually cleared the courtroom and asked the Flaherty's if they would have any problem with him ordering my incarceration, they refused to make eye contact with me and all of them agreed it was the only way they could think of to force me to abide by the visitation order, even though they were all fully aware that when Andy was alive, we had NEVER stepped foot inside of a court room and remained the best of friends. In short, the judge had a choice to make and because he thought I'd winked at him, refused to do what he demanded of me, listened to the half-truths presented by Ed Kainen and obviously didn't like me, he chose to throw a mother in jail for a week, without bail, for protecting her children's wishes. Were my civil rights violated? You decide...."
Bahahaha! She laughed...hard. A belly laugh that was contagious. Before I knew what was happening, I was laughing out loud as well. Although, I had no idea what was so funny, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
"Y'all bitches need to shut the f**k up fore I shut yo asses up fo good!" hollered a filthy African American man seated in the row in front of us.
"I apologize..." I started to say but was promptly cut off by my laughing partner in crime.
"Soccer Mom, you so stupid....ain't no law against laughin'....f**k that crack head!"
My eyes went wide with fear and my initial response was to explain to the angry crack head that I was sorry and that I would hold it down in the future, but I didn't. I had to remember where I was and that in order to survive, I would need to appear bad. Bad to the bone.
"Yeah....what she said!" I added matching her audacity. Oddly he turned around in his seat and minded his own business. Wow. Note to self: bad to the bone works!
After our exchange with the angry crack head I just had to ask, "What was so funny?"
"Girl...you so stupid," it wasn't the first time she had mentioned it and I was starting to feel a little self conscience. Dare I ask why? Nope. Better to just smile and nod my head.
"You don't even know why you smilin', do ya?" she asked. It was as if she was living in my head.
I instinctively shook my head no...tears stinging my eyes.
"Bitch! Stop yo cryin'....you won. Don't you see? You fought for yo babies ... shit... you in jail for yo babies...that's what mamas do. You told me the judge warned you he might throw yo ass in jail if you didn't follow his instructions. You fought fo yo babies.....Girl, be proud. You my mutha f***kin' hero right now. They gonna git theirs, mark my words, those mutha's gonna git theirs and what ends up costin' you a week of your life is gonna cost them the rest of their time on this Earth without them grandbabies. You won."
Oh. My. God. She was right.
I wanted to thank her with a big hug but the chains and handcuffs and guards all kept me from it. At that moment, my name was called again, time for my mugshot. "You go on now baby girl, and you smile for the camera like you takin' a mutha f***kin' glamma shot, ya hear? You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of...oh, and one more thing...when you get out, make damn sure that Michael dick head Flaherty didn't use yo babies estate money to pay that lyin', theivin' attorney asshole, Ed Kainen neither!" Doggone she was smart, why hadn't I thought of that?? Come to find out, he did exactly that...but that's a story for another day. "Now pick yo self up, do yo time and remember one thang....."
It was that last thing that she said as I was escorted away that struck a chord and resonated deep inside of me. To this day, I continue to draw strength and hope from those words.
This story is about meeting angels on Earth. About finding strength when you have been beaten to the ground and question if you will ever recover. It is written to attest to the fact that no matter how horrible a blended family situation can get; no obstacle is ever insurmountable. The strength of the human spirit knows now boundaries. Most of all it is about Angelique, my barefoot, prostitute angel who gave without taking by sharing her words of encouragement and wisdom which unbeknownst to her, protected my spirit and saved my life. I love you, my sister. I thank you. I will never, ever forget you. And that very last thing you said to me? You were right girl....It's Never Too Late To Live Happily Ever After...
Thursday, August 18, 2011
C ~ U ~ Next ~ Tuesday & Other Wedding Day Mishaps
On 8/8/08, I walked down the beach at the Hotel Del Coronado in beautiful San Diego, California. I was arm in arm with my two best-est guy friends, Jake and Patrick who then handed me over to my son, the man of my dreams, light of my life who in turn proudly handed me off to my Superman, the new, additional man of my dreams, light of my life. My daughter served as my Maid of Honor and she looked like a little angel waiting near the alter all smiles ready to perform her M.O.H duties. In the background, Al Green was crooning our wedding song and mantra, “Let’s Stay Together” and we were surrounded by our friends and family for a “toes in the sand” wedding celebration that was nothing short of picture perfect.
