Writer's Workshop Wednesday ~ Krisa from Saltwater Sessions

Welcome to Writer's Workshop Wednesday!  This is my way of paying it forward to all the people out there who want to start writing, but don't have their own blogs yet, or who are established writers that are looking to appeal to a different audience.  I have also opened this up to those who would like to post anonymously about topics that are too difficult to write about publicly. Each week, I will host one or two posts by different writers.

I hope that you enjoy this series, I hope you find some new writers to follow, I hope this helps them out and I hope we can all learn something from them!

Up now is Krisa from Saltwater Sessions. She is a ridiculously talented writer with a brand new blog and Facebook page. She and I should run away together and be journalists. For serious. She is one of a handful of people I know who seems to see the world through the same lens I do, she's very analytical and has a gift for persuasive writing. I hope you'll enjoy this piece today, as it provides much perspective into who she is and how she views the rest of humanity.

Enjoy!

Growing up multi-cultural

I grew up in a multi-cultural environment, but not in the traditional definition. I’m a BRAT – an acronym and a “subculture” according to Wikipedia. There are many versions of what the acronym represents – from “British Regiment Attached Transport” to “Born, Raised and Trapped/Transferred.” I have three home towns as I see it, but am like a dandelion – I’ll flourish wherever the wind blows me.

courtesy of You're Probably a Military Brat If...

As a brat, you don’t see races, religions or other differences the way civilians do. We see shades of green (Army), blue (Air Force & Navy) and tan (Marines.) The rivalry amongst brats is a friendly one. I am a zoomie’s brat. (USAF all the way!)

My dad was on his second tour in Southeast Asia when I was born. I didn’t meet him until I was six months old. I’ve lived in seven states and two continents. I attended three different kindergartens.

What I mean by multi-cultural is that friends weren’t Black or White, Asian or Hispanic. My mom affectionately tells me of my best friend in Virginia, who I called my chocolate friend. When I was in elementary school in Utah, I was exposed to meals and traditions with my dad’s students from Israel and Egypt – simultaneously. Because so many families were going from there to bases in Spain, they were teaching us basic Spanish skills and customs in second and third grades. I lived in Utah’s Wasatch Valley at Hill, Air Force Base, for almost five years.

It was in Utah, of all places, that I actually experienced prejudice the first time. It was early in the Reagan years. The economy resembled a lot of what it does now. My mom, a former teacher was trying to get a job off base. Everything hinged on what congregation or church she belonged to. Alas, we weren’t Mormon, and without that connection, it was some pretty tight times. The base was a refuge in and of itself when I was what we’d call a “tween” today. It may sound odd, but that perception of being an outcast resonated with me so much. In fact, so much so that despite how beautiful Utah is, learning to ski at Snowbird, visiting Park City before “Sundance” and the awesomeness that is the Bonneville Salt Flats – that I vowed even in my early adulthood if I had to drive from Colorado to Nevada I’d drive around.

I think that’s where I started to really develop my intolerance for discrimination, and I’m sure that Utah has changed in the past 30 years.

My hometown in Ohio.

From Utah, Dad was sent to Germany. While on the waiting list for base housing – my mom, sister and I lived with my grandparents in our family’s small Ohio river hometown. That too was a culture shock of sorts. There was nobody of color or ethnicity. Everyone there had always gone to the same schools, churches, and social clubs. To me, it was weird with a capital WEIRD. Even though my family had been there four generations, it was almost what I’d associate with a definition of “Stepford” now. Well, an economically-depressed Stepford with no industry or businesses.

First field trip in Germany.

Germany, however, was awesome. I was 10 when I arrived, in the middle of January. Dad picked us up from the airport in a borrowed VW Bus, and drove us the three hours from Frankfurt to the resort,

Stasee, where we stayed until housing was ready. Indoor, heated pool in the middle of winter. What do you mean we have to wear swim caps, and be out by a certain time for “adult” swimming? Yeah, tell that to a ten year old and see how well that flies.

