I love a great horror film as much as anyone does but most of them are just so fake, no matter how intricate and realistic the special effects, no matter how bloody and nasty they get, I just end up laughing my ass off. Even though I will admit that the remake of "Friday The 13th" a year or so back did make me jump outta my seat here-n-there, when it came to the grotesque carnage scenes, all I did was say "Whoopsie!" and laugh incessantly in each instance. Don't get me wrong, I ADORE horror flicks regardless of that factor but this piece isn't about horror films, it's about two totally different experiences that I had on two totally different Friday the 13th's.
The first experience actually took place yesterday, on Friday, August 13th, 2010. Although my daily work schedule for the 2 jobs I am currently holding down is generally from 7 a.m. in the morning until 9 p.m. in the evening, depending on the day of the week, yesterday was different because I hadda appointment for my yearly eye exam (not just because I'm Hiv+ but also because I am diabetic) and even though I passed the exam with flying colors - no glaucomas, no early signs of cataracts, yet I do have to continue to use those cheapie reading glasses I bought from Walgreen's awhile back - it was what took place in the waiting room that impacted me the most.
There was this woman with her little boy, who also happened to be getting a regular eye exam too - you know, the physical look-over by the doctor's assistant, then the application of those damnable, irritating, sight-robbing eye drops, followed by the final exam and diagnosis from the eye doctor. Anywho, the little guy was only about 6 or 7 years old and after they gave him the eye drops, but before he arrived 3 seats down from me in the waiting room, he started crying his eyes out and I felt so sorry for him! What did his mother do? Exactly what I guess a lotta of the lousy mothers out there are doing nowadays when their children are in agony - she just said his name and told him to calm down and then ignored him - IGNORED HIM??? I almost lost it.
I wanted soooo badly to get up and walk over to her, pinch her really, really hard on her upper left arm and say to her "Excuse me, you nasty, selfish bitch, get off your fucken lazy ass and comfort that child before I get really, really pissed off!!" Oh I was just livid! I don't care if that child was someone else's or not, and I don't care if it's none of my business or not, when you are a parent - doesnt matter what gender or sexual orientation you are - when your child is in distress, agony and/or pain, you had better get off your ass and be a parent goddamn it and sooth and comfort your child. Those of you out there who dont do that, let me ask you something, who the hell do you think you are?? Whether you are personally, directly responsible for bringing a life into this world or not, when you are a parent the story is no longer about you, it's about the children and the children SHOULD ALWAYS come first, what part of that concept dont some of you parents out there understand?
Now I'm not saying that children shouldn't be taught to be more mature about dealing with uncomfortble and/or painful situations as they get older, nor am I saying that children need to be constantly pacified and/or coddled 24/7, but c'mon people, where is your heart, where is your compassion? Now it's a known fact by those who know me that I love children, I am simply nuts about them because I think each and every one of them is so special and unique, and they truly are, anyone who loves kids will tell you that. Granted, in the past, when a few of my FB friends have posted their baby pics online I did getta bit crazy and mumble silly babytalk and call them "Bubbas!" and tell them how much bubbas of all ages need lottsa lovins-huggins-n-kissins; but still, I'm not saying every parent and/or children's caregiver has to react to children the way that I do. All I am saying is that if you're going to choose to be a parent then you need to be more sensitive to your children's emotional needs regarding the everyday experiences some adults dont give a second thought to, such as going to the eye doctor's, it's that plain and simple.
And don't give me any of that "tough love" philosophy crap either, this is not the late 70's/early 80's, this is the year 2010, and if you are not emotionally and/or mentally capable of providing your child(ren) with a consistent, stable, loving and affectionate enironment to grow up in, then you should not have even thought of raising a child in the first place. Yet another humdinger of a poor excuse - '"Well, my parents never raised me with any affection" - so basically what you're trying to tell me is that because your parents were mentally fucked up when they raised you that's okay for you to do the same with your child(ren)? Now how irrational and lame is that? Come to reality people, come to reality please. Bottom line is this, if you are not capable of providing your child(ren) with unconditional love and acceptance, you have no business being a parent, yeah, it's really that simple.
I will always advocate for the basic rights and needs of children and I may not have any right to tell people how to raise their children but since the children of the world are the future of the world, including that little boy I saw in the eye doctor's waiting room, I'll be damned if I am gonna stand by and watch them get mistreated in any way, shape or form. In other words, rather than walk away and mumble to myself "Oh it's none of my business" you will NEVER catch me doing that in this scenario because it's not just my business, it's everyone's business.
