The American Dream

God help me for this.

I always read about these blogs going viral. 

"An Open Letter to My Cheating Spouse"

"Life as a Dead Man's Daughter"

"Why Marriage is Dead"

"I Refuse to be Politically Correct"

...blahblahblah

All relevant.

All needed to be said.

All from one person's perspective and filled with the writer's opinion. As it should be.

Up until this point my blog has been mainly for myself. To share memories of my Father and gab on about my perfect little slice of heaven (my daughter, Roslyn...duh) and other things here and there. 

Tonight I came to-well what I think-was a strange realization.

It is Saturday night. A few years ago Petey and I would be getting in touch with our friends and seeing what there was to do. We would meet at each other's houses or downtown at a cool bar. We would grab a late dinner and have drinks and bar hop until we stumbled into McDonough's where I would proceed to belt out whatever karaoke tune I fancied to a willing crowd of blithering idiots just like me. We would saunter over to the buffet across the street and clumsily make our way home with cheese grits stuck to our chins.

Tonight is different.

I am sitting at my kitchen table. It is covered in books, index cards, 3-ring binders and study guides. My eyes burn with the anticipation of laying my head on a pillow and watching an episode of Mad Men on Netflix. The baby is asleep and I have successfully gone another day without detrimentally injuring her (or her soul) and managing not to burn my house down of drown in dog hair.  Mentally...the LAST thing I want to do is study Pathophysiology. Why am I torturing myself?

Because I want the American Dream. 

Call me selfish. Tell me I already have it. I have a great job, a hot husband who makes me laugh, and amazing family and a perfect daughter.  The blessings are undeserved. There are Tons of friends, a full belly (and muffin top, le sigh) and a beautiful home to hang my hat. But I am thirsty. I want more because my Father taught me that I can get more. Life is a lemon you squeeze every drop of juice out of before it's a shriveled up rind in the garbage. 

GO FOR IT

but not without blood, sweat, tears (oh hell yeah), sacrifice and WORK. 

I don't get to go out on Saturday night for a while. 

No buying that sweet pair of ankle booties with leopard print calf hair.

Buh-Bye nightly Jeopardy and Netflix binges. 

You are studying. You are leaving work and rushing to get into class afterwards and forcing your eyelids to remain open. You are missing precious story time and bath time sing-a-longs with your baby. You aren't going on Vacation. You are scrutinizing every hour of your paycheck and getting clammy when the bills are due and your tuition is as well.

I promise it will be worth it. In 1.5 years when you smile up at your beautiful family in the stands of a stadium or arena, lightly touch the silky hood on your graduation gown and accept that Masters degree from your department head, you will smile. When boards are passed and the job hunt is finished, there will be laughter. Why did I complain? That was over before I knew it! You are finally where you said you'd be when you were 17 years old. You have followed your dream and made your loved ones damn proud. You deserve that vacation, those shoes and that job.

But when I stop and think about it, I wonder.

It's kind of bold.

You have probably thought it.

Maybe heard your parents mumble about it over creamed peas or hot coffee?

The American Dream is dying.

It is a slow and painful death. A public execution being watched my millions of Americans. We are standing in Town Square and watching our greed, the frayed noose, slowly but surely tighten around our paraben-free moisturized whiny little necks. 

The killer? It's us. U.S. The United States citizens.

The American Dream didn't come from an open hand or a check in the mail. It doesn't owe you (or anybody) an apology or feel sorry for you and your born circumstances. It believes in you no matter how much you don't believe in yourself. It is out there waiting for you, coaxing you with its' well manicured finger. It expects you to make sacrifices. It knows your family is going to make sacrifices too. It is beckoning you. Pleading with you, to be the best you can be and earn (that's right, EARN) the life you want and deserve. 

It won't come easy. It wants you to understand that happiness and the life you dream about doesn't happen overnight. It wants to scream at you and tell you that instant gratification, greed and whining is suffocating her. It doesn't come with a loan or special privilege because your parents made bad decisions. It wants to shake you and hold you by the shoulders and say, "YOU ARE AN AMERICAN. THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER AND YOU ARE THE PEARL"!!! But the shell is hard to open. It isn't steamed and cracked so you can slide your knife in and drink it's juices. You must cut your finger-several times- and figure out how to make it unfold. You will have to do things you might not want to do when you don't feel like doing them. It doesn't feel sorry for you. 

The American Dream is yours for the taking. This land is full of opportunity. YOUR opportunity.

It will be worth it.

Repeat after me.

It will be worth it.

