What a journey

Sometimes I see glimpses of the life I had before. I mean really before, like a decade or 2 before. Few people know the person I was in my other lifetime. So here's my own personal recap of my recollections.

As a little girl I was convinced I would be the next Madonna. I wanted nothing else but to sing. Unfortunately I suffer from extreme stage fright. Once that came to light I was sure I needed a back up plan, so I figured carpentry might work. I watched all sorts of house building shows on tv. I was pretty good at fixing things too because I was constantly breaking things and getting beaten gets really old.

As a teen, I suppose I was a weird as they come. At the lovely age of 14, I began dating.....a 19 year old bass player in a band who wore only black. Yea, something was extremely wacked out about that, but to me of course, it seemed just fine. I studied theology a lot too. I was convinced I needed to pick a religion, preferably a branch of Christianity. After all, I did go to a Pentecostal school as a child. However, I had friends who were Wicca, so I started there(researching not practicing) and quickly figured out, the Earth wasn't really worthy of worshiping, though it did frighten the librarian when I asked for books on white and black magic. I recall her telling me that even Satan worshipers needed to read too. Nice huh? After that, I moved on to Judaism, but even considering that Christ was not the son of God made me feel physically ill. Then I went to a Catholic church. A good portion of it was in Latin. That did not go very far. Then there was the time I had those Mormon missionaries into the house. Did you know if you order the book of Mormon off of tv, they send them to your house? They do. One the young men put a copy of the bible together with a copy of the book of Mormon and said to consider them like one book. The only problem with that was it's kind of written at the end of the bible that were wasn't any additions to be made. So after that, a boyfriend asked me to go to a Methodist church with him. I like it, a lot. Then he told me the youth pastor advised him we break up. So I did not go back to that church anymore. Then I met my husband and in order to be married in the Church of Christ, we had to accept pre marital counseling, which coincidentally ended up helping the wedding be called off by yours truly. I got over it though, and after the minister promised to take obey out of our vows, things rolled on. He did however surprise me at the ceremony by including a little 5 minute speech about how the husband should love his wife enough that he would live his life for her like Christ did the church. I was liking that part until he talked about how a wife should let her husband lead the home. Still, I found my niche and was baptized shortly after. It was and remains the most important day of my life. It was the only moment in time where I was free.


I thought I was grown and was 18 when I was married, and in my opinion that was entirely too young, though no one could have told me that. The thing about being married in your teens is that you're not grown yet. No one told me how much I would change, my beliefs, desires, and dreams. I was convinced that love was enough to make anything work. No one told me that sometimes people desire to rock the boat, and sometimes they even get so damn mad, they throw the oar out, and then things just float or even capsize.

Though I am not the girl I was at 18, I remember her very well. Sometimes, on a good day, I feel her walk right by me. I even smell the Chloe perfume she used to wear. I look at pictures of her, and remember the promises she made to herself and mostly to others. I really believed that no one could stay mad forever, and love cured everything. I had a lot of faith in humanity. I was very accepting, and I saw in rainbows. I was completely perplexed by racism and even at one point in time believed I was a Democrat.

So here we are in the present. I don't believe in rainbows anymore, but I put my faith somewhere much firmer. I know God in a way that I always dreamed I could. My walk with him is by no means perfect, but now I listen instead of thinking I have all the answers. When I was younger I loved perfection, the idea of it. I really counted on forever and someone's word being their bond. Then I grew up, and I did the one thing I worked hardest not to do: I looked behind myself.

My journey was long and filled with mistakes, but it was my road. I could not have lived or loved any other way. Still, I think it did not have to be so hard. I did not have to learn how to love at the age of 32. I pushed everyone around me too hard. I moved on too quickly and to be honest, some people never stood a chance to know me or love me. Now I love for the right reasons. I love those who don't ask to be loved, I help those who say they don't need it, and I stay when it makes more sense to go. I fight harder and wiser. I think two moves ahead, and for once, I live with few regrets.

