Detroit Crazy Eyes or the D. C. E

     Tonight I would like to introduce you to the concept of crazy eyes. Many times in my young(ahem!) life, I have encountered someone who is not quite sane. Yes, some of you might remember my old neighbor Mary who would water my plants until they drowned to death every summer, who collected cats, and shopped HSN all day long. Mary had eyes that were the size of saucers and she believed everything she said so intensely that she would never blink. Mary had all kinds of crazy...but this eventide's story is not about her. Tonight's story is about the Motor City. That's right. I'm talking Detroit, baby.
    Sometimes, when you head downtown and park away from Jefferson, you pass people. Folks will be siting on a wall, the ledge of a building or parked in a folding chair right next to a parking lot. Some people will be sitting with friends, talking and laughing...others will be sitting by themselves...talking and laughing or (worse) arguing and gesturing angrily...still sitting by themselves.
     When I pass a group I might say a polite hello or excuse me...when I pass the  lone chatter, I will usually steer a kid by the shoulder to the far side of the walkway. Generally , I will try to NOT make eye contact with the lone stranger--not because I am trying to be polite and ignore the personal conversation he  is having with himself, and not because of a misguided sense of superiority. The main reason I won't make eye contact with a lone stranger downtown, talking to himself is because of his eyes.  The twitchy one on the right, that narrows to give you the "what are you looking at?"look...or the one that is all bloodshot and angry widening to stare you down for walking on his side of the street.
     Yep, we know that look. Normally we just hustle by as quickly as possible, but every once in a while one of us catches the eye. By one of us, I am referencing my husband and our sons. The one best able to shrug off and move on after an experience with the Detroit Crazy Eye is my husband, Todd. I think this is because he was born and raised in the city. He doesn't talk about it too much, but I am starting to think that the D. C. E. was an every day experience for him.
     Well, I  surely never thought to see it on our side of town. But I did. Tonight the D C E invaded my home.  Tonight the D C E was almost responsible for my sweet husband losing his mind. Tonight I watched him silently struggle and overcome a personal bout with D C E. How does this happen you ask? Well, the easy answer is "teenagers." The complicated part of the story includes one phone call home in the middle of the day while my son was in English. And then another one while he was at his after school club...and one frustrated momma passing the buck. But I wouldn't have if I had known what it would drive my husband to do. (BTW: no children or animals were harmed in the writing or experiencing of this story)

     This is the story of  what happened when the Father had to deal with the boy. Simply put, he ranted and raved. He talked himself silly with his calmness. He questioned the boys sanity ( while clearly struggling with his own) and then he got very very quiet. He crossed his arms in front of himself and then his eyes got really big.  They were as wide as I have ever seen them, and his blue irises were almost silver in their radiance. I do not say radiance lightly. There was a fever in my husbands eyes tonight that I have never seen before...they glowed with a silent fury that heated the room. If our son was a ball of snow, he would have been melted by the intensity of silence.  It was that moment when I realized the crazies I have seen before are pretty normal. I will no longer shudder in fear when I walk by...because I have truly met the Detroit Crazy Eye...and he lives with me.

A Visit With My Dad

     Yesterday, while I was sleeping I tried to find my father. When he first died, I was fifteen and in the ninth grade. At that time, I would often dream of him...finding him deep in a forest, somewhere in time standing along a riverbank having a picnic. Those dreams were rich in flavors. I could smell the grass and his cologne and best of all--I could hold his hand and breathe in the aroma of a fathers love.
     Yesterday, I tried to find him. In my dream I knew he was alive, but he was hiding from me. I became frantic, desperate to find him. My heart was pounding and I broke into a sweat and anxiety was crawling over me. Until I remembered he was gone. Then, I knew why I couldn't find him. But it isn't because he is dead, deceased, singing with angels...it is because he is ashamed of me.
      My father always warned us girls to stick together. Often when we would fight he would tell us that we were going to need each other. That one day he and my mom would be gone and we(Kelly and I ) were going to be all that was left of our family. My dad knew this from bitter experience. He hadn't spoken to one of his brothers for 45 years and didn't ever reconcile before his death. His oldest brother came in and out of his life...maybe once every 10 years or so...until my dad got sick. Then his brother was there for him every day...
     My dad treated his girls like princesses. I was the high maintenance one, and my sister was more like a tomboy...but we were both his Pumpkins...and he was our Daddy.  The loss of my dad in hindsight, seems to be the beginning of the end for our family. For a few years we stuck together, but then puberty and boys and money problems and anger and shame started to trickle into our lives and tear us apart.
     At this time, I am not speaking to my sister.  Can I tell you why? I wish I knew.  What do I think happened? Well, a few years ago, I had the worst year of my life since 1990 when I lost my dad. I lost my father in law, and a few other pretty scary...I don't want to repeat the details...things happened, my husband left the state for work...and I felt alone...well...these were the times I was supposed to rely on my sister...the only connection I had left with my dad. Sadly, she wasn't there for me. I don't know ...I have spent years trying to rebuild a connection with her...I think I just gave up trying to make do with the paltry relationship she was willing to give. See...the truth of the matter is , she replaced me...and I haven't been able to forgive her. Family is supposed to be there for you forever and no matter what...that was the lesson my dad tried to tell...that is what our entire extended family always spouted. But we grow up and we all grow away and stay busy with our own lives and those of our children. I seem to be able to forgive anyone for anything...except for her and except for myself. I truly believe that if my sisters replacement for me had a child any time over the last 20 years, she would have no need for my children...and absolutely none for me.
     This is why I couldn't find my father. He shames me in my dreams for not being bigger than my emotions. He reminds me with his  silence that I am older and should set a good example and make the first move...regardless of age and pride.
    When I was small, my dad would play this silly game with me. I would walk past him and he would grab my hand. I would try to pull away, but he was so strong...and I would jump into his lap and bury my head into his shoulder  laughing while he  would wrap his arms around me.  That is how love feels to me. One of my last memories of my dad was when he was hospitalized with the cancer that claimed him. My big 250 pound dad was reduced to a skeleton under a sheet when my sister and I walked in to say our goodbyes. When I leaned over to kiss his emaciated cheek, he reached out to hold my hand and squeezed it with the little strength he had left...that was love...it was goodbye and it was the last time I saw him alive..
    Love no matter what, no matter when...that is supposed to be the message of family...it should be our family motto...maybe then...I would have  a family again.