You Bet Your Butt I Do

A few days ago, I received an email from someone who heard me speak at two separate events a couple of years ago ... events, I might add, that were completely unrelated and that took place months apart from each other. That in and of itself is random, I think ... the same person being in attendance at two events that were held for entirely different reasons for entirely different audiences at entirely different locations in entirely different parts of the city. And it's even more random that the person would remember me and contact me all this time later and ask me to participate as a panel speaker at an upcoming citywide event for mental health professionals. And it's way, way, way, way, way random that she asked me to specifically address a topic I've only spoken indirectly about in the past. That's a lot of randomness, and honestly, when that much randomness contains an undeniable connection, it scares the living crap out of me.

Since that amount of randomness wasn't enough to last me for a while, add to it that right around the same time, I received several emails from different people that contained a link to an article in the Washington Post. All of the emails said basically the same thing: "You need to read this." I just went back and counted ... 27 random emails from 27 random people who've never met each other. Twenty-seven random people who live in different countries who hold different beliefs concerning some of the heated issues of our time who all felt compelled within a few short hours of each other to send me the same link with the same instructions. Oh, and by the way, guess how many of those random people I personally know? Two. Let me say that again ... I personally know only two of them ... two out of 27. Combine that level of randomness with the randomness of the speaking request ... Freaks. Me. Out. 

The topper was that a few days before the speaking request email and the emails containing the link to the article, I had conversations on two different days with two different people from completely different backgrounds who are at completely different stages and places in life and who have never met one another and most assuredly never will. Two conversations with two very different people in two very different locations under two very different sets of circumstances ... nothing random or weird about that, right? No, of course not ... absolutely nothing random or weird about that at all. Except for the tiny little fact that both of my friends said the same things to me ... almost word for word. I remember thinking that was rather odd and even a bit random ... I had no idea that those two conversations were only the beginning of more randomness than my old brain can comprehend. 

By now I'm sure you're chomping at the bit to know what I've been asked to talk about on the panel next week and what the article is and what the conversations were about and how in the world all of that randomness could possibly be connected. In order for you to fully understand why these seemingly random occurrences are now impossible for me to categorize as random, I think I should explain in chronological order. First, the conversations ... we were talking about how I feel when a straight woman makes it known ... not to me, mind you, but to other women ... that she's uncomfortable being in a public restroom with me because I'm gay. Next, click here to read the article from the Washington Post written by Steven Petrow. It's about the "bathroom bills" that are being introduced in multiple states and how they are affecting women who have masculine traits ... not only gay women, mind you, just women who aren't female enough in their physical appearance or clothing style. And finally, the topic I've been asked to address on the panel is LGBT inclusion in the workplace, and I won't be the least bit surprised if I'm asked a question about restroom etiquette at my office considering that who pees where is such a huge issue right now.

So what do I think? I think Someone is trying to tell me something in a big way ... you bet your butt I do ... you bet your butt I do indeed.

Teach a Girl to Fish

It was a hot summer day in Somerset, Kentucky, when Granddad, Daddy and I climbed into Granddad's old pickup truck with the even older silver metal fishing boat perched precariously on the trailer swaying behind the somewhat questionable vehicle. During breakfast that morning, Granddad became rather indignant when I said I had never been fishing ... seriously ... I can still remember the look he gave my dad and the harshness in his voice as he said, "I'm ashamed of you, Atticus. How is it you never took this child fishing?" My dad was always a kind and gentle man ... I can count on one hand the times I saw him get angry, and one of those times was that morning. I'll spare you the details of the exchange that took place between Daddy and Granddad in the next few minutes, but considering how I began tonight's post, it's safe for you to assume that my granddad won the battle that day.

