by Heather Plett | May 10, 2005 | Uncategorized
“Everyone – down on the floor!” That’s how it started. Several members of the “Manitoba Militia” burst into the high school’s gymnasium proclaiming that they had come to take over the school and that if we wanted to escape with our lives, we would need to run for the refuge of the buses waiting outside.
Last Friday, I took part in an “In Exile” exercise. (Our organization, Canadian Foodgrains Bank, is one of the creators of the program.) Organizers had invited high school students from across the province to join them in the simulation exercise that provides students with an opportunity to experience what it’s like to be a refugee for a day. I was an honourary high school student for the day.
There was relative calm on the bus as we escaped our “country”, but when we arrived at Bird’s Hill Park, pandemonium broke loose once again. Guards burst onto the bus, demanding that we stay silent and keep our eyes to the front of the bus.
Each of us had been given a passport complete with an identity, a country, and a story. I was Balaputa from Indonesia, a 17 year old girl who’d had to flee with her family because of political unrest. There’d been bombing in my village, and my sister had been killed. Together with my fellow Indonesians, I was ordered off the bus and made to lie face down on the ground with my hands on my head. Anyone who moved was subjected to persecution from the guards. Some had to stand on one foot in the bush, and others had to do multiple push-ups.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity of watching the ants crawl past my face, we were told to get up. But the persecution wasn’t over yet. Partly for their own sport, and partly as an exercise in breaking our spirit, the guards put us through several nonsensical exercises. We moved picnic tables from one spot to another and then back again. We held the picnic tables above our heads until we felt our arms would collapse.
At long last, we escaped into the bush. In our walk to find safety we encountered exploding land mines, rebels who killed one of our people and took all our food and water, exploded body parts, injured people in need of assistance (do you help them and risk your own safety, or walk away and leave them destitute?), benevolent villagers offering us candy, temperamental border guards on power trips, more rebels who destroyed our passports and persecuted us further, and aid workers who spoke a language none of us understood.
Finally we arrived at camp. We thought it would represent safety, but there were still more surprises in store for us. First there were papers to fill out – if we could understand the language they were written in. Those of us who were sick or injured were sent to the medical tent for attention.
Then there was the long wait for food after hours spent wandering through the bush. Throughout the long wait, we had to put up with more intimidation by the power-hungry guards. Just when it appeared that the food would be served, rebels burst into the camp and stole it out from under our eyes. The cook was shot and injured trying to protect the food. The food was finally recovered by enterprising refugees who collected all the earthly goods they could find in the camp and bartered with the rebels.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted and sore. My head ached and my muscles screamed for relief. It’s not easy being a refugee – even for a day.
More than anything, what I took away from Friday’s exercise was a glimpse into what it feels like to have your power taken away from you. Though we don’t recognize it in our daily existence, we have a considerable amount of control over what happens to us. Generally, if someone mistreats us, we can choose to challenge the person or walk away. It doesn’t work that way when someone has a gun pointed at your head. Suddenly, your choices become limited – either do ten push-ups or risk getting shot or tortured.
What I couldn’t help but wonder when I left camp was what kind of a person I would turn into if I were subjected to that kind of treatment on a long term basis. Would I retain any of my self-confidence? Would I have the courage to keep going? When I arrived in a new country, would I be able to trust people who were trying to help me? Would I believe in myself enough to start a new life? Would I feel I had the right to “get even” by mistreating other people? I’m not sure how I would respond. I certainly have a new perspective after this experience and I hope I will treat people with a new respect and empathy – not only refugees, but victims of abuse, persecution, oppression, etc.
by Heather Plett | May 5, 2005 | Uncategorized
Well, perhaps not EVERY mother cares about these words, but I sure do…
“Mom, I’m on page 85 already”
“Mom, do I HAVE to turn out the light? I just want to finish this chapter.”
“Mom, can we go to the library soon? I don’t have any more books to read.”
“Maddie, do you want me to read that story for you?”
Yes, I’m proud to say, my oldest daughters have become book lovers. (The youngest seems to be as well, but so far her books have to be read to her by an older person 🙂 Nikki is on her third book of the Lemony Snikket series, and Julie is on book 4 of the Harry Potter series. Yay! (It’s even BETTER that they seem to have graduated past the Olsen twins and Hillary Duff books.)
If there was one thing I wanted for my kids (and yes, I admit there are others, but this one is important!) it was that they would learn a love for books. One never knows whether that will happen or not – it’s not something you can force. But it seems to be happening, and I am delighted.