For 16 years, I have lived my life with my husband. I have been my husband's wife, friend, and lover. It's been a hell of a ride, one that is no where near over. He used to tell people that I had the hardest job in the world, being his wife. He's right. For every step toward him I took, he walked up hill a little more. He is the most difficult person to please that I have ever encountered. He's heard me say many times that he did not need me to love him because he was already in love with himself enough for the both of us. We are oil and water. We have few of the same beliefs, habits, or even dreams. Still, because we are stubborn and we aren't quitters we refuse to give up. We find our compromises and spend a good deal of time laughing at each other. Yet, when things are the hardest, we know that we only have each other. We both love passionately and each year we turn right back around to each other.

I fought hard for my marriage. I was pretty mad for a while that it was so much work. Then I had my own little epiphany. I thought about this being called God. I looked back over my life and it occurred to me that all those years I spent seeking knowledge, maybe he was along for the ride and waiting on me. As imperfect as I was and obviously confused, he sat by patiently and silently. He pointed no fingers and held no grudges. He wanted me to love him on my own. He had no reason to love me. I wasn't anything like him at all. He loved me just because.

Maybe all my mistakes made me who I am today. Maybe because I had to fight so hard I appreciate it more. Regardless, this journey is what it is. I love because I want to not because I feel like I am supposed to. I am always a child of God, and nothing can ever change that. Sure I still screw up constantly, but I know that grace is not earned, it is a gift.

Life is busy and blogging has taken a back seat. I did not get to do a lot of family things growing up, so it's always been my mission to make it happen for my babies. Family trips and things are important to me, and we have had a busy summer so far. We have taken 3 vacations, even though none have been quite a week. We went to St. Louis Mo twice and Hot Springs Ar. Between both trips we did lots of swimming, museums, 6 flags, a baseball game, a boat tour, too much eating, and my favorite: shopping lol. The kids had a blast but poor O has a hard time with the summer. We have also been to the zoo about 5 times so far, visited Graceland, and went to the movies a bunch. Two kids have gone to church camp and we have celebrated 4 birthdays in July(mine, Andy's, A.J., and Oskar. O and A.J. had a mini party and cake on their actual bday and then they shared a party on the weekend. That made four cakes in 4 days! I think it is safe to say they are completely spoiled, but they deserve it! Now it is time for things to settle down. Yesterday we spent the afternoon at the mall shopping for new spiffy school clothes. O is definitely a man when it come to that stuff. He picks the first handful of things he sees and has picked his whole wardrobe in less than 5 minutes! The him and Daddy go sit on a bench outside the store and look as if they are being tortured!

My Andy

Tomorrow Anthony turns 21. It's been a hell of a road to get him there. Andy was born when I was 11 years old. I had waited my entire life for a brother, and time pretty much stood still the moment he was born. There is not very much I would not have done for him. I don't know that we ever have been mad at each other for more than a few hours either. When he was little, he was my everything. He came in my room every day after school and tore it apart. He removed all my books from my book case and would stack them in piles around the room. I did not care though. Each night I would put them back. I bought him his first rattle and stayed up the first night he came from the hospital to watch him breath.

When I was 15, my first love broke up with me. Andy was in the room when I got off the phone and saw me crying. He asked me if the guy had boke my heart. I said yes, and he he said, "sitty, I'll never break your heart". I think he meant it too. Andy worries a lot about what I think. Therefore, he doesn't always tell me stuff. We are very different too. Though I have pretty much raised him since he was 7, he is his own person. First off, he is a democrat. I still have hope he will see the light of day once he has to pay real taxes lol.