Memories are funny things, you know, because I don't remember anything from the time we pulled out of Granddad's driveway until we were in that metal tin can of a boat way out in the middle of a gigantic lake. But I most surely do remember Granddad ordering Daddy not to put his hook in the water ... I most surely do remember Granddad insisting that I would catch my first fish that day. There was no discussion, no arguing, no debate ... I was to catch my first fish that day and if I didn't, no one else would be catching any fish either. I will always remember sitting on that boat in the hot summer sun with two of the men I loved most in this world. Fish or no fish, I was most definitely in little girl heaven that day.

It turned out that I did catch my first fish that day ... a big fat brown fish that we took home so that Granny could fry it up for dinner. I can't say for sure who was more excited when I reeled that fish in until the line was close enough for Daddy to grab it ... Granddad, Daddy or me. Me catching my first fish was certainly a big deal to all of us, but looking back, I think it was Granddad who got the biggest kick out of me somehow managing to get that fish on the hook and out of the water. Granddad wasn't big on smiling and laughing, but he giggled like a little kid that day as he showed me how to get my first fish off the hook ... he was one happy grandfather that day.

A couple of weeks ago when Matt, Becca and my grandgals were in town, we took the girls to a farmstead where they fed baby goats, rode a pony and mined for shiny rocks. But the best of the best that day was when I taught Coraline how to fish. I may or may not have gagged a few times, but I reached into the small bucket of worms and grabbed one and put it on the hook. When she's older, I'll tell my little grandpal how that if anything proves how much I love her, it's the fact that I put worms on a fishhook for her. I showed her how to hold the cane pole in her little hands and explained that she would be able to feel a fish if it grabbed the bait. Much to my surprise, it was only a couple of minutes before the cane pole moved and the bobber went below the water. I was even more surprised when I helped Coraline pull the line out of the water to find that she had indeed caught a fish. I'll never forget the look on her face or the emotion that washed over me ... my little granddaughter caught her first fish the first time she ever went fishing with her Ghee.

As Becca snapped some photos of Coraline, her fish and me, I knew that something super special and important had happened that sunny Friday morning in Kansas ... something far more special and important than Coraline catching her first fish. In the few short minutes that it took for me to bait the hook, show Coraline how to toss the line in the water and the fish to chow down on the worm, we made a memory that will last a lifetime. As I held the wiggling fish in my hand so that she could touch it, I couldn't help but think of how very different things could have been. I couldn't help but think about how close I came to missing my precious little granddaughters. I couldn't help but think about how those two little girls don't have to be taught to love me ... they just do.

There's an old Chinese proverb that says, "Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime." I'm the one who learned a huge lesson that day standing on the dusty banks of the pond with my little granddaughter watching her catch her first fish, my friends ... indeed I did.

Cozy Up To

For those of you who are new to my blog or for those of you who are long-time readers who may need a friendly reminder, I TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY HATE SPRING STORMS IN THE MIDWEST. Having said that (or yelled it as the case may be), I'm sure you won't be the least bit surprised when I tell you it's a stormy night in Kansas. And it was a stormy morning in Kansas, too ... I was about 5 minutes from the office this morning when the sky got really dark and raindrops the size of basketballs came gushing down. Okay, maybe the raindrops weren't quite as big as a basketball, but it was flat pouring. Even though I had an umbrella, I still got soaked on my quick run into the building. Once that round of storms moved through, it was a relatively nice day ... until tonight ... round two is underway as I type. Did I mention that I TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY HATE SPRING STORMS IN THE MIDWEST?

God love the people in my office who had to listen to me freak out all day, especially the new folks who haven't experienced springtime with me before. They really have no idea of just how much fun they're going to have on stormy days for the next few months ... really no idea. In my own defense, I do at least try to prep the newbies for my over-the-top springtime anxiety. The truth is, however, that I can describe until the cows come home just how terrified I become when severe weather threatens, and no one really believes me until they witness one of my storm meltdowns for themselves. Now there's an interesting thought that quite possibly deserves a post all to itself ... not believing what someone tells you until you're provided with tangible, visual evidence that validates their claim. Oh yeah, that thought definitely deserves its own post for sure ... absolutely, positively, beyond the shadow of any doubt deserves its own post.