Our school field trips were castles and other countries. I opted out of Paris and Moscow, but went to Berlin in 1987. My first trip in fifth grade was to a 2000 year old Roman city with a palace and garden built by Charlemagne, and an amphitheater where Christians were tossed to lions. We saw battlefields where wars over land, religion, and world dominance were fought. When you go to Anne Frank’s house at 12, right after reading her diary in school, and then follow up shortly after with a concentration camp visit, you very quickly realize how very fragile life can be and how easily people can learn or be taught to hate. During the height of the cold war, we went on a trip to Berlin. Troop train through East Germany with many checkpoints and many guns pointed at us kids. In the dead of winter, we saw the wall, keeping families and friends divided. The burned Reichstag with bullet holes. And through all that, we weren’t black, white, or anything else but American.

When we left Germany five years later, we ended up on Florida’s “Emerald Coast.” You can get to Alabama in three directions with less than a 45 minute drive. In half that distance, you’ll run into some of the scariest racism and prejudices I’ve ever encountered in my life. Closer to the bases, it wasn’t nearly as prevalent. But boy howdy, if you got north of the interstate and such – the divisions were obvious and long standing. College in Alabama wasn’t a whole lot better, even though my college was one of the first to integrate – even as early as pre-WWII.

Even as an adult, with my own life experiences behind me, I think back on how lucky I was to have such a multi-cultural military upbringing. I’m not saying the vagabond life is for everyone. Frankly I think some of the rules & regs I lived by then are why I cannot leave walls white now, or seem to just hold on to everything, or hate moving. (As an example, I repainted my bedroom when my parents bought a home three times in four years. The last time was nearly 20 years ago. My old room at my folks’ place is the only one that’s not in shades of blue or blue gray, and they’ve never changed it. I visit, and I want to.)

I cannot stand racial or religious stereotypes. I advocate vocally for equal rights – not just of women but for LGBT. Bullying doesn’t wash with me. To some of my friends and even extended family, my stance on these issues baffles them. (Though really I wonder how, I’ve always been that way.) Seeing people treated unfairly for reasons beyond their control riles me up faster than anything else. And of the BRATs I know, I’d wager 90-percent or more feel the same.

I live in a racially mixed neighborhood in Orlando, and it’s pretty interesting to say the least. Any given weekend my neighbors will have a hoe-down or a fiesta. And that’s fine by me. Other acquaintances have equated the neighborhood to being a less-affluent, less desirable place to live, because of the ethnic makeup.

But, I don’t think I could stand living in a white-washed homogenous world. There’s too much to miss when you do.

This is the first in a three-part series about growing up in the military and how it’s shaped me. The remaining two parts will be featured on my own blog, Saltwater Sessions, over the next week.

How To Help Oklahoma ~ courtesy of Brandon from My Own Private Idaho

My heart always breaks a little when a major disaster happens. Hurricane, Tornado, Earthquake, Tsunami… Man-made disasters are always horrible, but these ‘acts of God,’ these nature-related disasters haunt me.

Mother Earth can be a cruel bitch sometimes.

You can do your part. And if you have a roof over your head and money in your pocket, you should do your part. As you know, you can text ‘REDCROSS’ to 90999 and donate $10 from your phone. The Red Cross is the most-recommended method to donate, because you know they’re not a scam. It’s quick and easy.

Sadly, so many people create ‘relief’ scams to get money. You’ll see them online, you’ll see mass emails, or maybe get an automated call. Please ignore these.

However, in my opinion, there is one better way to donate your money. The Red Cross is fantastic, and can do big things, but whenever you can, please donate to a local Community Action Agency.

The Community Action Agency covering Moore, Oklahoma is based out of Oklahoma City. Their website is http://caaofokc.org

While the Red Cross can do big things for communities, it often takes them time to mobilize. They lean on local agencies and first-responders to start the healing process, which is where CAA of OKC comes in. This agency helps maintain the local food bank, and has home-building and weatherization departments. While families are displaced or in need, CAA of OKC can help fill the void while the Red Cross is still working on their action plan.

I used to work at a similar agency in Eastern Idaho. The people there were the most caring, selfless people I have ever met. The agency itself did some amazing things for the most-needy, and the staff made miracles happen on a daily basis.

So please, do what you can. By donating money, they can buy supplies, food, blankets and secure shelter for those in need. Whether you support the Red Cross or a local Food Bank of Community Action Agency, please do what you can.

Red Cross:
Text ‘REDCROSS’ to 90999 to donate $10 from your phone instantly.

