Risk vs. Benefit

I'm considering writing an additional blog addressing my work stories.  After all, there is hilarity and pathos in the fire service for certain.  I shared what I had written with Bulldog and he responded that he thought I was giving too much information out.  I really don't care about the potential lack of anonymity, but privacy is exceedingly important to him.  Which brought me to today's topic-honoring everyone's needs.

What do you do if your need for privacy or space conflicts with that of your transgender family member?  Well, it would depend on which of you needed more privacy.  For example, if you, the family member, wanted to carry the torch of acceptance and potentially "out" your family member more than they care to be outed, then perhaps your "need" for torch carrying should take a backseat to your family member's need for privacy.  Because, after all, her need for privacy, and non-outing, trumps your need for torch carrying, most would agree.  But what if it's the other way around?  What if the transgender family member wants to be more public?

I guess, being strictly objective here, it would depend on why.  There are people in the world, we can probably all agree, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, color, you name it, who like to stir the pot just because they can.  Some of those folks may have aspects of their lives that make it easy to do so because so many people in this world are so blessed touchy, myself included.  So, if your transgender family member is just wanting to create drama for drama's sake, then reason would state that the need for drama does not outweigh the need for privacy.  But, and this is more likely and realistic, and probably more common too, if the transgender family member wants to be more public in order to further a worthy cause, then the person needing privacy might have to relent, or compromise.

You say po-tay-to, I say po-tah-to.  We all have different ideas of how we should live our lives and sometimes those ideas crash into each other, especially when those of us with differing ideas share living space.  For instance, DJ pushes Bulldog and me constantly on this.  Yet, she is one of the least dramatic people I know, other than her aunt who resides in England, a remarkable woman in her own right who deserves an entire blog entry all by herself.  The more I think about it, the more I realize that DJ is the antithesis of the Drama Queen, which just lends even more credibility to her justifications of why she wants to be as "out" as she possibly can.  She's a firm believer that she has a responsibility to others who constitute the non-accepted populace.  She truly thinks that the path to acceptance is repeated exposure to the folks that society has kept under wraps.

Bulldog, who has foresight that I still cannot comprehend after 13 years of knowing and loving him, does not care for DJ to be so public.  In his defense, he is not worried about cowardly things like, "What will people think of me?"  He is, as always, worried about DJ's safety.  And in typical non-commital fashion, because I hate making anyone disapprove of me, I can see both sides.  How do you let one person pursue their dreams and let her live her life in a manner that seems moral to her without compromising someone else's need for privacy and security and safety?

Did I ever mention that Bulldog was part of a search and rescue group?  For his sake, I won't get into specifics, but their job was to respond to building collapses and search for survivors.  I hearken to this example a lot with Bulldog because it's one he understands, which is kind of like exploiting a crack in his armor, which he occasionally resents.  Nonetheless, before rescue personnel enter a collapsed building, they do a bit of research, if you will.  They determine how sound the building is, what can be done to make it sound enough to send rescuers in without turning them into victims, as well.  It's the classic risk vs. benefit scenario.  If the risk is so high that the likelihood of benefit is exceedingly slim, then we don't chance it until we can even out the odds somewhat.  Even then, there is still a risk of turning into a victim on trying to find victims, because nothing is ever 100% certain.