When I was a girl, I promised my mother that if anything ever happened to her, that I would take care of Andy. It has been my pleasure for the better part of 21 years to keep that promise. Andy was the first person I ever knew for sure loved me. He is strong, but he doesn't know it. I could have spent my entire life spoiling him, but I knew he would never stand on his own feet, if I did not make him. After all, if you go through life believing you are perfect, how can you aspire to be any better? It's been one of the hardest things in my life keeping that secret from Andy, that in my eyes, he never could do wrong. The entire time I was pregnant with my children I prayed for a daughter because I truly believed I could never love a little boy the way I loved Andy. Of course O came and changed all that, and my heart grew.

I am who I am because of my brother. My husband married me knowing that we were a package deal. If he loved me, he loved Andy. I have never for one second ever regretted taking care of him. He has been one of the most wonderful parts of my life, an answered prayer. It was not a sacrifice or a labor of love. I was simply a sister who loved her brother. I prayed to God for him, and when God answers my prayers, I never take them for granted. As long as I have breath in my body, I will take care of him. I imagine in the years to come, I will have a wedding to help take care of and a ring to buy for his wife, one more thing I will take care of for our mother. A daughter keeps her promises after all.

Tomorrow I could say I was done. I did raise Andy and make sure he was taken care of till he was grown and most people would agree 21 is the age of maturity. However, Andy is just beginning his life. He is soon to become a man, although he already believes he is one. Though he walks with his head held high and thinks he has the world figured out, in my eyes he will always be a little boy, my Andy. I'll always be watching and waiting to catch him if he stumbles for the rest of my life, just like I did when he was little and I taught him to walk.

I have to go now. My Andy just walked in upstairs. I know that because I hear the squeals of my children. He has that affect on people.

It was the perfect day for a swimming party. The kids had a blast and O was super excited about their party.

For her

Dear Kristiina,

Today our son turned 6 years old. I promised not to think of you until the sun went down. I wanted no sadness to mar his perfect day. As the sun began to set, my thoughts drifted to you, and I hoped that wherever you were that you were happy. I wished there was some way for you to know how wonderful today was for little Oskar. He laughed, he jumped, we sang to him, and it was everything he wanted his birthday to be. Maybe one day you will seek out info on perfect O, and maybe you'll find this letter floating through space and time and know that he is happy. Each day I give him everything I have, and I hug him twice as hard, so maybe it will be enough for both of us. Please know that for every tear you might have spilled, I probably cried along side of you. BUT I laugh harder too, I fight stronger, and I break all the rules. I do everything it takes to make sure that Oskar has what he needs, some of what he wants, and is always loved. Kristiina, he is so happy and taken care of. He goes on holidays, he swims underwater so well, and he runs and plays all the time. He is full of energy, and he is healthy and strong. His eyes are the most beautiful blue I have ever seen, and he is full of love. He has this huge imagination. He can take a piece of string and make a toy out of it. He believes that dinosaurs are real, gets excited every time he sees a star, and thinks that when the crickets chirp they are playing music. Oskar is full of life, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for giving him his start. Please know you are always in my thoughts, and I wish only the best for you.

Shea

The story of Devon, my story

Devon's story is not really mine to tell. However, he kept me awake last night, so you have to meet him. You have to see a little of what I saw, and you have to know him.

Devon is my friend Jane's son. He is the little boy in the picture with A.J. Devon has autism, down syndrome, and was born with the effects of fas and drug exposure. Before Jane found him, Devon was underestimated. As I said, most of his story is not mine to tell and if Jane doesn't want this out there, I will take it off, but I'll tell what I know.

Before Devon came to Jane a few years ago, he did not live life. He did not eat, play, laugh, and thrive. Jane did not take no for an answer and I imagine she did what she does, LIVE. She showed Devon a whole new world. The sky was the limit and Devon grew, changed, and learned.

We went to six flags for the 4th this year with Jane's family. In all we had 12 kids!!! Special needs is MY thing, so I was really looking forward to out meet up. Jane has 5 adopted kiddos with down syn and 3 bios. All of them were lovely and each as different as night and day. BUT Devon.....well, he just kind of took my heart, and A.J.'s too as you can see.

