yamyam_kat

(The word "ecco" is an Italian adverb that means "here" or "there." It is used to call attention to something or to announce the presence of someone or something nearby.)

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Title: "Surprise Starts with the Letter S."
(non-fiction)


Parenting starts with a proclamation. The doctor says, "Here are the results. You're pregnant!" And for the next nine months there is no one closer to you than that new person(-to-be).

I am a mother of three (now young adults), and a step-mother of two (grown adults.)

The journey with my children has been full of unexpected moments, especially with my middle child. My son is the oldest (he is now 24) and then there is S., my daughter.

At that exciting "gender reveal" ultrasound appointment, S. was very active within me, kicking, moving, and ultimately not cooperating. Just because today was a good day for the ultrasound tech, it didn't mean that S. was ready to reveal anything she knew. (I should have realized this was a sign of things to come. I did not.) So the doctor moves the sensor around my belly, and moves it, and tries and tries and finally he says, "I am pretty certain I saw something extra. Congratulations! You're having a second son."

I said, "Yay! Are you sure? You said the baby was active."

He said, "I would say with 70-80% certainty."

We still had picked a name for either gender. The boy name was Adam. When my son tried to jump on my lap, we would say, "Be careful. Be gentle with Baby Adam."

Whenever someone asked what I was having, I would say, "The doctor's pretty sure it's a second boy."

We were excited. There wouldn't be a problem with baby clothes, I would just hand them down. The only one a bit disappointed was my mother-in-law. but she adjusted.

After 26 hours of labor, (14 of those hours without any epidural), and 2 hours of pushing, my first very large child was a c-section. So I then decided to have a second (this time planned) c-section. We promised to call my then mother-in-law as soon as the baby was born.

S. came out. The doctor said, "Congratulations! It's a girl!"

Her dad was flabbergasted. "A girl?"

The doctor said, "See for yourself."

S. was definitely a girl. So her dad called his mom. He said, "You'll never guess, the baby was actually a boy." Mother-in-law said, "Stop kidding me, that's not very nice!" and hung up. So he had to call her again. She was so excited! That very day she took our niece to shop for pink baby dresses. It was that or have S. go home in the clothes I had brought which were very masculine hand-me-downs from her older brother.

The main person confused was my son. For months, he would say, "But where is Baby Adam?"

We said, "Actually we were wrong. See? Here is S, your sister!"

He would always reply, "But where is Baby Adam?"

In my experience, kids are never exactly what you expect. Sometimes, not even close.

I'm a reader. My oldest and youngest children are too. We love fiction, and stories, and TV shows, and movies. S. does not. She reads some, but pretty early one, liked exclusively non-fiction. She never liked TV shows or movies, not even ones like "Dora the Explorer" as a toddler. She liked to be active (not sit and watch or read), and she "didn't like anything that wasn't real." I didn't understand her viewpoint, but I did want her to be herself.

I do feel, looking back, I unfortunately missed some signs that later became evident. My oldest child, a son, is autistic. My first marriage of 17 years ended up very stormy. My son needed a lot of help adjusting to the world, every step of the way. I've realized now, it's pretty likely S. is also on the autism spectrum like her brother. She seemed to manage and move through her developmental stages. Autism presents differently sometimes in different genders. But at the time, that idea didn't even occur to me. I loved all three kids as best I knew, and life went on.

When S. was 11, the divorce was my first husband was final, and we moved across town. I was very busy, always working two jobs (1 full time, 1 part time) and sometimes 3 jobs.

When S. was 12, she had an Emo phase. Not only did she prefer to wear all black, only black all the time, she insisted I needed to get rid of any and all articles of her clothing that were not black. I did try to let her express herself and wear what she chose. Life was busy, her brother had announced he was gay, and was having mental issues including several stays in a psych ward. S. wearing only black clothes felt like the least of my problems.

When S. was 13, she then wanted to wear tye-dyed shirts (and preferably only tye-dyed shirts.) I figured all that black made her miss colors, and now she was almost over-dosing. But, OK, tye-dye it is. That year, she decided to dye her hair purple. I did wonder about that, but my friend pointed out, better now that in her 20s. You don't want her convinced her life sucked because she never got to have purple hair.

