In the Mood ...
Author: jill
•9:16 PM
Sometimes, as a reader, you are just surprised. And, sometimes reading one thing leads to reading another. And to learning about new things, people, or times in history. When all these things happen as a result of one reading, you've pretty much hit the jackpot.

When I began reading Ray Robertson's, Moody Food, I was a little sceptical. I mean, Ray Robertson grew up in Chatham .... that's where I grew up. But that's not what made me sceptical ... he grew up living just down the street from Jonesy, playing road hockey with all the boys in the neighbourhood. Now, I don't mean to stereotype writers or anything ... but, in my mind, literary genius does not begin with a little boy tripping other little boys so he can get a good shot on net. In my mind, literary genius begins with a child who spends all his/her spare time reading and/or writing; he is quiet, and reserved. He does not spend his afternoons screaming "I'm open!"  to teammates, or practicing slap shots, or slashing "friends'" shins. No, in my mind, literary genius cannot develop from a little boy who probably sat on the curb, trash-talking his opponents just because it was his turn to sit out a shift. Writers are sensitive observers of life, right?

Wait ... perhaps I am projecting what I know (and understand) of Jonesy's hockey career on to poor, unsuspecting Ray Robertson. Because my mind is wrong ... Moody Food is the work of pure literary genius.

Plus, Robertson was able to do one thing that no other person in the other entire world has been able to do for me ... but more on that later.

Moody Food is the story of Bill Hansen, a University of Toronto drop-out, working at a Yorkville bookstore in the summer of 1965. The story is fresh and cool and written in a way that is sure to draw you in. Bill inadvertently becomes friends with Thomas Graham, a draft-dodging American musician with a penchant for drug experimentation. They ultimately form a band and make a run for the big-time. They even brush elbows with Jim Morrison and The Doors. And, the way it is written you feel like you are actually on the road with these guys ... like you are at The Whiskey.

Although the story is of Bill Hansen, it is Thomas Graham who fascinates me. He is loosely based on singer-songwriter Gram Parsons. In fact, the similarities are unmistakable ... Thomas Graham = Gram Parsons ... from the beginning of their lives to the end.

Do you know who Gram Parsons is? Me either ... I had never heard of him but he has a wonderfully tragic story and I can understand why Robertson was drawn to him. Parsons was born in 1946, the son of wealthy citrus farmers in Georgia. Sadly, his childhood was fraught with tragedy ... his alcoholic father committed suicide when Parsons was only twelve years old;  and his alcoholic mother re-married a man who would devastate the entire family because of an extramarital affair shortly before her untimely death in 1965. Gram Parsons became active in the music industry in the early 1960s, playing in rock and roll cover bands. He eventually joined The Byrds and in 1969, he formed his own band, The Flying Burrito Brothers. Parsons also collaborated with Emmylou Harris toward the end of his life.

Parsons was set to begin a (musical) tour in October 1973, but wanted to get away and relax with friends before leaving. He had become infatuated with the Joshua Tree National Monument (in California), so Parsons arranged for some friends to stay at a hotel just outside the park for a couple of nights. This would allow him to wander around in search of UFOs while high on LSD ... a preferred way to pass the time. Parsons died September 19, 1973 of an accidental overdose of morphine and alcohol in Joshua Tree, California.

But here's where things get really crazy ...

Parsons had mentioned to a couple of friends that, when he died, he wanted to be cremated and his ashes spread over Cap Rock, a prominent natural feature of the National Monument. So, on the day his body was to be returned to his family, these same friends stole the hearse (with Parsons' body inside) from the airport in LA. They drove it to Joshua Tree, where they attempted cremation by pouring about five gallons of gasoline into the open coffin and lighting it with a match. Of course, a huge fireball resulted. The culprits fled on foot and outran the police. They were arrested a couple of days later, and charged with some petty offences, resulting in only a $750 fine.

That is a true story. Sometimes the best stories are based on fact ... because really, you cannot make something like that up ...