I'm sure by now you're wondering what in the world the title for my post this evening has to do with it being a stormy day (or night as the case may be) in Kansas, so I'll tell you. Sometimes I have these random memories that pop into my head at the weirdest times, for no apparent reason other than I'm sure I have one of the weirdest brains in existence. As I was driving home this evening, I was scanning the clouds and wishing I had a radar screen in my car ... like in what realm of reality would that ever possibly be a good idea for me, right? One of the clouds reminded me of the bear on the packaging of Snuggle fabric softener which then reminded me of how when Matt was a little boy he loved to sit on the washing machine while I was doing laundry which then reminded me of what he would tell me when I would put the clothes in the machine. 

"Don't forget to put da cozy up to in, Mom."

Perhaps it was a line from Snuggle's TV commercial that sparked my little boy to begin calling the fabric softener "cozy up to," or perhaps it was an early venture down his now famous nickname for everything and everyone journey ... I really have no idea. I do know, however, that it was flipping, stinking cute when he said it. So flipping, stinking cute that I'm sitting here on my couch all these years later on a stormy night in Kansas thinking about my now all grown-up Dr. Mattie in his yellow footie pajamas telling me not to forget to put in the cozy up to. Yep, that's right ... I'm sitting on my couch thinking about fabric softener, soothing my frightened wiener dog and wishing the stupid storms would just stop already. Makes my freaking out at work today suddenly seem pretty normal in comparison, eh?

Can You See You?

All it took for me to understand the special kind of love that exists between a grandparent and a grandchild was to have two of my own. Life is funny that way, isn't it? There are feelings that we as humans can never fully understand until we experience them for ourselves. Like when I see my granddaughters in person after several months of being apart ... there was simply no way I could comprehend the joy that consumes me when they run and jump into my arms as they scream, "Ghee! Ghee! Ghee!" until Coraline did just that for the first time when I arrived at the airport in Canada when she was 2 years old. There is just nothing that compares to those particular love-filled greetings from her, and now from her little sister Amelie as well. The excitement in their eyes when they see me ... the way they wrap their little arms and legs around me and squeeze me as tightly as they can ... it really is an extra-special kind of love, friends.

My Canadian kiddos arrived for a short visit a week or so ago, and you can bet your last dime that I spent as much time as I possibly could with my two littles. We laughed and played and ate meals together and went for walks and fed baby goats, and I even helped Coraline catch her first fish. I learned early on after Matt and his little family moved to Canada when Coraline was only 5 months old how important it is that I make the most of every single moment I have with them when we're able to be together. It always amazes me how quickly the time races by during our visits and then how slowly it seems to drag along between them. I seriously don't think I could live if I couldn't Skype with my granddaughters each week, and I am beyond thankful for the technology that allows me to "see" and "hear" them on the computer screen. But ... there simply is no substitute for being with them in person ... holding their soft little hands when we cross the street, washing their messy little faces after we eat dinner, feeling their warm little heads on my shoulders as we snuggle in to read a book.There's most definitely no substitute for being with my little Canadians in person.

I took the day off from work on Tuesday and headed up to Becca's parents' house to spend the day with the girls before they had to leave on Wednesday morning to head back to Canada. Matt had called the night before and asked if I'd be willing to babysit the girls while he and Becca went to lunch with her brother and sister-in-law ... probably goes without saying that he didn't have to ask me twice on that one. After a fun morning of playing, eating a healthy lunch and putting Amelie down for a nap, Coraline and I stretched out on her makeshift mattress to read a couple of books so that she could have some quiet time and get a bit of rest, too. After the third book and the telling of several of her most-requested Ghee stories, I took off my glasses and sat them on the windowsill about my head.

"Coraline, how about I take off my glasses and rest my eyes for a few minutes and you tell me a story?" I asked as I giant yawn escaped my lips and I closed my eyes.