Community Action Agency of OKC: 319 SW 25th St, Oklahoma City, OK 73109 / (405) 232-0199 / execdir@caaofokc.org / www.caaofokc.org

Brandon is the blogger behind www.lostinidaho.me, a humor and culture-shock blog chronicling the life of a California transplant now living in rural Idaho.

Thank you for sharing these resources, Brandon.

Writer's Workshop Wednesday ~ Brandon from My Own Private Idaho

Welcome to Writer's Workshop Wednesday!  This is my way of paying it forward to all the people out there who want to start writing, but don't have their own blogs yet, or who are established writers that are looking to appeal to a different audience.  I have also opened this up to those who would like to post anonymously about topics that are too difficult to write about publicly. Each week, I will host one or two posts by different writers.

I hope that you enjoy this series, I hope you find some new writers to follow, I hope this helps them out and I hope we can all learn something from them!

Up today, Brandon from My Own Private Idaho. Like me, he's a California kid living in a whole different part of the world now, though his is a little bit more different than mine. He writes about his experiences as a fish out of water on his blog, and posts all kinds of funny stuff on his Facebook page.  I won't tell you much else about him because I want you to read it for yourself. He is truly one of the good guys.

Ladies and gentlemen, Brandon.

A quick bio of me: My name is Brandon. I manage www.lostinidaho.me, a humor blog chronicling my life as a California transplant now living in rural Idaho. Culture-shock is an understatement, as I get used to not mowing my lawns on Sunday, not getting jobs because I’m not Mormon, and getting laughed at because my car doesn’t have a gun rack.

That said, there are many reasons why the move to Idaho has been jarring for me. The #1 reason, however, isn’t anything I can poke fun of…

I live 900 miles away from my children. I see my boys 3, maybe 4 times a year. I’m a long-distance dad, not by choice, and I’m missing out on so much.

I moved because of economic hardship. I was a statistic; another victim of the economy, and in 2010 my then-girlfriend and I moved to Idaho to lean on her family while we got back on our feet. My ex used this opportunity to paint me as the stereotypical ‘absent dad’ you see on so many sitcoms and made-for-TV movies. Because of the job loss, I naturally fell behind on child support. Add ‘deadbeat’ to the title, according to so many (including my ex from time to time).

It’s 2013, and I’m still behind on support. I’m paying extra to catch up, but it takes 4-5 years to make up 1 missed year. A dad that is behind on support payments is a deadbeat. A good-for-nothing. He doesn’t love his children. Right?

Now for my side of the story.

I moved out of necessity, but I did-and-am-still-doing everything in my power to do right by my children. I call when I can (when I’m not working). I write. I send postcards during my travels (I’m a sales rep and cover 6 states, so I get around). I tell my kids about my adventures, and they’re geography-experts because of it. My 7 year old son can tell you all about Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, and can find me on a map in seconds…

When I see my kids, it means I am driving from Idaho to Southern California. 900 miles down the I-15, 14+ hours of road-trip.

Trips usually consist of driving down on Friday (leaving at 6am to get there at a decent hour), visiting and playing on Saturday, then a breakfast-and-bye on Sunday morning. From there, it’s another long drive back home, then back to work on Monday. Putting about 2,000 road miles in a weekend PLUS spending time and playing catch-up with kids is beyond exhausting, but it’s all I get and I relish every second of it.

I love them. I cherish them. I don’t see them as often as I’d like, and am working on making more money to either move back to California or afford frequent trips down there (maybe eventually affording airfare, so there’s less time on the road and more time in their arms…).

I am a long-distance father. Not an absent father, not a deadbeat father. Do I go to karate class? To parent-teacher night? Do I tuck them into bed or make them breakfast in the morning? No. I wish I did. I’m not even going to be able to make it down to see them for Father’s Day. (again) I’d whore myself on the streets to have that opportunity, but I’m not that attractive…

What’s important is I do what I can. Not only to love my two sons and to make sure they know it, but also to help show another side to the ‘absent father’ story. Not all of us are absent by choice. Not all of us are behind on child support by choice. Am I the exception or the rule? I’m not sure, but I’m not a bad dad.

I love my boys. I hug them and kiss them as often as I can. I am there for them whenever they call me (which is not often enough, but they’re still young). I do what I can, and that’s enough for now. It breaks my heart when I’m on the phone and they ask ‘can you take us to the park tomorrow?’ or ‘when do we get to see you next?’ but all I can do is make sure they know I love them, and make sure they know I am giving them all I can give them.

