#it could be worse. my grandma called me up the other day and said ‘ellen would you like to come over and eat pasta carabanana’

[fingertipsmp3]

Lads. How do I defrost hot dog sausages. Can I defrost hot dog sausages? Should I even have frozen them in the first place??

[nicostolemybones]

Transitioning to Manhood

Will felt a strange nostalgia looking at the box his mother had sent him, although it wasn’t a bittersweet feeling. It was a twisting feeling in his gut, a horrible reminder that his mom was clearing the house of all reminders of her child, trying to get the child she thought she remembered to snap out of a phase and return home. He picked up a knitted hat, barely the size of his fist- he’d been born premature, and his grandmother had knitted the tiny pink hat as soon as she received news of his birth. It was a pale pastel pink, almost white, a pearly quality to the colour, but years of collecting damp in a cardboard box had tinged it a dusty, damp grey. There were photographs, and Will was bombarded with pigtails and frilly dresses and patent shoes buckled with bows. “I think I would have cried if I’d been put in that monstrosity,” Lou-Ellen said softly, pointing at the photograph Will was currently holding, featuring him in a pink frilly dress for a Church wedding, holding a basket of bright pink and red rose petals, bawling his eyes out and lifting up the hem of the skirt to wipe his face. He looked about five.

The next picture showed the same dress covered in mud, Will grinning like a maniac chasing the vicar’s daughter with a worm in his hands and one shoe missing, hair a tangled mess. Cecil snorted and laughed. “Please tell me you put that worm down the back of her dress!”

“Nah, she picked up a bigger worm and chased me with it instead. We were friends in kindergarten,” Will replied, pointing out a photograph of him in pink flowery dungarees sitting opposite the girl, who was wearing the same dungarees in blue. “We made mud pies and put them in her father’s shoes in that picture,” Will said sadly, “we got into trouble for boyish behaviour and making a mess.” Will unceremoniously shoved the photographs into the bottom of the box, taking a few deep breaths.

“Are you okay, Will,” Lou-Ellen asked gently, placing her hand on his back and rubbing small circles.

“Yeah,” Will sighed, staring emptily into the box before picking out his birth certificate and staring at it. “I don’t know,” Will amended, and Cecil took the certificate out of his hands.

“We should burn this,” Cecil announced, “it’s useless. If you end up needing it for anything, you can just get it re-printed at the register office. Although you might wanna make some changes to it first. Until you can do that legally, Connor and Travis owe me a massive favour, if you’d like.” Will let out a small laugh, burying his face in his hands.

“My whole childhood is in this box,” Will said quietly, “and my mom’s throwing away all of her favourite memories of me, and I can’t bring myself to look at them.”

“Hey,” Lou-Elllen began gently, “we’ll make new memories, new photographs.These aren’t your memories, they’re your mom’s ideal childhood for you, it’s all the parts she didn’t like taken out and the select few moments she did pruned carefully and displayed to be her image of perfection. You don’t have to keep any of this, because that’s not how your childhood felt to you. They aren’t pictures of you, they’re pictures of the child your mom wanted everybody to see, they aren’t pictures that truly represent your childhood. You aren’t obliged to hold onto somebody else's image of you.”

“We can burn all of it later, mate,” Cecil offered, “just us if you want. And Nico too, of course. Kayla and Austin too maybe, if they aren’t busy.”

“Yeah,” Will sighed, “shoot it with a burning arrow or something.”

“That’s the spirit,” Cecil grinned mischievously, taking the box from Will, “I’ll go take this to my cabin and get my siblings to thoroughly vandalise everything so before you burn it you can have a laugh.”

“Thanks,” Will laughed, and Lou-Ellen pulled him into her shoulder.

“I’ll see you later, dude,” Cecil smiled, “and you, my bi-hexual girlfriend!” He kissed Lou-Ellen’s cheek and jogged off.

“Do you wanna go find Nico?”

“He’s got training now,” Will replied, “but I wanna go talk to Clarisse, do you know where I could find her?”

“I saw her heading to her cabin before I came here,” Lou-Ellen replied, “I’m gonna go work on creating some more sigils, okay?” She kissed Will’s cheek before heading towards her cabin, and Will set out to find Clarisse. She wasn’t in her cabin, or in the armory- Will found her sitting outside the currently empty Aphrodite cabin, holding a pale green and cream chiffon scarf in her hands. Will sat beside her, bumping her shoulder.

“It was Silena’s,” Clarisse said gently, “her favourite hijab. She used to cover it with pins and I’d put flowers through the pins. After we burned her shroud, we uh… her parents invited me to her funeral, at the Masjid. The mosque, that is.”

“It’s beautiful,” Will said, “you should keep it. She’d want you to have it.”

“Yeah,” Clarisse sighed, “don’t tell anyone I went soft, you hear me, Solace?”

“Message received and understood,” Will smiled, and Clarisse punched him lightly in the arm.

“She taught me how to put on makeup,” Clarisse admitted, “she used to do it real subtle, so nobody would know. She’d contour my whole face and she’d put on neutral eye shadows and clear mascara, cherry chapstick muted with matte powder.”

“I never noticed you wearing makeup,” Will replied.

“That’s because that was the point. She made it look completely natural. I’m not exactly… feminine.”

“But she taught you how you could be butch and still be pretty, right?”

“Exactly,” Clarisse replied, “she helped me to pass.”

“A true ally,” Will smiled, resting his head on her shoulder, “how have you been recovering from surgery?”

“I’ve had worse pain,” Clarisse smiled, “I’m still getting used to the extra weight on my chest, but Chris likes them just as much as I do, I think.” Will chuckled lightly, and Clarisse put her arm around him. “Anyway, you look like shit, Solace, what happened?”

“My mom,” Will replied dejectedly, “she sent a box of stuff from my childhood. I’m gonna burn it all later. Cecil’s idea.”

“I’ll be right there with you,” Clarisse said, squeezing his shoulder roughly, “providing I can take a baseball bat to everything first.”

“You can rip the birth certificate before I shoot everything with a burning arrow” Will offered, and Clarisse chuckled lightly.

“That’s my boy,” Clarisse grinned, punching his arm lightly.

“The thing is… I don’t hate my childhood,” Will began honestly. “I didn’t always know I was trans, I didn’t always hate myself, I just couldn’t understand that weird out of place feeling, you know? I didn’t know why things made me uncomfortable. I only started figuring it out when I came to camp… and now, it hurts to look at all the pictures, because they… they don’t feel like I’m looking at photographs of me, and the more I tell myself that’s me, the more I can’t stand to look at them, because I look so female. But my childhood wasn’t a sad one, I… I was loved once, I used to pretend I had nightmares so my mom would give me these butter cookies with warm milk. She knew I was usually faking it, but she didn’t care as long as I smiled.”

“Tell me more,” Clarisse probed gently, before wrapping Silena’s scarf around his shoulders when she noticed a breeze, keeping her arm around his shoulder.

“She didn’t always have a lot of time for me, with the singing and all,” Will began, “but when she did have time for me, we always did something. She used to take me to my grandma’s farm a lot. The chickens didn’t like me much, but there was this baby calf my grandma let me name. Which was a terrible decision, I called it Dustbin Grass,” Will announced with a small laugh. Clarisse snorted, and Will continued. “Anyway, the calf used to come in through the back door and lay down in the middle of the sitting room, and I’d curl up next to the calf. We had a height chart on the wall, and I’d always compare my height with the calf every week. And other days, my mom would take me on day trips. Sometimes it was just to the local park or play area, we’d feed the ducks and sit in the sun with a picnic. I’d always go on the slide, although some days it was so hot the metal burned and I’d start crying. My mom always used to wrap me up in a warm hug and she’d tell me that it was all okay.”

“That sounds nice,” Clarisse said sincerely, and Will continued to share his memories.

“I wasn’t so good with all the school stuff. When I was a kid, I hadn’t been diagnosed with ADHD yet, or dyslexia, but I still struggled. I was behind everybody in the class on my reading and writing and my handwriting was always terrible. I used to get frustrated and walk out a lot. And after break time, I always had a hard time calming down, so I used to be super bouncy and I’d need something to fidget with. And of course, I was a kid, so the louder the better. I’d get into trouble a lot and get sent out of class. I used to cry because I thought I was dumb, but my mom always told me I was the smartest. She’d take me on nature walks, and she’d point out different trees and birds and insects and I’d tell her what they were. And at one point, I could identify native birds by their calls. My mom made me feel smart, and I didn’t feel smart again until I came to camp.”

“How the fuck did they think you were dumb?”

