Steph:1 God: 0

I’ve always had a hard time with the “God thing”. I grew up with my father hammering into my head that I was Jewish, yet my parents did nothing to instill the “faith” in me other than with words. As far as I was concerned, I was Jewish because I was told I was. During my early teen years, I was curious as to what religion was all about, mine in particular. So I joined a few groups, even studied with a rabbi, constantly questioning the Jewish tradition and why things are done the way they are. Many times I was met with what I deemed a non answer…

”Because it was written.” Said the rabbi
“By who???” I queried.
“It’s the word of God” he replied.
“And man wrote it down.” I retorted.
“Well, yes but it was what God said”.

Now I’m no expert on history, but I’m pretty sure there were no tape recorders back then, so who is to say what did and didn’t happen? I know it’s all about faith, BUT…

Why should faith be solely about God? I can be spiritual yet not religious. I can embrace my culture and traditions wholeheartedly without having to attribute it all to some invisible divine being that supposedly single handedly created everything I see, feel, touch, smell, and taste.

Why should it make me a “freak” if I don’t believe what I have no proof of? You tell some people, that you don’t believe and suddenly you’re looked at as if you have sprouted a second head, or worse, that you are the very devil…here to bring death, destruction and pure evil in your wake.

I was asked today if I had faith. Of course, I responded…Faith in people, love, nature, kindness and karma. Well, that just wasn’t good enough for this person who looked at me with genuine pity. This woman looked almost apoplectic when I told her I didn’t believe in God. As if without that belief, I might as well be dead inside.

“You didn’t read the bible? The old and new testaments?”
“Yes I have read them.”
“And?” she said expectantly.
“And what?”
“Well didn’t that make you believe?”
“They were good stories.” I side-stepped.

A look of pure horror crossed her face. She then told me that in her country there is something called the “Moses fish”…half black, half white…split right down the middle. Supposedly it developed in the red sea from Moses’ parting of it. “That’s what made me believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that Moses was real” she said. “Really? You ate a 5600 year old fish and that made you believe?” I so wanted to ask her how it was prepared. Garlic and oil or a nice white wine sauce served on a stone Ten Commandments tablet?

I guess I have the same issues with religions that other “non believers” have. There have been countless deaths and so many wars fought throughout history all in the name of religion. Whose God is the right one? Who are the “chosen” people? Who will be saved when the world goes to hell in a hand basket? But really, isn’t the world inches away from, if not already in hell anyway?

I saw “Religulous” a few months back, and I kept thinking, yup, Bill Maher’s got it right. There are so many unanswered questions out there and NOONE has the answers. I think back to one of the movie scenes where some religious fanatic is telling Maher in detail about the afterlife…that when one dies, they’ll finally meet Jesus. That he will be at the right hand of his father wearing golden robes. There’ll be angels there and three of them will be playing trumpets. And Bill’s reaction? “How the f*ck do you know? If I don’t know, then you don’t because you surely don’t possess mental powers that I do not!” Exactly!

I understand that I might be in the minority not having a belief in a divine being, but it’s my choice. In a way, I have a belief not to believe. So that counts for something, I suppose. I have no issue, of course, with what anyone’s take on this sensitive topic is. To each his own is my motto. I just can’t stand when people try to shove their viewpoints down my throat. I think that more than anything makes me want to rebel even more and say, nicely of course, “stick it!”

FED up!

One of the things that bothers me to no end is seeing morbidly obese children: babies, toddlers, elementary schoolers, and teens. If there is a medical condition associated with the weight problems, I get it and I’m understanding, but more often than not…there is no such problem at all.

Several times this past week, I happened to be in the same places as these children and their aiding and abetting parents. The kids scream and tantrum for what they want, and their moms and dads absentmindedly shove crap food into their mouths to shut them up. When I see a dangerously heavy youngster with a chocolate stained mouth and shirt grasping candy bars or McDonald’s Happy Meals in their hands, I am disgusted. Their parents are doing these children no favors at all.

I was in a restaurant the other day and there was a heavy set family gorging themselves on cheese fries and hamburgers. After dinner they had mounds of gooey desserts brought to the table. I had my eye on the eight year old daughter who ate with as much gusto as her folks…and when they were about to leave, the child started running around the other tables until her mother called: “C’mere honey…want some chocolate?” and the girl trotted over to the table where she stood there obediently, mouth open while Mom popped in half a bar of Hereshey’s.

