Living in a man's world

I live in a man’s world. My entire life, I have been referred to as a “tomboy”. I was an athlete, an artist, and the girl that was always there to answer questions about how to fix their latest screw ups with their girlfriends. From the time that I was very young up to present day, my closest friends have always been male. My employment has always been in a capacity that deals with a male dominated field. Although I have to tell you, even I was not prepared for the testosterone overload that would come with my current job.
I am employed in the general maintenance department located in the largest hospital complex in my state. I was nervous about taking this job because I would be the only female ever hired in a labor capacity for that department. Our crews work out of two areas within the hospital. One is located in the bowels of the boiler room, and the other is tucked away in the recesses of the parking garage. I have always wondered why the people in these positions are so well hidden from view. Now, I know why.
I will tell you a bit about these men. They range in age from twenty four to sixty. When I first began my tenure here, I knew that they were apprehensive about having a woman working with them. The conversations were awkward and they rarely made eye contact. I miss those days. Now that I have been accepted into the “burp, scratch and high five club”, I see the inner working of the male mind, and it isn’t pretty.
Women are stereotypically “catty” and “backstabbing” creatures who gossip and chatter their work day away. Well, I have news for all of you. Men are not any different. You can also add posturing and marking their territory to their list. I remember watching the boys play on the playground when I was young. First, they would push and punch each other while they waited in line to go outside. Did you know that full grown men will wait in line to punch in and out from a work day? I am sad to report that they still have not learned to keep their hands to themselves, and to use their “inside voices”.
After the teacher opens the door and allows the children to run free and frolic on the playground, they would gather into smaller groups and “claim their territory”. Well, things have not changed much. Within the maintenance department, there are plumbers, electricians, carpenters, engineers and groundskeepers. It is definitely still acceptable to be shoved into a locker if a plumber has the gall to take the electrician’s hammer. I do not mean that metaphorically. I mean it literally. Unfortunately, a fifty year old man with a beer belly does not fit in a locker the way that he used to. Duct tape is the Holy Grail to these men, but even that will only buy a few minutes when trying to restrain an angry plumber.
We have all driven past crews working on the side of the road. We sit in traffic for what feels like hours, just to see a gaggle of men standing around a hole, looking down. Have you ever wondered what was so intriguing in that hole? I have the answer. There is absolutely nothing of any interest in there. I have learned that they will exhibit the same behavior over a bundle of multi colored wires, a leaking pipe, or a simple pile of lumber. Next time that you are curious, stop the car, get out, and listen to them chatter and cluck around that hole. It will suddenly become clearer why the roads are never fixed properly, and why you have to call the plumber back four times for the same repair. Just the way that women have to go to the restroom in groups, men apparently require a group in order to form a coherent thought. There is only one major flaw in that plan, and that is posturing. Basically, it does not matter which man had the best idea or solution to their problem, it only matters which man was able to convince the others to implement it. He will be crowned “King of the mountain”, and be the first in line to go down the big slide.
As my day winds down, the smaller groups begin to merge back into one mass of testosterone. Now, I have spent my entire day with these men. I have listened to them giggle at the thought of having gas in a crowded elevator. I have watched them injure themselves repeatedly on the same pipe, tool, wire or piece of lumber. I have witnessed the ceremonial gathering around the hole. So, when we form our line to punch out, I have to wonder about this end of the day ritual that ensues. To listen to these men, you would think that they have just engineered and built the great pyramids of ancient Egypt. They are exhausted and full of aches and pains. Every task that they have “completed” that day was the most difficult one ever in the history of mankind.
Now that I have infiltrated this secret society, I feel that it is my duty to inform women of two things. The first thing is that if you ever have the opportunity to enter a workforce like this one, take it! It will be, bar none, the easiest job that you will ever do. I swear that if men had to give birth, the human race would have ceased to exist a long time ago, or they would have invented a tool to make it easier. (They just would not be able to find that tool when they go into labor, and have to go buy a new one, or borrow his buddy’s.) The second thing goes to the wives that are reading this. When your husband comes home and tells you about his day, simply smile and nod your head. Remember this, when your children come in the house from a long day of playing, are they sweaty and dirty too? Yes, they are. Trust me ladies, they are not too tired to mow the lawn or fix that leaking faucet. If he tells you that he is utterly exhausted from his long, hard day, simply make this statement. “It’s alright honey, I will just call Bill to fix it for me. You just rest.” He may react harshly, at first. Just remember to smile and remain calm. You will get the task accomplished. Because after all, he does not want Bill to be the first one to go down the big slide!