We had agreed to write our own vows and the future Mr. Sonja was very nervous. He said he was better at showing love than he was at articulating it. But as we stood there, hand in hand, gazing lovingly into each others eyes, the vows that he delivered still to this day take my breath away…and have come back to haunt him on several occasions.
“Sonja, love of my life,” he started nervously, his Jersey accent more prevalent than usual, “it makes perfect sense to me that you wanted to get married at the ocean because you are so much like the ocean. You are beautiful, mysterious and unpredictable, sometimes so calm and serene then without warning… the perfect storm.” Our guests laughed out loud, knowing exactly what he meant. “The most important thing to understand about the ocean is that while you can appreciate its splendor, try to understand its mystery, be intrigued by its vast greatness, you can never hope to contain, control or try to change it. As I make my vow to be your loving partner for life, I also vow to accept you for who you are. You are like the ocean and I would never try to change you.”
The crowd went wild! ;) I’d done it! I’d found my missin’ piece. Not only is he beautiful inside and out, gracious and giving beyond belief, hardworking, driven, focused, incredibly intelligent and successful, he accepts me just as I am: A hit or miss train wreck on any given day. ;)
My heart was so full of love, pride and gratitude. I felt like all of my dreams had come true. All but one: my wonderful husband-to-be was celebrating what should have been one of the happiest days of his life…without his three children.
I had sent the invitation to their mother's house hoping that she would be adult enough to support us in having the children be present on our day. I have a tendency to give people too much credit. My husband always chastises me for giving everyone an A+ and allowing them to drop from there. He gives everyone an F- and makes them work for his trust. I used to feel sorry for him but have unfortunately learned to understand his way of thinking.
Her response came by way of email (of course...she has never bothered to co-parent in person or by telephone, only through text and email which is another sad shame). She said that because he had "cut her off financially" (meaning her sole source of income was now only child support/alimony, and not being able to spend his hard earned money at will) that she could only afford to take the children on one family vacation per year. Unfortunately for us, her family vacation had been planned and paid for and just so happened to fall on the same weekend of our wedding.
Like kryptonite to Superman, her news devastated us. However, my future husband said that he had expected no less from her. Although we had gone to great lengths to plan our wedding on 8-8-08, I offered to move it in an effort to have his children share in our joy. He laughed at my naivete and told me that no matter what date we picked, she'd have something planned to ensure the kids wouldn't attend.
As I walked down the beach on that glorious day, surrounded by my closest friends and family, my happiness was overshadowed by my future husband's obvious heartache. We laughed and cried, we danced and celebrated but their presence was sorely missed.
It wasn't until the wedding was over and we were back in our honeymoon suite at The Hotel Del Coronado that my new husband shared the most unbelievable news with me. He found out that his children and their mother were in fact enjoying their family vacation......In Del Mar, approximately 20 minutes away.
As he spoke the words, his eyes were wet with tears and my body shook with rage. He got up to go use the bathroom and blow his nose and wash away the heartache he felt from his face. It was at that moment that I took the opportunity to become a "less than savory character". I reached for my cell phone and sent his ex-wife a text message...it was after all her favorite way to communicate. My hand shook as I typed the words, "Today was the most beautiful, amazing day of my life. You are a Cunt. Love, Mrs. Graff." I didn't hesitate for one second. I pushed send and without the least bit of remorse braced myself for the inevitable aftermath.
In retrospect, what I did was incredibly childish and way beneath me, and for that I am very sorry. Hadn't I reigned victorious? I had just had a "toes in the sand" wedding of my dreams to the best man I had ever met; but what she had done to hurt us was so infuriating that at that moment in time, I felt completely vindicated in my childish actions.
It couldn't have been more than 30 seconds before all hell broke loose! My new husband was yelling obscenities from the washroom! "Damn it Sonja!!! What have you done????" I was determined to stand my ground and being high on romance and white wine still felt quite certain that I was completely in the right.
"That bitch just sent me your text to her!" He screamed. "Why did you give her the satisfaction of knowing she had hurt me?" What the???? Hurt him? My entire fairytale wedding had been overshadowed by her malicious act and somehow he was the only person hurt? Why I aughtta....