Before I could even lay my head on the pillow, however, Coraline planted her little hands on my cheeks and loudly announced, "No, Ghee! You cannot close your eyes for a few minutes! Open your eyes, Ghee!"

Of course I did what all good Ghees do when their precious little granddaughters tell them to do something ... I opened my eyes. I opened my eyes and saw Coraline's big blue ones only a few inches from mine, staring at me as if she was seeing me for the first time. And then she said something that was so profound, so deep, so far beyond anything I would have expected her to say. Coraline, with a quite serious look on her face, said something I haven't been able to shake loose from my mind ... something I'm sure will stay with me for as long as I live.

"Oh, Ghee," she said in a quiet voice as she looked intently into my eyes. "Ghee, I can see me in your eyes. Can you see you in my eyes, Ghee? Can you?

Tears welled in my eyes  as I nodded my head and whispered, "I sure can, baby girl ... I sure can." 

I'll leave you pondering the truth in my precious granddaughter's words ... I'll leave you contemplating the enormous lesson she taught me ... I'll leave you knowing that I so desperately want to be the person Coraline and Amelie see me to be.

I can see me in your eyes ... can you see you in mine?

A Loss for Words

I'm sure many of you were abundantly curious when you read the title of this evening's post, since I rarely am. At a loss for words, that is. If anything, I generally fall into the too many words category, be they spoken or written. But last Friday morning when one of the co-CEOs of the company where I work made a special announcement, I was totally at a loss for words.

I was sitting on the counter at the back of the conference room, and in the spirit of being open, honest, real and transparent, I was having a really hard time focusing on the meeting. But when the co-CEO began talking about the religious freedom bill in Missouri, SJR 39, you can believe it pulled my wandering mind back into the meeting. SJR 39 is a bill requesting an amendment be made to the state constitution stating that businesses could refuse service to lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender persons by citing certain religious beliefs. As I sat there listening to one of the leaders of the company where I've been employed for close to 14 years talk about the bill, I broke out in a cold sweat and thought for a moment I was going to throw up. Why? Because everyone in that meeting knows I'm gay, and for reasons I don't even understand, I felt like a fish in a bowl under a spotlight.

While I can't remember word for word what the co-CEO said last Friday morning, I do remember her saying that if the bill is passed, it could have a detrimental effect on businesses in Kansas City. I vaguely remember the "business-y" stuff she said, like how the bill could affect our company's ability to recruit good people to come to work at SHS, but I will forever remember what she said in regard to why the leadership of our company had chosen to publicly sign a petition in opposition to the bill. Stating that they believed the bill to be discrimination in its truest form against the LGBT community, she said the following words: "We as a company are going to do what's right in regard to SJR 39, and signing the petition is doing what's right."

It's no secret that I've gone through some tough stuff since I told the truth about my sexuality a little more than 3 years ago, and it's also no secret that the co-CEO who made the announcement on Friday morning is the gal who escorted me into the conference room that hot August day in 2012. Over the last couple of days, I've thought a lot about the decision the leadership team made to sign the petition when it was presented to them. They didn't have to, you know ... they could have chosen to have the company remain neutral regarding such a sensitive political issue. I've thought a lot about something else over the last couple of days, too. I've thought a lot about the journey I've been on since the day I came out ... the journey that for some unknown reason intersected with one of the people who would eventually make the decision that the company I work for will do what's right regarding discrimination against the LGBT community. 

Though I was at a loss for words on Friday morning, there are two I'd like to say tonight to the leadership team of SHS ... thank you.