Yesterday, on the subway two chunky children got on the train each grasping large bags from Dylon’s Candy Shop with their hands digging into the goody pouches relentlessly as if they couldn’t get the sugar into their mouths fast enough. Mom just looked on with a simpy smile.

I have several; students at my school who I service for speech. They are all grossly overweight. They have a difficult time walking up and down the stairs and can barely participate in gym class. They bring snack to school each day and once I was in the classroom when snack time began and one of these children took out a bottle of “bug juice” and an entire sleeve of Oreo cookies. I immediately went to the guidance counselor and told her about my concerns. We called the parents in and spoke to them about healthy snacks for their children during the school day. The conversation fell on deaf ears as the next week, the student once again brought a large bag of death to munch on.

I, of course, blame the parents. McDonald’s and Burger King are cheaper meals to purchase than wholesome fruits and veggies and most of my students’ families are in the very low income bracket…but still. There has to be a way around this. In fact, in many cases, letting your child remain obese and not doing a thing to help them eat better and exercise more can be a considered a form of abuse. Yet a good portion of the parents claim its a cultural thing...the heavier you are, the more healthy and wealthy you appear. Hmmm, quite the fallacy, huh?

I also point the finger at the sedentary lifestyle we all seem to lead: spending countless hours at the computer, surfing the web, playing online games, or sifting in front of the television watching movies, shows or playing Nintendo. Whatever happened to children riding their bikes in the park? Playing tag? Or even participating in team sports? It’s all gone in this electronic age. These children barely know how to interact with other kids since they spend their time playing by themselves on their various game consoles. And don’t get me started on the fact that half of my students never read books for pleasure. It’s a sad state of affairs and ultimately, physically and intellectually dangerous.

Pay Per Play

I’ve been thinking about getting a new MP3 player. Mine is so old that the software isn’t even compatible with Vista. I’m considering the iPod since everyone and their mother has it and they swear by iTunes, but I think about the whole paying for my listening pleasure crap and I think…why do we have to pay for music??? I mean, really!

The tunes are out there on the radio for all to hear. It goes over the airwaves for anyone who wants to listen free of charge. Yet, if we want to own a particular song we have to download it at .99 cents per item or risk visiting the file sharing websites where the fear of God has been put into many for extraordinary fines levied…if caught. But who wants to risk that? And who the hell has $50,000per song to hand over? Surely, not I. Now I understand completely that the artists whose songs we are “stealing” want their due for owning their masterpieces, but once again I say…it’s free on the radio!

Let’s go back in our minds to our youths. How many of us had an all in one stereo or hand held tape player pushed up to the radio to press record every time a song we loved came on the air? We did it then and there were no fines for that. Why was that not a crime, yet sharing music is? How many times have we swapped CDs with friends to make copies? Is that wrong too? Probably…but I guess there’s no way for the music bigwigs or the government to track that.

Sweet Melissa

I met a Melissa when she was barely 16. She was dating a friend of my boyfriend’s at the time and we were around each other quite often. I was ten years her senior, but it was obvious there was something very special about her. Tall and statuesque, with long blonde hair, bright hazel eyes and a sweet smile. The girl was drop dead gorgeous and any modeling agency would have snapped her up in a heartbeat. But more than that, she had a kind heart and a charming innocence about her. I liked her immediately.

We continued our friendship for many years. She experienced all the things a teenager into young adult does: the drama, the boy problems, the family issues, the crazy partying phase. She was like my little sister and someone I wanted to protect and advise so that she wouldn’t make the mistakes I made in life. But just like any of us, we have to experience living and learn the lessons for ourselves.

A few years ago, I felt things were getting out of hand. She was her own person and no matter what I said or how I tried to be there for her, it was like it all fell on deaf ears. I worried for her all the time and the constant angst I felt on her behalf took its toll. One morning, as I was getting ready for work, I received a call from her…she hadn’t been to sleep and she was definitely loopy in her behavior. She was over at a neighborhood derelict’s house and had been partying all night. “I looooove you, Steph….” She kept saying over and over. I was so torn between going to get her and drag her ass back home and just leaving her where she was. I chose the latter. I called her later that day and she was recovering from the previous night. I was so relieved that she was safe, but at the same time…I was done. I couldn’t continue our friendship under the circumstances. It was just too frustrating and nerve wracking.

Time passed and I thought of her often and hoped she was well and happy. Then Facebook started to be the “thing”. I looked her up, found her, and sent her a message. We corresponded that way for a few months, and finally got together for drinks. It was so amazing to see her! She blossomed even more into a poised and lovely young lady. Melissa completed college and was working steadily. It was refreshing to see that she got her act together. We talked for hours, catching up on our lives and realized our bond was so strong, the years apart melted away into nothingness.