The Next Generation

Article & Illustration by Roberta Heart

With every passing day, I grow more and more concerned about the next generation. Not because of the usual reasons like pollution, employment or education. The reason runs much deeper than that. I fear that we are creating a generation of chemically dependent drones and sociopaths. We send the message everyday to our children to “just say no” to drugs and then we place their Ritalin next to their bowl of Frosted Flakes. I wonder what kind of message we are sending to our children. Why is it acceptable to have our children addicted to drugs just because they come in a brown bottle from a pharmacy? We put so much blind faith in our doctors and pharmacists that I rarely see a parent question their motives.

Is it not our duty and our obligation to question anything that our children consume? Wake up people, just because something is created in a lab and put in an “official package” does not mean that it is safe, or necessary. Do I need to remind you that crystal Meth is also made in a lab? That’s right, those horrible drug dealers are just as smart and skilled as that nice man in the white coat at the pharmacy, in many cases even more so.

So, now let’s look at motives. Why would a trusted physician give you something that could harm or kill your child? Well firstly, because you asked him for it. Did it ever occur to some of you that when your child is misbehaving or acting “abnormally” that your child does not need to be medicated, but that you might require parenting classes? Next let’s go back to that horrible drug dealer. Why does he make and distribute crystal Meth? That’s right, money. The almighty dollar rules all. Let me ask you this, are those medications that you pump into your child every day free? Are they provided at no cost to you, and to anyone who needs them for the betterment of our society? No, of course not. They cost money, and quite a bit of it especially if you are uninsured. Now ask yourself who profits from the sale of these drugs. Is it the doctors? Yes, they profit a little. But who really profits? Very good, you are right it is the pharmaceutical industry. In other words, people who have never met, spoken to, or cared about your child are profiting from the sale of those drugs. Do you realize who the doctors rely on to provide them with the information about the drugs that they are prescribing? They rely on the pharmaceutical industry themselves along with the FDA. I don’t know about you, but I don’t trust big business and the government to know what is best for my children. We need to stop viewing mood altering prescription drugs as a necessity and begin viewing them for what they are, a consumer product.

Why would the pharmaceutical industry bypass those trusted doctors, and advertise to the masses? Everyone has seen the commercials. Now, you come home from a long day of work, and the kids are driving you crazy, one child needs money for a class field trip, another child has forgotten her homework at school, and your spouse is stuck in traffic. Then your cell phone rings, and it is work related. There is a problem at the office and you spend an hour trying to help them fix it. You have just a small amount of money in your checking account and it is still three more days until payday. I don’t know about you, but I have had days like this myself. You just know that any minute the phone is going to ring, and it will be your mother reminding you of how you don’t visit often enough. You finally sit down after fighting your youngest child into bed, for the third time, because all he wants to do is spin around in circles until he gets dizzy and falls down. You turn the TV on and, there it is. There is a woman or man approximately your age, sitting quietly and looking forlorn. A soothing voice asks you if you feel sad and stressed often. You say to the TV, “Yes”, as tears of frustration roll down your cheeks. Right at that moment, your youngest child comes down the steps to tell you a completely random story that just could not wait until tomorrow.

Stop, take a deep breath. You do not need that medication so that you can be as happy as that person in the commercial was after consuming their advertized product. You need a day off. Some time alone with some good music, and for goodness sake when your mother calls, let the voicemail pick it up! Now let’s talk about those kids. Are they driving you crazy? Do they forget their homework and daydream in class? Do they get all wound up and run around doing flips over the sofa and running into walls? Do you tell them something and five minutes later they have completely forgotten what you have said? Do they throw tantrums for a variety of reasons? If you answered “yes” to any or all of the above, congratulations you have normal, moody, funny, determined children that require consistency, love and discipline. If you answered “no” to all of those questions, you are either the luckiest parent alive, or your child is over-medicated.

