Karen's Journey

I see two kids and a RED boat. What else do you notice about this photo? 1. It Was the Milkman I am one of four siblings. Three girls with blonde hair and one red-headed boy. Not strawberry-red hair, not carrot-red hair, but fire engine red hair. When we were out and about as a family, we were constantly stopped by complete strangers. "Where did you get that RED HAIR?" people would exclaim. My mother would use the old, "It was the milkman" line, which was funny, because we really did have a milkman -- wow I'm old -- and he really did have red hair. One time a girl about my brother's age, then five or six, pointed to him and said, "I like him. He has red hair." And then she blushed and hid behind her mother. We had never seen them before and we never saw them again. I am tired of hearing, "I don't see color." If people can pick out red hair from a mile away, they sure as heck see skin color. If one of the first thing...

Elaine and I shared a workplace, albeit several decades apart. She started her public broadcasting career at the station where mine ended. She went on to work for New Hampshire Public Television, becoming, at maybe five feet tall on a good day, a powerhouse of the industry. When we met, she'd retired for the first time and taken a position for one of the vendors that my station used for direct mail. She always had a soft spot for us, the place that gave her her start, and was always eager to come back to help -- with pledge, with fundraising strategy -- if we needed help, Elaine was there. But in addition to having a fund raising savvy that allowed her to serve as a mentor to many, she had a deeply felt kindness. Our calls about the business of raising money often turned to talks about how I was doing. Her concern was genuine. I had what physicians would consider minor surgery a year after I started there and struggled for weeks beyond weeks to recover any semblance of energy. ...

Yes, my butt is in this photo that was in published on the newspaper's website.  Oh yay. It's possible that T is one of the yellow/gold shirts near the top of the hill. Like so many other small towns in America, ours has an annual Memorial Day parade, with the usual assortment of local dignitaries,  Scout troops, firetrucks, youth sports teams, old cars, piping corps, and candy being tossed to the youngsters lining the parade route, and of course, veterans marching -- or being driven -- grouped by war in which they fought. The loudest cheers are reserved for those who served. The Gold Star parents float is a sober reminder of those who made the ultimate sacrifice and the loved ones they left behind. Bringing up the rear of the parade is the top high school marching band in the country, the perfect grand finale. There is never a year that they are anything less than awesome. And the years the alumni band marches -- even better. They still have chops --...

One time when I was the store manager for a McDonald's, the owner of the franchise came in, tearing up a storm, ripping into one of my employees for some perceived infraction of the "rules," after first reaching into the ice bin with his dirty fingernails and digging out a few ice cubes to chew. He didn't take her to the office and talk to her calmly; he didn't speak to me about speaking to her; he just stood there in front of the ice bin and berated her like she was a child, right in front of all the other employees, right in front of all the customers. It was his modus operandi -- way of keeping everyone off balance, trembling in fear, so we would all walk on eggshells and toe his line. I had taken to making a beeline for the office to hit the valium when I saw his car drive in the lot. My assistant manager would head for the restroom for a snort of coke. And another long-time employee also used some form of narcotic -- I don't remember which -- to cont...

They push us away in order to sabotage our relationship before we have the chance to do it to them. Because the person they trusted in their first relationship was the one who sabotaged it. This time they want to be in control of that.