If it Doesn't Fit

Just a short post tonight because I'm tired and still have a gazillion things to do before I go to bed, not the least of which is to give a certain smelly wiener dog a bath. I must say that I've never liked giving a dog a bath, mainly because I've never had a dog that liked getting a bath. Every dog I've ever had, no matter how great of a dog they were, spent so much time trying to get away or shaking water all over me that I was both drenched and exhausted by the time we were done. I hated the entire experience of dog bathing ... until Ollie. I know a lot of you don't believe me, but he really is one of the most well-behaved dogs in the world, including during bath time. He paddles in the water, he plays with his toys, he even licks my face ... he really is a dream dog. Wait ... why am I talking about giving Ollie a bath? That's not what I intended to write about at all ... it seems that the older I get, the more easily I can get sidetracked and end up a million miles away from where I started. Sheesh ... this getting old biz is definitely not for sissies. 

It's time for a rant I think should be considered "Brad rant" worthy ... that's what our little family affectionately calls my son Brad's passionate discourses about things he feels strongly about, "Brad rants." So here's my Brad rant for tonight ... why do people wear clothes that don't fit them? Now before you go off on me and send me a million emails, I'm talking about all shapes and sizes of people ... large people, little people and in between people. I don't care what a person's body type or weight is, whether they're male or female, old or young, people shouldn't wear skin-tight clothes. The guy at Home Depot last night who had on spandex workout pants ... he might as well have been naked because everyone within 20 feet of him could see his junk. The gal at the front desk at my doctor's office tonight ... I'm surprised the circulation to her feet wasn't cut off because her pants were so tight. The teenage girl on the trail a couple of days ago ... I thought for sure her boobs were going to bust right out of her stretched till it could stretch no more t-shirt. Hey, wait a sec ... I made a funny without even meaning to ... get it? Her boobs were going to bust ... go ahead and laugh ... I sure am. 

Seriously though ... even my homeless pals who get most of their clothes out of the trash don't wear clothes that are five sizes too small for them. Now again, before I get a ton of emails ... I'm not saying people should wear clothes that are so big they look like they're wearing a gunny sack. I'm just saying people should wear clothes that fit. If the pants are so tight, you can't feel your feet ... don't wear them. If the shirt is so tight, you can't feel your boobs ... don't wear it. And if the spandex is so tight ... forget it ... no guy should ever wear tight spandex workout pants anywhere, not even at home.

No "here's the thing tonight" ... no philosophical, life-changing lessons. Just this ... if it doesn't fit, don't wear it ... and I'm not just talking about clothes, friends. Think about it ... think about it indeed.

The Back of the Bus

Before you read tonight's post, I feel the need to offer up a disclaimer ... some of you aren't going to like what I have to say, and some of you will be downright offended by my words. But tonight's topic is one that's been weighing very heavily on my heart for the past couple of weeks, and I've realized in the last few days that by remaining silent, I am personally offering up living, breathing proof to the words attributed to Irish political philosopher Edmund Burke way back in the 1700s ... words that perhaps ring with more truth in today's world than ever before.

              "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

My deepest hope and my most sincere prayer is that before you rush to judge me, you will at the very least know where my words are coming from ... from my heart ... my heart that is so very burdened by the pain this issue is bringing upon others. My words come from a place filled with sorrow and compassion for those on both sides of the debate ... yes, I said on both sides. From the very depth of my soul, I so desperately long for a day when people can accept one another for who they are ... I long for a day when we see one another only through the eyes of our hearts ... hearts that are filled with spirits of understanding and acceptance and love. 

I will openly confess that up until a couple of years ago, my knowledge regarding the transgender population was pretty much confined to knowing that the "T" in LGBT stood for transgender. But then one evening, I accompanied my son Brad when he went to film Nate Phelps as he delivered a keynote speech to a group of transgender men and women. I'm ashamed to say that was the first time I had ever had a one-on-one conversation with a transgender person. I learned a lot that evening, not the least of which is that transgender people are just that ... people. People who have carried a heavier burden for their entire lives than most of us could manage to carry for one day.