It is tough in today’s world to earn a living while raising children. Our family units have changed and become more complex. These two factors have given this generation of parents new challenges that, at times, seem to be impossible to overcome. Is medication the answer? How many times throughout our medical history have we seen a change and an awareness of what was once deemed “good” realized to be very bad? Vaccines, procedures, implants, medications with deadly side-effects and medications with just plain deadly effects. Is your child about to become a historical statistic? Think about this, all of those things that I just mentioned were approved by the FDA and sold by doctors and pharmacists. So, are you willing to become part of the next class action lawsuit, on behalf of your child?

I hear parents talk about how they struggle to save for their child’s education or to help them purchase their first vehicle. I have never heard a parent say that they are struggling to save for their child’s stay in a drug rehabilitation center. I know parents who have, however, used their child’s college savings to pay for their stay in a drug rehabilitation center. I will share a story with you to illustrate my point.
I had a very dear friend for seventeen years. I was a young teen when I began babysitting for her. They treated me as one of the family. It became more of a family environment than a job for me. She is the mother of four children, one boy and three girls. She was an incredible mother when the children were young. This was the family that created the desire in me to have a family and children of my own. At the time that I babysat for her, she had just two girls and one boy. The third girl came along later in life.

I received a phone call from her approximately a decade ago. She was terribly upset. She had been feeling down and lonely for quite a while, so she made an appointment with a psychiatrist. He “interpreted” a dream for her that caused her even more pain and suffering. Her husband was a workaholic and was rarely home to help with the children or the day to day household tasks. She left that office that day with a prescription for whatever the “magic pill’ of the time was.
From that day forward, my friend began to disappear. The woman that had once laughed and smiled at the silly things that her children would say and do, was now eerily calm and robotic. I became very concerned when a woman who had been an atheist her entire life joined a local non denominational church. She became obsessed with it. She was attending therapy weekly and church even more often than she was participating in her children’s education. She was also sleeping away quite a bit of the time that she was at home.
The person that I had once known had become someone else. She was giving thousands of dollars to the church. This was a woman who had once vowed never to step foot into one. I supported her the best way that I knew how, by keeping my opinion of her new found faith to myself. I have always believed that no matter your faith, or lack thereof, you are entitled to it without judgement from others. This was simply another symptom of the person that I knew disappearing.

Following a few years of this behavior, I reached a point where I had to speak up. That point came when she decided that her children needed to be medicated, as well. I had spent almost as much time with these children as she had, at this point. They were incredible kids. They were bright, happy, intelligent and full of life. She took them to a pediatrician that I had abandoned due to his “loose” prescription pad. He placed all three of them on Ritalin, at her request. She then began to take them to therapy, which the children vehemently resisted. I could not believe what I saw happening to this woman and family that I had adored for so long. I began to question her, and she told me that she was pregnant again. I became concerned because I knew that she was taking a Molotov cocktail of drugs, therapy and church. She ceased taking the medications, and spent most of her pregnancy in bed, and very unhappy. Thankfully, the baby was born healthy, and is another amazing kid.

The greatest focus of her obsession with altering her children was placed on her son. I will never forget the day that she called me and was out of her mind with panic. Her son was running across the room and flopping on the sofa over and over again. I started laughing and asked her what the problem was. She became convinced that the child was desperately in need of more medication. I became angry with her, and told her what I thought of her behavior. She did not speak to me for quite a while after that.

I would like to update you on the status of those children who are now in their late teens and early twenties. The oldest girl recently dropped out of college after two years. She is a beautiful and intelligent young woman who will find her way someday. The second girl, well, she likes to date drug addicts that are several years her senior, and has some issues with promiscuity. The boy is better now. After he was caught huffing gasoline from the family minivan, and drank himself to the point of alcohol poisoning many times, and repeated abuse of the prescription pills that his mother kept in the house for herself, he attended a rehab program, and seems to be doing better. The youngest girl was never medicated. She is a star athlete and a wonderful student, at least that is what her sister tells me. You see, I do not have my friend anymore. We have not spoken for years, yet I love her still.

I could share dozens of similar stories. I am sure that every person reading this knows of someone who has struggled with prescription pill abuse. So I have to ask you, why would we give them to our children without absolute necessity, or to save their lives? I don’t know the answer to that. I do know that, as a mother, if there were a magic pill to give me some peace and quiet in my house and reassurance that my child would be absolutely perfect, would I give it to them? NO! I choose to use a different method. I use patience, love, communication and discipline. So to all of the parents or soon to be parents who are reading this, I want you to think about something. I want you to say the word “drugs” to yourself. Then I want you to write down what was the first image that came to mind. Was it a joint? What is crack? What was it? Then I want you to think about what the side effects list would be for the use of those drugs. Imagine them just the way you would read them on that annoying piece of paper that is folded a million times in the box of “legal” medication. Then go read the side effects from the pills that we pump into our children. Which is worse? Marijuana has been called a “potential gateway drug”. Ritalin has been confirmed as one.

