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Fetal Alcohol Syndrome Advocacy

Elan

12/28/2018

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This excerpt from Lucy Goes Home was fun to write. It's the first time the mountain boy, T'Vun did something right. I got to play with the ideas of different cultures, particularly attitudes toward clothing.
​ 
PictureLucy is a neighbor and distant cousin of T'Vun the boy in this story.
Elan


​T’Vun thought longingly of his bed as he shuffled toward his dorm after a long night of carrying food and drinks to a group of important people who were having a meeting on the third floor of the middle wing. Mr. Corbain had been there and even spoke to him. “T’Vun, it’s better if you don’t mention this meeting to anybody.”


As he climbed the stairs to his dorm, T’Vun scratched under his arm. He wondered why he shouldn’t mention the meeting. Everybody had stopped talking and watched him set out the platters of snacks while he was in the room. Well, Mrs. Celia had spoke to him. “You might want to return home before the inauguration.”

 He rubbed at his eyes.

A scream punctuated the quiet just as he reached the door to his dorm.


He barged through the dining room door, sprinted across the room and threw the door to the bunk-room open so that it crashed into the wall.  Before him, his bunkmates stood around Elan’s bunk, laughing and pulling at his pajamas. Elan stood with his back to the wall, kicking at his tormentors.

The boys turned when the door crashed open. Mit laughed. “Oh, it’s only you. I thought it might be that dog, Troy.”

“What’s going on here?” T’Vun glanced between the boys and Elan who’d moved closer to the wall.

“We’re having fun with Elan. Look at him. He’s so skinny, he must be a girl. Bet he doesn’t have a barb.”  Mit laughed and grabbed at Elan’s pajama bottoms again.

“Yeah, he never takes a shower, so we’re going to give him one.” Bob lunged at his victim.

“Stop!” T’Vun reached for the mop standing beside the door. He swung the handle across his chest, holding it with both hands and strode toward the other boys. “Stop, I said.” 

Before Bob had time to move or recognize his danger, T’Vun twisted to the side, slid his hands together on the mop handle and brought it down hard on Bob’s legs with a swing that would make a golfer proud.  Bob rolled off Elan’s bunk and slithered away from T’Vun, noticing for the first time that T’Vun might be skinny, but the sinewy muscles in his arms looked powerful enough.

T’Vun shifted his weight, ready to take on Mit. He paraphrased something he’d heard his village shaman say. “Elan chooses to cover. It is the way in some cultures that the people cover. Don’t violate his customs.”  T’Vun glanced at Elan’s eyes opened so wide they appeared to be more whites than dark brown. He scowled at Mit and thought of his own courtships. “Do you wish to marry Elan as if he were a girl?”

Mit whirled to face T’Vun. “You dog. You filthy mouthed dog. I don’t like little boys.”

“Then leave Elan alone. Don’t pick on him for the customs of his people.”

Elan slithered along the wall until he could climb off the end of his bunk.  He ran out the door. They heard him slam the outer door behind him.

The boys stood frozen in place, breathing hard. T’Vun still held his mop. Bob lay on the floor, rubbing his legs. The veins stood out on Mit’s neck, and he stood poised to attack T’Vun. He towered over the native, but T’Vun’s authoritative tone and the way he held the mop caused Mit to pause and size up his opponent. For the first time, Mit noticed that T’Vun, though small, had the build and facial hair of an adult man.

Mit knew when to back down. “Hey, we wouldn’t hurt him. We were just having some fun. We didn’t know he came from some weird culture. Is it a religious thing with him?”


“I don’t know.” T’Vun lowered his mop handle slightly. “In my Culture Class, our shaman talked about cultures-that-cover.” He shrugged. “My village doesn’t cover except for ceremonies. The mountainside peoples do. They like bright colored clothing.” T’Vun scowled trying to remember his lessons. “I learned that nuns and priests cover.”

Mit blinked. For the first time since he’d met T’Vun, the mountain boy was admitting he didn’t know something. “I didn’t know Elan covered for religious reasons.”  He relaxed.

T’Vun set his mop in its bucket by the door and repeated another lesson from the village shaman. “He is also much younger than us, just a little boy really. It’s not honorable for a man to pick on a little boy.” He unbuttoned his uniform. “Mr. Corbain knows about different cultures. We can ask him more about Elan’s culture if we want.”

Mit swallowed his desire to torment someone weaker than himself, then realized T’Vun had just called him a man. He tried to frown when he stood up straight and said in a voice slightly deeper than normal, “I don’t think we should bother Mr. Corbain about lessons.”