So I agreed as long as she paid for the dye herself and dyed it herself. I have never dyed my own hair, so I didn't realize how much the edge of her face and her hands would then be purple for several days. I guess my "maybe she'll only dye it once" plan worked as that was the only time she has ever dyed her hair. There are other ways to try being extreme though. Honestly, at this point in 2025, unusual hair would be the least of my worries.

I guess it's possible her inspiration to have purple hair came from our UU church. I had grown up in a very traditional church. After my divorce, I let my kids decide if and where we went to church. We were (and still are) in a Unitarian Universalist church. I hoped my children would be open-minded people. S. seemed to love the UU church and often called me out on anything she thought seemed too rigid.


When S. was 14, she announced she was gay. I did start to wonder if my divorce and the gender roles my children saw were the reason they didn't want to be anything close to traditional, but, OK. I want my kids to feel free to be themselves. She said C. was her girlfriend. I took them to the Gay Pride Festival in my town (with the permission of C.'s mom.) Again, I had to adjust in my mind who my daughter was, but hey, that's life right?

When S. was 15, she got an extremely short hair cut and began wearing mostly men's clothes. Again, she wanted to purge her closet of anything feminine, and I allowed her too. She wanted to wear a man's button-down shirt and men's plain khaki shorts to my sister's outdoor wedding, and I let her. My kids are themselves. I want them to know it's what's inside that counts. I asked more than once if she were trans. She always claimed not to be, but a couple years later, my youngest child told me, during this time, S. went by a new name at school.

When S. was 16 and 17, she got very involved in politics. She was the President of the High School Democrats for our whole state. We went to many protests. At 17, she announced she wasn't gay. I said, "OK." Her favorite thing to wear were feminist t-shirts. She often announced that the world would be better if women were in charge. I admit, I was proud of her leadership qualities. I hope her generation helps make the world better.

She did develop a crush on a Jewish guy also in HS Democrats in another state, however, but said he was very pro-feminist. Unexpected to me, she did began dressing very conservatively. She began to make Challah bread every Friday. She never did meet the guy, but seemed to be considering becoming Jewish. I was surprised, but maybe ... maybe she felt she needed more order to her understanding of the world than our UU church offered? I was a bit concerned. I really, really tried to be open-minded. Truly being open-minded means one's children can choose to be whoever, even more rigid-minded than I am, right?

S.'s senior year in high school was very rough. She seemed angry a lot, but not inclined to say why. In March, we paid for her to take a trip with her high school band to Washington, DC. I waved the school bus good-bye as she rode away for the airport. Within hours, I got a long text from S. explaining that, actually, she had converted to Islam and was going to start wearing a hijab on this trip.

To be honest, I was worried. My first marriage had been abusive, and her dad justified a lot because "women should be submissive." Perhaps I shouldn't have, but I did try to help her consider if this religion was really what my formerly almost militant feminist daughter wanted. These questions and discussions rarely went very well. She took my questions extremely personally. I asked, "What made you want to become Muslim?" And she said, "I like the hygiene rules." I had expected a story perhaps about praying and feeling a godly presence.

Upon a lot of reflection on her very adamant OCD "rules" which she tries to get all of us to comply with, sometimes I have wondered if she is also on the autistic spectrum like her older brother (he is officially diagnosed, she is not and refuses to try any kind of counseling.) I hate that I somehow "missed" some signs (it seems.) Her brother had had such stormy issues all his life, and it felt like between that and my many jobs, we were just trying to survive.

So this was who she was. A Muslim girl. She doesn't just wear a hijab, she also wears long, flowing "robe" dresses. After the first couple weeks, I stopped trying to change her mind, though she often tries to convince me to try being Muslim. I've put boundaries on how long I am willing to discuss that matter. I don't plan to convert.

Halfway through her soph0more year of college, my son said he needed to tell me something. He confessed that S. had met a Muslim man online and booked herself a ticket to go meet him in Canada.