Moms and Dads, keep putting the “just say no” bumper stickers on your minivan. Continue to proudly display your D.A.R.E license plates. Just don’t forget to give the kids a hug after you give them their pills at night. Remember, everything in your home is deadly to an addicted child, including the very fuel that powers your minivan.
-Roberta Heart

Pee Pee Dance

There are many lessons to be learned over the years when you are raising three sons. When my husband and I had our first son, everything was so new to us. We did all of those things that new parents do. We bought all of the new and improved baby gadgets and paraphernalia. We made our home so safe, that we could no longer open cabinet doors, plug in an appliance, or lift the lid on the toilet bowl. We had done everything right. We did everything possible to provide the safest and cleanest environment possible for our little bundle of joy.

Then we had not one, but two more sons. By the time that we had our third little boy, we had removed all of those annoying safety locks from everything and duct taped those poorly made, inconvenient, modern convenience, baby gimmicks back together. You see, there comes a day when you realize how ridiculously you behave when you have your first baby. It was our oldest son who taught us that lesson.

It was a late evening, when he was just four and a half years old. My son would, on occasion, sleepwalk when he was very young. My husband and I were sitting on our front patio chatting with some friends. The front door was wide open, giving us a clear view of the entry hall and closet. My keenly aware Mommy radar detected what sounded like a panicked scrambling of little footsteps. I looked down the hallway just in time to see my son coming down the stairs in a rush with a glazed over expression on his face. I turned to my husband and told him that the child was sleepwalking and to please carry him back up to his bed.

My husband did what so many parents do. He decided to finish his conversation, being as this hardly constituted an emergency. My son rounded the corner from the stairs, and I noticed that he was doing what every parent recognizes, and we called “the pee pee dance”. Uh Oh. Now, we have one of those safety latches on our entry closet door because that is where we keep the umbrellas. Heaven forbid one of our little darlings should pinch their finger in a deadly umbrella.
My son manipulated that lock in under a second like he was David Copperfield. He flung the door open, and began pulling his pajama bottoms down. Now I am up, but my husband (who is still chatting away) is closer to the door. I yelled for him to get up and “get the boy!” NOW he pays attention, and gets up just in time to see our precious son, for whom we took every precaution to keep safe, peeing in the closet and all over his father’s briefcase and shoes. My husband stuttered the only words that he could muster up, “BOY! BOY! HEY!....WHAT THE…..BOY?” My son looked up at him and said, “Oh, hey Daddy. I had to pee. Good night, I love you.” Then he scratched his rear end, and toddled off to bed.

My view from the patio was perfect. It was as if I had front row seats to the greatest show on Earth. My husband’s reaction was a contorted expression that appeared puzzled, intrigued, angry and shocked. It was like watching a primate who has been given a toy filled with peanut butter, but he just couldn’t figure out how to get to it. He looked from the lock on the door to his briefcase, clearly bewildered by how this could happen. When I recovered from my laughter, I looked at my husband and said, “Don’t ask me, he is your son!” He said, in a very defiant voice, “NO! That is YOUR son!” I laughed even harder, and replied, “Ok fine, the kid that unlocked the door is my son, YOUR son peed on your briefcase!”

The following day, we removed all of those adult proof safety locks and outlet covers, and gave up the battle. My four year old son was able to undo that lock in his sleep, even though he was so disoriented that he thought that the closet was the bathroom. Kinda puts it all back into perspective, doesn’t it?

-Roberta Heart

She Ponders the Why

Through the warm blinding tears
she ponders the why
through all of her years
so much time has gone by

Never before
has one so in touch
ever walked through the door
and touched her so much

His honor is real
His words from within
how can she conceal
what she really is

A scared little girl
with all good intentions
her heart in a whirl
it spins with his mention

The suffering of her life
That made her today
such pain and such strife
continues to stay

He gives HER the credit
for HIS very deed
She will never forget it
his heart is her greed

She wants to say thank you
but the words are so listless
they can't seem to do
what her heart needs to witness

He sees so much more than any would try
she still wonders how
Can he see me cry?
She ponders the thought, can he see me now?