“Classism, sexism, and ableism. Anyway, my mom and I used to have pamper weekends, where we’d just sit out in the garden with bowls of cold water for our feet and face masks, and we’d watch the clouds if there were any. Mom never used to put enough sunscreen on herself and she used to end up looking like a lobster. We’d talk about how our weeks had been, and about my mom’s record deals and tours. She mainly toured the South, she didn’t usually go far out from Texas, but I’ve always been travel sick and I can’t really handle anything over half an hour, so it was always better to leave me at home with my grandma sometimes. My mom and I lived in the city in Austin, but my grandma lived on a ranch. She used to make me cookies all the time and she’d tell me stories of mom’s childhood and her childhood. She’d tell me how lucky I was. My grandma was a lesbian, but things when she were young were… well, worse than they are today, so… she married a man and had kids and buried who she was. She always told me that I couldn’t help who I was, and that if ever I figured myself out and I wasn’t straight, then it was okay and she’d love me just the same. The vicar used to sit and have tea with my grandma every day, because he had a gay son and he wanted her advise on how to support him.”

“Your gran is a legend,” Clarisse smiled, “is she still with us or…”

“I wish I knew,” Will sighed sadly, “grandpa died when I was six and the year after, my nan met a woman, and she moved away and my mom refused to let me have her address or contact her. Everyone always assumes my mom is kind and loving because I have such happy childhood memories. But when you have a child, if you can’t love your child unconditionally, then you never loved them at all. I grew up, knowing, just knowing… that one day, I’d do or say something and my mom would know I was bisexual and my mom wouldn’t love me anymore. Knowing that your own mother will stop loving you, for the very thing that gets you beat up in the playground, for the very thing that gets you harassed, knowing that your own mother believes with all of her heart that her child deserves to burn in hellfire and brimstone for eternity just for being attracted to somebody… from a young age I knew that my mother’s love was conditional. For years, I knew that I didn’t meet the conditions for my mother’s love. And then I stopped going home because I was scared and I wasn’t ready to be abandoned by the same woman who promised unconditional love. And then I came out as trans to her and… she sends me the box. And it’s not just a box to remind me of my childhood, it’s all her favourite memories. It’s the drawings she stuck to the fridge, the photos she showed guests, the things she was most proud of me for. It’s her way of telling me that she hates me so much that those memories are worthless to her. Happy childhoods are empty gestures when a parent’s love is conditional. And I have to face biphobia and transphobia every day of my life, but it’s worse knowing I don’t have a home. My home is a summer camp. I’m alone. If the woman who swore to love me unconditionally, swore by her bible to love me and protect me and fulfil her god given role as a parent, can cast me aside like I’m disgusting, then how am I ever meant to feel anything but wrong? How am I meant to convince myself I’m worthy of love? I can’t even use public restrooms without fearing for my safety, how am I meant to feel safe enough to trust anybody?”

“Hey,” Clarisse began, squeezing Will’s shoulder, “you’re never alone. No matter what, I’ve got your back. I’ll kick a transphobes teeth, you know I will. We have to stick together, we can’t let the community be divided, okay? We’ll look out for each other. You’re not unloved. I love you. My mom is your mom now, okay? Actually no, I’m your mom now, kiddo. And you have the best friends you could ask for, okay? Lou-Ellen can and will hex anybody who tries to put you down. Cecil’s always got your back, he pranked that Athena kid real good, remember? And you have Nico. You’re dating the Son of Hades. He can and will turn anyone into a ghost if they hurt you. That boy loves you, okay? Your self-worth is not defined by your mother’s prejudice. Nico’s friends- Jason, Percy, Frank, Hazel, Annabeth, Piper, Reyna, Leo- they’re all allies we can trust. You’re not a boy anymore, Solace, you’re a man now. You’re making your own way in a world where the odds are stacked against you. You just gotta keep going. People will hate you no matter what you do. So surround yourself with allies, keep going no matter how bleak, stay strong, and when you can’t stay strong, use your support network. We’ll both survive if we stick together. If you feel scared to go outside, come and find me. We’ll keep each other safe. And remember. You’re perfect, don’t let anybody tell you otherwise. Aphrodite would want you to respect yourself and love yourself. Your dad would want you to shine and spread light amongst the hate, to rise no matter how many times you’re pushed down. My dad would want you to fight back and never stop fighting for your rights, our rights, for what you believe in. And I’m sure most of the other gods support you too.”

“Damn girl, now I know why you’re in charge of motivational battle speeches,” Will smiled, and Clarisse ruffled his hair.

“Good boy. Now, you’re gonna get back to that infirmary, and carry on as normal, okay? And then we’re gonna burn your birth certificate and all the other stuff.”

“I had my T shot this morning,” Will stated with a small smile, “after a few months, people no longer misgender me when they hear my voice and for once in my life, I like how I sound. I feel like me. My dysphoria is… it’s so much less intense than it used to be. I feel safer in public, I feel confident enough to speak as loud as I want without fearing judgment or misgendering or violence.”

“You’re getting a bit of a fluffy mustache too there, Solace,” Clarisse teased light-heartedly, and Will laughed happily. “I’ve gotta go teach the Aphrodite girls some self-defence classes, you have to prepare for the influx of inevitable injuries because the Ares cabin and the Athena cabin are sparring in the arena.”

Will went about the rest of his day with his head held high. For once, he felt proud of who he was, of the man he’d become, of the way he hadn’t let the hate he’d heard turn him hateful, how he helped people, how he tried his best to make every camper feel like they had a safe space, a home. He never wanted anybody to feel the way he had for such a long time. He prided himself on his kindness, and he vowed never to lose it.

So later that day, the camp stood around a pit of flames at the beach, all turned out to show their solidarity bar a few. Will wore his flag as a cape, and everybody cheered when Clarisse marched in still in her armour from the day, with a ‘fuck the cis-tem’ jacket, and ripped up Will’s birth certificate. Will smiled as he threw the photographs into the flames, one by one, his friends all cheering and clapping. He watched every painful reminder, every perfect image of his mother’s ideal child- graffitied on with funny mustaches and devil horns on his mom, courtesy of the Hermes cabin- of conditional love and rejection, go up in flames. For once, Will wasn’t defined by his past, but rather by his future, one surrounded by allies and friends from all walks of life. People of many religions and races, sexualities, and genders. And even better, he received a loving kiss from his boyfriend in front of the crowd. For once, he didn’t look back.

@solangeloweek day 2, childhood/back story building

[korra-the-red-lion]

Unnatural Affairs. Chapter 14: Thanksgiving

(Ally + Lyn)

Ally.

You know that when you wake up with a pit of dread in your stomach, that today is just not going to be your day at all.

I stared up at the ceiling for a very long time before mom knocked on my door and told me that grandma would be here in just over an hour, so I needed to be showered and ready for her arrival. I loved my grandma very much, I really did, but if dad was bad about the whole ‘talks to dead people thing’ than she was worse.

There was a time when she was over and overheard (I swear she was listening in though) my parents talking about what they would do with me. She immediately sprayed me with water, I’m not kidding. She claimed it was holy water but I’m 99% she just used tap water instead. Nana, my grandma on mom’s side of the family, didn’t care all that much, but dad’s mother was horrible about it all. And don’t even get her started about when I stopped going to church. If I wasn’t going to burn in hell for speaking with the dead, I was going to because I stopped visiting the Lord every Sunday.

At least she didn’t care that I was gay.

With a sense of impending doom, I rolled out of the safety of my bed, grabbing some nice clothes from my closet to change into. I took a quick shower, enough to get off the morning stink. As I was putting my lotion on, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of worry for Lyn and Michael. Lyn because she didn’t call last night, plus she was clearly upset about something yesterday. Michael because that was the second time Amelia visited his dream and I was worried it was leading to something a lot more sinister.

I planned on asking her once we spoke, but I was curious to know if anything like that happened to Amelia before her death. I even thought about asking Jamieson as well, even though I still found him to be annoying. They were my biggest leads, regardless of if I wanted them to be or not. My worry was if they had unwanted spiritual visits… was Michael the next target?

That thought kept me up for a good chunk of the night. I didn’t want to add to his own worries, but I couldn’t shake that thought once it burrowed itself deep in my brain. Overthinking was my specialty after all.

It was probably wrong, but if there was even a slim chance of it being true, I needed to know. Just another thing to my ever-growing list with no answers. Hey, on the plus side, no one could ever say I procrastinated again. I just chose where my focus lies, that’s all. Nothing wrong with deciding a murder mystery that really has nothing to do with you is something I should spending all of my time on. Maybe there was a little tiny bit of guilt when I thought about all my schoolwork piling up, but my parents would be none the wiser as long as I pass all my classes.