In recent days, as I'm sure you are aware, the news that two states have passed "freedom protection bills" regarding the use of public restrooms by transgender people has ignited a firestorm of debate. From what I understand, passage of the bills will make it a crime for a transgender person to enter a public restroom corresponding to their gender identity. I'm not sure how the states plan to enforce the new laws, though there's been a great deal of discussion about the use of public restrooms being based upon a person's chromosomes. Is it only a matter of time until there are armed guards at the entrances to all public restrooms demanding that people must undergo a blood test before they can enter? That's ridiculous, you say? People will never allow that sort of discrimination to occur, you say?

The truth, my friends, is that people already have allowed the same type of discrimination to occur time and time again ... history is filled with horrible acts of discrimination. Discrimination that, I might add, was rooted in hate and fueled by the fear that the political or religious powers of the time had for people they considered to be "different" from what they deemed to be "normal." Remember, there were people who supported Hitler in his despicable treatment of the Jewish people ... there were people who believed African Americans shouldn't be allowed to sit in the front seat on a public bus ... there were people who fought against women having the right to vote. People have been allowing and fostering discrimination against those whom they consider to be different from themselves for centuries, and, in my humble opinion, the push to disallow transgender men and women from using a public restroom which corresponds to their gender identity is discrimination in its truest form.

I cannot even begin to imagine the hurt and pain the transgender community is experiencing due to the recent "freedom protection bills" ... it seems to me that the particular bills have nothing to do with freedom and everything to do with fear. I don't pretend for one moment to comprehend what it is to be a transgender man or woman, but I do know what it is to be a gay woman with short, spiky hair who loves to wear ties and suspenders and wingtip shoes. I do know what it is to be a gay woman with short, spiky hair wearing a tie and suspenders and wingtip shoes and need to pee while I'm shopping at the mall. I do know how I feel when a mother and her young daughter enter the women's restroom and see me standing at the sink washing my hands and the young woman pulls her daughter close and tells me to get out because I'm in the wrong restroom. I do know how deeply it wounds me when straight women tell me they are uncomfortable when I am in "their" restroom.

I am not transgender, but I do know the deep hurt and the overwhelming pain that floods my heart and consumes my soul when someone says that all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people are rapists or pedophiles. I am not transgender, but I know what discrimination feels like. I am not transgender, but my heart aches for the transgender men and women who are fighting for the right to the same freedoms unquestionably given to other people. My heart especially hurts for those of you who live in North Carolina and Mississippi ... please know that millions of people believe the actions taken by your state governments to be wrong and a violation of your basic human rights. 

People seem to have forgotten that discrimination serves only one purpose and that's to bring hurt and pain to everyone involved ... on both sides. No one should ever have to fight for the right to honor their national heritage ... no one. No one should ever have to fight for the right to sit in a seat on a bus ... no one. No one should ever have to fight for the right to vote ... no one. No one should ever have to fight for the right to pee in a bathroom ... no one. It's way past time for people to understand that people are just that ... people. It's way past time for people to know that being different does not equal being evil. Those who are fighting to keep a transgender kid out of their son or daughter's restroom at school should worry a hell of a lot more about a straight adult abusing their kid. A person's gender identity or sexual orientation does not make them a child molester or a rapist, and the push to institute laws that indicate otherwise is discrimination in its truest and harshest form. It's way past time for all of us ... no matter whether we are heterosexual or lesbian or gay or bisexual or transgender ... no matter our race or nationality ... no matter our religious affiliation or lack thereof ... it's way past time for all of us to do nothing.

             "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing."

A Boy Under a Bridge

So remember last night when I said my unwanted wiener dog-induced walk wasn't about walking at all? Remember when I said it was about listening? I need to add an addendum concerning what my walk last night was really about ... last night's walk was about preparing me for what would happen on tonight's walk. Tonight's walk, I might add, that I embarked upon willingly, much to Ollie's delight.