So, I bet you are wondering what the thing is ... the thing that Ray Robertson did for me that no one else in the whole world has done. Get ready for it ... because it so unlike me ... He made cocaine seem appealing - which is not a postive thing, of course. And everything my Mom told me would happen if you mess around with drugs, happened to Bill Hansen and Thomas Graham. She taught me that dabbling in small-time drugs like marijuana inevitably leads to trying more hard core (highly addictive) drugs - which is essentially what transpires  in the story. But, the way in which it is written makes the descent seem not so bad ... I mean, they got a lot of stuff done while snorting cocaine. Like, I could get all the laundry done and clean the whole house in one day 'cause I could stay awake for 24hrs in a row. Or imagine all the reading you could get done! Obviously, I will not be trying to score any blow/nose candy/snow/coke but this was the first time (in my whole life) that drugs (other than my good friend, alcohol) did not thoroughly disgust me.

I was very excited when I read that Ray Robertson had attended Bookfest Windsor in 2009, hoping that I could get a chance to chat with him this year. But he did not attend this year ... so I'm left hoping for next year? Oh ... I just wish I could hang out with him sometime ...

Robertson has published six books and a book of essays. What Happened Next is next on my "Ray Robertson" reading list. Jonesy read it and he really enjoyed it ... it recalls some of Robertson's time as a child growing up in Chatham and his obessession with Jack Kerouac. And so, it was with great enthusiasm that I found some Kerouac in my American Literature Anthology ... hopefully that means I'll get to study his work next semester.



Check out Ray Robertson's website.

Source for information on Gram Parsons.
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Romantically Inclined
Author: jill
•9:50 PM
Romantic, as defined, means to be characterized by a preoccupation with love or by the idealizing of love or one's beloved. We have all felt romantic at one time or another in our lives, some times more than others. For instance, while changing diapers and breastfeeding eight to ten times each day, I did not feel particularly romantic. Tired, mesmerized (by my new little miracle), in love, scatter-brained, but never romantic. However, romance blossomed when Jonesy and I spent the weekend in Niagara-on-the-Lake several years ago, touring wineries and staying in a fancy hotel.

One day, earlier this summer, Jonesy and I took our three children to the Public Library. This was not romantic at all. However, it was fun watching as the kids selected a book to borrow, trying to decipher what it was that caught their attention. As fun as that was, I snuck off for a few moments because I, too, was in need of a new read. Usually, if I am going to borrow a book from the Library, I reserve it and then ask Jonesy to pick it up when he is out doing some other errand I have sent him on. He is my supplier - my book supplier, that is, which in many ways has become like a drug for me.

So, I wandered down the aisles, just waiting for something to grab my attention, for no particular reason. I wanted something written by a Canadian author, something contemporary. I chose a book I had never heard of, nor was I familiar with the author. But something about it drew me in - perhaps the title?- and I am so happy that I found it.

The book I chose is called, The Romantic by Barbara Gowdy. And guess what? When I researched her a bit, it just so happens that she was born in Windsor, but grew up in a suburb of Toronto.  But more on Gowdy later...

Louise Kirk's mother leaves when she is nine years old. I mean, the woman just disappears, abandoning her husband and child. Louise will spend the rest of her days looking for a woman whom she can look up to and count on. She looks for a mother (figure) in their housekeeper, in Mrs. Richter, and finally, in the women she works for/with.

A short time after her mother leaves, the Richter family moves into the house across the street. Abel Richter becomes the love of Louise's life, the one that she will do anything for and cannot be without. They are bound together by common circumstances - both having been abandoned by a mother, both social outcasts at school - and they play together as children, until Abel's family moves to Vancouver. In a meeting of chance, they reconnect as teenagers, and immediately fall back into their relationship, but on a much more mature level. The relationship becomes Louise's undoing. She loses herself in Abel, understanding his very soul yet not being able to understand his actions.

However, it is Abel that is of real interest for a girl like me. Because I could have saved him - I know I could have. Consider the following ...

"I had hoped to feel something more, to have a revelation, but the things that occur to me have occurred to me a hundred times before. His excruciating sensitivity to the physical world. His rapturous dreams. His guilt and anguish over the death of the baby bat. His dread of interfering and of choosing. But why did he have these feelings in the first place? Why was he who he was?" - excerpt from The Romantic

Abel was a musician and a poet. He was creative and sensitive to a fault. He never considered himself when making decisions, which ultimately cost him his life. He truly believed that the lives of those who love him most will be better without him in it. He honestly believes that; otherwise, he would not have drunk himself to death. Don't worry ... I'm not giving anything away. The reader becomes aware that Abel dies in the fourth sentence of the novel.

