Whatever Wednesday: Angels

Last week we touched on religion, which can be a touchy subject for... Well, just about everyone it seems. As I stated last week, I like going to church, sometimes. But, for me, it's just not personally where I tend to find God, and I think your worship should be spent wherever you do happen to find him. For some people that's church, for me, it usually tends to be outside. It's hard for me to look at gorgeous scenery and NOT believe in God.

However, above all, I believe in the right to choose. You want to believe in nothing? Go right ahead. It's your life, why should I care what you believe in? I don't really think religion is to blame for wars. I think it's peoples desperate need to control others that is to blame. I just think we spend so much time trying to convince others that our way is the right way. Why does it matter? Those who chose not to believe in God don't shake my belief in Him. And I'm sure my belief in Him doesn't really do anything to change the non-belief in others. Why do we have to slap a right and wrong label on it? We can argue till we turn blue in the face, but do we ever come upon an answer? No. So what's the point? Plus I think it's hilarious when people want to use religion as an excuse to hate. It seems to me that most religions tend to preach love, acceptance. "Do unto others and you'd have done to you." "Let he without sin be the first to condemn"... You can't really pick and choose what you want to believe in. You don't have to like or believe in or agree with someone elses choices, but to use the Bible or religion as a way to condemn them and hate them? Makes you a sinner and a liar as well. And really, is one sin worse than another? Do two wrongs ever make a right?

I wrote in Caydens baby book that whoever he became, I would always love him and support him. And sure, there are exceptions to that rule... I would have a hard time supporting him if he became a serial killer. But I would still love him. I would hate the choices he made, but he's still my son and still my whole world. I don't understand how parents could turn their back on their children for stupid little things... Because they didn't pick the job their parents wanted, because they didn't marry the person they thought their child should marry... Because they were gay. If Cayden came to me one day and told me he was gay, would anything change? No. I would love him just as much. I'll be honest, I would be a tad disappointed: I want Grandkids, I want to be at my son's wedding, and right now due to other people's ignorance that can't happen. (Gays making marriage a joke? Uh. Have you not seen what straight people did to it? Britney Spears getting married for what was it, 42 hours? And what percentage of marriages end in divorce now? And the whole "Gay people will sexually abuse their kids" Really? Because straight men never rape or molest little girls? Or how about my favorite: Gay parents will turn their children gay. Right. Because straight parents NEVER have gay children. My Uncle, who has his Phd in psychology and is STILL married to my Aunt had a lesbian daughter. How do you explain that one?) I watched a documentary a long time ago about a gay couple who took in little african american kids with HIV. Nobody wanted these babies, but they did. They raised them, they loved them, they cared for them, but were never allowed to officially adopt them. They did SUCH a good job that the state actually asked them to take in two little twin white boys with HIV and also other issues. But when one of their older boys, who had been with the couple for YEARS found out that he didn't actually have HIV or AIDs (I guess you can pop for HIV and not actually have it.) The state tried to take him away. The kid wanted to stay in that home, and they said no.

It's just crazy to me. What's the point? If they are GOOD parents, if they love their kids, if the children are happy and healthy... Yes, I get it. A child should be raised in a home with a man and a woman and blah blah blah... But sometimes they aren't. I myself was raised practically my whole life by just my Mother. Thousands of kids are. If a parent dies or leaves, does that mean the home is suddenly unfit for the child? Sure, it's not the best possible situation. But how many times in life are you going to come across the perfect situation? And really, I think a home with two men or two women is MUCH better than being left in the fucked up joke that is our foster care system.

Again, I think it comes down to choice, and why it bothers us so much when people don't do things the way WE would do things. I get that you can't have total freedom to do WHATEVER it is you wanted. Stealing, raping, murdering, ect. But overall, how does what you believe in, affect my life? How does who you love affect my life? It just doesn't.

But anyway, the whole reason I wanted to write this post is that I didn't know if I had ever told you guys about my father, and why I believe so much in Angels. If I've already told this story, I'm sorry. My memory isn't the best, and I'm too lazy to go back and try to find if I have.

The day my Father died started out being relatively normal. I was in preschool, so I got home before my brother and sister. When I got home, my father was there. He and my Mom were divorced, but still acted like they were married, and had he lived, they probably would have gotten back together (and then divorced. And then probably gotten back together, and then divorced... And you get the picture.) Anyway, he needed to go pick up his check from work, and do a few random jobs around work. I went with him.