Suppressing the urge to groan, pull my hair out, and cry all at once, I felt like I was ready to face my family for the day. I did quickly send a “Happy Thanksgiving!” in the group chat before heading down. I hope the others did have a nice day. I sent one to Mags and Sarah too. There, every friend I’ve made so far, and I could count them all on one hand. That was more than my friends in high school, in which I could count on one finger. To be honest, I was happier with a small group of friends.

I went down the stairs where Wallaby met me with his big doofy dog grin. I scratched behind his ears before going into the kitchen, where he followed with a wag of his tail. There was no way I wasn’t sneaking him into the car tomorrow. Mom and dad would never notice.

The counter was already covered in a variety of foods for tonight. Mom had a ham ready to go in the oven, since we all hated turkey. The pies were made, the ingredients for the salads were spewed across the counter. I glanced at the clock, noting that it was only 1:00. Okay, early supper. I snuck an apple off the counter before mom noticed so she didn’t get annoyed for me eating before a huge meal, but I hadn’t had breakfast yet, I was starving.

“I saw that,” mom said without taking her eyes off her apple slicing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, mother,” I said innocently, batting my eyelashes.

“You’re lucky that you’re the only daughter I have. Open that for me, please.”

I did what she asked and helped out a bit even though there wasn’t a lot for me to do. I stiffened when I heard the door open and grandma’s voice drift down the hallway. Mom looked at me with concern before rubbing my back gently. “You\re going to be okay. I haven’t said a word about what happened to you in the bookstore except to your dad, and he knows better than to tell his mom.”

Wallaby rubbed his wet nose against my hand to also calm me down. I nodded, swallowing the lump that was rising in my throat. It was just one meal I had to get through, then I could go back to the safety of my bedroom. I can do this.

Grandma Holland walked into the kitchen, surveying it with a critical eye before settling her stare onto me. I awkwardly waved and smiled as she walked over to me, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, Alexandra, you look so much older now,” she said affectionately, patting my cheek.

“It’s only been a few months, grandma,” I said embarrassed.

“Still, you just look more confident in yourself,” she remarked.

Did I? I didn’t feel more confident…but maybe because I actually was doing something that really mattered to me, it was changing how I was carrying myself? Too bad it was a secret that I could never share with them, because it would only break their hearts. It was like Buffy lying to Joyce about her Slayer powers for so long. It really put a strain on their relationship. It wasn’t often that media portrayed how it hurt so much to lie. It was like a gnawing guilt that ate away from the inside, leaving you feeling empty and hurt. I felt my guts twisting as I smiled at my grandma, catching my dad’s eye from the door. I was lying to all of them, only because I knew how it would end if they ever found out. The thought of that rejection hurt more than any guilt I was feeling.

Maybe once it was all over I could tell them, but for now it was my little secret. Mentally shaking my head, I left the room to quickly scarf my apple down before helping mom with the rest of supper. The longer I could avoid talking to grandma and dad together, the better.

The hours sped by like seconds. One minute the ham was going into the oven, next minute it was coming out as we all gathered around the table for supper. Unfortunately, Wallaby was not allowed at the dining table during this meal, since grandma didn’t like when we had him nearby while she was eating. The look in his eyes when I locked him up in the basement was one of utter betrayal. I’m sorry fluffy baby, I hope you can forgive me.

The feeling of tension refused to leave my shoulders and jaw as we made our way through the meal. I don’t know why I was feeling so anxious. I know my grandma upset me sometimes, but she hadn’t really done anything to trigger me. I just really wanted to get through this supper in one piece, that’s all.

Then came Thanks.

We always did it after supper but before dessert. I don’t why, we just did it that way. Dad went first, like always. He cleared his throat before taking a sip of water, only to clear his throat again.

“I’m thankful for my wonderful wife, Ellen, who has put up with me for years,” he started off, giving mom a look of utter adoration. “I’m not sure where I would be without her. I’m also thankful of my daughter, who started her first year away from home to go to school. I’m extremely proud of you, baby girl. I know how hard it was for you, and I miss you more each day you’re gone,” he said, smiling at me with tears in his eyes. I felt myself tearing up too.

Mom reached over to take his hand, kissing his knuckles lovingly. “I’m thankful for you too, Patrick. My life has been full of love and laughter ever since I met you. And I’m thankful for my wonderful daughter, Alexandra,” she reached over with her other hand, taking mine in hers, “who has gone through a lot of scary things in her life but is always to take the first step forward. You made me a better person by being born, and you challenge me to be better each day. I love you.”

God, Thanksgiving always made me so teary eyed. My parents were such saps. I wiped at my eyes with the back of my hand, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. “I…I’m thankful for my family and their good health. I know we always don’t see eye to eye, but I can’t imagine any other family for me. I’m thankful that I was given the chance to go to such a nice university and met all kinds of awesome and lovely people. I’m thankful for everything that I have,” I finished lamely, trying hard to keep my voice steady. My face was flushed from nerves, my hands trembling. Mom squeezed my hand tightly with comfort, smiling at me.

“Goodness, you people are so emotional,” grandma said with a chuckle. “I’m thankful that you’re all well. I’m thankful that I’m in a happy place and that my son found the love of his life. And I’ll be thankful once my granddaughter gives me great grandchildren.”

“Grandma!” I laughed. “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t think that will be happening anytime soon.”

“Adoption is a thing, my dear,” she replied airily.

Okay, phew. The worst of supper was over with. Dad got up and brought over the dessert. My mouth watered at the sight of the apple pie, the strawberry rhubarb pie, and the banana cream pie. I took a piece of each. I’m sure I was going to live to regret that later, but that was an issue for Ally of tonight, not the Ally of now. The Ally of now just really wanted pie.

The rest of the evening was spend talking about random things. Of course, I got a ton of questions about school and the people I met. I was really proud of myself for not blushing (too much) when I talked about Lyn. Practicing my poker face was really paying off. Everything was going really well until my grandma asked me if I was participating in any extracurriculars.

I stopped then, before shaking my head quickly. She raised her brow at me, looking over her glasses. “Now, don’t lie. You must be up to something.”

“Uh…not really. I-I just mostly go to class or study in my room, or watch movies with my roommate,” I said uncertainly.

“Well,” she hummed, “as long as you’re staying out of trouble, then.”

I tensed but chose to keep my mouth shut. Dad stepped in by saying, “She is, mom. You know that she doesn’t like to have that kind of attention.”

I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. I forced myself not to bite my lip as I focused on my breathing. I know dad didn’t really mean anything by that comment, but I knew exactly what he was talking about with ‘that kind of attention.’

“That’s good to hear,” said grandma. “I wouldn’t want her getting into all that supernatural nonsense that she was getting into when she was younger. It’s unnatural and unbecoming, if you ask me.”

“Mom, c-can I be e-excused?” I asked shakily, trying very hard to keep my tone steady. Mom looked at me with concern before nodding. I bolted out of the room, racing upstairs as fast as my shaking legs would let me. I managed to make it to my room before the tears fell. I know I should be used to it by now, but somehow it always hurt when they said it. Maybe I was overreacting, but right now I just needed to stay away from that. It was too much for me. I hated being blamed for something I literally couldn’t control.

I was finally feeling good about it, too. I was helping people. I was going to help those people move on and stop whoever who was killing people from doing it again. I only ever used it for good reasons, so why was I always the bad guy? It was just so painful to be see as a monster in the eyes of people who are supposed to love and care for you.

XXX

Lyn.

I smoothed out the wrinkles of my skirt. I stared into my mirror, my own miserable face staring back at me. I hated dressing up like this if I could avoid it. I was way more comfortable in a pair of sweats or jeans. A skirt and blouse just weren’t me. But mum requested that I looked nice for supper, so here I was. Even my braid felt tighter than usual, and I usually wore that thing pretty fucking tight. I checked my make-up on more time, making sure there wasn’t a single smudge on my face before stepping away, satisfied that it would please her.

I just needed to make it through this horrible night, then Olivia would take me back tomorrow first thing. I was doing this for her, so I was going to try my best so we could mend that bridge. I didn’t want to end up like those poor ghosts, feeling lost and alone because they had no one left.

With a heaving sigh, I plastered on my fake smile and left my room. I made sure there was no way mum or dad could say anything negative about my appearance today, so that just left every other little thing to nitpick instead. Yay.

My stomach was turning over in nervous energy as I descended the staircase. I felt awful about everything that went down between me and Leigh yesterday, and I hid from her all day. I snuck out of the house to talk with Stanford, then hid in my room for the rest of the day. I had to leave our chat early because my mum came knocking and wanted to know why I missed supper. Although I hated seeing that cold look of disdain, it was still better than seeing Leigh.