T’Vun stripped off his pants, folded them and placed them on the foot of his bed.  “What? He likes to teach. His niece Violet was a teacher at our school, and he came and talked to us about government. He got me this job so I can learn about government and the outside world.”

T’Vun didn’t care about covering at all and climbed into his bunk, remembering how tired he was.
​

Faced with T’Vun’s bare backside, Mit saw the lack of tan lines. He scowled, still hungry for the power of frightening someone weaker than himself, but he felt that T’Vun, for all his ignorance, had a power about him that he chose not to confront.


​Lucy Goes Home is available in both Paper back and Kindle formats.

Kindle
https://www.amazon.com/Lucy-Goes-Home-Sewer-Book-ebook/dp/B07JYKKSF1/ref

Paperback 
https://www.amazon.com/Lucy-Goes-Home-MTK-Sewer/dp/1728670500/ref 

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Christmas Mass By Delinda McCAnn

12/19/2018

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Picture
Below is an excerpt from Lucy Goes Home. At this point in the story, Lucy is still living in the orphanage with her orphan family. Her birth grandpapa, brother C’Tis, and niece Elspeth  have also moved into the Compound where the orphanage is located. Grandpapa and C’Tis  are to learn about modern living while a real house with sanitation facilities is being built on their land in the mountains. Grandpapa has agreed to adopt all of Lucy’s orphan family in exchange for the government’s help in developing his land. 

Christmas Mass

Late in December, C’Tis pounced on his sister when she came home from the city school  “Lucy, what is this mass thing we are going to tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow is the first day of Christmas. We’ll all go to morning Mass. We’ll walk from here to the Cathedral. You’ll carry Elspeth. She must go, too. Papa Jake insists that all the orphans, staff, employees and residents attend Mass before starting work on the first day of Christmas.”

“But what is mass? What do we do?”

“I’ll explain it to both you and Grandpapa at dinner.”

That evening, Lucy settled herself at the dinner table between Grandpapa and C’Tis with Martha, Nicole and Alan on the other side of the table. Elspeth sat in her high chair beside her papa. Lucy waved her fork for attention and began to explain Mass. “It’s a ritual service in the Cathedral. The priest leads the service in the common language at eight.”

“What’s ritual?” C’Tis asked.

Nicole swallowed. “It means we do and say the exact same thing every time we have Mass.”

“Do you know what to say?”  C’Tis asked.

Lucy nodded. “We don’t say much. The Archbishop will do most of the talking, and he’ll give a little talk. It’s different each time, but we stand quiet for that.”

Alan put down his fork. “I have a prayer card with all the things we have to say on it. I’ve memorized it all, so you can have my card.”

Grandpapa sat quiet and took in this whole discussion of Mass while memories of the elders welcoming the turn of the seasons on the hillside played through his brain. His stomach fluttered with the memory of the first time he climbed the hill with his father’s clackers in his small sweaty hand. He nodded to himself, thinking if he survived his first ceremony as the eldest male in his family at age eight, he could survive this thing called Mass.

Orphans, residents, and staff were due to gather in the courtyard of the Compound shortly after seven. C’Tis got up early, dressed, and ran to the nursery to claim Elspeth.

Nicole looked up from Elspeth’s crib and held up a small lacy white dress embroidered with red rose buds for C’Tis’s inspection. “You go on into breakfast. I just finished mending Elspeth’s dress, and Therese will get her ready to go.” 

“My Elspeth will wear that? Is it hers? Where did you get it?” C’Tis narrowed his eyes at Nicole. He’d begun to notice his new sisters didn’t always follow The Compound rules about taking things from the clothing bank.

“It was stained and torn when it came into the clothing bank. It would have been thrown in the trash, but Martha saved it and gave it to me to fix. I mended it and hid the stain with this ruffle then sewed the roses on, so I guess that makes it more Elspeth’s than anybody else’s. Better to mend and let her have it than throw it out.”  Nicole had discovered her new brother seemed to have an exaggerated sense of right and wrong as compared to expediency.

Nanny Therese took the dress from Nicole. “I’ll see she’s dressed up pretty and bring her out when it is time for us to leave. I have a couple others to get out the door first.  You two go get breakfast.”

At long last, students and house parents began to filter into the courtyard, and Lucy’s family began to take their places to leave. Lucy wearing her good suit, and her unruly hair pinned into a bun arrived in the common room long before she’d need to hurry.

Grandpapa turned and reached out his hand toward Lucy. “I’ll walk with my Granddaughter.” 

Instead of acknowledging his sister, C’Tis looked about. “Elspeth, where’s Elspeth? I’m supposed to carry Elspeth.”

Nanny Therese arrived from the nursery with Edward on one hip and Elspeth on the other.

