Friday, September 30, 2011

Quoting the Beatles

So I was pondering on acceptance earlier today.  And you know what I realized?  Once again, I caught myself throwing stones at people in glass houses.  The person that has been subject to my non-acceptance is Bulldog.

Now, what the heck is that all about?  And I actually posed that question to myself in my head.  Because one would think that acceptance of a transgendered child would be infinitely more difficult than accepting one's spouse whose body and mind agree on gender, and whose only mind/body issues are comprised of high cholesterol, dyslexia and bossiness. Yet, I find life with DJ much easier than life with Bulldog on many days.  Why is that?  After all,  he's a good man so why can't I readily accept him as well as I readily accept DJ?  When I say I don't accept, I don't mean I reject him outright, rather I get readily frustrated and put out when he fails to understand me.  Or when he fails to be perfect.  Or when he fails to read my mind.  Man, Bulldog really has a lot of issues, doesn't he?  Because it can't be that I have the issues, right?

Oh for cripes sake (quoting my mother....does anyone know what "cripe" means, anyway? And is it singular or plural?  cripes or cripe's or cripes'?) we all know the answer here. The issue(s) is (are) mine.  Now, in fairness to me, Bulldog doesn't "get" me on many, many days.  He judges me occasionally, and some days it seems like he doesn't accept me, but if we use that as a defense, we can do the "I know you are, but what am I?" routine indefinitely. Besides, wasn't I the one who publicly decried, "Let peace begin with me?"  So what is my conundrum (quoting a dear friend who loves that word) anyway?

I have expectations of Bulldog, lots of 'em.  In contrast, I have a very finite number of expectations for DJ.  And the expectations I have of DJ are easy:  wake up in time for school, do your homework, clean your room occasionally.  The list of Bulldog's expectations is significantly longer, more ambiguous and more complicated.  That isn't good because:  Expectations kill.  They can kill spontaneity, love, passion, excitement, surprise and unexpectedness, practically the exact opposite of expectations.  When I catch myself having expectations, and subsequently make myself stop having expectations, even momentarily, everything about Bulldog, and my life for that matter, tickles me pink.  It's amazing actually.

And what are expectations anyway?  An example or translation of expectation could include the following thoughts:  "But I want you to be like I want you to be" or   "I want you to act like I want." or  "I want you to present in the manner that makes me comfortable."  Wow.....I, I, I.   There is an "I" in expectation, but there isn't one in acceptance.

The first time I ever went to a party with both boy and girl invitees, I was super excited. I had great expectations of having a fabulous time.  Dad encouraged me to lower the bar a bit.  My father, for the first of many times over the decades quoted his old friend Cornelius Crowley ( I swear that's his real name):  Don't have expectations, you'll only be disappointed.  Or, put another way, let it be.