I also didn’t call Ally last night. I did it the first time because I really wanted to make sure she was okay, but then I kept doing it. At first, I thought it was because I was worried about her, then I realized at some point it was for my benefit. Listening to her talk about random things calmed me down, helping me sleep a little better. I was still having nightmares about a lot of things, but they were getting better. Ally had been handling this kind of junk since she was a little kid, so I felt like I needed to stop letting it hold me back. I don’t know if it’s because growing up I wasn’t supposed to show a lot of weakness or whatever, but not being able to control the situation at hand was making everything worse. I needed a way to keep this all under control without resorting to medication, and Ally was my fix.

Was it unhealthy? Was I so focused on what made me feel better that it was never about how she felt? It just made me feel even more disgusting. Was I really just like my mum? Using people to move myself forward in the world? The thought of that alone made my skin crawl. I tried so hard not to be like her.

I was so lost in my depressing thoughts that I never even heard Olivia until I nearly walked into her. She put her hands out to stop me from completely bowling her over.

“What’s bothering you, Lyn?” she asked, her face scrunched up in concern.

“Nothing,” I said automatically.

She sighed as she gently pulled me away from the dining room where I was heading. She led to me the coat room, closing the door behind her. Olivia clasped her hands in front of her face, pointing them at me.

“Lyn,” she started with a calm tone, “I need you to be straight with me here.”

“That’s physically impossible.��

“Don’t get smart with me.”

I shrugged, looking away. “We need to head to the dining room, mum and dad are probably waiting.”

“They can wait a bit longer,” said Olivia. “I can see that look in your eyes. Something is eating at you. What’s going on?”

“Noth-” I stopped when Olivia glared fiercely at me.

“Cut the crap, Lyn. You may be a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.”

I sighed, resisting the urge to run my hands through my hair. “I just- I got into a fight with Leigh yesterday. It was totally my fault and I don’t really want to see her right now.”

“I doubt that,” said Olivia with tone of disbelief. “I’m going to assume that you and Leigh got into a fight because you’re both stubborn asses.”

“You’re one to talk,” I muttered under my breath.

“Sorry? Olivia laced her voice with fake sweetness. “I am one to talk, actually. We’re all stubborn as oxen. Plus, I’ve been in my fair share of arguments between you and her. Seriously, we put the ‘dys’ in dysfunctional, with all the spiteful words we say to each other. What was the fight even about?”

Good thing I spoke Olivia, because most people would be utterly confused by that whole ‘dysfunctional’ bit. I understood that she was saying ‘dys’ as ‘diss’, but it still took my brain a few seconds to comprehend what she just said. When it finally clicked together, I noticed that she was staring at me expectantly. She asked me a question, didn’t she? I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing wanted to come out, so I settled for a shrug.

Her eyes narrowed. “Lyn, I really fucking hate when you do that, you know that? Based on the fact that you don’t feel like telling me suggests that she saw those hideous cuts on your arm.”

I nodded slowly in conformation. “She wanted to know where they came from. I told her it was a bear.”

Olivia shook her head. “Rookie mistake. You know she’s seen her fair share of bear attacks…which is very strange to actually say out loud, I admit. Anywaaaay,” she patted my arm lightly, “I don’t know what went down between you two, but it will be okay. I mean, look at us. Once we both put in a little effort not to be assholes to each other, we get along pretty well.”

“But I’ve never really gotten along with Leigh like I have with you,” I said sullenly. “She’s always been so perfect…and I’m just a hotheaded mess.”

“Okay,” Olivia clicked her tongue, “stop the pity party, please. Come on, let’s get this supper over with.” She went for the door, only to pause there for a minute.

“Uh, you okay?” I asked in confusion.

Olivia looked over her shoulder and smiled softly at me. “I just wanted to say thank you. I know that it wasn’t easy for you to come back here after what happened last year…it means a lot to me that you’re here because of me.”

I looked at her for several minutes of heavy silence, so much that she started fidgeting. I finally walked into her space and engulfed her in a big hug. Olivia relaxed, probably unaware of how tense she had been, hugging me back.

“I hate it here,” I said quietly, almost as if I was talking to myself. “I hate the person I become when I’m here. I hate the person I was because of this place. But I’m here because of you. I wanted to try and fix our relationship, because I learned a while ago how important it was to have people who care for you in your life.” I pulled away, looking into my sister’s eyes. “Maybe you don’t care as much as I do about how we were abused, but I’m not going to let them destroy this for us.”

Olivia didn’t say anything, but I could see the emotion in her eyes. Finally, she gave the slightest of nods as she patted my face affectionately. “Thank you, Lyn… Jesus, let’s go get some supper before I start bawling, idiot.” She turned away with a sniff, leaving the coat room. I took a deep breath and followed after her.

It wasn’t much but having that little bit of acknowledgement felt good. It was so horrible feeling like you were the only one who hated how we were treated growing up. Like I said to Ally, Olivia was quicker to forgive them than I was, but that was just her personality. She never took much to heart. She was a businesswoman like mum was in that way. She was able to compartmentalize her emotions into little boxes, so she could keep her focus and edge. I wasn’t like that. I was driven by my emotions. I’m not able to keep things lock inside forever. Eventually they would come bursting out like a dam being released, and anyone in my way would be swept in the rush. That’s why I finally lost my shit at Frankie at the Halloween Bash last year and decked him across the face. I hollered at Loryn and Jackie, until I finally told Loryn what happened here. After that I tried my best to never let me get to that point again, yet here I was doing the same thing again. I told myself I would be okay, that I would be able to handle it better. So far, I got into a fight with my sister and hid away in my room for a whole day. Overall, my coping has been dreadful thus far.

We walked into the dining room together, where they were all waiting for us. My eye caught Leigh’s, and we both turned away in shame. Or at least I did, maybe she didn’t. I took my seat at the table, making sure my hideous fake smile was in place. I could feel mum’s hawkish stare on me, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at her right now.

The cook brought in the food, setting it all on the table. We all waited patiently as they brought in the turkey, mashed potatoes, greens and all the other foods. It all seemed so wasteful to me. I put all the food I could muster onto my plate and waited until mum gave the a-okay to eat. Finally, she gave the table a curt nod and we dug in.

I was hoping to get through this meal without saying a word, but I wasn’t so lucky. About halfway through mum put down her glass of wine and looked over at me again with that same intense stare. I slowly put down my fork, turning my attention to her.

Her lip quirked upwards in something resembling a smile. “Lyndsey, I couldn’t help but overhear you on the phone or something the other night when you missed supper. Were those your friends from the team?”

A flurry of lies filtered through my head, but I knew that this was a test from her. I spent the whole summer here either at my summer job or talking to Loryn, Jackie, or Kerry on the phone. Slowly I shook my head.

“I didn’t think so,” she said casually, picking up her knife. She cut through her turkey meat before looking my way again. “Who were they?”

My heart stuttered in my chest, but I forced my voice to stay even. “Some new friends, not on the team.”

“Actually mum, did I tell you about this new project I was working on?” Olivia cut into the conversation. I sent her a grateful look, but mum held up her hand, her eyes still on me.

“Olivia, please don’t interrupt your sister. I’ll hear about this project in a minute. I want to hear about these new friends.” Her tone brokered no argument. Olivia slunked down her in seat, her eyes saying sorry, I tried.

“They’re nobody, mum,” I said, my voice clipped.

“Watch your tone,” dad said curtly.

“Sorry,” I ducked my head. I picked at my food, hoping to the fucking lord above that this was nearly over. I just wanted to go back to my room and throw on some music, to help me forget this whole conversation. “They’re just some friends, that’s all.”

Mum put down her knife as she chewed her food thoughtfully, though her eyes were coldly calculating. They flickered between me, Olivia, and Leigh a couple of times before settling on Leigh. For a minute, Leigh acted as if she took no notice to the sudden attention, but the façade was over quickly as her brows drew together in concern. She looked up from her meal and looked politely startled.

“Yes, mum?”

Resting her chin in her palm, mum tapped one finger against her cheek in thought. “Leigh, what was it that had you so upset yesterday? You weren’t yourself at supper.”

Both Leigh and I stiffened. Her eyes found mine for a brief second before they shot back to mum’s. “Um-” she cleared her throat awkwardly. “It was nothing, really. It’s already been settled.”

“Has it?” her eyebrows shot up in question. “How interesting, seeing as how you haven’t spoken to Lyndsey since then.”

My stomach was churning, and it felt like I ate lead. I pushed away from the table to excuse myself, until dad said sternly, “Stay in that seat, Lyndsey.”

“No thank you,” I took in a shuddering breath. “I’m not feeling well.”

