A Letter To The Dog

Dear Lilly,

Why do you pee on my floor? Seriously. If I leave my door open for two minutes, you'll run in and pee in my room. I constantly have to keep closing it behind me and keep an eye on you. I wonder if you hate me. I don't know why you would. I've never done a thing to you. For the most part, I like you - you're an alright dog. You're not my dog of course, you're my dad and his girlfriends' dog. But I do have a problem with your attitude: your constant barking and growling, the way you only pee in my room, not anywhere else. And right after Dad takes you outside, you'll run in and PEE ON MY FLOOR! Why? For the love of animals everywhere, WHY MUST YOU PEE ON MY FLOOR?!

Sometimes I wonder if it's a rivalry between you and the cat. Her litterbox is in my room, so she does her business in my room. If she can pee inside, why can't you? Why do you have to freeze your a** off outside in the snow? Why must you have to do your business when it's 90 degrees outside and the suns beating down on you? "Hey! That's not fair!" Is it that what you think?

Maybe you just hate the cat. You see the way Miss Puss is treated, the food she's fed and you're jealous. So you've vowed to pee everyday in her space, in her domain to rebell against Miss Puss. Well, I must say, I get the feeling Miss Puss isn't very fond of you either. I can tell by the way she tries to guard the door when I forget to shut it. You think, "Wow, this is my chance! I'm going to go pee!" and then you see her - Miss Puss right behind the door. She sees you and you see her. She blocks you from entering. You give up. I've seen this sequence of events before and I, personally don't understand why you just don't run past her if you're so intent on peeing on my floor. Miss Puss is declawed, she is defenseless. But maybe you don't know that.

Oh, Lilly. What I would give for you to be able to read this and to understand how disrespectful it is to urinate on someone's floor. To be able to communicate with you and let you know how dumb it is to pee on my floor, how mad it makes me and what a nice dog you can be when you want to be.

Parents

I feel insecure. I feel inferior to some of my peers - just a victim to the hierarchy of highschool. I get despressed. I feel scared. I feel alone. Sometimes I wonder if my dad has the same feelings.

It's weird to question it, I know. Because we all have emotions, so they must feel the same way. But when you are young, your parents are like superheroes. You don't imagine that they cry or that they feel they are below others. But I've seen my parents cry. I've seen the downfalls of both of them and the shame written on their faces. I've seen my dad at his worst.  I'll always love and acceept him.. I understand that he's not supposed to be perfect, no one's perfect.  But where do we stand now? I know he's not a superheroe now.That childhood illusion has faded. But who are they? He used to be bigger than me, my role model  my guidance but now that we're the same size...what do I do?

Are we supposed to bond? I've tried that. But where do you draw the line between the father and a friend? Sometimes I want to ask, do you feel insecure like I do? Do you feel our lower class status weighing down on you? Do you feel below some of your peers, like I do? I know you must feel. But now I want to hear it. I want to know that he's like me. I want to know that he is human. If he can't be a superheroe, he must be human.

The lesson in this would be to talk to your parents. When you're a teenager, I think you really start bonding with your parents (or turning away from them). You start to decide whether you like them as people or just love them because they gave you the gift of life. You start to see your parents as more than just that shelter. You start to bicker and the truth comes out. They come with you to a school function and for the first time in a long time, maybe the first time ever, you hear those words, "I'm proud of you". You've established something -a father daughter relationship. You both understand you're imperfect, you fight and bicker, but at the end of the day you love eachother and admire eachother more than you'll ever let anyone else know.

Offended

Do you ever overhear a conversation and suddenly get insulted by what you hear them saying? I swear everything I hear someone say, "That's so gay" or use the "R" out of context I break a little inside. Especially when I hear the "n" word. I break for the people I know who are gay. I break for the people I know who are in special education classes. I break for my boyfriend, who is black and is deeply offended by the "n" word.

Why don't people realise that their words hurt others? I don't know how many times I've had to call a friend out for using one of those words. Why do teenagers act so heartless? They just use these words in multiple sentences every day. They don't even think twice about it. People will even argue their point when I call them out on it. I've had people who tell me that stupid is the new definition of gay. You can't just redefine a word, not a word that defines something such as sexuality. Do they realise that when they say that, they are calling everyone who is a homosexual stupid?