Now, in DJ's world, nobody dies, violence happens only to people unknown to her, and butterflies fill the air sprinkling glitter and good will all over the earth.  How do you educate a person like that about the hazards of a roof falling in on you while you attempt to teach the world about acceptance?  I'm not sure it can be done because in addition to having that outlook, she is a teenager, which just fortifies that outlook because everyone knows teenagers think they're going to live forever; nothing bad ever happens to them, except car wrecks. bullying, harassment, drug overdose, pregnancy, disease, and other maladies that only those of us who survived the teenage years can or will recognize.  So, if we can't change her (or the conditions of the collapsed building) then what can we do?  Well, we can provide her with lots of support (or shoring, in the case of the collapsed building).   That way, if something goes terribly wrong while she, or the rescuers, are engaging in worthwhile risk-taking, we have a means of still making sure that either she (they) have a means of getting out of trouble, or we'll have a means of getting to her ( them ) in time before something grave happens to her (or them).  It's still mighty uncomfortable to those of us who worry about DJ, or the rescuers, for that matter.  But to do anything more, or less, would only lessen our loved one and her (or the rescuers) efforts.  And that disrupts that whole balance, equilibrium, yin-yang, thing that really is the best solution for almost everyone and everything.  It's so damn hard, this compromise thing, but until someone comes up with something better, it's the only thing that works with the human species.  It requires constant introspection, thought and deliberation, which many of us resist heartily.  It's easier to just go with what we want and disregard the desires of those around us because then we don't have to think at all.  But our Creator, or natural selection, or the aliens, somebody or something, caused the frontal lobes in the human brain to develop in a way to which no other species on the face of, or under the seas of, this planet can lay claim.  It's how we came to be at the top of the food chain, unless we ignore our frontal lobes and, say, go wading in the ocean at dusk, while bleeding.  Well, then you're just asking for trouble and you'll have to face the sharks on their turf.

We have to separate our animalistic "fight or flight" urges and think our way through these challenges.  Goodness knows our brains are much better at analyzing risk vs. benefit scenarios than our feelings are, because, after all, compromise is a thought, not a feeling.

Denmark, are you there?

Wow, this blog had a viewer from Denmark today.  I feel so cosmopolitan knowing that folks from as far away as Russia, and Denmark, Japan and even the US Virgin Islands have viewed this blog.  But the  important question is, how do you, the viewer feel about the blog?  How many of you are transgender?  How many are family members of a transgender person?  How many of you are just curious?

Any of the above are welcome, certainly.  But what I'd like to know is how can this blog be of service to you?  I've been thinking of including more links, but I'm exceedingly technologically challenged.  Nonetheless, I can certainly make an effort, or ask DJ for help.  I can't pretend to have all the answers but certainly we can work together to help each other, right?

I'm also curious, those of you in far off lands, how you manage to learn more than one language, because I am certain that I am not translating this blog to Russian.  I admire your abilities and would love to know of your experiences in your homelands, any and all of you who care to comment.  And please, comment and do so anonymously, if that is your wish.  I am not looking for praise, more for what you are experiencing where you live.  I may borrow some of your input for future blogs.  I get inspired by all kinds of things, but I suspect your lives may be more inspiring than I could ever imagine.  I know DJ inspires me all the time.

So, Denmark, Japan, Russia, Australia, the UK, and all US territories, as well as any other countries who contain a viewer of this blog, thanks for tuning in to my blog.  Keep coming back and share your stories, if you care to.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Hair removal, in all its forms, is not for sissies.  Until the movie, "The Forty Year Old Virgin", men did not know the discomfort and potentials horrors of it; the only hair removal most men are familiar with is male pattern baldness, aside from shaving only the 10 square inches that comprise their faces and necks .  Women of nearly all walks of life have come face to face with it, at least in most Western cultures.   While women with XX chromosomes are certainly challenged, women with XY chromosomes may have double the challenge.

My middle sister, Bean, has a theory that the youngest born child is always the hairiest, regardless of chromosomal gender determination.  She bases this theory primarily on the fact that our youngest sister, Flying Pig, was born with a fair amount of peach fuzz on her body, which has never abated.  ("Flying Pig" is not a weight or manners reference; it's an inside joke from our father, who passed away two years ago.  He stated that he thought he would see a daughter of his graduate college when pigs started to fly.  He then, in his wit, gave my youngest sister every flying pig gift imaginable for the 10 years following her college graduation, much to her dismay.)  When DJ was born with the same peach fuzz, Bean gloated.  Her theory, thus far, was 100% correct.

This peach fuzz bothers DJ, especially when she is about to don a bathing suit, or in tonight's case, a strapless dress for a dance.  We are fortunate (I say "we" because DJ and I are in this hair management process together since she needs my assistance) that there are tools out there to assist us in this endeavor. Granted, there is electrolysis and laser hair removal, both of which work exceedingly well.  However, those processes take time and lots o' money so, for now, the less permanent methods are what we employ.  DJ, luckily, does not have an issue with facial hair.  We started her female hormones before puberty subjected her to a beard, so that is not an issue.  But there are areas on her body where the hair is darker and and more noticeable than she would like.  So, she willingly subjects herself to either waxing or to an epilady-type tool, easily purchased in most beauty supply stores.

