Guest Blog from GirlChild

THIS IS VERY LONG, BUT VERY IMPORTANT FOR ME TO GET OUT:


Two years ago today, I was sitting at my laptop playing league of legends when I got a call from my aunt around 10pm on a Sunday.


I thought it was a butt dial, since she was usually in bed before that. But then I saw a voicemail. So I called her back.


"Your mother has had a heart attack, come to CSM Ozaukee."


I hung up, screamed bloody fucking murder, and sped to the hospital. To this day, I don't remember the drive there. I just remember getting there and flying thru the hospital, into her room. Everyone was reassuring me she was okay, but they still needed to take her to surgery.


It didn't matter. That was my mom. That was my lifeline. As an only child (biologically) and a female... she was my first best friend. I was sobbing. I was losing my mind. I'm sobbing writing this now. I hugged her and told her I loved her before they sent her to surgery.


One of the last things she said before going under was "Someone needs to make sure Rebecca makes it to her dentist appointment tomorrow." This woman... whose heart was ready to give up... was more concerned about my goddamn dentist appointment. (Yes, that still bothers me.)


My stepbrother and I left the hospital and went for a long walk and long drive to get my mind off of it.


My family sat in the waiting room for hours overnight. I don't think anyone slept.


Around 6am, we were able to go in and see her. My stepfather went first, and when he came out, my aunt and I went in. I was sobbing again... those tubes and machines, hair matted to her face, breathing tube down her throat... I couldn't handle it. I held her hand, but it was limp. I was still scared. Yeah we made it thru the toughest part, but what if the woman that woke up was not the same woman that I grew up with and loved?


I squeezed her hand. She squeezed back. Then they kicked us out. My stepdad wasn't too happy that I got a response out of her when he got nothing, but hey man, that's my mom. She knows it's me.
When we were able to go back in, she was more awake, but still had a breathing tube. And even she will tell you... thank god i was there.


My mom taught me sign language growing up, and while for the most part I don't remember it, I remember enough. To communicate with the nurses while in her room she was supposed to use her oxygen monitor to hit the railings on the bed to get their attention. With me standing right there, she signed to me, and I took care of her. I was the only person she could communicate with for a bit.


I spent all week at that hospital. I didn't want to be away from my mom. When she got out and needed to be walking, we would walk around grocery stores or targets so she could stay in the AC where she could breathe. I'd leave one job and drive 20 minutes just to go walk around a store with her.


I was lucky to still have my mom.


And I'm still lucky to still have my mom.


Hug your family a little tighter, today.


You never know what could happen while you're busy playing a video game.


I love you mom.




(You can find GirlChild here: https://www.instagram.com/rebeccablazeofficial/)

Why Do You Write?

“Why do you write?”


This question has been asked many times in writers groups and my answer is always the same: I have a story inside that needs to be told.


For as long as I can remember, I said I would be an author. Every book report ever written or presented in school asked why I selected the book I did. My answer was always the same. “I selected this book because I will write one like it someday.”

I would see things in everyday life and make up stories to explain them. I’d give people names and personalities. They would have conversations. (A stroll down the Vegas Strip is full of inspiration.) My brain and my notebooks are filled with scenes, stories, and characters.


As with many people, life got in the way of this childhood dream. There was a spouse, a child, a mortgage, and a string of energy-sapping jobs.


That spouse discouraged me so I got rid of him. The child and jobs did not leave much time for anything else. A new spouse entered the picture – one who encouraged my creativity and my silliness. Eventually, the child grew up, moved to New York, and became a writer. Still, I wasn’t writing. I can do that any time, right?


Two years ago today everything changed. I suffered a heart attack and had emergency heart surgery - either of which could have easily ended my life. It took almost a year to for me to finally understand how fortunate I am to be granted this additional time. It’s a gift many people don’t receive. I owe it to myself to fulfill the promises that schoolgirl made 30 years ago.


And THAT is why I write.

Each Day is a Bonus

Have you ever pondered the meaning of life? The meaning of your life? I find myself doing this often.

My pondering comes from survivor's guilt. Survivors guilt occurs when a person believes they have done something wrong by surviving a trauma. I survived a heart attack and emergency heart surgery at a younger than normal age. It's an unsettling feeling to know you're losing consciousness AS it's happening.

A month before my heart attack, a high school classmate suffered a fatal heart attack. At the time, I was shocked. She was young. Like me. For several months after my surgery, I wondered why I survived and she did not. If I was a religious person, I might think a supreme being has a bigger plan for me.

This question intensified a few months after I returned to work. A surgeon I worked with spent two weeks providing needed medical care in a poor, South American country. On his way home, he suffered a fatal heart attack at the airport in Chicago. He spent his career improving others' lives. He was a very kind and giving man. I tend to be selfish. If I was a religious person, I would question the supreme being's judgment on this.

A few months ago, GirlChild's friend and classmate suffered either a fatal heart attack or an arrhythmia. He was 24-years-old and just beginning his adult life. He should have had many years of life and happiness stretched out before him. If I was a religious person, I would be pissed at the supreme being.

So why am I here? I have no answers to this question but I've come to understand that I have been given an incredible gift and I plan to use it. I travel more. I experience life. I promised myself in eighth grade that I would write a book. I'm doing that now. Each day is a bonus and I'm making the most of them.