This concerned me greatly as she was only 19. I did try to talk her out of it. Concerned for her safety, I ended up booking tickets on the same flights and going with her. She was sure they were going to get married. I honestly mostly hoped he was a real person without bad intentions.

The visit went pretty well (to my surprise, honestly. I was so relieved this wasn't some kind of human trafficking situation!) We flew home, and he broke up with her on the phone the day after. She was extremely devastated as apparently they had the marriage contract all worked out.

As the months passed after the break up, I hoped some of the uproar of the young adult years with S. might be calming down. I did tell her she isn't allowed to leave the country without telling me. If she did that again, we wouldn't keep helping her pay for college (I know that seems extreme. Nothing else I said persuaded her though.) For whatever reason, she now wears only all black hijabs and all black robes. She now refuses (again) to wear anything that isn't black except maybe to Muslim weddings.

S. graduated from college the end of May this year, though the official "summer graduation" date is in August for all summer graduates from her university. She hasn't found a job in her field yet, so is living at home and working full time. I had hoped she would have a year or more to do that, and develop as herself.

This week, she announced she is getting married the end of September. I said, "To who?" as I hadn't even heard she met a prospect. They have had 2 dates. He is 27 year old to her 21. She is going to sponsor his US citizenship "but that's not why we are getting married."

I have many mixed feelings. I have asked some questions, trying to just help her consider a few things. She doesn't appreciate "me being against her marriage." I told her I'm not against it necessarily, I just want her to consider this step. It's a big choice. I'm pretty sure Muslims also believe in marriage "until death do us part."

It sounds like I am (still at this point) invited to the wedding. She doesn't like my questions, so I don't know if I or her dad will walk her down an aisle or if Muslims even do that. She did say they are going to slaughter some goats for the wedding feast which has horrified my vegetarian younger daughter, E.

Many thoughts and memories go through my mind these days. My time with my daughter hasn't at all been what I expected or imagined when my doctor said, "It's a girl!"

I like to think I have a good imagination, but my parenting journey hasn't been at all what I expected or how the dozens of parenting books and articles I have read through the years described parenting. Even books on parenting children on the autism spectrum didn't mention many of the adventures I have had with my kids. Life is so full of surprises!

And maybe some surprises still ahead. I try to take deep breathes, tell myself anything can happen between now and September. Love is love, right? I need to be loving whether I am becoming a mother-in-law or if S. goes through another break-up.

Whatever comes next, accept it with love. That is my goal.

Title: "Echoes of Possession"

10,000 hours. 10,000 hours. I told myself, this was the year. Put up or shut up.

Thankfully, driving can be almost automatic, when the route is familiar. The phrase, "!0,000 hours" kept repeating in my tired mind as I drove my good ole Honda Civic to my favorite coffee shop. I had to park further away than usual. I pulled in and, for just a minute thought, "Really, am I doing this? The odds are what, a million to one?!" But I remembered that forty is fast disappearing in rear view mirror of my life, and fifty is looming on the horizon with all the fun of AARP memberships and questions about "oh, do you have grandkids?"

I'm doing this. I grab my laptop in it's dusty old black bag. Put it over my shoulder. Open my car door. If nothing else, it might be interesting, right?

I walk into the coffee shop. Ding (the door chimes). The place looks dark. I don't know if it's truly dark or it's just my transition lenses. I study the "monthly specials" board. I swear they are very similar each month, they just switch out the names to match the holidays.

"Can I help you? We have some wonderful specials today!" The excited teen barista smiles with enthusiasm. I guess I'm old, but I find her perkiness a bit percolated. I bet the shop tries to conceal the low level of the wages with a high level of free employee drinks.

"Ma'm?" Her smile is slipping.

"Ah yeah, um, let me try the Golden Hour" I say.

"Hot or iced? Whole milk or oat? We also have soy and almond milk, if you prefer alternatives."

Oh my god. I almost replied, "In my day, the only thing we milked was cows, not nuts and plants." "In my day..." I sound like my grandparents!

"Uh, real milk. I mean, regular."