“It wasn’t an option, dear,” mum turned to look at me, indicating that I should sit back down. I did as she instructed, trying very hard to keep my nerves under control. I ended up cracking my fingers under the table, to help with my anxiety. Mum leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs as she rested her elbow on the seat of the chair, chin balanced delicately on her fingers. The whole atmosphere was tense and anxious. Olivia shifted in her seat, trying very hard to look indifferent. Leigh was stock still, her face not giving anything away. I looked down at my socks, trying hard to keep my face impassive as well. A passed down trait to all the Hart women, I suppose. We knew when our poker faces were necessary, and this was one of those times.

“Ward, leave me with the girls for a minute,” mum said coolly, her voice business-like. Dad didn’t attempt to argue as he quietly removed himself from the dining room.

Sweat beaded at the back of my neck, but I still refused to look up. There was no way in hell I could look over at my mother right now. Why did it feel like we were all in trouble? The tone, the posture, the feeling in the air. Mother was imposing her power on us and it was working.

Then she laughed. Genuinely laughed. I looked up in surprise, and I could see matching looks on Olivia’s and Leigh’s faces. She smiled at us, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You girls should see the looks on your face! This isn’t an interrogation. I was just asking some simple questions. Really, you’re all acting a tad bit ridiculous if you ask me.”

Leigh laughed too, but it sounded weak and forced. “Of course, we know that! You were just testing us.” Olivia and I said nothing, clearly both at a lost for words.

Mum shook her head. “Thanksgiving is a time for families to be grateful for what they have. You three should all be thankful that you were born into such a strong family. You will all prosper, live successful lives and continue on the tradition of the family. Stop looking like deer in headlights now.”

If I hadn’t already been nauseous before, I would have been now. Mum had been toying with us? I could feel my hands trembling underneath the table but I refused to let her know that. Something must have been showing on my face because her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in my direction.

“What is bothering you now, Lyndsey?” Her tone was mildly exasperated.

I worked my jaw back and forth for a few seconds, fingers curled tightly against the edge of my seat. I swallowed heavily, forcing myself to look up at her. “That’s wrong.”

“What was that?” The way she asked almost sounded bored. My temper flared and I slammed both my hands on the table, causing my sisters to jump in their seats. Mum just watched impassively.

“That’s fucking sick!” I stood up, towering over her. “Why do you think this is funny? Can’t you see how tense we all were? Stop acting like a bitch for five fucking minutes in your pathetic life and be a decent human being you fucking psycho!”

Mum regarded me silently for a minute before her gaze grew cold. “Are you finished?”

My heart was ramming against my ribcage, my whole body shaking. “Finished with what?” I asked with dread, my voice tight with anger.

“Acting like child,” mum stood up as well. She was no where near my height, but she gave off this imposing aura that made me feel small. She always made me feel small. I tried my damndest to maintain my sense of anger, but I slowly yet surely felt my nerve decrease as mum continue to glare at me coolly.

“I’m not acting like a child,” I said, my voice catching in my throat from emotion.

“Yes, you are,” stated mum frankly, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re raising your voice at me for no reason and slamming things around. If you have something to say to me, say with the level of maturity I expect from someone your age.”

I opened my mouth to say something snarky, but ended up closing it tightly, dropping my head in shame. My entire face was burning with intense feeling. I just wanted to go back to my room, lock the door, and hide under the covers for the rest of the evening. I was just about to apologize for yelling when Olivia spoke up.

“L-Lyn is right,” she said shakily. When mum raised an eyebrow in her direction, she quickly explained, “I don’t mean about the whole psycho bitch thing, but it wasn’t very nice of you to taunt us like that. We are trying to enjoy supper, aren’t we? Whatever happened between Leigh and Lyn is not our business.”

Mum regarded Olivia for a silent moment before clicking her tongue. “Perhaps. However, Lyndsey’s behaviour tonight wasn’t acceptable. Whatever outburst she had today and yesterday is just an indication that she needs to control her emotions better.” She turned her steely gaze towards me. “Isn’t that right, Lyndsey?”

Our eyes locked together, and I nodded weakly. Mum gave me a satisfied smile before looking towards Olivia. “See? We came to an agreement.” Olivia looked as if she wanted to say something more but wisely chose to keep her mouth shut. Mum looked to me again. “Apologize to you sisters for that atrocious outburst.”

“Sorry,” I said stiffly, barely able to keep my tone even.

“You don’t need to apologize,” said Olivia quietly. I just shook my head, wishing this whole thing would just end now.

Leigh fidgeted with the hem of the tablecloth. “Yesterday…we were both at fault, Lyndsey. Let bygones be bygones, yes?” Her tone suggested civil agreement, but her body language was screaming a different story.

I nodded again. Mum waved her hands, dismissing us entirely. I bolted from the room, taking the steps two at a time. I closed my door, locking it behind me. I tore these clothes off, pulling on my pajamas. I sat on the edge of my bed, breathing heavily. My eyes were throbbing, head pounding. My stomach was churning, I felt sick. My body was weak, my mind was racing. I needed to get out of here as fast as possible. I needed to get away from this toxic environment. What was I going to do when summer came around again? Fuck, winter break too. I pressed my hands into eyes, biting down on my tongue to stop myself from shouting out loud.

It didn’t escape my notice that Olivia for the first time spoke up, in defense of me. Too bad it didn’t do much. After a few minutes of forcing myself to get into a state of calm, I reached for my phone that was plugged into the wall. I needed to talk to Loryn. But just before I hit the call button, a wave of guilt washes over me. I shouldn’t bother her during Thanksgiving. She was probably eating supper with her family, enjoying the time with her sisters and parents. Slowly, I drop it from my hand and fell back into the bed.

There was no one I could talk to right now. I would feel terrible if I called and ruined their holiday. Instead, I decided that I would be miserable alone. It was better this way. I wouldn’t want to ruin the Hart name, now would I?

[ynibytina]

Meet Spencer Kane!!!

I fell in love with Spencer Kane's voice when I heard his song "One Of THE Kind" on Youtube. The message of the song is simple: everyone is different, so stand out and be yourself, and don't be a bully. I recently got to interview this Kendallville, Indiana native that is a spokesperson for PACER's National Bully Prevention Center and also is just about to perform on the 2013 iShine Live tour. If you want to learn more about him, you can check out his personal website, YouTube channel, or Facebook & Twitter pages.

Favorite Musicians: Tobymac, Lecrae, Trip Lee, Jor'Dan Armstrong, Jason Derulo, Capital Kings, The Ground Above.

Favorite Movies: Ace Ventura Pet Detective (#1) & any action movies.

Favorite Books: I Am Number 4 Series.

Favorite Color: Blue.

Favorite Holiday: Christmas.

Mac or PC: Both.

Twitter or Facebook: Twitter.

Blackberry or iPhone: iPhone.

Chocolate or Vanilla: Vanilla.

Winter or Summer: Summer.

Pancakes or Waffles: Pancakes.

Math or Science: Math.

Past, Present, or Future: Present & Future.

What's your favorite song off your new EP besides "One of THE Kind?"

Move-In The Right Direction is my favorite on the EP because even though I wrote 4 of the 5 songs on the EP, that is the one which I was most involved in creating the music and overall production. The other songs I sang and gave input, but they were more directed by the Executive Producer and Producer. I like them all, but Move In The Right Direction was almost like I was able to help assemble each piece of the song the whole way through. The others I would sing my vocals and then kind of wait for the producer to give me a rough cut with music that I could critique and just kind of wait to see what happened. MITRD was very hands-on in the studio in Nashville for me and that will always be my best memory of this EP.

What made you realize you wanted to pursue a career in music?

I believe it was when I was 13 and auditioned for a local version of an Idol competition in my county. There were like over 100 people who tried out in my age category (under 16) and I made the top 10 and actually finished 2nd place. (The video of this performance is on my Youtube channel). I sang Sunday Morning by Maroon 5 and the judges of that competition were professional artists and voice trainers. They all said I did well. So when I look back and see that someone other than family felt I may have a chance to do something with music, it sort of made it easier to choose to pursue it. But even then and until the past 6 months, I was still not sure if it was something I'd do as a hobby or pursue professionally. Once I met with iShine in Nashville and Robert Beeson (founder of Essential Records who originally signed Jars of Clay and Third Day, and like the winner of 6 Grammys and a bunch of Dove Awards) I was told I had good potential. So, I guess that made it even more clear that I should take it more seriously. I'm such a jock athlete, it's been hard to walk away from a life in sports and dream of playing at the highest levels, but right now I'm just like taking it a step at a time and hopefully this upcoming tour starting on February 15 will make the picture even more clear. LOL.