This tool, which I swear has origins in medieval torture chambers, has these tiny little coils that are affixed to a barrel that turns unbelievably fast.  The tiny coils grasp the hairs as you run the barrel across the skin and YANK out the hairs.  It works incredibly well, but, as you can imagine, is not a painless process.  DJ is stoic and has become quite a pro at enduring this without complaining. In fact, the kid has such a great approach to life, that usually at some point in the process, she and I both end up giggling about some ridiculous thing or other related to the experience.

Just so I could speak with experience, I had DJ remove some of my arm hairs.  The process lasted about 3 seconds (I am not exaggerating) when I decided I'd had enough.  It felt like my skin was on fire as probably only 10 little hairs, over an area comprised of one square inch, were simultaneously yanked out. Ordinarily, I've got an impressive threshold for pain.  After breaking my finger last year, I stopped playing basketball only long enough to get my wedding rings off before they cut off the circulation to my finger.  So I think I can speak with some degree of authenticity when I state:  Hair removal of this sort is only for the most dedicated of women, regardless of the plumbing with which you were born.  This is why, as a rule, genetic men and transgender men alike do not endure it because only a true woman could put up with this kind of pain for the sake of beauty.  In fact, maybe that should be the litmus test to find out if someone is male or female, if for some reason you won't accept their explanation.  Forget looking in their drawers, or at their DNA under a microscope, or even at parts of the brain with magnetic resonance imaging; simply ask the question, "Would you be willing to suffer pain for decades if you could be guaranteed a measure of beauty?"  Any person who leans more heavily to the masculine side, I will wager, would say, "Hell to the NO!"  Well, the men who watch Glee would say that, the rest would simply look at you like you're nuts.

In a periodical I read, a transgender woman was informed by a female relative that the transitioning woman could not simply join the tribe of women just because she wanted to; after all, she hadn't paid her dues.  She hadn't suffered years of living as a second class citizen and therefore hadn't "earned" the right to call herself a woman.  What complete and utter crap.  Lady, have you EVER tried to remove body hair from the same geographic square footage as a transgender woman?  Unless you are unusually hirsute, I doubt it.  As far as I'm concerned, screw childbirth, period cramps and discrimination as benchmarks for womanhood.  The new threshold should be the ability to withstand hair removal, in all it's oftentimes torturous forms.

Start spreadin' the news

When DJ came out to us, it was a family affair.  She enlisted the help of two generations of family members for this endeavor.  The smart girl either knew where she could find support, or that there was safety in numbers.

The night before, she had asked if she could stay after school for a meeting followed by the football game.  She had blown us off for a number of days about following through with some chores so I told her she was to come home right after school, take care of her chores and then I would take her back for the game.  At this time, we still thought DJ was JD, our son, and Bulldog's approach was his typical "be hard on the boy so he won't slack off" in rearing JD.  He wasn't thrilled that I had compromised with JD, thinking that he should not be allowed to take part in any of his activities since he had failed to take part in our activities. I was feeling a bit tense about JD's return from school, as a result, because I knew there would be some friction in the house.

I sat on the front porch awaiting JD's return and for some strange reason, JD's brother, who we will call Romeo, joined me on the front porch to wait for JD to get off of the school bus. This was unusual but I only took note of the fact that Romeo was furiously texting someone.  But kids are always furiously texting each other, so it wasn't that notable, and besides, where the heck was JD?  Was the bus late or had he deliberately disobeyed me and stayed after school?  The little turd, he better not have!!!

Then I could make out bodies making their way toward our house.  Who was that?  Why, it was JD, and my sister, and my other sister, and her baby.  Wow, they sure were walking fast....the sister with the baby in particular.  "Maybe she has to pee or something," I thought.  I was excited to see the baby and ran to meet them half way.  "What are you doing here?" I asked my sister with the baby.  (My other sister was my neighbor so seeing her was not that unusual.)  "We're here to support JD," she replied. (Oh, so that's who Romeo was furiously texting.)

Huh?

"Where's Bulldog?"

"He's napping."