I raced from the room, my wedding gown and tiara still perfectly in place and hijacked a hotel limo. I found her in Del Mar at her friends house and dragged her from the house by her stupid yellow hair that looked as though she'd stumbled backwards on to a fan and in return walked away with a bad, bad Victoria Beckham-ish haircut. I pulled her on to the front lawn and proceeded to beat the ever livin' snot out of her! I delivered a round-house to her midsection then climbed a nearby fence post like a little monkey and did a Triple Lindy off the post. Although there was a 2.3 degree of difficulty, because of my catlike reflexes, I was able to execute a landing that ended with my knobby little kneecap perfectly compressing her larynx causing her to tap out...all the while...begging for my forgiveness.
OK, that didn't really happen...but oh how I wanted it to!
Bling....went his cell with a follow up text. "Why would your wife send that horrible message to me?" Oh, playing the victim are we??? That will never work! I giggled in spite of myself.
"How could you do that?!" demanded my new husband, her former husband who she very obviously knew how to play like a song she'd written her damn self....her victim act working magic on his sensitive nature.
Bling....went his cell again with yet another plea for protection from Bridezilla! "Our youngest daughter was borrowing my cell phone when her disgusting message came through! Now she wants to know what that word means! I can't believe this is happening!"
REALLY??? Your 12 year old daughter who has a better, smarter, more expensive cell phone than I do just so happened to be borrowing her mother's phone at the moment I sent my nasty-gram? Ha! I doubt it! What a crock of poop! That didn't happen! Besides, the kid lives with that nightmare of a woman, she MUST know the meaning of that word!
Blling...."Daddy, why did your wife send mommy that message? What does that word mean?"
GIVE ME A FREAKIN' BREAK OVER HERE!!!!! COME ON! REALLY????? I was good, but she was just a little more gooder....but in the end, there were no winners. We all lost that day in one way or another.
Suffice it to say, in the battle of good vs. evil...it never pays to be the smaller person! Oh, and for the record, again, I'd like to apologize for my terrible behavior. What I did was downright shameful. If their mother made the awful decision to share my awful message and her children were hurt, I truly am sorry. I can't change the past...the only thing I can offer in my defense is: Whaddya expect? I am like the ocean... ;)
I had sent the invitation to their mother's house hoping that she would be adult enough to support us in having the children be present on our day. I have a tendency to give people too much credit. My husband always chastises me for giving everyone an A+ and allowing them to drop from there. He gives everyone an F- and makes them work for his trust. I used to feel sorry for him but have unfortunately learned to understand his way of thinking.
Her response came by way of email (of course...she has never bothered to co-parent in person or by telephone, only through text and email which is another sad shame). She said that because he had "cut her off financially" (meaning her sole source of income was now only child support/alimony, and not being able to spend his hard earned money at will) that she could only afford to take the children on one family vacation per year. Unfortunately for us, her family vacation had been planned and paid for and just so happened to fall on the same weekend of our wedding.
Like kryptonite to Superman, her news devastated us. However, my future husband said that he had expected no less from her. Although we had gone to great lengths to plan our wedding on 8-8-08, I offered to move it in an effort to have his children share in our joy. He laughed at my naivete and told me that no matter what date we picked, she'd have something planned to ensure the kids wouldn't attend.
As I walked down the beach on that glorious day, surrounded by my closest friends and family, my happiness was overshadowed by my future husband's obvious heartache. We laughed and cried, we danced and celebrated but their presence was sorely missed.
It wasn't until the wedding was over and we were back in our honeymoon suite at The Hotel Del Coronado that my new husband shared the most unbelievable news with me. He found out that his children and their mother were in fact enjoying their family vacation......In Del Mar, approximately 20 minutes away.
As he spoke the words, his eyes were wet with tears and my body shook with rage. He got up to go use the bathroom and blow his nose and wash away the heartache he felt from his face. It was at that moment that I took the opportunity to become a "less than savory character". I reached for my cell phone and sent his ex-wife a text message...it was after all her favorite way to communicate. My hand shook as I typed the words, "Today was the most beautiful, amazing day of my life. You are a Cunt. Love, Mrs. Graff." I didn't hesitate for one second. I pushed send and without the least bit of remorse braced myself for the inevitable aftermath.
In retrospect, what I did was incredibly childish and way beneath me, and for that I am very sorry. Hadn't I reigned victorious? I had just had a "toes in the sand" wedding of my dreams to the best man I had ever met; but what she had done to hurt us was so infuriating that at that moment in time, I felt completely vindicated in my childish actions.