What can you expect to see in the fourth season of iShine Knect?

The show is based on a school of performing arts and students who are talented in a lot of ways. It centers around The Rubyz, Mission 6 and a few other regulars. This new season was my first and I play myself in the show (Spencer Kane). I have a few episodes where I have more speaking lines than not, but many where I am just an extra in the background. I do know we filmed me performing my entire EP on stage at a concert at TBN Studios in Nashville the beginning of December 2012. I know they will be showing me singing on some episodes. I really liked the scripts and the topics of each show and think the over 1 million kids who tune in each week will like it too.

Your song "One of THE Kind" is about bullying. You recently became a spokesperson for PACER's National Bullying Prevention Center. How did that come along?

Yes. That song was based a lot on my own personal experiences in junior high and still even now being bullied for things. But it's also about some of the sad stories I've been told by fans around the world who face bullying in their own country just like here. Some places it's worse than here, but bullying is bullying. So the song is kind of my way of telling people to reach out and be kind and talk to people who may be hurting. PACER was a site that we submitted my song to in hopes they would tweet it or at least post a link on their site of the music video since it was based on what they are all about. That kind of led to a few phone calls from them to learn more about me and after a conference call with my manager in early December along with my dad and I, we sort of agreed to move forward in them helping me with bullying prevention curriculum to share at my live performances and them having me become a national spokesman for their organization. It's quite an honor since Demi Lovato has been their primary spokesperson for the past 5 or 6 years. They work with Disney and The Ellen Show as a partner against bullying, so it's really cool to know that they believe in my message enough to want to join together in our efforts to prevent bullying.

Someone once said write what you would want to perform over and over again. With that in mind, if you could only sing one song on stage (one of your own songs and one cover song), what would it be and why?

Great question. Right now I'd have to say "Be Alright" by Justin Bieber is one that I relate to and think I can sing well in a live performance. Reason To Be from my new EP is one that I actually like to sing because I believe the producer helped me to get the best out of my vocals on that song. I think people that hear the song really connect emotionally and in a live concert, that's what you really hope for.

What does a current day in your life look like?

Haha! Well, thank goodness right at the moment it's not been as crazy as it was from June until Christmas in 2012. But the tour is coming up in February and March and I'll be on the road for nearly 5 consecutive weeks and that will probably be crazy. But I'm a full-time H.S. student and varsity basketball player. I wake up early for school at like 6:15am and have to travel like 20 miles to get there one way. I usually have practice or a game 6 days a week, so I can usually plan on being up until 10pm working on homework, home chores, or cramming whatever other free time I have into something to do with music like chatting with fans online, or rehearsing music, writing music, listening to music, filming music videos or Vlogs, or even doing interviews or performances somewhere. Most people don't know HOW I fit my life in, but we seem to manage as a family right now. I'm sure my schedule after the tour may look different.

Besides music and sports, what do you like to do for fun?

I'm an Xbox gamer. I love playing online against friends or people I don't know. I'm very competitive so I like being able to try to beat my personal best score or be able to talk smack to a friend if I can manage to beat them. I play sports games or Call of Duty. Otherwise, I'm a movie guy. My parents and I watch a lot of movies when we have the time. I have a pretty beast-man cave in my basement where my dad and I just chill, so that's fun. Sometimes I go to the mall or hang with friends, but not very often.

What does your family think of your performances and how do they support you?

Well grandma's, of course, think I'm amazing. LOL. But honestly, my aunts and uncles are pretty supportive too. My best friend is my cousin Evan who is also 16 and he and I go to the same school. He is a huge supporter of me too. But my mom and dad are probably my biggest help. Dad owns a marketing company and is a photographer and videographer. He films all my music videos and edits them. He also does all my pictures so that is a huge help. He manages my marketing stuff like album cover art, and posters, and making my website. He like takes care of a lot of the business stuff for me like contracts and stuff. Mom is my cheerleader and is always checking out the "fangirls" to make sure they aren't up to something that will hurt her little boy. LOL. But I'd say that a lot of what I do with music is because God put me in a great family. My parents always try to make sure I have time to be a kid and have as normal a life as possible. So I guess that is a huge help too.

What's the best part about working with iShine?

I think the fact that I can be the artist I want to be and don't have to meet a stereotype that people expect when you're working with a Christian media group like iShine. I mean, the first time we ever met I explained that I'm definitely a Christian and always want my music to be morally positive, but I have NO plans or call to be a "Christian Artist". Like I don't envision me making albums of praise and worship type songs. It's not who I am or how I want to make music. iShine owners and management said they appreciated my sincerity and honesty and that it made them even more supportive of working with me. They believe my music will reach a broad group of young people who may or may not be Christians and that, I guess, is a good thing for them. So, they have been amazingly helpful in developing me and teaching me about the music industry. They let me work with Jeff Savage (Tobymac's Grammy Winning producer from the album Momentum and Diverse City and the writer of Irene and J Train). That alone was amazing to know I was working with him. He's awesome. He produced One of the Kind, 413 and Blue Sky from my new EP. So just working with him and then working with Zach Hall (producer of Newsboys "God is Not Dead" album) was also amazing. So I just think our goal in 2012 was to be able to work with professional and experienced producers who could help my music get to the next level, and iShine has definitely helped me to do that.

If you could perform anywhere in the world, where would you play and why?

I think anywhere in a huge venue with like 100,000 fans would be incredible. Even like 20,000 fans would be insane. I think the location isn't as important as knowing I would be able to perform for people who really wanted to see me perform. That's going to always be my goal. I love making music videos and seeing people like them on Youtube, but performing live in front of a huge audience would be fantastic.

[the-record-columns]

May 1, 2019: Columns

Children and food revisited...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

This past weekend, as you all know, was MerleFest time.

Well, for me, the very best part of the weekend was getting to see and visit with my children — my daughter, Jordan, son, Sam, his wife, Mary Ellen, their daughter, Carter Grace, and my youngest daughter, Cary — who have always enjoyed the event. I make sure to adjust my schedule so I can be with them as much as possible.

I especially enjoy any time we can have a meal together.

One of those meals was last Sunday’s lunch with Cary, and her boyfriend, John McLean, who were both in from Wilmington. For whatever reason, I didn’t have a huge appetite, and there was some food left on my plate.

This being unusual for me, Cary made a comment about it, to which I replied, “…but I ate all the money stuff.”

Cary smiled, remembering that expression from childhood and reminded me of a story.

Some time ago I wrote a piece about children and restaurants, and, for lack of a better way to put it, wasting food.

One part concerned trips I used to take to Myrtle Beach with my children and our favorite eatery called Steer's, where the feature was a 50-foot all you can eat food bar. My admonition to the kids was to stick to the last four feet of the bar where the crab legs and shrimp resided, reminding them in no uncertain terms that I could find Jell-O and macaroni and cheese at home—for far less than $20 a head (and this was years ago).

I would also mention to them how many times my daddy, The Preacher reminded me to not “...let your eyes get bigger than your stomach,” when I was a kid, because I would surely clean my plate before leaving the table.

Well, that column must have been read by many folks with kids, because it sure seemed to resonate with many—all with their own story. Several people saw me out to eat and asked me if I had eaten all the “money stuff” on my plate, a reference to my way of making sure if something got left on the plate, at least it wasn't the steak or shrimp or—well, you get the idea.

Another thing that reminded me a bit of myself was told to me by several parents who said they would make it clear to their children they were at the beach with sand and surf, and that the hotel's swimming pool was virtually off limits.

One guy said he told them “There is a swimming pool at the YMCA and the Country Club and several other places at home. No ocean, however.”

I always loved any opportunity to play in the sand and hauled enough shovels and hoes to the coast to build a sand castle realtors would envy. As the day wound down, we would all often stand on the balcony and watch the inevitable destruction of our work by the tide, vowing to beat it the next day.

In general it was a fun column to write and a fun one to talk about. My favorite conversation was on a Saturday at what was then Woodhaven Restaurant on D Street in North Wilkesboro. There was a couple there I would see virtually every Saturday morning, and, when I sat down we began to talk about the column.

The lady spoke about babysitting her grandchildren and how their eyes sometimes did get bigger than their stomach, but, being a grandma, I got the feeling she was pretty easy on them. I got particularly amused when she said she sat down to eat with them and one of the boys wouldn't eat a bite—claiming he had a blister in his lip. I told her that kid should be glad he was with grandma; if my Pa had been there, the blister might have been on my bottom.