Last night, as we lay in my bed reading together, I said to Julie “some day soon, you can start borrowing MY books.” And she said “Yeah, and you can borrow MINE.”
This I vow – that I will always make sure that they have enough books at their disposal to broaden their minds and expand their worldviews. Madeleine L’Engle said you shouldn’t limit what your kids read – if they want to start reading “adult” books that seem too complex for them, let them. If they have trouble with them, they’ll either set them aside until they’re ready for them, or, if they know they can, come to you to help them understand. She said she had a full library of “adult” books at her disposal from a very early age and has been forever grateful that she could read any of them that she wanted – it helped encourage her love for books and her inquisitive mind. (Note: of course I’m not referring to “adult” as in the misused context of “adult” entertainment – I’m just talking about books with complex subject matter that seem beyond a child’s grasp. I don’t have any of the OTHER kind in my house 🙂
Julie asked what my favourite book was. I hummed and hawed for awhile and said “well, right now I guess I’d say ‘Traveling Mercies’.” Yes, when she asks for it, I’ll let her borrow it.
by Heather Plett | May 4, 2005 | Uncategorized
I took Julie and Maddie to the circus last night (Nikki and Daddy went on a date elsewhere – they’re too COOL for the circus). Here are my thoughts on it:
– I loved it! I felt like a kid again, watching in awe as the trapeze artist swung from the rafters, the animal trainers led their horses, dogs and elephants through their paces, the jugglers wowed us with their tricks, and that AWESOME act where the two men juggled women on their FEET! Oh, and let’s not forget the “globe of death” where 7 motorcyclists rode around the inside of a big globe. Yikes! I was on the edge of my seat!
– WHY do the Shriners insist on having a long, drawn-out official entry of all their dignitaries, their pipe band, their mini-cars and motorcycle cavalcades, etc. before the action starts? We came (and paid generously, I might add, despite the “free” tickets they gave us to suck us in) to see the CIRCUS, not a bunch of old men in tassled hats! It’s hard enough to get a three year old to sit still when there’s something INTERESTING to watch!
– Do they REALLY need to soak us for every single dollar we’ve got? And can they QUIT waving all those flashing wands, inflatable toys, cotton candy, popcorn, etc. in front of my kids’ eyes? Do they REALLY think I want to hear “Mommy, can I have that $12 piece-of-crap flashing wand or that frightfully overpriced cotton candy? Please, please!” for the umpteenth time?? (okay, so some of that was what I was hearing, not what they were saying)
– COME ON! Is a 2 minute elephant ride around the ring REALLY worth $10? Yeah, there are lots of pushover parents who’ve got cash to burn who are WILLING to pay that kind of money for junior to sit on a stinky elephant, but what about those of us on a budget? Can’t you have a little sympathy on us and understand how hard it is to say “no” over and over again to our kids who want some of the chances all those OTHER kids are getting?
– Okay, the ticket says the show is starting at 7:45, so can you please START AT SEVEN FORTY FIVE? Some of us have kids to put to bed and we don’t really appreciate you starting at 8:00, only to make us sit through twenty minutes of Shriners parading around the arena before the action starts.
– And speaking of time – yeah, I understand that you want to make as much money you can, and sucker as many parents as possible into paying for those $10 elephant rides and another ridiculous price to get their kids’ pictures taken with scary snakes, but is a forty five minute intermission REALLY necessary? Again, SOME of us want to get our kids to bed BEFORE 11:30 so we don’t have to put up with cranky kids in the morning.
– Next time Maddie says she has to pee only 15 minutes after the last time I took her to the washroom, somebody smack me if I say “Maybe you can wait a little longer. You just went pee a few minutes ago.” To all those people sitting around me last night, I sincerely apologize for stripping her naked right there in our seats, but it just seemed a whole lot easier than pushing past all those increasingly impatient people in my row.
– Ah, but despite all that other stuff, THANK YOU Shriners for giving me an enjoyable evening with my two youngest daughters. Thank you for that look of delight on Julie’s face when she watched that man hang upside-down on his motorcycle on a very high tight rope. Thank you for Maddie’s giggles when she watched the dogs go down the slide. Thank you for the look of delight on MY face when yet another suicidal motorcyclist entered the globe of death. And thank you for the appreciative little hug Julie gave me as we walked back to the van.
by Heather Plett | May 3, 2005 | Uncategorized
My mom changed her name for the first time this weekend. She had the same last name as my dad, so when they got married, she didn’t need to change. Now, at 67, she finally got her long-time wish – a new name.