My Mom told me later that I was my Dad's favorite. I believe her. When I was little, everyone thought I was adorable. And I was. I had the Shirley Temple curls, little button nose, big brown eyes, red cheeks... Seriously, I looked like a doll. I have since lost those looks, lol. Anyway, I loved going to work with my Dad. Whenever we came in the receptionist would always say "There goes Chick and the Chick-lets" (My Dad's name was Charles, everyone called him Chick.) For months after my Dad died, I desperately wanted someone to say that again. I even tried to yell "There go Sue and the Sue-lets" when I was out with my Mom, but... It didn't work so much.

Anyway, we went and got his check, and to this day I remember the room. There was fuzzy blue-ish purplish shag rug and it was REALLY cold. We got his check. He talked about buying me a present. But first he had a few jobs to do. He asked me to wait in his office, and so I did. His desk had this little flat piece that you could pull out, and I loved to sit there and eat my lunch.

When he came back, I decided to hide behind the door. He couldn't find me, and left. I got scared. Luckily somebody found me, and we went on a search for him. We found him in the nurses office downstairs. He was having chest pains. They called an ambulance, and I waited by the window, watching for them. The office had an old school heater in it, the register kind, and the heat was so dry it hurt my face.

I don't know why my Dad didn't go to the hospital with the paramedics. I don't know if they told him he was fine, or if he just refused (I thought I heard a story awhile back about how his insurance wouldn't pay for a ride in an ambulance and he didn't want to have to pay for it. I don't know if this is true or not.) I don't know why the paramedics would let my father go, knowing he was a smoker who had a history of heart attacks (this was his 3rd or 4th one) and who had his little girl with him. I don't know why my father would risk it. I'm pretty stubborn when it comes to medical stuff, I hate going to the doctor and put it off as much as possible, but I would NEVER put Cayden at risk like that.

Either way, he decided to drive us home. Or maybe he was heading to the hospital himself. I don't know. We didn't make it.

He pulled over on the side of the freeway. I thought he was playing a joke at first. My Dad ALWAYS played horrible jokes. He lived with my Grandma and one time when we came over he hid behind the door and jumped out, wearing a mask. Scared the PISS out of me. Most people wouldn't do that to little kids, but my Father was not very smart. I yelled at him. He didn't move. I started pulling his hair and screaming. I didn't know what to do, other than lock the doors and cry.

I look back and I think about that day. So many things could have happened. I could have gotten out of the car, either gotten lost or hit by a car. I could have even been picked up and taken by someone. I could have sat there for so long, stuck in the car with my dead Father until someone found me.

Instead, a man walked by the car. He flipped me a thumbs up sign, I replied with a thumbs down. He ran over. Normally I would have been afraid, refused to unlock the door, but this time, I unlocked them for him.

He had a tow truck. He thought maybe we were broke down and needed help. He and some other people (I don't know if they had been with him, or had stopped to help.) Pushed the car forward (so maybe we had been blocked the road?) He called 9-1-1 on his CB radio. He and his friends pulled my father out of the car and gave him CPR.

I never learned their names. Never got to say thanks. Never got to tell them that even though my Dad died, they saved me. I don't know who they are. Have no idea how to find them. But they were the start in my believing in Angels.

There are other stories. Some little that I guess could be chalked up to coincidences or luck... Near car accidents, other close calls... And other large stories, like the night my brother was shot... My brother had a hard time after my Dad died, and he became to act out in violent ways. My Mom, unable to afford the therapy he needed, had to turn over custody to the state. My brother was in a foster home (for his own "good") When his foster brother shot him in the face. My brother says there was no reason for the attack. He went to tell his foster brother goodnight, and when he knocked on his bedroom door, the foster brother opened it, pulled a gun, and shot him. Even though the foster brother was shorter than my brother, and the bullet should have gone into my brothers brain, killing him, it didn't. Instead the bullet entered his nostril and exited through the roof of his mouth. Still painful, but my brother was alive.

To sum it up, I just want to say, I love the way the comments went last time. People obviously had different opinions, but I also liked that I saw no put downs, nobody yelling, no one fighting, no one arguing or saying someone else was wrong. Again, I'm just a firm believer in choice. You wouldn't want someone else telling you what to do/how to live/what to believe in. So why would you do it to someone else?

ANYWAY - I was thinking... I've always wanted to be interviewed, annnd I'm never going to be famous for anything, therefore no one would want to interview me. But next week on Whatever Wednesday, I think I'll just be doing an interview. If there are any question you guys have for me, you can either email me, or post it in a comment. If I don't get any questions, I'm just gonna make them up, because I am THAT lame.