"Wake him up."

Oh crap, this can't be good.  Bulldog wakes from his nap to see his living room filled with three additional people, which does not please him.  Then, when I inform him that they have something to tell us, he gets the same "oh crap" look on his face that I'm sure I had not two minutes prior.  Is someone pregnant?  Is someone on drugs?  Has someone been expelled?  We're the parents of teenagers, of course this is our thought process. Not that we asked, mind you, it's just what we were thinking, but not for long because then, as JD paused, and I got impatient, and my sister basically told JD, "Go ahead-you're on," JD said what, until then, I'd only ever heard on TV, "I'm a girl trapped in a boy's body."

JD had told Romeo, who told my sister Bean, who is lesbian and would likely be supportive.  Bean thought my other sister, Flying Pig, who specializes in dealing with children, would be the perfect advocate.  Together, they informed Bulldog and me.  He and I were about the 14th and 15th people, respectively, that knew of JD's  news.  She had already informed 10 of her closest friends at school.  I started getting images in my head of people storming our castle, a la "Shrek" or "Beauty and the Beast."  Because everyone knows, if you tell two friends, they'll tell two friends, and before you know it, an angry mob will be bearing down on you, carrying pitchforks.

But my very first utterances were, "Are you serious? Because if this is a joke, it's not funny." Bulldog was characteristically silent at this point, as he always is when the $--- first hits the fan.  However, on finding out that we had lost control of the situation even before we were aware it existed since, as stated previously we were the 14th and 15th people, respectively, to hear of the situation, THAT propelled him to speak.

"You told your closest friends?  Ten people?!"

Romeo, ready to kick Bulldog's @$$, states, "I don't think there's anything to be angry about here!"

I reply, "Hold on a second. We are on the same team. What you think is anger is abject fear."

Pretty dramatic stuff, yet, less than 12 hours later, Romeo, DJ and I are watching a movie together when Bulldog practically bursts out of his office, voice quaking, hugging us fiercely as a group, stating to DJ, "I hope I can be as brave as you are."  Equally as dramatic, but at least accepting.

But we have still not told the other remaining member of our nuclear family, our oldest son, Goodwrench.  We invite him to dinner and prepare surf n' turf, his favorite meal.  It's a lovely evening and we're going to eat on the deck overlooking our charming pond with the Canada geese landing at sunset.  Bulldog is grabbing condiments, and coming out of the house, Romeo is on his way in to get some ice, when Goodwrench looks at DJ and says, "JD, dude, you have got to change your clothes and your hair.  You're lookin' like a chick."

At that moment, my eyes alight on Bulldog and Romeo crossing paths and see an expression on Romeo's face that says, "The S--- is on."  It's pretty hilarious.  At this point, DJ actually says, "Well Goodwrench, funny you should say that...." and then she proceeds to inform him that she is, in fact a girl.

Goodwrench puts his arms on the armrests of the deckchair,  and simultaneously cocks his head to one side and says, "Really?"  Not as in, "Are you serious?!" but as in "You're shittin' me."  Then he kind of lifts both hands in the air, shrugs and says, "OK."

Huh?  This kid has borderline Tea Party leanings, much to my horror, yet he has rolled with this like a true tree hugger.  I can't believe this has gone so well thus far.  This gives me great hope because after all, if DJ has the parents on board, the brothers on board, and the aunts on board, maybe, just maybe, she can take on the world.

The Lemonade Stand

I langorously slept till 15 minutes before I had to take DJ and her friend to school.  I've been running around all week and had decided today would be the day I would goof off at home, tidying, puttering, and the like, before I go back to my 24 hour shift tomorrow.  I threw on a t-shirt and jeans and sauntered over to DJ's room where I could detect no sign of activity.  Did she oversleep?  No, she was having a mini-meltdown.  She had been up since 6:20 trying to decide what to wear.  She had been standing in her towel for over an hour trying to decide what to wear.

I about blew a gasket.  I summoned my most "I mean business" tone of voice and informed her she was to put something on, immediately, grab her make-up and head to the car.  She trumped me by informing me in the calmest voice that she was simply not going to school today. She was like one of those protesters who fights the cops by simply going limp.  Hands down, she won this round.  Oh, but I was going to make her pay; however, I couched it in acceptable parent-speak:  "You will suffer the consequences of your decision when I get back," because I still had to get her friend to school.