C’Tis rushed forward to claim his daughter. “I’m supposed to carry her.” He reached for his daughter then took a good look at her. “Oh she’s beautiful. Look at her hair. Look at her feet. Those sandals have ribbons like her hair.”

Therese smiled up a C’Tis and fluttered her eyelashes. She didn’t notice when U’Kee took Edward from her.  “It makes me happy to see a father, who loves his daughter.”  Therese leaned toward C’Tis and fluttered her eyelashes again. 

C’Tis held his daughter against his shoulder and sniffed at her clean baby smell, then rushed off to find his place beside Alan. 

Therese scowled at C’Tis’s retreating back then snapped at E’Wan, “Hold Dau’s hand and get a move on, young man.” 
 
As he walked to the Cathedral, Grandpapa turned this way and that taking in the whole spectacle. The nation’s flag always flew from light posts along the road between the Compound and the Cathedral. Now, bright multi-colored lights adorned the lampposts. Red and green ribbons hanging beside the flags fluttered in the morning breeze. Students stood in groups in the park, singing about Baby Jesus. Grandpapa wanted to stop and stare. He’d never seen so many people in one place before. Did everybody in the whole city come here to go to Mass?

Once inside the Cathedral, Lucy saw C’Tis looking around for her. His eyes opened wide as he took in the crowd of people shuffling around him.

Parishioners stand for Mass in the Cathedral where there are no chairs or pews, so Lucy edged her way through the milling crowd toward him. She took Elspeth who’d started to fuss.

“So many people.” C’Tis moved closer to Lucy.

Elspeth stuffed the end of one of her hair ribbons in her mouth and started to chew, so Lucy lifted the baby over her shoulder and turned toward C’Tis hoping he wouldn’t see his daughter chewing her ribbons. She wondered how many times C’Tis had taken those ribbons out of his daughter’s mouth. They looked well chewed already.

The mass began with a Bach prelude and the parishioners slowed their milling and settled for only minor shuffling as the shorter children moved to stand near the aisle where they could see.

The organist segued into the processional, and Grandpapa watched as the choir then the nuns and priests filed by with their white robes. When the incense bearer passed swinging the thurible with its bells attached to the four chains, Grandpapa sniffed at the wafting incense then nodded. From the sleeve of his embroidered shirt he slid his wooden clackers into his hand and shook them three times in response to the passing incense and ringing bells.
 

Lucy hadn’t paid much attention to the processional, but she sensed Grandpapa’s movement behind her and heard the clackers. Her eyes darted toward C’Tis who stood pale and trembling as he turned and stared at Grandpapa. She bounced Elspeth and moved closer to C’Tis. She whispered, “Look straight ahead. Grandpapa’s okay, really.”  She had no idea if anybody would complain about Grandpapa’s heathen clackers, but since he stood near Papa Jake, she figured nobody would risk offending the president’s bodyguards to reach Grandpapa.  Let him clack away. She smiled. This was shaping up to be the best Mass, ever.

The Mass began with the Archbishop giving the invocation followed by three chimes of his small bell. Grandpapa answered with three clacks. 
 
Lucy risked a look over her shoulder at Grandpapa. He stood up straight and turned his head side-to-side, looking at everything around him. He was staring at the carvings on the high domed ceiling when the archbishop rang his bell again.  Grandpapa promptly answered with his clackers. 

Lucy watched Papa Jake shift his weight so that he stood a little closer to Grandpapa. Papa Jake’s dimples and bright eyes might look merry enough, but Lucy knew nobody would mess with Grandpapa when the president approved of him and his clackers. She relaxed and chuckled. 

Martha silently slid into place beside Lucy on the pretext of relieving her of Elspeth. Lucy looked at Martha who rolled her eyes toward Grandpapa, and both girls sputtered, hunched their shoulders and stifled the giggles. 

C’Tis nudged his sister and scowled at Martha for giggling in Mass, making the girls want to giggle more.

The service reached the first occasion to say, “Thanks be to God.” Martha managed the response while spitting out the ribbons Elspeth had decided to share with Auntie Martha, stuffing them in Martha’s mouth.

Lucy absentmindedly muttered the response while watching her niece. 

C’Tis twisted his damp prayer card with his sweaty hands and managed to come in on, “to God.” 

Grandpapa listened to the words of the Archbishop in his tall hat. He nodded at the muttering around him and clacked his clackers three times. 

Tears started leaking out the corner of Martha’s eyes as she tried to stifle the giggles over Grandpapa’s clackers. 

Beside Martha, E’Wan sucked on two fingers as he turned to stare up at his grandpapa. His wide eyes reflected his adoration for his important grandpapa. He reached out one finger and gently stroked the wooden clacker in his Grandpapa’s hand.