It couldn't have been more than 30 seconds before all hell broke loose! My new husband was yelling obscenities from the washroom! "Damn it Sonja!!! What have you done????" I was determined to stand my ground and being high on romance and white wine still felt quite certain that I was completely in the right.
"That bitch just sent me your text to her!" He screamed. "Why did you give her the satisfaction of knowing she had hurt me?" What the???? Hurt him? My entire fairytale wedding had been overshadowed by her malicious act and somehow he was the only person hurt? Why I aughtta....
I raced from the room, my wedding gown and tiara still perfectly in place and hijacked a hotel limo. I found her in Del Mar at her friends house and dragged her from the house by her stupid yellow hair that looked as though she'd stumbled backwards on to a fan and in return walked away with a bad, bad Victoria Beckham-ish haircut. I pulled her on to the front lawn and proceeded to beat the ever livin' snot out of her! I delivered a round-house to her midsection then climbed a nearby fence post like a little monkey and did a Triple Lindy off the post. Although there was a 2.3 degree of difficulty, because of my catlike reflexes, I was able to execute a landing that ended with my knobby little kneecap perfectly compressing her larynx causing her to tap out...all the while...begging for my forgiveness.
OK, that didn't really happen...but oh how I wanted it to!
Bling....went his cell with a follow up text. "Why would your wife send that horrible message to me?" Oh, playing the victim are we??? That will never work! I giggled in spite of myself.
"How could you do that?!" demanded my new husband, her former husband who she very obviously knew how to play like a song she'd written her damn self....her victim act working magic on his sensitive nature.
Bling....went his cell again with yet another plea for protection from Bridezilla! "Our youngest daughter was borrowing my cell phone when her disgusting message came through! Now she wants to know what that word means! I can't believe this is happening!"
REALLY??? Your 12 year old daughter who has a better, smarter, more expensive cell phone than I do just so happened to be borrowing her mother's phone at the moment I sent my nasty-gram? Ha! I doubt it! What a crock of poop! That didn't happen! Besides, the kid lives with that nightmare of a woman, she MUST know the meaning of that word!
Blling...."Daddy, why did your wife send mommy that message? What does that word mean?"
GIVE ME A FREAKIN' BREAK OVER HERE!!!!! COME ON! REALLY????? I was good, but she was just a little more gooder....but in the end, there were no winners. We all lost that day in one way or another.
Suffice it to say, in the battle of good vs. evil...it never pays to be the smaller person! Oh, and for the record, again, I'd like to apologize for my terrible behavior. What I did was downright shameful. If their mother made the awful decision to share my awful message and her children were hurt, I truly am sorry. I can't change the past...the only thing I can offer in my defense is: Whaddya expect? I am like the ocean... ;)
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Giving Back to the Community
The Next Wives Club, creating harmony through the solidarity of sisterhood. Opening the lines of communication between women with a common bond: Wanting to learn to live in love. To accept that everything is exactly as it should be in this world, the only thing we can control is our own feelings, actions, reactions and thoughts. Taking back our power and refusing to allow any person, place or thing derail our mission to be happy. By sharing personal experiences, strengths, weaknesses, and a true desire to stop allowing fear to run our lives, together, we will create a movement that promises progress, not perfection! It will allow us to be the bigger person in situations that usually call for insidious, insane, snarkiness and a burning desire to throat sock the snot out of others. ;) Coming soon: http://www.TheNextWivesClub.com. I'm excited to be launching my website where I will have a great line of tees, tanks and other fun items promoting harmony and sharing with the world that there are no bad wives...just bad behaviors! ;) A percentage of all sales will be donated to Colette's Children's Home, helping to heal homelessness for women and children with nowhere else to turn. http://www.healinghomelessness.org/ They are gearing up for their 13 year anniversary gala. If you are so inclined, you can visit http://healinghomelessness.givezooks.com/events/anniversary-celebration-13-years-of-healing-homelessnes and make a donation to help heal homelessness. Tell Them The Next Wives Club sent you! ;)
The Next Wives Club ~ It's Never Too Late to Live Happily Ever After!
The Next Wives Club ~ It's Never Too Late to Live Happily Ever After!
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