I envy parents who get to complain about ‘needing more alone time’ or are happy when they have a date night. I am who I am, I give all the love I have to give, and that’s enough.

I am a long-distance dad.

I refuse to be absent.

I refuse to be a deadbeat.

I can never give them enough, but I can give them all I can.

Things That Piss Me Off Tuesday - the extra dose of the gays edition

Kaitlin Hunt
By now, most of you have probably heard about this case at least a little bit. An 18 year old girl, Kaitlin Hunt, was charged with lewd and lascivious acts on a minor for having engaged in sex acts with her 15 year old girlfriend. There is a lot of conflicting information online, and until the trial, it will probably be impossible to know for sure what happened and when. It is known that the so-called victim's parents knew of the contact prior to Hunt's 18th birthday, but chose not to contact the authorities until after she turned 18, and that they did so primarily because they disapprove of the homosexual nature of the contact.

I won't speculate on the facts here since they are in dispute, but there are a few issues at hand. First, if all the contact happened prior to Hunt's 18th birthday, it's doubtful that she will be convicted. She has, however, been expelled from school at the request of the victim's parents. Second, the victim has maintained all along that she consented to the acts, but in the eyes of the law in Florida it is irrelevant. Minors under 16 cannot consent to sexual activity under any circumstances. If she was 16, she could have. Third, if there was contact after Hunt turned 18, then it is technically illegal.

Here's where I struggle. The so-called victim's parents seem heavily motivated by their daughter's orientation. I question whether this would even be an issue if Hunt was male. If they would have even called the police. I am quite disturbed by the fact that they intentionally waited until Hunt turned 18 to alert the authorities. It almost morphs them into being an accessory of the crime if they knew the contact was ongoing but elected to wait to call the police until the offender was of age. Where are their actual motivations here then - to "protect" their daughter, or seek vengeance? 

It's entirely possible she's only being charged because of the parents' dislike of homosexuality. It certainly seems that way.

There are "Romeo and Juliet" provisions in Florida state law that will allow the court to forgo the labeling of Hunt as a sex offender if convicted, but they do not make the contact legal.

If the contact was indeed illegal, then it was illegal. Period. Her orientation shouldn't matter. The laws may be overly harsh, but that's neither here nor there. The law is the law.

At the end of the day, this is a case that I will be watching with great interest. I remember being a teenager in love, throwing caution to the wind and having no awareness of whether having sex was legal or not. Had the girlfriend in this case been 16 instead of 15, we wouldn't even be talking about this.

Morality Clauses, Divorce and Texas
Texas doesn't just refuse to allow gays to marry, no sir. Everything is bigger in Texas. It prohibits them from doing many other things. They can't execute many of the legal documents straight people can, and they aren't allowed the same protections when it comes to custody of children.

Two weeks ago, Page Price was given 30 days to move out of her lesbian partner's home after a judge decided to enforce a morality clause in the divorce agreement between her partner Carolyn Compton and her ex-husband.  He brought the enforcement motion before the court.

The morality clause dictates that Compton cannot have anyone she is dating or intimate with in her home after 9pm. Since they aren't allowed to get married under state law, the judge said she has to leave even though they have been living together for almost three years and have a very stable household.

Carolyn cannot marry her girlfriend, but her ex-husband theoretically could if he chose. Texas courts also refuse to acknowledge gay marriages or unions from other states, leaving gay couples no other option in these cases, they are at the mercy of the court.

The court adjudicated by an openly conservative judge in this case.

Mark Carson
Mark was walking through the West Village area of Manhattan, just blocks from the Stonewall Inn, with his partner last weekend when a man walked up to him, called him a faggot and shot him in the head. 

The suspect is in custody, but this crime has rocked one of the most progressive, inclusive neighborhoods in the nation. This is an area where the LGBT community has probably felt the safest the longest, and even still there are violent crimes like this one.

Attacks on the LGBT community in the area have roughly doubled this year.

Biblical marriage = free chicken
Leave it to Chick fil-A. Handing out free food to those male/female couples who attend a Biblical marriage church event.

I wish they would knock this crap off. They make a damn tasty sandwich.

Whatever.