Some of his characteristics - the rapturous dreams, the sensitivity, the anguish over the death of the baby bat - are easily explained for me because Abel is a creative/artistic person. Artists experience the world through emotion, the emotion of the room, of the moment. It is what drives them, in my opinion.

"Why was he who he was?" Abel was the way he was because he was adopted, in my opinion. Now, this intrigues me. You see, I can relate to Abel because I, too, was adopted. I was adopted as a newborn infant, and I will write about it one day because I have many thoughts on the topic. The details of Abel's adoption are never explored and I was hungry for more information in that area. It does not matter how wonderful your adoptive parents are, a child that has been surrendered/abandoned is always left with unanswered questions.

Of course, there are the obvious ones, like why? But there are more things that one longs to know and understand. The circumstances. The choices. The father. Am I like my natural parents in any way?

And, I swear to you, I am not angry with her - the woman who gave birth to me. In fact, I feel sorry for her. I am sure that each year on June 30th, she has a terrible time. She suffers from migraines, or she just withdrawals, or she gets really, really drunk. I have read accounts written by women, who could never understand why their mother became so distant and emotional at the same time each year. Until they found out it was because she was mourning the child she never knew ... on the anniversary of the day they met and said goodbye. It is the only link she had to her child.

But when trying to understand Abel, we need to consider what adoption does to the child. By projecting my own feelings and thoughts on Abel, I would imagine that he questioned why the woman who gave him life did not fight for him. Was he not worth it? Was there something wrong with him? Maybe he just wasn't important.

As a parent, I cannot imagine looking at my newborn child and then signing the papers. I couldn't have ... I would have been one of those rebel girls who got all the stares from the disapproving eyes. But I would have had my child with me. Not with anyone else. Not raised by a stranger. No matter how wonderful that stranger was.

However, I also understand that Abel and I were born in a different time, when society was governed by a different set of rules. Unwed mothers were treated as though they were low-life social pariahs.

Anyhow, I think that Abel is haunted by his adoption. He grew up wondering if the world would be better off without him. Every chance I get, I tell my children how much they were wanted and planned for and anticipated (with love). They know that the moment each of them entered this world was the happiest time of my life. The same cannot be said for the day that I entered the world. Nobody wanted me, and I arrived under a cloud of guilt and shame. I imagine this is how Abel felt, and I expect it is how most adopted children feel.

In fact, I have this image in my mind ... it is of the Nursery. Because way back in 1969, the Nursery is where all the newborn babies stayed while their mothers were in the hospital "recovering" from their delivery. You can imagine it, too, I bet. All the little baby beds pushed toward the window, moved around like puzzle pieces, so the proud new Daddies could show off their greatest prize to all those who came to visit. Tears of joy, smiles, the inevitable comparisons of familial traits. None of which really make any sense, but seem to be a part of having a new baby.

Except that one little bed. Pushed into the back corner, out of the way. Nobody was interested in seeing her. No one smiled. There were no tears of joy. Just tears. Until one day when a stranger came to pick her up and take her away.

But that is where things started to look up for that little baby girl ... I'll tell you about it some day. It's actually a very cool and unique story.

Abel avoided interfering because he feared making a mistake and he cleans his apartment all the time because it gives him a feeling of control. He feared not being chosen. And he would never choose because he would never want to hurt someone. There is no need to choose, in his mind.

Ask Jonesy ... I hate choosing.

"Okay, Jill, do you want good ol' fashioned Chinese food or spicy Thai?" Jonesy will ask me.

"Oh, whatever you want, as long as I don't have to cook it," is my reply.

"Honestly, just pick one," he'll insist. But I can't. Subconsciously, I have been afraid that I'll pick the one he wants the least, and then maybe he'll leave me for some girl who always knows just what type of food he really wants to eat. Because it doesn't really matter what I want ... I mean, I was so undervalued that the woman who gave me life left me behind. So, what makes me think that I should be allowed to pick the take-out we order? And in some really weird way, I don't what to offend the Thai food, but I totally feel like eating good ol' fashioned Chinese Food tonight. And so I find a way to keep everyone happy in my warped mind ...

"Okay, let's have Chinese this time, but we'll order Thai next time, okay? Don't even ask me, just bring home Thai ..." is how I respond. That way, Thai food won't be offended and Jonesy can look forward to a Thai dinner soon. Everyone is happy, right?

Okay, so maybe I need some therapy ... Honestly, the real point I wanted to make is that being adopted affects a person in ways that they may not really understand, certainly not as a young person. It shapes the way in which one sees the world, the way in which one experiences the world. And perhaps, you can only understand it if you, too, were adopted as an infant. 

Abel deals with his demons by adding more demons until his life seems hopeless. And helpless. And Louise cannot move through her own life without him. She must see things through to the end.

It's a great read, and obviously invoked many thoughts in the life of me. Don't you just love when you stumble on a excellent book, like that? Or a good movie no one has told you about.

Barbara Gowdy is one interesting lady. She did not have her first novel published until she was thirty-eight years old. She has been married three times, once to an alcoholic who was killed in car accident (I suspect he was her Abel). She is a perfectionist. She studied piano for eight years, practicing five to eight hours per day but quit because she could not perfect the art. (source)

She has a HUGE imagination, writing on topics of gross disfigurement, necrophilia, exhibitionism, reincarnation, and homosexuality. And she is funny ... it always surprises me when something I am reading makes me laugh out loud. And Gowdy did, more than once.

And so, we are left with the question of who "the romantic" is. I could make an argument for Abel, and I can make a argument for Louise. However, if forced to choose (and you know how I hate to choose), it seems to me that Louise is The Romantic. Abel is beautiful and emotional and sensitive ... he writes poetry for God's sake. When he is with Louise, he loves her the best; but I'm not really certain how he feels when Louise is not in the room. It is Louise who is preoccupied with Abel, and idealizes their relationship. It blinds her, really. She thinks the best of him, she only sees the good in him and explains away what she does not want to believe.

She loves him with every ounce of her being. Isn't that romantic?

You decide ...
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Just What I Needed
Author: jill
•9:35 AM
"You'd gladly sleep through the intervening years and wake up when this part is over."

Have you ever felt like that? I have. A couple of times. One time in particular. As I have mentioned, Caiden was born nine weeks premature. He was perfect in every way ... he just needed to continue to grow. And even though I cried (a lot) and worried (a lot), I always knew that everything would be fine. That he would be fine. I strongly believed that ... there were no other options. I can recall telling the Neonatologist ... "I just want this part to be over." He would give me a strange look, trying to figure out what I meant. I was willing it to be six weeks later, and for the hard part to be done. Of course, I had no idea that the worries involved in parenting had only just begun. But that is all part of being a first-time parent, isn't it? Oh, to be that naive and inexperienced again ...

Bright Lights Big City by Jay McInerney is just what I needed. It is a great book, and reminded me why I love to read. I guess I was feeling more bogged down than I realized. It is a quick read, but full of emotion and absolutely great characters. Awesome, real characters. The story centres around a twenty-four-year-old urbanite, whose wife left him a few months back and his life is spinning out of control due to cocaine and alcohol; but also because he is just feeling lost. He doesn't want to live the way he is; he's looking for a way out. But sometimes, you have to travel to places you never imagined you would be, in order to become the person you want to be.

It is written in a really unique style ... like the narrator is telling the story, of himself, to himself. Maybe his way of stepping outside his own life and observing what he sees, while still understanding the motivation behind the behaviour.

The quote at the beginning of the post is taken from the book. It sort of sums up the story ... the narrator just wants this part to be over. He seems to know that things will not always be like they are now, and that he must go through this part of his life to get where he is suppose to end up. But he is just waiting for it to be over. Do you think everyone can do that? Be objective about their own self? I don't think so. I think that is why addiction continues, depression continues ... the person cannot see past the pain they are in right now. And it becomes overwhelming.

And at the end of the story we learn the source of the narrator's pain ... stop reading if you don't want to know. I have written about this so many times, it is becoming redundant. He becomes troubled after the death of his mother, which happened exactly one year ago. He misses her, and he wants the love and friendship she gave to him.

It is difficult to lose a parent. But, we all have to do it, right? It's the cycle of life. Because the alternative - a parent outliving their child - is so much more tragic. Trust me on this. When Caiden was a little younger, he was VERY concerned about death ... especially mine. And so, he and I have talked about this many times.

"I don't think I could live without you, Mommy," he told me at bedtime one night, with such genuine emotion I thought my heart would melt right there.

"But it's as natural to die, as it is to be born," I explained. "And someday, when you are all grown up, with a family of your own, I will die. And, you'll keep me alive by remembering me and all the fun things we did together." He takes in what I have told him ... so serious, my Caiden is.

"Like how you bake us really yummy desserts and you do the laundry?" Back to reality.

"Well, hopefully, we have done things that are more fun than laundry ... like the day we went to the Maple Syrup farm, or when you kicked my butt at Mario Kart ... wait, that happens every day."

He giggled, and pulled the covers up around his face, telling me he loves me and that he would see me in the morning.

And so, if I die today, I will be remembered as the lady who could bake a mean chocolate chip cookie and push through eight loads of laundry in a day if I have to.

Maybe I should make some kind of effort to change that ... but then again, I know that it will not always be like this. Once again, there will be more to my life than trying to keep clean clothes in the house and creating fun desserts. In the meantime, I will try to appreciate my life for what it is. Afterall, it is everything I always wanted. So, I don't want to sleep through it ... I want to embrace this time with every part of me.

Bright Lights Big City was written in 1984 ... but it is still current and can teach you something while keeping you well entertained. Pick it up sometime ...
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Random Thoughts
Author: jill
•9:34 AM
My parents worked extremely hard to create the bubble in which I exist. Some parents try to expose their children to all kinds of different things, to help them grow as a person. My parents did too ... but only the nice things. I went to Disney World, family picnics at the beach, camping at National Campgrounds, out for dinner at the local Chinese food restaurants. One year, my Mom even planted a vegetable garden. But I was protected from anything unpleasant, anything that might upset me. Like when my cat died ... they buried it in our backyard and told me that she ran away. I never saw my parents argue - not once.

The children in Adrian LeBlanc's Random Family probably saw and experienced more terrible things before they were five years old, than I will in my whole lifetime. Sixteen-year-old Jessica is surrounded by drugs and drug dealers; she is beaten by her mother; when men ten years her senior ask her out, she sets them up with her mother instead; she regularly skips school and hangs out at the Hooky House; she watches her mother get high; before she is eighteen years old, she will have three children - first Serena will arrive, then twin girls about one year later. The little girls have different Daddies; in actuality, their paternity is uncertain. All of these things happened in the first fifteen pages of this lengthy four hundred page true story.

By the way, don't you just love the term, "Hooky House?" I absolutely love terms like that. In fact, I would probably go to the the Hooky House just so I could say it. All teenagers come up with nicknames, and their own slang ... it is what defines them as teenagers. When I was a teenager, everyone "hurt" and everything was "ignorant." For example, "My math teacher hurts ... that homework he assigned was ignorant." Ahhhhh ... those were the days ... but I digress, again. 

Adrian Nicole LeBlanc spent more than ten years of her life with the people in her story. She details their lives ... the crisis, the poverty, the chaos, the joys, the crime, the punishment, the reality. I recently listened to an interview she gave in 2003, when the book was first released. LeBlanc said that she would spend four or five days at a time in the Bronx, with her "friends," living their lives with them. She would sleep atop a mattress on the floor, someone else's baby snuggled up next to her, cockroaches scurrying across the floor. She attended court trials. She made visits to the prisons. She hung out on the streets. Some would call her home at 3am in a panic. It is a remarkable read, but I found it emotionally draining and I was exhausted when I finished this book. This is real; real people and their real lives.