DJ has never pulled a stunt like this, except for the one time I wouldn't let her bring the toy of her choice to a friend's house when she was about 8 years old.  That time, she screamed with such fury that a "Y" shaped formation of veins stood out on her little forehead.  It was actually kind of hilarious and has become one of those family stories that never die.  But that was about 8 years ago, and I certainly didn't think I'd see the peaceful form of the same resistance after such a lull in fringe behavior.  I was stymied.

I walked (stomped) my way out of the house to get her friend to school.  The poor girl was tardy because of DJ, yet, on giving her the abbreviated version of what had taken place at our house, she could only offer sympathy for DJ, and none, I noted, for me.  Hmmmm, perhaps I was too hasty in chalking her behavior up to merely teenage angst when in fact, there was more to it.

She had subtly indicated that her wardrobe issues were a result of her having the wrong plumbing.  In my haste to get her to school on time and to have the day to myself that I had planned, I didn't pay much heed to her explanation.  Her mild surprise at my lack of understanding should have brought me back to reality, but I was still on my trajectory to the stratosphere where being on time for school and having time to myself were the priorities.  The drive to school and the chat with her best friend brought me back down to earth, thank goodness, so that I could pick up a caffe mocha for her (as well as the biggest latte that Starbucks makes for me) and use it as a peace offering on my return home.

Of course her concerns were valid.  Damn it, just when I get the notion that I shouldn't put too much emphasis on her being transgendered and just treat her like a regular teenage girl, a transgender issue peaks its little head up and trips me up completely.  I have GOT to get used to thinking on two fronts! On the other hand, she might have to get better at being more direct when she has an issue like this come up.  I know that teenagers like to keep some distance between themselves and their parents when it comes to issues regarding their bodies, but we are not in a typical situation here.  And seven months from now, after her surgery, who does she think is going to be up close and personal with her new plumbing until she can adequately care for herself again?

Fodder for another conversation I never thought I'd have with one of my kids, but I write that with a smirk on my face.  Because really, this is good stuff.  Frustrating as hell at first, rife with misunderstanding initially, but I'm getting to know my kid in a way that many parents don't, even if it is due to necessity and kind of against both our wills, at first.  You know that, "if life hands you lemons" perspective?  Yeah, well, we be makin' lots of lemonade in this house. 

The spice of life

I'd like to start today by giving a shout out and a big "thank you" to my readers in Russia.  There are 14 of you now, and that thrills me.  No less important are the readers in Germany, the U.K., Japan, China, India and Malaysia.  Thank you for taking the time to read my blog and I hope that it has offered you some manner of support knowing that there is some crazy American lady on the other side of the world who is trying to do her part to foster acceptance.

That word, acceptance, has become all encompassing to me.  I had nagging little thoughts of it in my twenties when my mother-in-law from my first marriage tried my patience on a regular basis.  "Just accept that she is a strange lady who can be incredibly mean because you married her son," was what I kept trying to tell myself, to no avail.  I simply could not accept her snide remarks, no matter how hard I tried.  I knew, somehow, that if I could accept her, even in her mean-ness that I would be doing myself a favor, but it was just beyond my ability back then.  And acceptance of someone else's abuse, perhaps, is ill advised anyhow.

Acceptance of each other's quirks and differences, now that is a whole other deal.  This blog has addressed that very quality many, many times largely because it's a character trait I am trying desperately to cultivate in myself, and one I hope this blog inspires in others because my daughter's life and happiness may, at least partially, depend on acceptance from the other folks who coexist on this planet.  Last night, I had the pleasure of spending many hours in the company of folks who helped me have an even deeper acceptance, nay, appreciation of our differences as people.