We have so much in common. We have the same twisted sense of humor, love the same movies and TV shows, have the same insatiable need for learning new things, we’re both word geeks, and we both appreciate and value one another.

Now I speak to Melissa daily, see her a few times a week. At this point, she is MY savior, MY rock, and the one I turn to for advice, companionship, and understanding. Even though I still feel like her big sister, I also know she is my best friend. I truly couldn’t fathom my life without her. I look forward to the new adventures we will surely experience and the growth of what is already a solid bond, getting stronger every day. I love you, my darling girl!

Keep Back 20 Ft.

I am a walking disaster area I’ve decided. I poke fun at those who seem to have a black cloud following them around, but when I take a closer look at my history, I wonder if I don’t suffer from the same ailment.

Back in college, I was heading out for a night on the town with my roommates. We were all standing on the corner waiting for the light to change, when suddenly my knee gave out and I fell right off the curb…rending my clothes and bloodying up my perfect outfit. Not too bad, but apparently a predictor for things to come.

Fifteen years ago, I walked out of the back door of my apartment building, stepped down one stair and was rammed in the ass by the heavy glass door swinging shut. I tripped down the remaining two steps, cracked my ankle on the way to the ground and landed on my knee, shredding it to bits. After hopping back upstairs, dripping blood, I realized that I couldn’t move my left elbow. After a hasty visit to the doctor, I found out that I damaged three out of four limbs and was relegated to cast, sling, bandage, and ankle brace for the rest of the summer.

About 10 years ago, newly assigned to my current school and trying desperately to bank sick time for a rainy day, I woke up one Monday morning with splitting pains in my side. I didn’t go into work that day or the next. I couldn’t do anything except lay in a fetal position and crawl on the floor to make my way to the bathroom. On Wednesday, still in pain, I haphazardly got dressed and actually took the subway to work. I walked into the school went straight to the nurse’s office where I promptly collapsed to the floor. Rushed to the emergency room, and enduring many tests, the doctors concluded nothing was amiss, yet I was writhing in pain and out of work for the rest of the week. Then…BOOM! The pain disappeared as quickly as it arrived.

Four years ago, once again, I woke up with an excruciating pain. This time it was my hip. I got out of bed thinking it was just sore from sleeping wrong and fell right to the floor. Thinking it would go away on its own; I made my way to work and realized there was no way I could get up and down the stairs. I was given an elevator key and limped awkwardly through the next three months. I must have looked so pathetic, that while gimping through the streets of Manhattan one evening, a homeless man actually took back his outstretched hand and raised it to the night sky instead and began to loudly pray on my behalf “Oh Lord…help this poor young woman to walk!” I was mortified. A scary MRI and weeks of physical therapy revealed and relieved nothing and eventually the pain subsided and I regained full use of my body.

Last year. lest we forget, I broke my left pinky toe in a freak Wii Bowling accident. Nothing like being out of state with a broken bone, hobbling around for the next two weeks on crutches away from the comforts of home. That was actually my first bone I actually broke...the others were hairline fractures, torn ligaments, and sprains. Needless to say, I've stayed far away from Wii games ever since!

Two weeks ago, I narrowly missed being hit by a truck while getting into my car. I stepped back and the heel of my shoe caught on a crack in the gutter. I went down, just missing the wheels of the truck and tore up my left leg from knee to ankle. Driving home with gravel and God knows what else stuck into the open wounds of my leg was not a pretty sight or a good feeling…it strung like a Mother F-er!

Which brings me to today. I woke up this morning with a gooey feeling in my ear and my face stuck to the pillow. When I could focus finally, I realized the sticky substance was blood and it was oozing out of my left ear. I couldn’t hear anything from that side. Panicked, I called my mom’s ear nose and throat guy to get an emergency appointment. Once again, nothing could be found as the cause of the problem except for a guess of a scratch in my ear canal that opened up while sleeping and obstructed the passageway with a blood clot. I was given ear drops and a promise that no “critters” had crawled in nor was there any damage to the tympanic membrane.

So here I am, feeling like I have a starring role in 20,000 leagues Under the Sea, shaking my head and pulling at my ear lobe trying desperately to relive the stuffed up feeling and turning to the right anytime someone tries to talk to me, screaming like an old lady “Talk into my good ear!” I mean really….screw it all…I’m taking a nap and hoping I wake up cured.