The book revolves around three central players, and the people that come and go in their lives. Jessica, as I detailed earlier, started motherhood early in life. But so do most of the girls in the Bronx; many are mothers before they are sixteen years old. Cesar is Jessica's younger brother, sharing only their mother; and Coco is one of the girls Cesar loves.

It is just a fact that most young girls (in the Bronx) are sexually assaulted and Jessica is no different. Neither is her two-year-old daughter, Serena. Jessica was known to cause a stir when she walked around with her friends, and she had no trouble attacting boys. But for her, sex equals love; and she really just wants someone to love her ... for real. Jessica's story becomes really interesting when she gets involved with one of the most notorious drug dealers in the history of New York, Boy George Rivera. Boy George was a multi-millionaire by the age of twenty-one; it is thought that one of his hot spots for selling heroin was making $60 000 per day. It was also alleged that he earned more than $15 million in just over two years. And he lived the high life ... five cars (one specially outfitted like a James Bond car with crazy gadgets) - all paid for with cash; he travelled; he took Jessica to fancy restaurants and hotels and bought food for her family; parties on yachts, jewels, the Manhatten apartment he rented for the sole purpose of stashing his piles of cash. She felt like the luckiest girl in the world when she hooked up with Boy George because he was respected, he acted like a gentleman and he was wealthy. But eventually she paid the price, as did he.

But her story does not end with incarceration; she tries to find herself while she is in jail. She wants to do the right thing ... they all do. But sometimes, they just don't know how. She has an affair with a prison guard, and gives birth to his twin baby boys while she is on the inside. Desperate for true love she convinces herself that he is "the one." Of course he is not; and she will never develop any real bond with those baby boys because they are placed with the foster parent who has her three girls. It will be years before she sees them again. When she is finally released, after a seven or eight year stint, she goes right back to her old neighbourhood. Not necessarily her old ways, but she immerses herself back in the same culture. It's all she knows.

Cesar is a badass, but I love him. Of all the characters, I love Cesar most. He is the one I could have saved if I were there ... in the Bronx. He feels the pressure to protect and provide for his family ... any way he can. People chastise those who sell drugs, and in NO WAY do I support the activity. But take a look at it from a different perspective. The guys on the street are looking to support their families. They are looking for a way to put food on the table for their babies and pay their rent. The "bosses" are a completely different story - they are looking for a way to get rich. But the guys on the street are not unlike you and me, just looking for a way to make ends meet. And, in their neighbourhood, dope dealer is considered a viable career option. Again, I am not condoning their behaviour and if they come near any one of my children, I will not be held responsible for my actions; but it is understandable in their circumstances. Cesar says, "You get praise for doing wrong. I did not see it as doing wrong, because helping my family is right. How I tended to my family was different. Why is because we didn't have. The sequence led to the boy that created me."

Cesar is, what main-stream society would call, a troubled youth. He is on the streets, missing school, stealing, fighting, in shootouts. And, the majority of his adult life has been behind bars. In an ironic twist of fate, he is incarcerated for an accidental shooting ... the shooting and subsequent death of his best friend, Mighty. In the long run, Cesar seems to benefit from his time in jail because he educates himself and actually gains an understanding of the culture in which he grew up. He uses what he learns when dealing with his daughter, Mercedes; he sees himself in her. Cesar tries to encourage Mercedes  and strokes her positive attributes, instead of just addressing the negative behaviour. He notes that nobody ever did this for him. Although he often feels frustrated and helpless with repect to his family and children, Cesar does acknowledge the idea that he may have had it easier than some of his friends from the neighbourhood, because he only has to worry about himself while he is in jail. There are no hungry mouths to feed; there is no rent to pay; the streets are not calling for him.

The street is like a "thing;" almost tangible. It draws kids in, and keeps them there. In a moment of astute awareness, Cesar refers to it a scapegoat because it is where the kids go when they do not want to be at home. If they argue with their Mom, they take to the street to escape. And although most are surrounded by "family," they still feel alone and/or betrayed. Girls carry deep-seeded anger toward their mothers because they fail to protect them - young girls are often sexually assaulted by their mother's boyfriends. Boy are resentful that they become the man of the family too soon. Siblings are jealous of each other. The street provides refuge from all that. The street provides a gathering place for like-minded kids.