Catcalling

Do you know what it’s like to be a woman? The catcalls and the public groping are out of control. This problem occurs everywhere but I think it’s more prevalent in large cities where most of the population utilizes public transportation.

For this writing, I will define catcalling as any comment or whistle of a sexual nature made to a woman passing by. This definition makes it clear that a catcall is very different than a compliment.

GirlChild experiences this every day in New York City. When she ignored a catcall, she has been followed and called vile names. When she responded with a New York, “Fuck off!” she has been followed and called vile names.

I’ve been catcalled in the Midwest. I would wait for my bus and men would drive past yelling all sorts of repulsive things. You know who responds to that? Hookers. I am not a hooker but this behavior sure made me feel like one.

One woman likened catcalling to a war zone. Catcalls were like incoming bombs – each one causing a chink in your armor. A war zone. Let that sink in for a minute.

Two women recently shared stories involving their daughters. One was twelve-years-old and out for a walk in the sunshine with her mom when two different passing cars catcalled them. The daughter was wearing a flower crown. Nothing says "child" quite like a flower crown. The other was a 14-year-old who was catcalled and followed home when she was attempting to cross the street to buy some candy. Candy. These two innocent girls are quickly learning to be ashamed of their bodies.

Recently I asked a friend to post some questions on Facebook. She has a large, eclectic group of followers and the responses received using this completely unscientific method would be an accurate representation from society. The questions were:

1.       Why do some men do this?

2.       Why does it make most women cringe?

3.       If a woman takes it as a compliment, does it say something about her?

I learned from the responses that some women DO think this is a compliment. And some middle-aged women would give anything to receive catcalls on the street again. I wonder if these ladies would have a different response if they were younger and regularly on the receiving end of this harassment. In both cases, I worry about the lack of self-esteem exhibited by this desire for validation from a crass stranger.

I learned some people think catcalling is done only by groups of men – each trying to prove to their friends they are manlier than the last guy who hollered. I know from personal experience and by anecdotal evidence shared by GirlChild that this is not the case. As a woman on the street, I find the lone man catcalling to be the most intimidating. In most cases, the group of men will not follow you but the single man does not have his friends checking his behavior.

I learned that none of the men who responded to this Facebook discussion thought catcalling was acceptable. It was denounced with comments like “Real men don’t do this” or “My mom would have throttled me if she heard I acted like this.”

If most women don’t like it and most men find the behavior reprehensible, why does this boorish behavior still occur? Several reasons were mentioned.

We already mentioned the women who need this validation from a stranger. Because they need this validation, catcalling may have worked in the past. Perhaps they smiled at, said thank you to, or even flashed the catcaller. Also, remember how I said it made me feel like a hooker? If it works with a hooker, the less evolved male members of the species will try it with any female.

It was also mentioned that groups of men do this to prove their manliness. Testosterone fueled pissing contests. Are we lucky girls, or what?

My own research indicates this can be done for power. In an article published on Thought Catalog, titled “11 People Who Cat Call Women On The Street Explain Why They Do It” mentions the most terrifying reason of all – power. One man said, “A catcall or a car horn beep gives me a momentary feeling of power over them because I can see their discomfort.” That sentence should give you the creeps.

I firmly believe allowing catcalling to continue unchecked emboldens the men who are unstable or entitled. If they can degrade women verbally, how long will it take before they are the men groping women in the subway?

Our unofficial Facebook dialogue indicates catcalling should end. But how?

Several countries – including our neighbor to the north – have laws that make this type of behavior illegal. That may work for them but it will never work in the United States. We value our freedoms. We believe in the freedom of speech guaranteed by the first amendment. Any laws against catcalling would infringe on this right.

If a law is not feasible, what next?

As a society, we need a culture change. A lot of things used to be acceptable in the US in our past. Drunk driving, treating others as second-class citizens because of race or gender, even owning people. I know. Catcalling is not as extreme as owning people but the principle for change is the same.

If Rosa Parks had simply given up her bus seat, who knows where the civil rights movement would have gone. If Susan B. Anthony and company has accepted that women were less than men, what would have happened in the political realm? If Candace Lightner had quietly mourned the death of her teenage daughter, would we have the drunk driving laws that have saved countless lives in the past 36 years?

These three examples have one thing in common. Someone spoke up with words or actions. They banded together with like-minded individuals and they created the spark that ignited the flames of social change.

How can you speak up? One woman in the Facebook discussion mentioned she worked for a construction company. Her employer had a policy stating employees engaging in the behavior would be terminated. There were no second chances. As a business owner, why would you not have a policy like this? Anything less gives your employees permission to sexually harass and intimidate strangers while they are representing your company. Is that really the image you want for your business?

You can also speak up by speaking up. If you are in a group of men when this boorish behavior begins, you can refuse to participate. You can enlighten your friends.

If you are just a witness, that should not prevent you from standing up for women. You can tell a catcaller how offensive their behavior is. And if you see a catcaller escalating his bad behavior by following the woman, your moral code should require that you step in.

The women who endure this every day are somebody’s daughter, wife, mother, or sister. She could be yours.