Novel by Keri Lock
(No part of this may be reproduced without the express permission of the author)
November 1978
Standing at the counter in the upstairs bathroom, she could hear the girls arguing in the kitchen. Sighing, she swiped at the tears stinging her eyes. “How am I supposed to do this on my own?” she whispered to her reflection in the mirror.
She felt old. She looked old. The lime colored paint on the wall behind caused her complexion to appear green. She turned away from her image, angry, a wave of nausea rolling over her. It had only been two months since the divorce was finalized and the exhaustion was overwhelming. Trying to be all things to her daughters was taking every ounce of energy she had. Work all day, pick the girls up, make dinner, help with homework, put the girls to bed, laundry, cleaning, packing lunches and into bed at midnight only to get up and do it again the next day, never a moment, not one, for herself.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Pieces of Me
by Keri Lock (No part may be reproduced without the express permission of the author)
I developed many surface friendships with girls, and a small group of boys. I had a social group, a gang who consistently accepted my presence among them. There slowly grew a handful of people, who, for the most part and God knows why, accepted me for exactly what I was. I will say right now that but for two of them, Jessie and Gabby, I likely either would have dropped out of school or been committed at some point. Sensing I needed their protection, they kept me grounded enough to get me through most of High School without having a nervous breakdown. I have never asked them how they knew exactly what I needed from them. They loved me fiercely, and I them.
I have not had such openness, such unquestioned loyalty from female friends since that time and am not sure I ever will again in my lifetime. I took what they gave and offered little of myself in return. They certainly knew more about me than others did, but still, my real ideas, thoughts, dreams were kept locked away. As close as we were, I never exposed half my true-self to either of them, even when Jessie lived at my house for the last three months of our Sophmore year of High School. Her father had been transferred to Florida, and had decided, in response to our tears and heartfelt pleas, to let her stay at my house so she could finish the school year. She spent every waking moment with me for weeks and still, I confounded her. But, to her credit, though she sensed the otherness, she never pushed me away as others had. It only made her hang on more tightly to me. Sometimes during one of those innocent moments of transparency that happens in young friendships, she might share some intimate detail with me; about her dream to go to Law School and become a trial attorney, about love or her relationship with her parents.
She’d quietly pour out her heart in the darkness of my bedroom, trusting me to hold her deepest, darkest secrets dear. Then she’d silently wait for me to share with her. All I had to offer in return was lighthearted sarcasm about my future, kids of divorce and how I’d probably never get married. It was complete and total pretense and we both knew it. She never called me on it, but would give me a hurt look, after having delved into her most personal depths and still I couldn’t be myself with her. Yet, Jessie knew there was more to me; I often shared my writing with her. I just couldn’t talk about it. For the sake of the moment, I would try to offer up some sacrifice, some small part of myself that I hadn’t shared with anyone. It usually fell flat but the gesture would satisfy her and she would laugh, “You are SO WEIRD!” She knew me best.
I developed many surface friendships with girls, and a small group of boys. I had a social group, a gang who consistently accepted my presence among them. There slowly grew a handful of people, who, for the most part and God knows why, accepted me for exactly what I was. I will say right now that but for two of them, Jessie and Gabby, I likely either would have dropped out of school or been committed at some point. Sensing I needed their protection, they kept me grounded enough to get me through most of High School without having a nervous breakdown. I have never asked them how they knew exactly what I needed from them. They loved me fiercely, and I them.
I have not had such openness, such unquestioned loyalty from female friends since that time and am not sure I ever will again in my lifetime. I took what they gave and offered little of myself in return. They certainly knew more about me than others did, but still, my real ideas, thoughts, dreams were kept locked away. As close as we were, I never exposed half my true-self to either of them, even when Jessie lived at my house for the last three months of our Sophmore year of High School. Her father had been transferred to Florida, and had decided, in response to our tears and heartfelt pleas, to let her stay at my house so she could finish the school year. She spent every waking moment with me for weeks and still, I confounded her. But, to her credit, though she sensed the otherness, she never pushed me away as others had. It only made her hang on more tightly to me. Sometimes during one of those innocent moments of transparency that happens in young friendships, she might share some intimate detail with me; about her dream to go to Law School and become a trial attorney, about love or her relationship with her parents.