But the most memorable story came from her husband. We had talked back and forth about everything from our parents dealing with hard times, to children just being children. As our conversation was ending, he told how his own mother dealt with the not cleaning ones plate issue. His mother cooked on a wood stove and, like most women of her day, was a wonderful cook. A kid being a kid, however, sometimes he didn't want to eat everything he had put on his plate.

This was apparently no big deal to his mother—she would take his plate without a word, carefully placing it in the warming closet atop the wood stove—and faithfully bring it back out at the next meal. That's right, he finished that meal before he got the next one.

Way to go, momma!

Another wonderful lesson learned.

O (possum), baby!

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

They say everything happens for a reason.

There have been times we read about extraordinary events happened, and people being spared injury, or worse, because they couldn’t find their car keys or overslept etcetera, which made them late, and in turn they avoided being involved in an accident.

Well, I’ve never been in that situation that I know of — at least, I’ve never been spared the diatribe of a less than happy boss at my tardiness. But I digress.

During MerleFest, I help run the VFW Post 1142 campground office. Saturday night I was to attend a birthday party of a friend after my shift was over at 8 p.m. I left later than expected, since the Saturday night dance at the Post was well underway, and I was still selling ice and taking pictures of dancers to put in this weeks edition of The Record. I made promises to Commander Blackburn and Christy Sherwood — who was gracious enough to work the raffle table while her husband drove the shuttle bus — that I would be back to take pictures of the raffle drawing winner at 10 p.m.

Well, about 20 minutes later, after missing the exit I was to turn on, then traversing down a back road because I was miffed at myself for missing said exit and was just too stubborn to get back on the highway, I found myself in the middle of the road, after dark, with two baby opossums, tails wrapped around my fingers, and heading down into a drainage ditch to find another that I could hear crying, but couldn’t see. I know what you’re thinking. “Heather! Really??”

Really.

So what had happened was….

I saw an opossum coming into the road from the field, and just knew the car in front of me was going to hit it. In fact, they swerved to hit it on purpose. I was far enough behind them to see the atrocity, and then panic when I saw the asphalt come alive. Or at least it seemed to. There were babies all over the place. I put on my flashers, stopped the car and started scooping up babies by the tail. Sadly, three of them were killed on impact with the mother. One was in the middle of the road, one was going back into the field, and one had rolled into the steep ditch on the other side of the road.

No, I don’t have any idea how to raise baby opossums. No, I didn’t stop to think about calling the vet first, and no, I was not thinking about how I was going to transport them in my car. After all, babies in the road is an emergency, I can deal with the rest later.

As it happened, I had my VFW Campground tote bag in the passengers seat, and with thee baby opossums now in hand, I slung the contents out in a frenzy (I still can’t find my favorite ChapStick) and gently deposited the babes into it.

I walked into the party with the bag clutched at my side, hoping someone would give me a pointer how to keep them alive until the morning.

I sent messages to vet techs, and made a Facebook post. Almost immediately my friends came to my rescue on social media.

As it happens, the birthday boy and his wife knew a lady who was involved with those who recue opossums. They called and she was there within the hour.  And I was glad to recognize her too, because I wasn’t just letting this precious cargo go home with just anyone. Besides, they had gotten cozy in the tote bag that I now had tucked under my shirt to keep the wee marsupials warm. Meanwhile, I had texted Christy and told her of the situation, and asked if she would be kind enough to take pictures of the raffle winners, as I was otherwise engaged.

I got sad looking at their sweet little faces, wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t been there when I was. And even sadder still, knowing that they are so misunderstood that people want to run over them on purpose. They eat ticks, which carry Lyme disease, so that makes them keepers in my book.

Here are some links to read about these amazing- and smart- animals.

www.littlethings.com/possum-facts/

www.caryinstitute.org/discover-ecology/podcasts/why-you-should-brake-opossums

https://www.care2.com/greenliving/10-reasons-to-love-opossums.html

Trading territory for terror

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

In the United States the term “settlement” generally refers to an agreement, an arrangement, a resolution or an understanding of one sort or another.  In Israel, the word “settlement” means something quite different and is a hot button for those who are anti-Israel.  

By definition, “settlements” are civilian communities inhabited by Israeli citizens who are mostly Jewish. When the liberal, anti-Israel media presents a story about one of these areas, they intentionally create the image of a “settlement” as being an illegal encampment on land owned by the Palestinians.  This causes the uninformed to believe that Israel stole land belonging to the Palestinians.  Now let’s look at the true facts in a nutshell.

An excerpt from The Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel says, “The land of Israel is the birthplace of the Jewish people.  Here their spiritual, religious and political identity were shaped, and it was here where they created cultural values of national and universal significance and gave to the world the eternal Book of Books.” 

Throughout the Diaspora (Jewish exile from the land of Israel), Jews maintained physical, cultural and religious ties to the land.  They kept their faith and never ceased to pray and hope for their return to their national homeland which was deeded to them by God Himself. Following the horrors of World War II and Hitler’s concentration camps where millions of Jews were tortured and murdered, the problem of Jewish homelessness became a matter of urgency. On November 29, 1947, the United Nations General Assembly passed a resolution calling for the establishment of a Jewish state in the land of Israel and proclaimed it irrevocable.   

On the very day Israel became a nation on May 14, 1948, this tiny, fledgling country with no organized army and very few weapons was attacked by five surrounding and well-armed Arab nations.  The fighting continued into 1949.  Although at a great disadvantage, Israel was not defeated.  Armistice lines were drawn up between Israel, Egypt, Lebanon, Transjordan and Syria. These armistice lines held up until 1967 when Israel was again attacked by Egypt, Jordan and Syria.  The outcome of this war significantly changed the map of most of the Middle East and served as the catalyst for the geopolitical issues which we read about almost every day.  Israel’s attackers had well-trained armies and ample stockpiles of munitions and hardware.  During this fighting which became known as the Six Day War, Israel learned that Egypt was planning a major air offensive.  The IDF (Israel Defense Force) launched a preemptive air strike which crushed the air forces of Egypt and her allies.  Israel then launched a successful ground operation which resulted in the capture of the West Bank and East Jerusalem from Jordan, the Golan Heights from Syria and the Sinai Peninsula and Gaza strip from Egypt.

In a war Israel fought in self-defense which resulted in the capture of land from her hostile Arab neighbors, Israel began to rightfully and lawfully establish villages, towns and cities.  These communities are located in the areas many of us know as Judea and Samaria or the West Bank and Gaza strip.  But Israelis are not newcomers to this land.  For thousands of years Jewish “settlements” and communities have flourished in these areas.  The Jews made the deserts bloom.  

Today the world is pointing an accusing finger at Israel claiming that the “settlements” are illegal.  Legal opinion states that a country acting in self-defense may seize and occupy territory when necessary to protect itself and its citizens.  Should the occupying power elect to withdraw, it has every right to require assurance that it will not be harassed or attacked again from that territory.  

Time and time again Israel has held out the olive branch to the Palestinians and her other Arab neighbors only to have it rejected and trampled upon.  Israel has a right to defensible borders, and this is why the issue of “settlements” is so important.  In 2005 Israel’s then Prime Minister Ariel Sharon unilaterally withdrew from Gaza hoping for peace, but peace never came. What Israel received, and continues to receive, from Hamas and the Palestinians in Gaza, is more rocket attacks and more terrorism.  In other words, Israel traded territory for terror.  By Israel giving up Gaza, terrorists did not stop terrorizing they only moved their bases of operation closer to Israel’s population centers.

Soon the people of North Carolina will have an opportunity to hear personally from the mayor of Ma’ale Adumim which is a suburb of Israel’s capital, Jerusalem. This beautiful and peaceful city is located less than three miles from Jerusalem’s city limits.  Ma’ale Adumim was established in 1975 by 23 families on a hilltop 1500 feet above sea level overlooking the Judean Desert. Today this “settlement” is a thriving municipality and the largest Jewish city within the “territories.” Ma’ale Adumim is vital to Israel’s security and is a place where Jews and Palestinians work side by side in peace and harmony.

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Yrsa Daley-Ward: ‘People are afraid to tell the truth' | Fashion

If you’re afraid to write it, that’s a good sign. I suppose you know you’re writing the truth when you’re terrified.” These words in black type on a white background make up one of poet Yrsa Daley-Ward’s Instagram posts. This monochrome snapshot of her innermost thoughts has more than 5,200 “likes”. That’s more than double the number she gets for any pictures. Daley-Ward spent her late teens and early 20s as a model struggling to pay her rent in London, working for brands such as Apple, Topshop, Estée Lauder and Nike. She still models today. Ironically, however, it was the image-obsessed medium of Instagram that enabled her to pursue the written word.

