It’s Not You, It’s Me or the Trouble with 4H

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Blame it on what my husband calls my anti-social tendencies.

My Girl’s First Time on a Horse

I thought I would love 4H.  I lived on a farm until I was 10.  And my grandpa had me on a horse before I could walk.   I thought the opportunity to share a little horsey time with my girl would be right up my alley.  I forgot about the fact that 4H is not a one-on-one activity.  So, perhaps I should clarify,  The problem with 4H is the same problem I have with public swimming pools, kid’s movies, and field trips.  There are entirely too many children!
When you gather many children together in one space, especially if it is a nice echo-y space or a little on the unorganized side, my anxiety level goes through the roof.   I love my child, I love spending time with her, and I would not trade it for the world.  I think she is smart and spirited and fun to be with.  Unfortunately, having a child did not make me like other children any more than I did before (which means not much).  I’m not really a kid person. Big crowds of children scare me.  Give me a nice group of less than 5 preferably doing something that does not involve screaming.  (although my daughter frequently screams when she is the only one around.)

My First Time on a Horse

So while there is part of me that has much guilt that I am not side by side with my daughter enjoying the memory-evoking smell of horse manure.  I think sane mommy is probably better for her in the long run.

ReInvention

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I am reinventing myself.  Or maybe more accurately, rediscovering myself.

I. am. a. writer.  (if I say it enough times it becomes true, right?)  :)

When I was 5 I wanted to be a writer.  I created a paper called the Harlan Gazette and sold it to my grandparents.  It only included good news.

When I was 10 I wanted to be a writer.  I wrote poems about the planets and a short story called Jerry & the Tipperan about a boy who was visited by aliens.

When I was 15 I wanted to be a writer.  I wrote my journal to the unknown audience who would read it after I died and dreamed of traveling the world writing for National Geographic.

When I was 20 I wanted to be a writer.  I took poetry and fiction classes while pursuing my journalism degree.

Somewhere along the way I got sidetracked.  I became a bookseller (which I loved) but then spent t 15 years having an identity crises and trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

I’m reclaiming the dream.  I. am. a. writer.  Get ready to read.

 

Legacy

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I find my grandfather’s influence cropping up most unexpectedly.

My daughter was riding around the neighborhood on her bike.  On one trip through the ‘hood, she stopped to talk to a friend and did not pass by the house in her usual time frame.   I found myself wishing I had some sort of gps device to attach to her so I knew where she was all the time.  Then I thought that  is one step away from implanting a tracker like they do for dogs and as our generation of media-fed paranoid parents starts thinking that sort of thing is a good idea (if she got kidnapped you could track her!) ,  in a couple of short generations the entire populace is tagged and the government can track us all.  My conspiracy theory grandfather’s mind totally would have gone there.  Miss you, you old coot!