Meteor Shower

It is Tuesday morning. I've been up since 4am.

 

Normally I would be at work, getting patients ready for surgery and most likely cutting up with my beloved coworkers. I would have normally kissed Ros goodbye and smugly walked out of daycare as she whined for me to come back. It's a funny thing, that feeling of being needed and how it breaks your heart, annoys the piss out of you and validates every doubt you had of whether or not you are winning at this parent thing.

 

Not today.

 

Yesterday I took Ros to the doctor to get some advice on what I assumed were bug bites all over her body. Petey and I were appalled at our hygiene and doubting the cleanliness of our home, our dog and ourselves. Little did I know my wonderfully chirpy pediatrician would say, "Good job Roslyn! You get the most diagnosis of the day"! As she sympathetically explained to me that these were not, in fact, bites but classic Hand, Foot and Mouth virus- AKA modern day chicken pox. A yucky virus which covers your child in nasty red bumps that also invade their soft palate therefore making everyone's lives miserable. Top that off with a rousing case of thrush (oral yeast infection in her mouth) and a sublime double ear infection. Did I mention she has had tubes for 3 months? Don't even get me started on her ears and the massive FAIL of her previous ENT...

 

Anyways

 

The title of this post, "Meteor Shower" isn't random. There is a meteor shower coming, the Perseids Meteor shower this Thursday most visible around 4am. Too bad it wasn't this morning? Maybe Roslyn and I could have enjoyed it together while she screamed bloody murder. Back to my point. While I am busy feeling sorry for myself and drowning in guilty, soggy tears over my sick baby, the news of a meteor shower awakened a vivid memory of Daddy.

 

Whenever there was a meteor shower growing up, Daddy would come into my room in the earliest hours of the morning and get me out of bed. Together we would quietly and excitedly bundle up and creep outside to the street to watch the stars fall together. It was our thing, just he and I with the galaxy to share. Sometimes we would stand in the driveway as I would rest my head on Daddy's side and wait to catch a shooting star. Sometimes we would see one or two, sometimes we lost count. I vividly remember waking up on a chilly winter morning around 4 am and laying in the street of my Beaver Cleaver neighborhood and waiting for the show to start.  We walked to the end of the street past the streetlights and sat in the middle of the road, knowing there weren't going to be cars for a few hours. I was in high school, and times like this between the two of us were few and far in between my lame attempts to be cool and attend every social function I could get an invite to only to further prove what a total weirdo I am.

I was resting my head on my Dad's arm and studying him. Memorizing his navy snow hat - the only one he ever owned - the smell of his grey sweatshirt and Member's Only jacket. What we were speaking about, I can't remember but suddenly the biggest meteor lit up the sky like a firecracker dud before us. It fizzled out quickly but left my Dad and I both with huge grins and matching whispered "WOW's". My Dad looked at me and said "We need to name that one. Like a comet that was just for you and I".

 

 

"Katherine Alexander", I said. Super creative I know, but it was ours. We often brought it up every time from then on when we would wake up so early to watch the stars fall. I still woke up when I went to college whenever Dad would call and tell me another meteor shower was happening. I can remember wondering around my apartment complex my junior year to find a place where the street lights wouldn't disrupt my view (safe I know- but the desire to stir memories sometimes cocoon your fear of danger by replacing your instincts with desire to relive a memory over safety) and waiting for the first meteor to show itself. I would call my dad before class and we would chat about who saw more. I would smile smugly, as I do now when I leave daycare, knowing he still woke up without me just so we could still share our memory together.

 

We never saw quite a dazzler like Katherine-Alexander again. Our last meteor rendezvous was on a summer night in Louisiana where every star is visible in my Mom's hometown. If I knew what I know now, would it have been more special? Probably not. The best memories are the ones that aren't forced. But it made me think about meteor showers. Although I feel like my family is being rained on by continuous bouts of bad luck, I look at the clock and notice that it is 8:00am. The house is quiet, and the presence of Roslyn's whimpers are gone. I peeked into her room and watch her sleeping peacefully. The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing almost hypnotizing. I don't want to wake her, yet I wonder. Will I wake her up one day at 4am instead of the opposite?

 

Maybe so.

 

Right now I think it is important to count my blessings which feel like a rare meteor some days. There will be days when I am amazed at the beauty and splendor of the life I have. There will be days that I am disappointed that not a single star falls but I will remind myself of one thing.

 

No matter how bad the show is, how sleepy I am or anxiously I am awaiting for something exciting to happen...the moment that is happening, the memory being created will be what remains.