Celebrate America

Several months ago before the school year ended, my daughter won 3rd place in a writing contest put on by the Association of Immigration Lawyers. She had to write an essay titled, "Why I'm Proud to Live in a Nation of Immigrants".

One of the awards was reading her essay at the US Citizenship and Immigration Services where over 400 immigrants, from 43 different countries, became United States citizens.

Her father and I got to attend, and it was one of the most amazing, emotional experiences in my life. To sit through the process was interesting, but to feel the joy and emotion in the room when these immigrants were pronounced citizens was indescribable. I spent most of the time in tears. It makes you really appreciate where you live. Gripe about the President and whine about the gas prices, but be thankful that you are able to do all of that.

Below is Madison's paper:

Why I am Proud to Live in a Nation of Immigrants

I am very proud to live in the United States, a nation of immigrants. We are known as the melting pot because people from all over the world come here to live. Living with immigrants is very interesting because we learn new cultures and meet different types of people, but mostly it means that we are a free country that welcomes everyone.

Having people from other countries live in our nation opens us up to other cultures. We experience new religions, recipes, and languages. More varieties of foods mean more restaurants and something new for dinner every night. More types of religions give us more to choose from, and learning other languages is not only helpful but fun.

I attend a school with kids whose parents were born in India, Puerto Rico, Greece, China, and Germany. From these classmates, I am exposed to other languages, different types of music and dance, clothing and different customs. I know more about the world around me because I can get answers to my questions directly from people who have experience in these different countries.

The United States was founded by immigrants from England. These were people who wanted to be free to live their lives the way they wanted, without restrictions. Today people are still coming to the United States for that reason, and our country welcomes them with open arms.

Every American is a descendant from someone who came from another country. For years immigrants have brought their religions, their customs, and their languages and merged them with our own. Together we learn from each other. Together we make up America. I am proud to be a part of the melting pot.

Practicing Good Hygiene

The family and its friends who brush together? Stay together!

The Loss of Innocence

Today I discussed the facts of life with my oldest daughter. She had just had her yearly physical and I thought that was as good an opening as any.

The public schools give the sex talk in 5th grade so her friends outside of her school learned it this year, and because this was the year she would get the talk at her own school, I figured I should give it now. Wouldn't she rather hear things from me first?

I didn't it right. I sucked. First, I did it while I was driving home from her physical. What possessed me to do it this way? When my mother gave me the talk she used some book she'd gotten. It was way over my head but she read it to me and then discussed the things she'd read. I had once used that same book when Madison asked me questions about babies. The book is totally too advance, but it would've been better than a discussion in the car. I kept looking at her in the review mirror and she just seemed so small, drawing her legs up as she does for protection.

She knew quite a bit, but most of it was clinical. We discussed sex, transmitting diseases, and drugs. Everything I could remember that was discussed in my sex education class. Although what I remember about that was mostly the kid vomiting after doing drugs or alcohol. It looked like spoiled milk coming out of her body and the boys imitated it on the walk home from the bus stop. Over and over.

Secondly, I went far overboard. I tried to get through to her that her body was hers and that no one had the right to do anything with her body unless she agreed to it. I got a little forceful on that topic. Why did I do it that way? It was very pro-female. She cried. She said she felt weird.

I stopped in the parking lot of Target and climbed in the backseat with her. I hugged her and tried to tone down the discussion and my forcefulness. I hated myself for doing it all wrong. She cried some more and when I asked her why she was crying she said, "Because you look so sad. You look like you're going to start crying."

Yep. Sorry, kid. I probably am and will. I screwed that up for sure, but mostly I'm sad because you're growing up and I have to have this talk in the first place. No one prepared me for my firstborn to become a woman.

I'll try to do it better with your sister.

Hugh Murphy 1924 - 2008

Today my friend Murph died.

I've been trying to think about what I want to say about him and all I keep seeing is a reel of moments in his life like you would see on a soap opera episode when the character is killed off and they show flashbacks of his time on the show set to music.

There is music in my Murphy reel, but for some reason, I can't hear it. I just know it is there.




It starts out with him sitting in his wheelchair in the front lobby of the rehab center where we would sit and talk while we waited for the van to pick him up to take him to his radiation treatments. From there the reel, like my slide show of pictures on my Picasa computer program, goes just slow enough to take in the scene, to remember when it actually happened. I see him coming into the lobby of the pool where I first met him 18 years ago. He is walking beside his bicycle, wheeling it in with him.

Murphy: "How ya doing, kid?"

He and the bike disappear through the men's room door out to the pool.

I see him in the deep end of the pool with his swim buoys. He is facing me and talking. Then he is back in the wheelchair upstairs in the rehab center yelling, "Cara, Baby!" I see him coming toward the deep end of the pool with his water cuffs on his ankles, his swim buoys in his hand, his gnarled toes scraping the pool deck as he walks. And then he is diving in, and I hear his imitation of Al Pacino in the movie, Scent of a Woman, his favorite thing to yell as he is sucked into the depths of the water, "Whoo-ah!"

I see him as he is in the picture above sitting in my backyard, and then he is gone, reappearing in the pool again. I see the back of his head and he water walks across the deep end, burping and then saying in a mocking way, "Excuse me, Cara."

I see him on the Pinellas trail riding his bike, waving as he goes by.

I see him in the pool with his flippers, lying face down as he swims freestyle from one end of the 25-meter pool to the other. Then he is at the end of the pool, looking up at me, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

Murphy: "How ya doing, kid?"

I see him outside in the courtyard of the rehab center, his forearms on the armrest of his wheelchair, his hands clasped, asking my daughter questions.

I see him reclining in his favorite chair at his house and then he is sitting next to me at the Mexican restaurant telling me this food will make me fat, eat up.

I see him through the mirror as he combs his hair in the bathroom at the rehab center. Then he is back in the pool on his back, spitting water up into the air like a whale. I see him on the couch in my living room letting my daughter put bows into his hair.

The pictures come a bit faster and I hear his voice as each memory flickers past:

"How's Tom?"

"Cara, can you hear me?"

"How are the kids?"

"You have a good memory, you know that?"

"You're right. Your always right, Cara."

"In my house, Nancy is the boss. Nan-nu!"

"Thanks for coming."

Then I see him out of the pool, his shoulders rounded, his towel around his neck, and he is pushing his bike and heading out the side gate at the pool, and as he passes me he thumps the lifeguard chair and I hear, "I'll see ya, kid. Take care." And then there is darkness.

And then the reel starts over again.

Our Indiana summer comes to an end

Cool Shoes....don't touch....oops
Originally uploaded by tcboos

The rest of our vacation was spent in Indiana at Susan's home. We did some shopping. We lounged at the country club where my brother runs the show. We watched some movies. We ATE all the time, mostly in restaurants. I wonder if I could name all the places I've eaten on this vacation. Hmmm....something to think about for future blogs.

On the drive to the airport to head back to Florida I asked everyone what they will miss and what they won't miss. Here it is:

What will you miss?

Susan: Always having another woman (Cara) to talk to and Gabby having a playmate 24/7. I'll miss Cara's pool and Kelly.

Cara: Gabby's opera singing and my little chipmunk friend.

Darcy: Gabby taking the covers off of me at night and me taking them back.

Madison: Everything

Gabby: Playing with Madison and Darcy. I'll miss the lizards and the hotness of Florida.

Austin: Aunt Cara's house


What will you not miss?

IMG_3457
Originally uploaded by tcboos

Susan: The girls arguing!

Cara: Eating at fast food restaurants every day.

Darcy: Itchy grass

Madison: The chance to fall down the stairs

Gabby: The lakehouse pool and mosquitoes....crying