We had walked for about 45 minutes and we were beginning our final bridge-crossing game on the bridge nearest to my house when Ollie suddenly stopped running and barking and twirling like a ballerina. He trotted over to the side of the bridge and stuck his head through the metal bars and whimpered. Ollie is never deterred or distracted in the middle of his bridge game, so I knew something was up. I was right at the railing of the bridge before I saw what had caused Ollie to stop ... a young teenage boy was huddled on the metal framework under the bridge, and he was crying. I hesitated for a brief moment before I asked the kid if he was okay ... what a sad world it is when I'm reluctant to ask a kid if he or she is okay because I'm afraid someone might think I'm a predator. What a sad, sad world indeed, my friends.

"Hey, man," I said as I leaned against the rail trying to see the boy's face. "You okay down there?"

"Yeah," the boy whispered.

"Whatcha doing under the bridge, buddy?" I asked, trying my best not to sound overly concerned.

"Thinking," the boy mumbled.

"Gotcha," I said in a voice that I hoped sounded calm and relaxed. "I sure understand what it's like to want to hide under a bridge and think. You sure you're okay?"

"Just go away," whispered the boy. His arm emerged for a brief second as he used his sleeve to wipe his nose, quickly disappearing as he shifted his body further under the bridge. "You can't help me. No one can help me. Just go away. Please."

"Okay," I said quietly. "But first I need you to promise me you're okay, buddy. I can't leave until I know you're okay. So tell me you're okay, and then I'll leave."

The silence coming from beneath the bridge was deafening, broken only by the sound of the boy's weeping and Ollie's whining. After what seemed like hours, the young boy said softly, "Please leave. You can't help me. No one can help me. Go away."

I was the silent one then as I tried to decide what I should do, whether I should walk away and hope the kid was just being dramatic or if I should call the police. But then I had another thought ... Ollie and I would walk down the bank of the creek so that I could see the kid face to face. And that's exactly what I did. When the kid realized I was heading toward him, he quickly turned his head away from me and said, "What are you doing? Why are you coming down here? I told you to go away."

"Well, see here's the thing," I said as I inched my way closer to the boy's hiding spot. "You didn't promise me that you're okay so that meant I couldn't go away without coming down here and making sure you're okay. If you would have just promised, then I would have left," I said forcefully. "So turn your head around here and let me see your face, convince me that you're okay and then I'll leave."

I'm sure my mouth dropped open when the kid finally turned around and looked at me ... he lives right down the street from me. 

"No wonder you didn't want me to see you, man ... I know you. So what the heck, little dude? What's going on?"

I won't share the details of the half-hour conversation that followed ... I won't tell you what was said in that conversation between an old gray-haired gal standing on the bank of a creek and a 13-year-old kid hiding beneath a bridge. But I will tell you this ... I sure am glad Ollie dragged me out to walk last night and insisted we stop and see the kids on the playground. I sure am thankful that our encounter with a special little girl and her mom has had me pondering all day about the importance of being there to listen when someone needs to talk. I sure am grateful that Ollie stopped in the middle of his favorite game tonight and led me to exactly where I needed to be.

Last night's walk had absolutely nothing to do with walking, but it had absolutely everything to do with listening tonight ... listening to a boy under a bridge.

Listen Up, Pup

I always know that something's off with me when I don't want to go for my nightly stroll with Ollie the wiener dog. Sometimes that something is purely physical ... I'm not feeling well or I'm exhausted because I haven't had enough sleep or my muscles are sore from working in the yard all day. Those times don't concern me much ... the times when my not wanting to walk can be easily explained due to a legitimate physical cause. It's the times when my lack of motivation or desire to hit the trail is purely emotional or mental ... I'm sad or I'm stressed out or I'm feeling all alone in the world. Those times concern me a whole hell of a lot ... the times when my not wanting to walk can only be explained in the context of the ever-present wolf at my window. It's one thing when my body doesn't want to walk ... it's another thing altogether when my mind doesn't want to walk. And the horrible times when the two decide to double team me? Just suffice it to say that those times are the absolute worst ... those times really and truly suck more than you'll ever know.