She’d quietly pour out her heart in the darkness of my bedroom, trusting me to hold her deepest, darkest secrets dear. Then she’d silently wait for me to share with her. All I had to offer in return was lighthearted sarcasm about my future, kids of divorce and how I’d probably never get married. It was complete and total pretense and we both knew it. She never called me on it, but would give me a hurt look, after having delved into her most personal depths and still I couldn’t be myself with her. Yet, Jessie knew there was more to me; I often shared my writing with her. I just couldn’t talk about it. For the sake of the moment, I would try to offer up some sacrifice, some small part of myself that I hadn’t shared with anyone. It usually fell flat but the gesture would satisfy her and she would laugh, “You are SO WEIRD!” She knew me best.
Rejection
Reaching deep into my chest and twisting my heart painfully, rejection tells me I am not good enough, I am not worthy. Rejection denies me my truest dream, one I have worked for an immense amount of time. It rips away the status-quo and exposes me for a failure, a fraud. It makes me question what I know about myself, what I feel, what I think. Rejection topples my confidence and leaves it into an irreparable pile of rubble. And I wonder. How can my everything be so dependent on this one thing?
It is not, I know. But so much of me is in it. So much of myself exposed and open. Rejecting it is the same as rejecting me, my validity as a human being, as an artist.
It is not, I know. But so much of me is in it. So much of myself exposed and open. Rejecting it is the same as rejecting me, my validity as a human being, as an artist.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
My Generation
My Generation offers a contradiction to society and history, alike. While the one previous to ours is known for their vocal advocacy for peace and forthrightness of government, and those prior to that as dedicated to country, sacrificing and selfless, the population of Generation X are at once selfish and sarcastic, caustic towards the overly principled, critical of the self confident.
We were at first known as the slacker generation, a lost age, named thusly because of our lack of ambition, or so it seemed. It is said we were self expressive to a fault, self absorbed and shallow, we seemed interested only in now. Immediate gratification was our mantra. We depended on our parents for financial support, long past they had theirs. We changed college majors three and four times, or dropped out all together. We had no sense of responsibility, slept in late, called in sick to our menial jobs, skipped classes and bragged about it. We complained about our lot and felt shorted when life didn't offer itself up on a Golden Platter. We were self interested and self seeking. We would accomplish nothing, or so it was said, written off as a failure of an entire generation. We took for granted things that the greater eras had fought for. We were unappreciative and immature, wearing flannel shirts and smoking pot while listening to Suicide Rock and writing poetry to memorialize Kurt Cobain.
Much is written about the failure of Generation X to contribute to the greater good or think beyond today. Yet little is said about how this failure phenomenon was created. There is no book examining the impetus of our morals or research determining the catalyst of our isolationism. "Experts" are sometimes quoted as saying we were given everything, worked for nothing and there were no expectations of us. And my generation says nothing. It is as though we are too unapproachable or imbecilic to contribute or respond.
It is true. We are Generation X for a reason. But is isn't because our childhoods were
idyllic and easy or because we are too self absorbed to care about the future. It is because we are damaged. We are children of a generation who valued personal freedom over selfless devotion to family. We are children of a generation who divorced often and easily, resulting in throwaway relationships. We were throwaway children, deemed by experts as "self resilient", our parents were told we'd adjust and it was better to move on and not to indulge us when we acted out. Our feelings were neither considered nor valued. We are the result of feminism, where woman, mothers, were told not only could they have it all, but they SHOULD have it all. So we were left with countless babysitters, daycare providers and relatives while our parents indulged themselves in supporting the "greater good", while our single parents partied and while adults came and went in our lives, never dependable or constant. We learned not to depend on anyone but ourselves, not to trust that tomorrow would be what we expect and that the future is NOT in our control. We were not listened to and our concerns were not taken seriously. We were immediately deemed less important than the prior generation because we had no noble cause to unite around, no difference to make in our world.We are Generation X because we were not given a name, allowed a voice or determined to matter.