Jane is very different, and I like that about her. I don't imagine the kids hear about limitations often. Though it must be incredibly hard, she takes those kids EVERYWHERE. They do everything like boy and girl scouts, camping, vacations, eating out, everything. So when we got to the water park, I wanted Devon :) Some know that autism is my thing too, and finding that little peek inside is my specialty. I wanted to play with Devon, but I wasn't sure Jane would let me have him lol. After all, Devon did not know me and Jane and I had just met in person. Like I said though, Jane is different and such a wonderful mom. Devon went with me to the wave pool, and I tossed him into an inner tube and he LOVED it. He laughed and smiled, and when the big waves came he wasn't afraid at all. We must have spent 30 minutes in there and the more the better. Later I asked if I could take him on the water slide. She thought for a second and said okay if some one would catch him at the end. I'll admit I was scared. What if he got scared? He ended up loving it, even though he stopped half way down. Me and the life guard watched him for a few seconds and then he went the rest of the way down. They caught him at the end. He was like every other kid out there, having fun, being free.

Later that day we went to ride the roller coaster. I asked Devon if he was sure and he signed yes and yelled ya ya ya over and over. I'll admit, those coasters scare me and I screamed and screamed. Then I felt something on my back. It was Devon's hand, he was patting my back every time I yelled.

Devon is Devon, full of joy and happiness. He is loved, wanted, and just like every other child. Jane doesn't put limits on him, and to be honest, I don't think he knows he has any. That is what I loved so much about him. I loved being with him and felt very honored that I got to meet him.

Next time I get scared, I think I'll remember Devon patting my back and yelling ya ya ya.

My father

My father, Anthony Ciaramitaro III was born August 20th, 1947 in Memphis, Tennessee. He was born to Loyse and Anthony Ciaramitaro, a blue collar family. He was born in a time of reserved family structure and economic recovery after World War II. Men were returning home from the war, and women were intent on making a home and raising a family. Karl Marx’s communist principles were being fought against, and democracy was a proud and noble thing for all Americans. Unfortunately, this great American story would not follow the cultural norm for that day and time. It defied all logic and reason, and the birth of Anthony Ciaramitaro would change the world and people’s stereotypes for a lifetime.

After returning from the second wave of the D-day invasion, Anthony Ciaramitaro II married Loyse Smith in the fall of 1945. Anthony was not a wealthy man, but his family owned a grocery store, and he was proud he was able to take care of his wife. He was the son of dedicated Catholic Italian immigrants who came to this country in 1920. They came to pursue the American dream. In fact, owning their own business was one of the greatest accomplishments of their lives. Loyse wanted only to be a house wife and make Anthony proud by giving him a son. In that day and time women were not encouraged to work outside of the home, but Loyse did help out in the family grocery store from time to time. Loyse was raised a southern Baptist, yet she converted to Catholicism to be married in Anthony’s church. Perhaps this was not enough to forge a relationship with her in-laws, for they never quite got along. Still, Loyse was intent on being an agreeable wife and tried to be as polite to Anthony’s mother as possible.

Getting pregnant with their first child should have been a happy event for the young couple; instead the tears of happiness were mixed with sorrow as Anthony was diagnosed with a brain tumor within the same month. Medical treatment was not as sophisticated as it is today, and he died on the operating table in May of 1947. Loyse was terribly frightened and devastated, yet she had a piece of Anthony growing inside of her, so she struggled on. Anthony’s parents offered their daughter-in-law no help after the death of their son, but her mother moved in and they decided to raise the baby together after it came. August 1947 Anthony Ciaramitaro III was born with shock and awe. He came crying into the world 5 weeks premature and with what society called “physical handicaps”. Anthony’s arms were shorter than “normal” and he had only two fingers on each hand. His “birth defects” were very similar that of children born to mothers taking Thalidomide, but Loyse had not taken that medicine during pregnancy.