The ocean, or lakes, hell even a man-made pool: most of us love the water.  Maybe we don't want to swim in it, but perhaps we like to boat in the water, or simply observe the water from a stationary vantage point.  Either way, the variations depend on the time of day, the wind, the plant life growing within it, whether or not there are schools of fishing swimming beneath the surface, if it rained last night, or if there was a hurricane 500 miles away; all these factors, and more, can change its very appearance and nature on a daily, or hourly basis.  Some of us appreciate the calm, aqua blue of the Carribean, others the dark, moodiness found in New England.  There is no way in hell I'll swim in the frigid waters off the coast of California, but the balmy tides of North Caroline suit me perfectly.  I'm picking a rather trite way of explaining acceptance, but I'm proposing more than that.

We glory and revel in the spectacular variation in the waters that our Creator has sprinkled over the face of our shared home.  We don't even attempt to make broad comments about any one type of body of water because no sooner do we try to describe it when it changes, or resists our categorization.  And isn't it wondrous, truly?  I would wager that most of us can recall an image right now of a body of water that inspired awe within us.  And we would all agree that you couldn't talk me into liking your image better than I like mine no matter what. I can, however, appreciate what you like about your image, even if it's not my favorite image.

And that is what my evening at a drag show inspired in me last night.  This drag show took place at a bar that would be known to most as a "gay" bar.    This is not the first time I've frequented a gay bar and won't be my last.   I think most homosexual people are way more interesting than straight people anyway, but that's probably because I find people with challenging lives more interesting than people who have had little challenge in their lives.  Simple can sometimes be boring.  Anyway, as I waited for the show to begin, I indulged in my favorite athletic activity:  people watching.

I had the most glorious epiphany-the spectrum of human gender, sexuality and orientation is wondrous.  It's not something merely to be put up with like swallowing a very large pill so that you can get over your case of strep throat.  Some of us are middle of the road in all aspects of life, and that deserves celebration.  But others provide a variety that is not only beautiful but can teach the rest of us to rethink the definitions of masculine, feminine, straight, gay, bisexual, transgender, etc., etc., etc.  We keep trying to define it and we simply can't.  Tell my husband, on bringing flowers home to his new daughter, that mothers are primarily the tender caretakers.  Try to convince me that I am not strong as hell, fierce even, when I don my work gear and haul myself up onto a fire engine.  And if you think that I'm not feminine because I enjoy my typical "male" work, well, we can have a hot discussion about it, name the time and place.  I find the female form stunningly beautiful and on some of my worst days, I just wish I could rest my head on a warm, soft bosom, but that doesn't mean I'm a lesbian, nor does it mean a lesbian who does, or doesn't, share that sentiment isn't a lesbian.  We simply cannot adequately define what is male, or female, or gay, or bi, so let's call a truce-let's just say we stop trying to define it, even for a day, or an hour, and see how it feels.

Most of us have seen the movie, "Mrs. Doubtfire" or perhaps, "Tootsie."  In both films, there are men who dress as women to achieve a purpose, not because they felt like they were women.  In both films, the male character became a better man in observing his more womanly attributes.  And as viewers, didn't we all just love Mrs. Doubfire?  I wanted Tootsie for my best friend.  It was almost disappointing when they returned to their less dimensional male counterparts. Why is that?  Because we are our best versions of ourselves when we can be fully who we are, honoring the traditional male and female qualities no matter in whose body they dwell in or in what proportion.  In fact, in some Native American cultures, transgender people are referred to as "Two spirits" since they often are a beautiful melding of the finest of both genders. And to traffic in stereotypes for a moment, this is why I frequently am most comfortable with somewhat "effeminate"  straight or gay men, or "masculine"  women, and lesbians, because they often seem to have many of the best male and female qualities:  protectiveness,  assertiveness, forthrightness, directness, passion, tenderness, gentleness, emotional forthcomingness;  and fewer of my least favorite male and female qualities:  dominance, cattiness, aggression and subversiveness.  I am aware that I am skating on a dangerously thin line in assigning traits by gender, but my intentions are benign, and let's face it there are some differences between the genders, we just can't figure out how to label them and maybe we shouldn't even try.

I read somewhere about opposite "energies" attracting and working well in creating a healthy couple or relationship, and I decided I like that word best of all in describing people.  They are neither male, nor female, or not even homo- or heterosexual energies, just that they are opposite and therefore attract, like magnets- a natural occurrence in the natural world where there is endless variety in all species of humans, animals, plant life, sea life, weather, you name it.  And isn't it glorious?

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.