I’m not sure what to say about the wedding. It was lovely, mom looked beautiful, the tulips we placed on the tables were cheerful and colourful, lots of mom’s friends were there, the music was nice, the food was good. It was all those things. But more than anything, what I want to say is… it hurt more than I expected.
It’s hard to know how to feel when you see your mom marry someone you barely know. Some people try to tell you how you should feel… “oh, you must be SO excited for your mom” or “how LUCKY your mom is to find someone again” or “it must make you feel good to see your mom so happy again.” Perhaps they’re right. Perhaps that’s the way I SHOULD feel.
Other people – well-meaning people, I suppose – see you fighting tears and think they have a right to imagine what you’re feeling… “So how do you feel today?” or “It must be a little hard to see her with another man” or “I understand what you’re going through.” Some of them have a right to ask – those who love me and know my heart, and those who are hurting too because they know this will change things for them too. Auntie Cecile, Auntie Cathy – those people have a right to ask. And they ask in the right spirit. The other people who hardly know me – well, I try to put on a brave face and say “I’m sure she’ll be happy and that’s what counts.” They don’t need to see the jagged pain that reaches back to my father’s death. They don’t have access to the dark places in my heart.
How do I feel? I feel betrayed when I see her kiss a man who’s not my father. I feel worried when I think her life will change and I will be less a part of it. I feel a little jealous when I see her hold his grandchildren on her lap. I feel sad when I think that this man is 9 years older than her and will probably not be able to keep up with her youth and vigour. I feel concerned when I see her single friends who think they’ve lost a piece of her. I feel angry that she couldn’t have spent the rest of her life with my father.
And yet, I have to try to hang on to those other, more positive things I feel. She looks happy. I like to see her happy. She doesn’t look lonely anymore. She’s got a new spring in her step. That’s all good. She’s looking forward to companionship, travel, bike rides, laughter… I hope she gets all those things and more. I hope he still has a lot of youth in him and that he gives her energy instead of taking it away. I hope he makes her laugh. I hope they’re happy. I hope she doesn’t forget what all the other people in her life mean to her.
Post Script: I don’t know why I named this blog the way I did. I shouldn’t have, but I can’t help myself. I can’t type those words without hearing my Dad singing the song – one of many he’d sing with a twang and with relish. It doesn’t make it much easier to bring Dad into this picture, but you can’t always change what’s going on in your heart.
by Heather Plett | Apr 29, 2005 | Uncategorized
Just when I thought Maddie was getting all grown up and leaving her baby talk behind, she handed me a little gift… instead of saying “not very much” she says “not quite a bit”. Like when I asked if she wanted to go to the babysitter’s today, she turned up her little nose and said “not quite a bit.”
by Heather Plett | Apr 26, 2005 | Uncategorized
I’m off work today ’cause Marcel’s in the hospital with hernia surgery and because I had to transport him back and forth, and someone has to stay with Maddie, it seemed easier to take a couple of days off than make arrangements for someone else to do all those things.
Maddie and I have had a delightful day so far. We started out cuddling on the couch while she gave me a running commentary of all of her favourite TV shows. It was nice to know what she was talking about this time – she frequently gives me commentaries when I get home from work but because I’m never home with her, I have NO CLUE what she’s talking about. A typical commentary might sound like “you know that guy who had a hat on and he said ‘put your hands up in the air?’ and then he climbed over the fence? you know that guy?” And I either pretend I DO know that guy to simplify the conversation, or I admit that I don’t and she tries, in even more detail, to get me to “remember”.
After the TV shows, we made peanut butter cookies. Now here’s a STUPIDLY simple peanut butter cookie recipe for all you Mom’s out there who have kids who dig peanut butter (it’s Maddie’s favourite food). Here it is… don’t blink ’cause you might miss it…
1 cup peanut butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg
That’s it! Ya just mix it up, roll the balls, and do the fancy criss-cross thing with a fork (like everyone knows you HAVE to have on peanut butter cookies) and then you bake them for 10 minutes. For all you lazy cooks, believe me, you can’t get much more simple than that! They look just like ordinary peanut butter cookies. They taste like them too, but have a slightly different texture and are a little sweeter. Maddie and I have enjoyed quite a fewof them by now! (Apparently it’s called “I can’t believe it’s a cookie”)
Maddie’s cookies were rather worm-like. She called them “peanut butter carrots”. The perfectionist in me was tempted to reshape them the “proper” way, but than the laid-back mom in me said “don’t be silly!” The heat of the oven distorted them into peanut butter blobs, but she was quite fond of them none-the-less.