So as I was leaving the waiting room yesterday afternoon, I bent down, patted him on the head a couple of times and said "Don't worry Kyle, it's gonna be okay, everything's gonna be alright." He smiled up at me as I was leaving, as did his mother too. He may not have been my kid but there was no reason on this earth why that child did not deserve a bit of kindness and reassurance. Everyone deserves at least that much, regardless of one's age.
The second Friday the 13th experience was of a totally different nature, though there is a child element involved in this experience too. I can't remember what date it fell on but on a Friday the 13th back in 1987 I was living in CA at the time when on the evening of that particular Saturday the 14th, I received a call from my Grandma that something extremely terrible had happened at the cemetery where my little brother was buried. Apparently, a group of vandals had decided to desecrate several of the graves at the cemetery, more specifically, they had attempted to unearth the remains of people in order to use their bones for alleged Satanic rituals - or so the local authorities reported in the local newspaper. To say I was beyond livid when I heard about it was beyond an understatement. Instantly, I got on the phone with the local authorities back in the Midwest, as well as the owners of the cemetery where my brother is buried, and demanded answers left-n-right.
Luckily, the evil graverobbers didn't succeed in getting to my little brother's remains, though they most certainly did attempt to disturb them - they had dug down about 3 feet and then left the area when some of the locals who lived near the cemetery called the cops, which thank goodness they did. I will never forget how that entire situation upset me and angered me to no end, almost to the point where I wanted to fly back there and get to the heart of the matter on my own; but, like my Grandma and a few other relatives stated, there wasn't anything I could do about it except follow-up with the local cops regarding any new developements in the case. They never did find out who exactly performed those sick sacriligious offenses, they just passed it off as members of some Satanic cult and nothing ever came of it. I guess in a way I am glad about that because if they had, trust me, those vandals woulda been better off dealing with Satan himself rather than dealing with me.
Even nowadays people have funny attitudes about cemeteries, regardless of what the date is, Friday the 13th or not. Myself, I was raised by my grandparents to always have respect for the dead, that paying reverence to them was the proper and right thing to do. So on every holiday and/or special remembrance, I always went with them and other relatives to plant flowers, say prayers or simply talk about the pleasent memories that were had with whomever's grave we visited. Of course, there is also the other end of the spectrum when it comes to this - there are those who refuse to visit cemeteries because their reasoning is "There's nothing I can do that for that person now anyways, I just wanna remember them the way they were." Hey that's fine too, nothing wrong with that, you gotta go with what you feel is best for you; but myself, I have no problem going to pay my respects a couple or more times a year. For me, it makes me feel kinda closer to the memories of that person(s) but again, this kinda thing is strictly a matter of personal choice.
However, whether dead or alive, my blood is my blood and the thought of anyone even thinking of attempting to disturb my little brother's earthly remains greatly infuriates me to this day. That little boy, like everyone else who has gone on before us, deserves to rest in peace; after all, he never did a thing to any of those vandals, why would they want anything to do with his remains? Its true that I am a fierce opponent of the major organized religions of the world; however, this also stands true with the opposite extreme, I'm dead-set against Satanists, alleged or not too. Any type of religion that is based on evilness has no place in my life, and in my opinion, no place in this world either. After all, the world has enough woes to deal with as it is, it doesnt need anymore heaped onto it's already overflowing platter. What would I ever do if I ever found out who did desecrate my little brother's grave? Let me just say this...when my Dad found out what had happened he was very much beside himself and stated that if he ever got a hold of who did it, he woulda beat the living fuck out of them and then ask questions later. For myself, I'd have to say that I wouldn't be so tame in my sentiments as my Dad was. Enough said.
So there you have it, two of my most memorable Friday the 13th experiences, insensitive mothers and Satanic vandals. I guess one doesnt get more of a mixed bag of incidences than that. Sometimes we never know the reasoning or lack of logic in other peoples actions but I do think it's good when we can learn from their examples. I know for a fact that I'd make an excellent parent because one of the bottom lines of being a good parent is just not showing affection and compassion to one's children, but also striving to provide our offspring with some of the things we never had when we were growing up - unconditional love and acceptance. As for the cemetery vandals, there really is nothing to learn from the experience except yet another affirmation of the values that I learned while growing up - to care for and respect the dead as much as one does while those deceased are still alive; after all, love does transcend death too, doesn it? Thank you for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment