Keeping it real

Today, one of my friends blogged about keeping it real. She reminded me that although blogging can be a lot of fun - in her case, you write about weddings and cupcakes, and in my case, you write cute letters to parents and the trials of being a runner - at the end of the day, blogging is all about keeping it real. About being yourself and writing about what bugs you.

So today I thought I would keep it real as well. Tomorrow I will probably go back to writing sarcastic little posts about southern ways, but for today, you're getting the real deal. And in all honesty, I think it's about time too.

You see, lately the whole baby-thing has come to the surface again. I know, again. It's been over a year, and no, I'm still not over it. I know, I know. But you see, this whole "accepting setbacks" is a lot easier when you know it can be fixed. Accepting something that won't ever be fixed it a whole different ballgame. And life hasn't exactly been helpful.

First, there was the family bible that resurfaced. Husband-dear owns a family bible, given to him by his mother, that contains his entire family tree. I believe it goes back to the early 1700s, and it painstakingly lists all family members, their names, where they came from, when they were born, when they died, and how many children they had. For years, husband-dear thought the bible was at his mom's house, while his mom vehemently claimed it was somewhere in one of the boxes she gave him when he left for his first assignment. Knowing husband-dear, I knew his mom was probably more than likely right, so this summer, I firmly told husband-dear to get his butt up our attic and go through ALL of his old boxes and FIND the bible ALREADY.
And he did (and I did not tell him "I told you so", but since he doesn't read my blog, I can now, ha!).

Now the family tree is impressive. It's amazing to see where husband-dear's roots lie, and what people were called, and how his family migrated across states. But then when I saw husband-dear's name and his sister's at the very end of the tree, I felt just a little sad. Because although his children will make it into the family bible, I never will. I will never make it onto any family tree. Instead of being one of those thick red lines that divides up into a myriad of other red lines, I am going to be a dead-end thin black line with just my first name. And that makes me just a little sad.

And secondly, there are my students. Yes, even when I'm getting real, my students are still there. And it's not all of my students. No. Just the pregnant ones. And there are a lot of them. You would think that in this era of easily accessible anti conception methods, as well as the infamous "health" classes, no one would get pregnant "by accident" anymore. Well, that may be true for the rest of the world, but here in the south, we march to our own drummer, thank you very much. This semester alone, there are four pregnant students in my classes. And two dads-to-be, who are, by the way, not the dad of any of those Comm babies. Last semester we had three students give birth to babies, and the semester before that we had two. Imagine walking a day in my shoes, and seeing students with protruding bellies, hearing them discuss baby names, cuss out the dad for not being in their life anymore, and complain about how this could have happened to them. It's like running your nails across a chalkboard.

The toughest part, though, is hearing about students who have had abortions. Some of them regret their actions, and then look to their adviser (i.e., me) for advice and support. Imagine sitting in my chair, and comforting someone who just got rid of something you would have gladly taken from them. Of course I show them grace. And understanding. And a kind ear. But when I drive home that day, I ask God why.

I don't know when it will get any better. I wish I could leave you all on an "up", but I really don't know if it will ever go away. And I'm sorry that my "keeping it real" always turns into this little pity-party, but there you have it. That's real for you.

I'm sure that by tomorrow, I will have thought of some hilarious little story about running or my students, or what have you. But for now, this is me.