A child being born should be a joyous and wonderful occasion, and in many ways it was to Loyse. Little Anthony was born early, but he was healthy and reminded her very much of her late husband. Still Loyse’s mother-in-law was very insistent that Anthony have immediate surgery to try and correct his hands and arms. However, Loyse knew nothing could be done to change them and would have never risked her baby to even try. This young mother had already lost a husband on the operating table and was determined her son would not suffer the same fate. In the 1940’s children like these were often institutionalized, as they were not only though to be deficient in physical aspects but quite possibly mental faculties as well. In spite of this uncertainty, Loyse took her son home and set about raising him into a man.
Anthony was raised in a home with his mother and maternal grandmother. He was doted on and spoiled immensely. As much as she tried to shelter him, Loyse knew that when he was 6 he would need an education. In the 1950’s children who were victims of
polio were sent to Shriners schools where they were educated and protected from the stress and cruelties of society. Anthony was sent to school with these children. As we still see today, children are not as accepting of what is different, and it was thought to be in the best interest of these children to be separated instead of mainstreamed. Not to be outdone, Anthony excelled in academics and won many state awards for his grades and test scores. In the sixth grade Anthony came home and told his mother that he no longer wanted to go to the Shriners school; he was ready to be like everyone else. Today if a parent wants their child mainstreamed they work with the school and if it’s in the child’s best interests it happens. In 1958, a pediatrician had to write a letter and petition the school board to make this occur. However, Anthony’s pediatrician would not do this because he didn’t feel that this little boy could handle the stress. As always, everyone around him underestimated Anthony. He fought to win his doctor over, and out of sheer frustration the pediatrician gave in and wrote the letter. Anthony was moving ahead, and not much would stop him from there on out.

Anthony Ciaramitaro III was the first in his family to graduate from college. He attended on a full paid scholar ship and still brags today about the 31 he received on his ACT. He graduated Memphis State with a Bachelors of Engineering in Electrical Engineering and Bachelors in Business. He was the first one in his household to own a car and have a career. In many ways, he lived the American dream that his paternal grandparents came here in search of.

I met my father when I was two years old. My bio parents were going through a divorce, and Tony (his nickname) met my mother and they became friends. He still tells me today
that he fell in love with me first and then my mother later. What greater compliment could any daughter wish to hear? While my father was not very demonstrative with his affections, my brother, sister, and I always knew how much he cared for us.
In many aspects, my father’s life was very different from many families that he grew up along side. He was raised by a mother and grandmother, and never knew a father. His mother chose never to remarry or even date. She gave all of her attention to her son, yet he chose to eventually leave the nest and make a life for himself. This man who was not taught about fatherhood became a phenomenal dad. He had no rule book or experience to go by, just determination and love.

While my life has not been picture perfect, I feel that being raised by my father has armed me with the tools necessary to defy prejudices and stereotypes. My daughter was born when I was seventeen. I too had a full scholarship to college, though having my daughter made going to college directly out of high school not possible. My father never showed disappointment in my actions; instead he asked me what I was going to do to make my life better. Being his daughter, I knew that society could never limit what I was capable of. They would never categorize me, for if they did I would defy everything they thought. I went to nursing school, and for several years I did private duty nursing for developmentally delayed and differently abled children. I became my patient’s advocate when they could not speak for themselves. I fought for their rights and better care, like my father taught me to.

The last object of this paper is to tell to what extent I feel that I am a product of my family’s history. The only thing I can say is that I am my father’s daughter. I was raised
and loved by my hero. Anthony Ciaramitaro was not a saint; he was just a man. However, he taught me to live life without limitations and to exceed expectations. He lived an ordinary life extraordinarily. When I recount my family history, I am able to tell my children the story of a man who was born in a time when fear and ignorance was prevalent. Through my father, my daughters are able to see how far our society has come. They see more children in their schools with various impairments, and know that it was not always so easy to accomplish this. My father has taught them how much our culture has evolved in its way of thinking.