But we do matter and we are making a difference. We care about our environment and are changing the way that people view the earth. We are willing to change our lifestyle, live outside the box, do what is not easy in order to save it. We are tolerant of all people, religions, races, lifestyles and cultures, without exception. We realize that America is not the center of the universe and care about how the rest of the world lives. We play very different role in our families than our parents did. We are not the central figures, but our children are. We are stay-at-home moms and dads, volunteering in their classrooms, involved in their activities. We make decisions based on their emotional well-being instead of our own personal ambition or desire. We are there. Even when we divorce, we accept non-traditional versions of family in order to maintain stability. We teach our children that they matter. And we have learned that we have a name, it is Mom and Dad, Brother, Sister, Lover, Teacher, Lawyer, Friend. We are neither feckless nor uncaring. We are here and we have a voice. Despite we were were taught when we were children, we matter.
We were at first known as the slacker generation, a lost age, named thusly because of our lack of ambition, or so it seemed. It is said we were self expressive to a fault, self absorbed and shallow, we seemed interested only in now. Immediate gratification was our mantra. We depended on our parents for financial support, long past they had theirs. We changed college majors three and four times, or dropped out all together. We had no sense of responsibility, slept in late, called in sick to our menial jobs, skipped classes and bragged about it. We complained about our lot and felt shorted when life didn't offer itself up on a Golden Platter. We were self interested and self seeking. We would accomplish nothing, or so it was said, written off as a failure of an entire generation. We took for granted things that the greater eras had fought for. We were unappreciative and immature, wearing flannel shirts and smoking pot while listening to Suicide Rock and writing poetry to memorialize Kurt Cobain.
Much is written about the failure of Generation X to contribute to the greater good or think beyond today. Yet little is said about how this failure phenomenon was created. There is no book examining the impetus of our morals or research determining the catalyst of our isolationism. "Experts" are sometimes quoted as saying we were given everything, worked for nothing and there were no expectations of us. And my generation says nothing. It is as though we are too unapproachable or imbecilic to contribute or respond.
It is true. We are Generation X for a reason. But is isn't because our childhoods were
idyllic and easy or because we are too self absorbed to care about the future. It is because we are damaged. We are children of a generation who valued personal freedom over selfless devotion to family. We are children of a generation who divorced often and easily, resulting in throwaway relationships. We were throwaway children, deemed by experts as "self resilient", our parents were told we'd adjust and it was better to move on and not to indulge us when we acted out. Our feelings were neither considered nor valued. We are the result of feminism, where woman, mothers, were told not only could they have it all, but they SHOULD have it all. So we were left with countless babysitters, daycare providers and relatives while our parents indulged themselves in supporting the "greater good", while our single parents partied and while adults came and went in our lives, never dependable or constant. We learned not to depend on anyone but ourselves, not to trust that tomorrow would be what we expect and that the future is NOT in our control. We were not listened to and our concerns were not taken seriously. We were immediately deemed less important than the prior generation because we had no noble cause to unite around, no difference to make in our world.We are Generation X because we were not given a name, allowed a voice or determined to matter.
But we do matter and we are making a difference. We care about our environment and are changing the way that people view the earth. We are willing to change our lifestyle, live outside the box, do what is not easy in order to save it. We are tolerant of all people, religions, races, lifestyles and cultures, without exception. We realize that America is not the center of the universe and care about how the rest of the world lives. We play very different role in our families than our parents did. We are not the central figures, but our children are. We are stay-at-home moms and dads, volunteering in their classrooms, involved in their activities. We make decisions based on their emotional well-being instead of our own personal ambition or desire. We are there. Even when we divorce, we accept non-traditional versions of family in order to maintain stability. We teach our children that they matter. And we have learned that we have a name, it is Mom and Dad, Brother, Sister, Lover, Teacher, Lawyer, Friend. We are neither feckless nor uncaring. We are here and we have a voice. Despite we were were taught when we were children, we matter.
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