Open Letter to Son of a Witch

Dearly Bobby,

It still hurts horribly trying to remember my reasons for leaving you behind, and I’ll always be ashamed of having been so cruel, but in that place and time I was very afraid that I was putting you in danger being a known women’s libber in such a provincial hometown. Remember when my softball team refused to give up the practice field to a boy’s team that had been rained out of their scheduled time, and the story made the front page of the sports section in the newspaper, headlined, DANDY LIONS ROAR? The sports writer didn’t know that it was the girls’ mothers who insisted that their daughters not leave the field, before I even got there, but the story blamed me for the rebellion because I was President of the N.O.W. chapter at the time, and must have been guilty of influencing my team to take a stand. I think it was soon after that, that I had a nightmare I still remember, of seeing a city salt truck roaring down that hill in front of Gramma’s house, plowing right thru our front yard with you kids in it. That was when I first realized that I was putting you in jeopardy of being harassed over my feminism. Then I remember the time Becky came home from school one day, skipping and singing “My mommie’s a nature witch”, over and over, in front of the neighbor kids. And I realized you kids and I could be targeted by reactionaries at anytime. I questioned myself about whether my politics were worth running that risk, and I thought NOT, but couldn’t shake the sense of commitment I had to the Revolution. I searched my soul trying to define exactly what I thought I could do about ANYTHING without a college education or marketable job skills, or even the motivation to add outside employment to my wife and mother jobs.
I did try to find a real job besides the volunteer work I did at the YWCA and NOW, but in those days, nobody wanted to hire mothers because of the absentee problems over sick kids, school holidays, or possible pregnancies, etc. and most jobs went to single women. I felt imprisoned and powerless and angry and frustrated, wondering why I had to care so much about being feminist, if I couldn’t do anything to make things better for women like me and my daughter. I think I might have been suicidal if I hadn’t had been so committed to feminism, and my daughter’s future in this world. What good would a dead mother be to a radical little girl, tho? What kind of trauma would I have imposed on you and your Dad? How confused and shocked the rest of the family would be? And it would’ve been a worthless gesture that proved nothing except my incompetence, if I’d had the guts to succeed. So, I decided that the only thing I could do was go out on my own, educate myself by experiencing knowledgeable people, exploring other realities, other ways of living, being independent, making my own way thru the maze, gathering insight and understanding, finding honest labor, paid or not, contributing to the common good where I could, finding out what’s important to other people, and why.
It wasn’t easy to be so brave, but it felt better than cowardice and despair, and I did survive even the trouble I occasionally got caught up in. I figured if I could make my own way in the world, it would be OK not to worry too much about you kid’s being able to as well, because the world has changed, and that’s what I’ve come back to remind you…to keep the faith, magic works, and everything’s gonna be all right because failure is impossible.

Nursing Notes: September Morning +17/SummerSwampSeason's back is BROKEN!!! YEA

Whew! Today has been a real piece of work to stress out a Saint, but I finally got the Cracker hauled away to the ER for very low blood pressure and signs of drug overload, and being a demented danger to himself and Others. He got really belligerent in my face when I blocked the backdoor, and called the para-medics to assist him down the cement steps without falling and cracking his head open, after I spent all morning picking him up off the floor, in between feeding him, and getting him showered and hauled back to his room to dress himself while I rested my still broken ankle. I feared that he was gonna push me thru the door to fall over backwards and crack MY head open, but get off scott-free from murder charges.

My REWARD for Courage and Discipline Above and Beyond Common Sense …
…a Bartels and Jaymes/POMEGRANATE RASPBERRY flavored malt cooler.

Damage Report: aggravated hernia ambulating the Cracker yesterday…Rx. A soak in the hot tub.
To do : scrub off bengay before soaking in spa water.

Update: It's turned out that the Cracker was double dosing his insulin, in MY KITCHEN, and I got stuck with one of his needles when I bagged up the trash...I told him he was my worst nightmare, and that I'd act to have him committed to a nursing home if he didn't call his daughter in Savannah to come pack him off to live with his grandkids.