They aren't stupid. Being gay is not stupid. It's as simple as that. Even if you don't agree with it you can't just call them stupid. Do you know how childish that sounds. "Well you're stupid!" It makes you sound like a first grader fighting about sharing their gummy snacks. If you don't agree with homosexuality - fine that's your personal choice and I won't try to persuade you to think otherwise. Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. But if you don't accept them, at least respect them as people. Being rude to someone soley based off of their sexuality, race, or whatever have you is so juvenile. We're all apart of the human race and we should respect eachother - which means not using offensive words like the words I mentioned above and many others I've heard in the hallway at my high school.

 I'm the president of my schools gay-straight alliance and a lot of my friends are gay. So yes, I do believe in equality for them. But I tell the members of the club that it's not about acceptance, no matter how much I'd love to see everyone in the world accept eachother and love eachother for who they are, the worlds not like that. It's about tolerance. Even for my "colored" boyfriend and I. As much as I'd love others to see us as just two people in a relationship (not a black and a white person - just people!) I know there are always going to be people who don't accept us. But as long as they keep from saying the "n word" or anything else offensive, as long as they tolerate us, I'm happy.

Distortion Glasses

I have a memory of going shopping with my family when I was five or six years old. I'm not sure where we went - maybe the mall. But when we'd finished shopping, it was almost pitch black outside. The street lights illuminated our walk to the car. I remember my sister and I having these glasses - these ones my dad had bought. When you looked through them, it made all of the colors, all of the lights just blur together. It was like a kaleidoscope. Everything looked distorted, different, more amusing than the town I'd known.

Now, looking back I wonder if some people wear distortion glasses their whole life. Maybe they don't even know. They only see the blurred reality of what really is in front of them. Behind those glasses, everything looked fantasic, phantasmal though it wasn’t real. The grocery store lights looked blurred, rainbow  like an amusement park ride. But it was still just a grocery store. Do some people get lost in their allusions, in what they want things to be and never open their eyes to the way things actually are?

I could be overthinking it. I was just a child, a child fascinated by cheap glasses and magic tricks. But it meant something to me. If it’s stayed fresh in mind for this long it must have meant something. Maybe I’m just longing to look at it from a philosophical perspective. I can’t help but wonder, have I been wearing those glasses my whole life, in a sense? My whole life up till now, I’ve been innocent, I’ve been a child – going to school, coming home to a place provided by my father. Everything is paid for me now. Everything is set out for me now. Have I been seeing things from a distorted view? I don’t have a job yet, or have to pay utilities.  I'm sheltered behind these glasses but soon I'll be out on my own. What happens when I go out into the “real world”? Will I sink into depression like my father did and start drinking? Will I see the world for what it really is and not like what I have to look at? What happens when I have to remove these glasses? Will I be able to survive without my youthful illusion?

Opinionated

My dad tells me I'm too opinionated. He says I have a big mouth like my grandmother. But he's always ranting on about the government and the prices of items at walmart. Yet, I'm to opinionated...the man needs to look in the mirror. I love him, but I need to tell him that the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.

I do enjoy educating myself and forming opinions about certian things. Like gay rights, which hits really close to him for me. I think about everything: abortion laws, drugs, even the possibilities of aliens landing on earth.

I'm pro-life. I think abortion should be legal, but have restrictions so people don't use it as a form of birth control. It's sad to say and I know that no one wants to hear it, but if I woman is determind to kill her baby she's going to do it one way or another. Maybe endangering herself or hurting the baby after she has it. People need to address this, not just pretend like it doesn't happen.

I'm against the use of illegal drugs, except for medical marijuana because I think it can help patients with aids or cancer who are suffering. I enjoy doing my research and developing my opinions about things. I don't why I talk to my dad about what I think. Maybe subconsiously I do it just to make him made.

If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for almost anything. Doesn't that mean that I should have opinions? That I should stand for what I believe in? I try not to push my beliefs on other people. I just enjoy expressing my opinion and hearing other points of views. But I don't try to change anyone or persuade them to think like me. Sometimes I'd like it if they saw things my way, but who doesn't feel like that? Who doesn't want to be right? Still, I'd never force them to believe the same things as I do.