She Stole Back Her Heart

My incredible journey
when will come to an end
in the spirit of learning
your hearts I will mend

A mother so young
A father addicted
my life was begun
so early afflicted.

The weight was too steady
her health failed her first
he found another already
still...not the worst.

her babies are taken
sold to another
a death in the making
sister and brother

I do not belong
they don't look like me
my heart knows it's wrong
I want to be free

Where is she now
how can this be?
I will survive this somehow
they won't destroy me.

Their efforts are great
the beatings are often
striking with hate
one away from a coffin

Somehow, she survives
the ending is near
she will leave there alive
the last lonely tear.

Freedom awaits
she will see them once more
open the gates
let her walk through the door.

oh, what was she thinking
she expected so much
he was still drinking
and she lost her touch..

the caress of a mother
had left long ago
taken by another
blow after blow....

She holds him so close
this is her father
her empty heart knows
don't even bother

He's slipping away
one drink at a time
she begs him to stay
he's commited a crime

He has taken his life
he took it from me.
the call cuts like a knife
she drops to her knees...

She has waited so long
endured so much pain
it all felt so wrong
there was nothing to gain.

The room was so black
for what seemed like forever
she clawed her way back
she pulled it together

a new life beginning
she grew it inside
a battle worth winning
the moment he cried.

I saw in his face
my father's delight
such beauty and grace
came from one night.

My world changed that day
my son saved my life
in so many ways
he pulled out the knife.

Now there are three
each life was a moment
given to me
in repair for my torment

This person you know
was not always here
she had to grow
with each wasted tear.

To survive being beaten and raped
to be able to heal
and leave a prison of hate
she had to steal.

From the eyes of a child
she stole back her heart
a spirit gone wild
was back at the start.

The memories will stay
the tears still continue flow
but this is today
and yesterday, is not tomorrow.

There is pain in our lives
we all must endure
If I can survive
you can, I'm sure.

Forever I'll wonder

It's all over
he's gone
never to be seen
I knew all along

The day he was born
the face
was forlorn
the face with two arms

they started to move
counting the days
one step at a time
slow ticking that says
time's up when I chime.

Each tick was his pain
every sweep wiped a tear
please stop it he begged
time and again
days and weeks then a year

He waits for the chime
but the ticks seem to slow
the agony of time
continues to grow

He can't hear the ticks
at night when he sleeps
sleep brings him some peace
the secret he keeps

The hands are now still
frozen in slumber
that was his will
why.....

Forever I'll wonder.

A Father's Love

We live in a world that has been shattered by greed
The tiny hands of a child outreached and always in need
A child knows nothing of the struggles we face
They know only the comfort of a loved ones's embrace.

So many of our children never know of those moments
alone, hungry, and cold..they wait alone in their torment.
No mother, no father, just adults living free
forgetting the future is their child in need.

So easy it is to become self absorbed
when all we can hear, is what we've been told
Only the brave will dare to speak out
to protect their child, and raise questions of doubt.

Our view of a father is a towering man.
Who brings home a check, rarely lending a hand.
So many young men are raised with this image
passed from father to son, corrupting our lineage.

Now today we face worse, men who just run away
leaving their child, duty abandoned, only to play.
In abundance we see them, day in, and day out
Their children alone, even love raises doubt.

But in the face of all the struggle and growing despair
there are those men who fight to protect, and always be there.
They raise their children to be strong men and women
through their strength and their love, a gift has been given.

that gift is bestowed, not just on their child,
It is a gift to the world, through a young smile.
For that smile is bred from knowledge and love
A father's gift to the world, is rising above.

A man's strength is not measured by how much he can lift
but in the weight he can carry, and not go adrift.
When he puts down the phone, and reschedules a meeting
Just to be at the game, or the door with a greeting.

The child never knows the sacrifice he has made
Not until they are grown, and places they trade.
He becomes not just "dad", but a man to be honored
When through the eyes of their child, now he is the father.

No place more revered than in such position
Debts are repaid in ways not dreamed to fruition
but through actions of love, and pure dedication
such a man is deserving of all admiration.

--Roberta Heart