“I always was a writer,” she explains today in a thick Lancashire accent, sitting in a downtown Los Angeles restaurant close to where she lives. “But I was depressed [in London] and that made me choke. Modelling is an interesting profession because it teaches you so much about here…” She points a finger at her face. “But not here…” she sighs and points at her heart. “You become introverted, you disappear into yourself.”

‘I didn’t fit in. I wanted to be white, have different hair, know my father, not be religious…’

Daley-Ward’s debut collection of poetry, Bone, is anything but introverted. Aptly titled, it’s a visceral read candidly documenting her religious upbringing, sexuality and mental-health battles. It flew out of her in three months, as she chronicled her bad love affairs, sense of isolation and feelings of inadequacy – an uncomfortable, uninhibited read. Daley-Ward is a self-confessed firestarter and has a colourful past. She doesn’t watch TV and prefers to go to the pub to drink Guinness and “chat to old men about their lives”. When asked to give her age, she refuses. “Men don’t get asked,” she barks.

She finds the notion of being objectified irksome. In a bodycon dress today, she tells me she’s been cat-called “seven times” en route here. “Why the fuck? Look at the patriarchy, look at rape culture. I don’t need to be subjected to what men think.” With her poems she cuts through that, deep into the parts of herself that she feels have been overseen by superficial, homogenous norms.

Bone was initially released in 2014 through Amazon’s self-publishing arm. It’s since been expanded for reissue via Penguin. Daley-Ward’s 116,000 and growing Instagram fanbase was key to that. Having followers like pop star Florence & the Machine and Hollywood actor Ellen Page also helps.

Daley-Ward read everything she could get her hands on as a kid: Roald Dahl, Spike Milligan, Shakespeare. As a young, black, LGBTQ female, she’s often said that she feels “invisible”in the literary world and maintains that poetry has a long way to go to diversify itself.

“Have I seen change? Yes and no,” she says. “There’s a lot more to do. If it wasn’t for the internet how would I have got the book out? How would I have got a publisher? If I went to a publisher armed with Bone and zero internet following…” She tapers off, suggesting they’d have looked right past her. “I didn’t know what to expect. I just persevered.”

‘The queer space is varied and intricate. Every story I have is a story a friend has’: Ysra Daley-Ward. Photograph: Platon for the Observer

Alongside the African-American poet Nayyirah Waheed, Zimbabwean bard Tapiwa Mugabe and Nigerian writer Ijeoma Umebinyuo, Daley-Ward, who is of West Indian and West African descent, is part of a small, elite community of black writers who are breaking down barriers. “It’s lovely to see women of colour poets,” she says. “Old poetry can be so inaccessible. Not just for people of colour but for people who aren’t super erudite, who don’t read, don’t love Shakespeare. Some people just want to connect with feelings.”

The melting pot of Downtown LA is a far cry from home in Chorley. She was born in the northern town after her Jamaican mother (a nurse) had an extra-marital affair with a Nigerian man who came to the UK to study, leaving his wife and children behind. He died before Daley-Ward was old enough to meet him.

From the age of seven to 11 she was sent, with her younger brother, to live with her grandparents. They were Seventh Day Adventists. Daley-Ward describes them as “strict religious fundamentalists”. “From sunset on Friday we couldn’t do anything until sunset on Saturday,” she recalls. “During the week everything was monitored. We didn’t go outside except to see my cousins.”

‘Sex work is common among models. It’s not standing on street corners – you have boyfriends who are very rich’

Growing up fast, she was ingrained with certain gender expectations; rules that existed to be broken. “They’d tell me that a girl should be able to run a house. Every Sunday my grandma and I would be on our knees handwashing all the clothes. I learned how to clean, sew and cook. I never make my bed now.”

At the time, Daley-Ward bottled up her frustrations. When she returned to live with her mother, she was left to raise her brother while her mum worked night shifts. “Things changed completely,” she remembers. “There was all the freedom where we once had no freedom.”

As well as the liberation that came with her own sexual awakening, she gained a more rounded perspective on a woman’s place in the world. Her mum’s boyfriends weren’t always the most desirable choices. “She was the one with the money, working hard. She never received help from men, ever.” That gave birth to a sense of staunch independence in her, combined with a streak of disruption. “I’m a quiet, introverted person, but I was very internally rebellious.”

Conflict continued to bubble up inside her; she was acutely aware of not fitting in in Chorley. “I was a black girl living in a market town, alien to everything. There were so many things I wanted to be other than what I was. I wanted to be white, have different hair, have parents who were home, know my father, not be religious. When I watched TV, everything from Disney to Coronation Street, there was never a representation of me.” She would write to disappear into different realities.

Soon enough, however, she didn’t need prose to whisk her away. There was a man – an older music teacher. He was married. He left his wife for her. “It was a torrid, crazy time,” she recalls, awkwardly avoiding the conversation.

‘When I was 20, I was in knots. There’s no cage now’: Ysra Daley-Ward. Photograph: Platon for the Observer

She left Chorley and moved to Manchester en route to London, as the pull of big multicultural cities became exhilarating to her. “I was going out dancing to reggae and African music, buying jollof rice made by someone other than my grandma.” The honeymoon period was short, though. She lost her mother in 2007. (She doesn’t say how she died but implies that her lack of quality of life contributed.) Working as a jobbing actor and model, struggling to makes ends meet, she fell into depression. Writing was unimportant when there were bills to pay. “The grind got to me. I was lonely and had no real support in the world. None. I felt awful every day. I didn’t want to get out of bed.”

The discrimination she experienced in the fashion industry made matters worse. Repeatedly she’d fail to get jobs she was more than qualified for. “This is not a face that sells in England,” she says. “They say that black models sell fewer clothes than white models. That’s stupid. Fashion just doesn’t want to be diverse.” To survive, she had to find other avenues. “I was a very enterprising young woman,” she says coyly. “Learning what to use to get by.”

I ask if she’s alluding to sex work. She laughs. “It’s the most common thing in the modelling industry, especially at high levels. I’m not talking about standing on street corners. You have a boyfriend for two months who’s a millionaire. In that situation you’re safe, eating caviar, drinking champagne. There are other situations that are considerably less safe and less consensual. It’s a reality for so many women in the entertainment industry and we’re told not to talk about it.”

In desperate need of salvation and in search of more secure modelling jobs, she moved to Cape Town where there was, she says, a guaranteed market for black models. She was 24 years old with £200 in her pocket. The experience made her rich in a way she’d never have anticipated. While there, she came across a spoken-word evening. The task was to write a poem about family discord. “I thought: easy!” she smiles. Her performance brought rapturous applause. She went again and again. Every week the audience grew.

“In acting and modelling I was so busy expressing what somebody else wanted that I’d completely shut down my own voice,” she says. “I didn’t have any mirrors. When I was 20, I was in knots. I couldn’t speak my reality to anybody. There’s no cage now. Lots of people are afraid to tell the truth. But I don’t care. It’s fucking boring otherwise.”

Ysra Daley-Ward as a toddler with her mother and brother. She says her mum ‘never received help from men, ever’. Photograph: @yrsadaleyward

Today, Daley-Ward lives between LA and London. Her audience has grown far beyond Cape Town. One poem, Mental Health, has made fans of people who have never given a thought to poetry. During a reading in south London, a man came up to her in tears. “He asked me to send it to him. I thought nobody was listening,” she says. She’s also become a poster child for the undermined, particularly the LGBTQ community. Despite writing about her relationships with women, she refuses to make her sexuality a big deal, insisting that her poems relate to people of all sexual preferences.

“I’m writing about common experience,” she says. “The LGBT community are my friends. The queer space is varied and intricate. Every story I have is a story a friend has. When I talk about a woman that you can’t get out of your head even though you know she’s going to fuck you over… Hello?! That represents 10 people I know.”

In an age of technology, the fact that Daley-Ward has built a platform for literature out of social media is perhaps her biggest act of rebellion. Next, she’ll release a memoir. “There’s nothing left unsaid,” she laughs. Titled The Terrible, it’s “The truest thing I’ll maybe ever write.” Where it will take her remains to be seen. “I move through the world at an alarming rate. Next time we speak I might be in New York,” she says. “I’m in the midst of a change. I keep dreaming about it. Something’s about to happen.”

Bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward is published by Penguin on 26 September, at £9.99. To order a copy for £8.49, go to bookshop.theguardian.com

Fashion credits: (from top) Daley-ward wears dress by Alexander McQueen; coat by Givenchy; and jumper by Prada. Fashion editor Jo Jones; hair by Jerome Cultrera at L’Atelier NYC using Oribe Hair Care; make-up by Linda Gradin at L’Atelier NYC using MAC Cosmetics; fashion assistant Bemi Shaw

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