I'm going to keep expressing my opinion. I enjoy having a big mouth. I enjoy being loud. If people don't like it, they don't have to listen.

Interracial

"Interracial" - God, why does everyone need a label for everything? People will look at him and I and tell us we're in an "interracial" relationship. I don't even think twice about it. What does it matter if his skin is darker than mine? We're happy together.

I was raised to believe that all forms of diversity should be accepted, but that you should respect others opinions. I just don't understand why some people have a problem with interracial relationships. It's not like homosexuality, where people tell me they don't agree because of their religion. I do believe in gay marriage but I listen and respect their point of view because it's a legitimate reason. But what problem do people have with interracial relationships? I don't believe there is anything against that in the bible! But I could be wrong.

Even I've read some pretty disgusting things on the internet about interracial relationships. Someone even went as far to say that only "greasy haired. obese women with a low self worth date black men." I'd link to it, but I really don't even want to go searching for it. I don't want to read those words again. I know that the person who wrote that comment would change their mind if they saw my boyfriend and I. We've been together for over a year now and are planning a life together after high school. We're serious and no, it's not just a phase. Which is another thing, I've read that people have wrote about it. Oh, and I definetely don't have low self worth. I'm perfectly content with myself, I like who I am. I don't have greasy hair (I shower every morning) and I'm not obese - I don't know what those two things would even have to do with it.

I love my boyfriend for his personality, his sense of humor, his values - for him. not for the color of his skin. I've put up with my own familes criticism of my decision to be with a black guy. But I'm coming to the point where I have to speak up. I understand there's always going to be people who don't agree with it, but I just get sick of these people who don't even know me, judging the way I live my life.

I feel even worse for my boyfriend. He's dealt with it his whole life. People saying derogatory things to him, discriminating against him. People who don't even give him a chance because he has darker skin than they do. He says he doesn't care. He says there's no point in paying any mind to people who are just going to put you down. But I didn't think people were even that racist anymore. I thought things had changed. I was just blind.

In my mind, we're not even two different races. There is no such thing as that kind of segregation. I think of the big picture. I think of everyone as being apart of the human race. I wish other people would see it that way.

My Sister: The Blue Haired Wonder

She dyes her hair blue, purple, pink -  all of the colors of the rainbow. She wears three rings in her bottom lip and two gages in her ear. She works at a place most people would not approve of. She's loud, opinionated, maybe even a little stuck up. But she's my older sister and I wouldn't ever dream of changing her. She's wonderful just the way she is.

She wears her hair in a mohawk, her vibrant eye shadow, her pricy fluffy boots. I like the way she knows who she is and isn't afraid to express herself, isn't afraid of what others think. I remember watching her as her annoying younger sisters, dying for her approval. "Do you like this outfit?" "Can you do my hair like yours?" I wanted to be just like her. I emulated her.

She let me hang out with her and her friends when other older sisters would've been annoyed. She acted proud to say, "This is my adorable younger sister." I felt proud. When she and her friends laughed at my jokes or treated me like more than the obnoxious sibling, I felt accepted.

We were always close. We argued. But we were close. We shared a bedroom up until I was eleven or twelve years old and she was fifteen or sixteen. Our parents had gotten us bunk beds thinking that, because it was only a two bedroom house we'd need some space from eachother. But we just slept on the bottom bunk together. We were inseperable.

Now she's moving into a place with her boyfriend and we see eachother once or twice a week. Sometimes it feels like it's not enough. I miss the days when I could just knock on her bedroom door whenever I missed her or needed to talk. But we make the most out of the time we have together. We put on make-up together, make up funny stories, play video games.

When people have seen us out together, whether it at a grocery store or wherever they'll stop us and ask us about our style or ask to take our pictures. It's a weird feeling. They hear our conversations and laugh with us, tell us we should be comedians. It's strange. I don't understand why we attract so much attention. I guess there's a certian chemistry between her and I because we're so close and comfortable around eachother.

I don't care whether people are staring, or where we are: at a grocery store, or even just sitting at our grandparents house. I'm always proud to be in the presence of my older sister: the blue haired wonder.