By the time the Archbishop reached the part of the service where he blessed the bread and wine, he’d gotten quite accustomed to the clackers and learned to pause long enough for the native elder to respond to the ringing of the bell.  He stifled a grin, knowing that some clergy and theologians would be horrified at the unblessed instrument being used in Mass, but he figured that the Holy Spirit would interpret the native form of worship as praise to God. The Archbishop was also wise enough to refrain from making eye contact with President Jake for fear of getting the giggles over how thoroughly the president was enjoying the clackers.

Alan nodded at C’Tis to indicate it was time for the Our Father.

C’Tis swallowed, held up his card, and began. He reached the “Lead us not into temptation” part before the rest of the congregation finished the “Blessed is your name.” Feeling his face grow warm, he listened a moment to hear the others say the prayer slowly with pauses at the end of each phrase instead of rattling it off as quickly as possible. By the time the congregation got to the part about the “daily bread,” C’Tis had the rhythm of the thing and finished triumphantly with everybody else. A great sigh escaped from his lungs.

Grandpapa added three clacks at the end of the Our Father as an amen. 

C’Tis’s card had become a soggy twisted mess of smeared ink and fraying paper.

U’Kee handed Edward to Alan and took the card from C’Tis. He clapped C’Tis on the shoulder and whispered, “You did great bro.”
​

C’Tis forgot his terror over not fitting in, being rejected, or embarrassing his new family and grinned at U’Kee.

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Unmerry Christmas By Delinda McCann

12/9/2018

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Merry Christmas!  Happy Holidays! This is the time of year to celebrate and be happy.  I think one of the feelings that drives our celebrations of Christmas is a sense of the winter blues.  We search for light in a world where the sun has gone south for the winter.  We acknowledge our need for peace, hope, joy and love.  Sometimes, these are not to be found.

Occasionally something happens that makes it seem impossible that we will ever find peace, hope, joy and love.  Sometimes we are burdened with tasks that seem overwhelming.  Sometimes we are sick.  Sometimes we are alone.  We wonder if there is enough love, peace, hope and joy to heal our hurts.

Sometimes, we remember our childhood when Christmas was a time for the adults to get drunk, fight, cry and abandon us.  We remember Christmas as an excuse for our parents to fight over which one we spent the holiday with.  Sometimes, we remember the effects of poverty on our celebrations.  We remember returning to school to see the toys and new clothes of our classmates knowing that the only present we received was a pair of socks, if that.  Christmas has also been a time of spiritual abuse, with threats of hell if the young child asked questions, or not being allowed to receive gifts because of the parent’s beliefs.

This year, we arrive at the third Sunday in Advent, aware of the hurts of the past and grieving for the tragedies of the present.  We face the prospect of a not so merry Christmas when we cannot help but grieve with those who have lost a loved one this year.  Where can we find peace, hope, joy and love?

So where does this leave us now?  Is it some cruel twist of custom that tells us to be peaceful, joyful, hopeful or loving when we feel none of those things?  I am inclined to believe that our great ancestors had more wisdom than we give them credit for.  Christmas is not exclusively a Christian celebration.  Many traditions and peoples have held celebrations around the winter solstice.  Could it be that these ancient people recognize our need to feast and be joyful during the time when sickness is most likely to creep in at the door, when death lurks on the threshold?  I think so.

We have come to learn that laughter is healing.  We have learned that our spices used in our feasts are healing.  We know that looking into the eyes of those we love gives us new strength.  Singing opens our hearts and lungs bringing oxygen into the whole body and releases the neurotransmitters that make us feel happy and healthy.  Perhaps people who did not have the words to speak as we do about healing sensed the healing aspects of celebration.

I am well enough acquainted with tragedy and suffering during Christmas that I am not going to tell anybody that you will automatically feel peace, hope, joy, and love if you just laugh or sing or do whatever is considered right.  Sometimes life hurts beyond our imagining.  Yet, I find that over the years, I have found peace.  I am often joyful.  Most of the time I can hope for a pleasant future.  I usually recognize that I am loved.

I think I have been able to heal from my hurts by following the ancient wisdom of celebrating when the world seems darkest.  I never consider the process of taking one step forward and decorating the tree, and another step and hanging our stockings, and another step, as something sweet and joyful.  Often celebrating in the face of tragedy is an act of courage.  For me, it is an act that gives me strength.  I seem to find strength in the ancient wisdom.  That wisdom calls me to stand up, move forward, and with my subdued celebrations, give The Finger to grief and tragedy.
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    Author

    Delinda McCann is a social psychologist, author, avid organic gardener and amateur musician.

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