The manner in which women are treated is appalling. They are used, beaten, raped, cheated on, intimidated, stolen from, manipulated and then beaten again. However, it is not just men beating women; women hit each other in fights and women beat their children severely - little girls and boys. The beatings that occur as part of an intimate relationship invoke an interesting dynamic. I have studied at length about abused women, and the Battered Women's Syndrome. Women are usually shocked the first time they are hit by their partner, and look for excuses - he had too much to drink, he was stressed out, he just lost his job, etc. But this seems different - the women in this story just expect to be beaten; they do not like it, but they expect it. For them, it is part of having a boyfriend. Men beat their wives/girlfriends to the point of almost death, and sometimes push their children around as well. In the case of Battered Women Syndrome, when her man turns his fury on their children, she will finally leave; it is not to save herself, but to protect her children. The women in the Bronx do not take such action. This is not a blanket statement about all the women in that live the Bronx, but a general impression taken from the book.

Coco loves Cesar; she loves him almost from the minute she spots him from a third-floor bedroom window. Coco and Cesar have two children together and an on-again-off-again relationship; of course, Coco has a total of five children fathered by four different men (I believe) which is part of the reason their relationship is on-again-off-again. Coco's mother, Foxy, uses drugs and lives with several different men throughout the story. She is of little support or guidance for Coco. Coco lives a life of chaos and disorganization and extreme poverty. The end of the book chronicles Coco's latest crisis ... oldest daughter in trouble at school, kitchen ceiling caving in and her apartment being infested with cockroaches - "wave upon wave of cockroaches made use of the sudden hole," she lost her job, she lost the disability benefits for her premature baby, the cable was cut off, her rented furniture was repossessed, she split up with her most recent love and her phone was disconnected. This is typical chaos in Coco's life. She is overwhelmed and cannot effectively deal with her own life; so, she often relies on her eldest daughter, Mercedes, to act as a parent to her younger siblings. Not because Coco doesn't want to do anything for her children, but because she cannot do it all by herself. There are too many children to care for, and too many problems to worry about. I think that is why Coco continues to get involved with different men ... she wants someone to help her. Help her financially or help her with the day-to-day care of the children. Because if she could get some relief in one area, the other would be easier to deal with. But ultimately, she seems to end up alone, coping the best she can.

I'll be honest - most of the time, as I read, I had a pit in my tummy. This is a harsh look at the realities faced by the poverty stricken in the United States. I wish I could say that I thought this was not a problem in Canada; I think it is. In fact, I worked in the midst of the poverty; and I have had women call me at the end of the month, begging me for more money or a food voucher to feed their children. It is heartbreaking. So, the bubble that my parents worked so hard to create had actually been burst some ago.

I began working for the Social Services Office when I was twenty-four years old and I had never personally experienced any kind of poverty. I mean, hardship for me was having to buy the generic brand instead of my favourite. But the first Christmas I working as a Caseworker opened my eyes to a different way of life. Conducting visits to peoples' homes forced me to confront "Charlie Brown" Christmas trees with one small box wrapped and carefully placed underneath for each child in the house. If they missed out on the Goodwill Food Hamper, one woman told me, they would splurge for a can of Spam, and bake it for their Christmas dinner. I had never been faced with such poverty until then. And now, although I have been out of the Social Service industry for almost ten years, I still think about some of the people I met and the struggles they endured ... abuse, loss, illness, poverty, lack of education.

I feel like this post is unorganized and just a bunch of thoughts thrown together ... sorry for that. But this book leaves your head spinning - in a good way, I think. Random thoughts about Random Family. We should know about the struggles of those who have been born into life of poverty and drugs. This book should be mandatory reading for teenagers. It is shocking and there are no secrets. But, maybe it is okay for teenage girls to read first hand the consequences of becoming a teenage mother; losing the opportunity to get an education without having the responsibility of a child; the dangers of drug use; the effect of poverty and the cycle it begins; the effects of incarceration, not only on the person on the inside, but by the family/children s/he leaves behind.

Because not everyone grows up as lucky as you and me, and maybe it is time our children realise it.
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