Meet The Martians

Meet my family - they're like a "Meet the Parents" movie gone wrong. We've got a Jesus freak, a forty-something year old with middle child syndrome, a stripper with blue hair and an alcoholic dwarf. Oh, and I haven't even addressed my grandparents yet.

My grandma is like Marie from "Everybody Loves Raymond". She's nosy, she intervenes and loves to gossips. She's a seventy-one year old gossip. She steals packets of mayonaisse from Chick-Fil-A when she doesn't even eat there. She'll steal handfuls of packets and stick them in her purse. If they catch her she'll just plead that she's senile and doesn't know what's going on. She'll pick a fight with an employee at a grocery store over the price of toilet paper. She's crazy.

My grandfather is eighty years old and he's the worlds biggest pessimist, a wanna-be food critic, and an avid dead bug collector. He has jars and jars of dead things: the skeleton of a mouse he found in an old shoe, the body of a praying mantis with a dismembered head. When I come to the door and he comes to greet me with a smile on his face and a jar in his hand, I know what that means. I swear insects are one of the only thing that keeps that man happy anymore.

My grandma hates wasting things. I think it has to do with his growing up around the time of the Great Depression. I've watched him finish off a piece of bread covered with mold. He just toasts the bread and scrapes it off. I've seen him drop a bun on the dirty floor, dust it off and eat it. That's my grandpa.

My grandma and grandpa are about at different as can be, which makes a little bit of sense considering the situation. My grandma is my dad's mom and my grandpa is my mom's dad. My parents met when their parents starting dating. It's pretty cool except for the fact that my dad has to see his ex-wifes father all the time.

One of the only obvious things my grandparents have in common is hoarding. They live in a three bedroom house - the house my grandfather raised his three children in over forty years ago. It's a three bedroom house and yet, they can only sleep in one room because the other two rooms are piled, practically to the ceiling with stuff. My grandmas little room has a bed in it, but the bed is stacked with all of her belongings - extra packages of paper towels, old pens, a huge stuffed animal of a dog with an ear missing. That woman has everything. You name it, she's got it.

My grandfathers room is stacked with books. Books stacked on bookshelves line the walls to the point where, you can't even see the wallpaper anymore. He's got boxes and boxes of old newspaper and what everyone else sees as junk. He's also got their basement floor covered in his stuff. Old, broken bicycles, an eight pack of pepsi bottles from years and years ago, probably an antique of some sort. But he won't get rid of anything.

So my grandmas stuff fills up an entire bedroom and storage garage. My grandpas fills up a whole house. But they love eachother and I love them. I love the ongoing oddities of my family.

My Life as a Teenage Martian

I wake up every morning, have a conversation with my cat, take a shower. You know, the usual stuff. I'm just like everyone else. I get dressed, go to school, attend my classes and complete most of my homework assignments. But if I'm just like everyone else, why do I feel like such a loner? I don't want to be the typical teenage televised drama show. The loner teenager who get's pregnant or finds love in a hierarchy above her. No, I want to write my own story.

I feel alienated by my peers. They stare or gawk at me like I just stepped off of a UFO. Can I blame them? No, not at all. When I've confronted my grandma with this problem, she either tells me it's all in my head or that I'm the one who wants them to stare, with the way that I dress. And maybe it is in my head. It's very possible. I overexaggerate the few glances I get into a hundred eyes looking at me. I've been known to be paranoid, I mean why would they want to stare anyway? I'm just like them. I'm just like anyone else.

But do I want them to stare? I want to express myself, that's my passion. I will admit that I do find some of the responses I encounter a little funny. Like when I'm talking a little too loudly about an uncomfortable or odd subject. People will overhear and laugh or move away to avoid me. A lot of people just avoid me.

They used to do that in middle school. I'd sit down at a table and people would scramble to get out of their chairs and move to another table, leaving me all by myself. Most of these people hadn't even talked to me before. They'd just taken one look at me and decided that they disliked me. But isn't that similar to everyones middle school experience? Aren't I just like everyone else? Why do I feel like such an outcast?

For now, I'm just living day to day. Things are definetely better than they were in middle school. But I keep with my daily routine, ignore the stares I get. Keep on, keep on. Living my day to day life as a teenage martian.