Tonight was one of those times when I didn't want to head out into the cool evening air and walk with Ollie. Just for fun, I'm not telling you why I didn't want to walk or which, if any, of the factors I previously mentioned were responsible for my lack of walking want to this evening. It's odd to me that for as smart as Ollie is, he always wants to walk whether I want to or not. What's even odder is that on the nights when I really, really, really don't want to walk, he barks and paws at me and runs back and forth to the door begging me to get up off the couch and head out to the trail. Hmmmm ... now that I think about it, maybe my crazy little wiener dog is smarter than I know ... maybe he is indeed. As I'm sure you've already guessed, Ollie finally won the battle tonight and convinced me that not only did he need a walk, but that I did as well.

It was a beautiful evening here in KC, and the trail was filled with runners, bikers and walkers out enjoying the gorgeous weather. Children's laughter wafted through the crisp air as they frolicked on the playground that sits off to the side of the trail. The kids always capture my attention when Ollie and I stroll past the playground, and I often catch myself daydreaming of the fun I could have with Coraline and Amelie if they were here. I've gotten to know several of them and their parents ... mainly because all the kids love Ollie and always want to pet him, so we usually end up making a stop at the playground. I didn't want to stop tonight because ... well ... just because I didn't want to stop. As I tugged on Ollie's leash and said, "Come on, buddy ... no kids tonight ... come on," I heard several of the kids calling his name and beckoning him to come on over so they could love on him. Which meant that Ollie planted his paws firmly on the pavement beneath him, wagged his tail and made it abundantly clear that he wanted to go see his kid friends on the playground ... bet you can't guess who got his way for the second time tonight.

We walked across the grass to the playground where we were instantly swarmed with little kids ... Ollie's tail wagging faster and faster as he tried his best to lick as many of their faces as he possibly could. Just as I was picking him up and telling the kids we needed to be on our way, a darling little girl who looked to be about Amelie's age came toddling up saying, "Doggie! Pease doggie! Doggie hold baby?" I squatted down in front of the little girl with the gigantic blue eyes and asked, "You want to hold my doggie?" She squealed and clapped her hands as she immediately sat down and stretched out her arms, her mom nodding her head to me that it was okay for the little gal to hold Ollie. I watched as she hugged him, and I smiled when Ollie gave the laughing little girl a sloppy dog kiss right on the lips. I'm not sure how many minutes passed before the little girl's mom told her it was time to go, but I do know the little girl didn't agree with her mom's declaration ... not one little bit.

I always feel badly for parents who are dealing with a screaming kid, and I feel especially badly when my dog is the cause of the tears and the wailing. The more the mom called the little girl's name and told her it was time to go, the faster the kiddo's tears rolled and the tighter she gripped Ollie ... tightly enough that he looked at me with that, "Save me!" look in his eyes as I reached out to pry him from the girl's arms. Surprisingly, the little gal let go of my more than a little frightened wiener dog, stood up, looked at her obviously embarrassed mother and announced as only an almost 2-year-old can do, "I go doggie, mom." I'll spare you the details of what took place over the next several minutes, but I will tell you that the young mom quickly learned that getting Ollie to walk in the direction of her car meant getting her little one to walk in the direction of her car as well. For every "Come on, Ollie," spoken by the mom or me, the little girl would repeat the command and follow Ollie as he trotted along in the direction I instructed him to go.

After assuring the young mother that 2-year-olds don't stay 2-year-olds forever and waving goodbye to the once again screaming little girl who was by then Ollie-less and buckled into her car seat, Ollie and I headed off to finish our walk. As we turned into our street, I acknowledged that tonight's walk wasn't really about walking at all ... tonight's walk was about listening ... not hearing, but listening. There's a big difference between the two, you know ... a huge difference. Tonight's walk wasn't at all about walking, friends ... it was about listening.

Listen up, pup ...