© Jem Sullivan
It was really hard to watch—and yet, I couldn’t look away. And though we all tried, it was beginning to look like we couldn’t help. He was too afraid.
I was sitting on the bow of the boat in the marina when the beautiful bird—a tall Great Blue Heron, swooped from the breakwater wall behind me to the pier a few yards in front of me.
He was starving to death.
He had a fish in his beak.
He could not eat it. Continue Reading
It was 6:18 AM a couple of Wednesdays ago. I remember the exact time because I had just looked at the clock on the stove. I had less than 10 minutes to get out onto the beach and situated in the sand for my daily rendezvous with the sunrise.
I grabbed my jacket, my iPhone, and a couple of plastic bags (for seashells or trash) and unlocked the sliding glass door and stepped out into the delicious predawn light. I had taken a couple of steps onto the deck when I noticed the shape of a sleeping figure on the outdoor sofa. Continue Reading
The other night someone accused me of–or commended me for (I’m not sure which)–being a “cheerleader.” I didn’t know whether to feel insulted or complimented.
So, I decided to feel intrigued.
On the one hand, a “cheerleader” is energetically optimistic and upbeat. Yet on the other hand, she does it all from the sidelines in a short skirt, with pompoms. It could be argued that while she may come off as perky and cute, she doesn’t affect the outcome of the game much.
All of that considered, I guess I can understand the perspective of the woman accusing/commending me. We don’t know each other very well, and from her seat in the stands, I can see how she would come to label me thusly. I decided not to take offense. If I’m gonna be assigned a label, there are much worse badges to wear than “cheerleader.”
In fact, I’d much rather be accused of positivity–ostensibly even naive or childish optimism–than the converse. I look better sporting my short skirt and pompoms than I do in sack cloth and ashes. Continue Reading
Is it just me? That thought occurs to me every time I sit down to write about my quirks and foibles, my challenges and insecurities—my “issues.” I’ve got “issues,” y’all. And as is often the case, song lyrics help bring them into the light so that I can look at them and myself, if not objectively, then at least more compassionately. After all, if someone else has felt this way—especially if that someone else is James Taylor, then maybe I’m not a freak after all. Or if I am, then I’m in really cool company.
Monday morning, I posted a line on Facebook from an obscure JT song:
“I’m running short of things to be, and sunshine means quite a lot to me…”
This story did not make the final cut for my book, though I think that it is Ted’s favorite. He is really impressed by the way I “argue my case” with such conviction and humor. I convinced him some 23 years ago, maybe I can convince others today.
The story didn’t make the cut because my editor, who is not a Southerner, believed that it was “not so relevant” in this enlightened age. “Isn’t it illegal to spank your child?”
Well, clearly, she hasn’t been to a Walmart south of the Mason Dixon Line lately. But, alas, I have, and if I could have made a citizen’s arrest there in the parking lot, as a daddy raged on his tantrumming toddler, I would have. But he saw me coming, and eased up on the kid, as he wrestled him into his car seat. I worried all day about that little boy. I prayed that the car ride would calm Dad down, and that the “spanking” wouldn’t resume when they got home.
And no, it’s not illegal to spank your kid at home here in the Sunshine State. But I so fervently believe it is utterly ill-advised.
I had thought that this story would not make the cut, that it could be edited out of the book as passé, no longer relevant in this enlightened age, a soapbox I could retire. I wanted to believe that—after all these years, and all that research, and my very own real life case studies—there would be little need for me to tell you about “that daddy hitting that baby.”
But I was wrong. A brief news report on the radio a few months ago, smacked me in the face (or on the buttocks, maybe?) with the issue again, and it stung. Really? Are we still so hot-headed, so lazy, so crude?
This story is out of Florida. Aren’t they all? I am a loyal Floridian, and even I am amazed by all the asinine press we generate. Huffington post has a whole section, Weird Florida, devoted to the wacko’s that make the news here in the Sunshine State: Man Found Naked in Hog Barn Tells Police, ‘I Just Like Pigs.’ Woman Assaults Grandma for Not Accepting Facebook Friend Request. Man Wearing ‘Seriously, I Have Drugs’ Shirt Charged With Predictable Crime. Man Tried to Sell Duct-Taped Iguanas Dangling from Bike.
And Dad Calls Cops to Watch Him Spank 12-Year Old Daughter. And the story brought back memories. Continue Reading