It's a free country. You can preach against the gays, I just won't eat your delicious food. It would have been pretty funny if the gays and the lesbians had descended on the meeting, partnered up and taken the cards though. Am I right???

Stefon is leaving SNL
Bill Hader is leaving the show. I'm so sad. What will I do? I won't know where the hottest club in New York is this season, and I won't have anyone to tell me what a human 8 ball or a human fanny pack is!!!

I will miss him so, but at least he went out spectacularly, wedding Seth Meyers in a beautiful ceremony.

I leave you with this for the week.

I've been told this isn't my fight. I've been told I should stop talking about it. I've been told that I'm wrong, that I've given up on my own hypothetically gay children.

Fuck that noise.

I will fight for equality until I don't have to anymore. If you can't handle that, too damn bad.

No freedom 'til we're equal. Damn right I support it.

Some Tragedies Cannot Be Avoided

A piece of my heart is in Oklahoma this morning. Those I know with family in the area finally received word that everyone was safe, even though they appear to have lost everything.

Over twenty children are still missing, presumed dead, drowned in the water beneath the rubble of the school. Their parents, waiting, hoping, praying for a miracle.

Almost as soon as the tornado hit, people started asking questions. Why the school didn't have a basement, why there wasn't a safe room, why they didn't bus the kids out, why they didn't evacuate.

As though any of those things would have guaranteed their safety.

Most of the kids here drowned. Going lower under ground would not have helped them. Basements are not built in the area because the soil cannot support them. Talking about something that is impossible as though it is does no one any favors.

The sustained winds were over 200mph. A safe room cannot withstand that.

Buses aren't usually stored on school property,and even if they were, who's to say that they'd drive away from danger instead of towards more of it, now outside of a sturdy building and in a metal box that could easily be picked up and thrown by the winds?

They had 16 minutes warning.

On foot, with that many children, they would have been lucky to get half a mile away. The tornado was wider than that. The debris field was even bigger. Being outside would have endangered them more because of flying projectiles.

Some of those teachers used their own bodies as shields to protect the children.

There is quite literally nothing that would have guaranteed safety of everyone in Moore yesterday. These storms are too big, the winds are too fast.

I question why so many people rush to lay blame in situations like this one. Even when there is a clear place to blame, as with school shootings, the quest for blame pushes on.

People want so desperately to have someone to blame because doing so somehow insulates them. If this is someone else's fault, they can do something to stop it. To prevent it. To avoid death, fear and loss.

It's a fallacy.

Horrible, terrible things can happen to anyone. At any time. At the hands of another person, at the hands of mother nature.

It can happen to you. It can happen to me.

There is no way to keep everyone safe all the time.

I've lived through enough natural disasters myself to know that.

Five years ago, tomorrow, I spent time crammed like sardines in a tiny park bathroom with over fifty preschoolers, their parents and siblings while funnel clouds reached down from the sky above us. I knew in that moment that whether we lived or died was out of our hands.

I've never been so scared in my life, more for my children than myself.

I lived less than five miles from the epicenter of the Northridge earthquake when it hit in 1994. The sound was like something I can't even describe. The support beams in our house twisted and warped. The fault line ran down from the hills, through the neighborhood, and directly under our house. We were without utilities for days. My life was possibly saved only because I had just taken heavy items off the shelf on the wall above my bed the weekend before. Had I left them there, I may not be here today.

We were evacuated during the Cedar Fire storm in San Diego in 2003. We thought we ran towards safety, we actually were headed toward more danger and just didn't know it. Smoke, like storms, obscure your view and you can't tell where is safe and where isn't. We'd be driving through smoke and suddenly come up on a fire line with almost no warning.

Living through these experiences has taught me a few things.

- Prepare for what you can.
- Keep emergency supplies on hand, water, shelf stable food, blankets and shoes especially.
- Have at least one radio that doesn't require electricity (we have a hand crank radio and flashlight).
- Practice safety drills.
- Have a family emergency plan.
- Have a clear idea what you would take if evacuated. You should be able to grab it and get out in minutes.

Even then, there is no way to guarantee safety.

I can tell you that when you experience these things, adrenaline kicks in. You will be capable of doing things you never imagined possible. You will be calmer than you think.

Think rationally and prepare, but appreciate the power of nature.  We can't always outrun her.