"Do you prefer whole, 2 % or skim?" Miss Teen Coffee USA was back with her questions.

"Whole I guess. I truly don't care."

"We aim to please. It will be right up. Can I have your name for the order?"

"Uh, Emily."

"Emily it is. That will be right up!" she chirps.

I look around. There is one empty table. I sit down with a sigh. Crap, I remember my mom sighing when she sat down. What the heck is happening to me these days?

I put my laptop in the wall, open the screen, and press the power button. It starts up. Of course it wants my password. I start to type and suddenly Miss Teen Thing trills, "Golden Hour for Emily!"

I jump up, and turn for the counter and almost fall flat on my face. I throw out my hands and feel ... something warm?!

"Whoopie-daisy there! You almost dropped that fancy computer!"

I look up and I'm holding hands with...Santa Clause? I blink my eyes shut, then slowly open. Maybe this is just a dream. Why would I dream about coffee though?

"Golden Hour for EMILY!"

"I'm coming!" I yell and everyone looks up. I say, "Excuse me?" and Santa lets go of my hand.

I grab my drink, murmur, "Yeah, thanks" and turn to go back to my table, only to see the other chair is now occupied.

Santa himself (or his plain clothes double) is now sitting across from my laptop.

"I just wanted to make sure you're ok."

"Yeah, I'm fine." I murmur.

"Dontcha worry, I'm leaving. I just ... I just wanted to tell you to hang on in there, little lady."

"Hang in there?" I take a longer drink of my coffee. Why does it seem like I can't even understand English today? I blink my eyes closed, then open. Nope, it's still real.

"What do you mean anyway, sir?" because honestly, I'm tired of it. I came here to ...to finally start keeping my promises to myself not to talk to people about milk and hanging in there and who the heck is this guy anyways?

"Sorry, that's right, I shoulda introduced myself. I'm Ralph, but of course that doesn't matter. I'm not the one you came to listen to, and I know that."

"Sir, I don't know you, but somehow it ... why would you know why I'm here."

"You have that look is all." He smiled and leaned back in his chair. If you could call that his chair. Technically it's at MY table.

I sigh and think, "OK, if you can't beat 'em, at least hear what they have to say."

"'That look'? Sir, if you could excuse me, see I have a lot to do" I nod meaningfully at my laptop.

"Oh sure, I know. Just hang in there. You're not the only one who hears them."

"Hears them?" Apparently they let just anyone in this coffee shop now. Good freaking g-d, what the heck with today.

"See it's ... it's easily explained." He smiles.

"It is?" I shake my head. I shut my laptop. Apparently, I'm going to hear this explanation.

"Yep. I personally think it's pretty clear that alternate timelines are the ways we all reincarnate."

I start to unplug my laptop.

"Hey, miss, just wait a minute. I wasn't trying to bother ya now, just...that's why you don't have to worry."

"Listen, sir, I believe it's my decision when to worry--"

"I just meant, little lady, that death isn't the end. It's not even the end of communication. That's why you hear them."

"Hear who?" Now I'm really irked. I pull out my phone to check the time. Dammit!

"Listen. You're a writer, right?"

"I mean... kind of. That was the plan today."

"I knew it!" His smug smile was almost annoying.

"I mean, I ... like to try to write, but I don't write about death or reincarnation or any of that. And honestly, I won't be writing about anything if I don't get to it."

He braced his hands on the table. "I know, I'm sorry to interrupt. I just... I didn't want you to fall. And then I wanted to remind you. It may seem like... echoes of possession, but it's just the timeline whispers. Some of us can hear them."

"You're saying that ... that when authors write it's... real people, on other timelines communicating? Hm." I can't help it. Now I'm interested. That's kind of a genius idea really. "So that would mean historical fiction--"

"Is the people in alternate pasts trying to set the story straight. See the other time lines have authors too."

"Ralph. You said your name is Ralph? You've really thought about this, haven't you?" He didn't look completely crazy. Clean jeans, plaid shirt. If you switched his ball cap for a red elf hat, he'd be Santa, but a clean, well-groomed one. Not that homeless variety you see out by the soup kitchen.

"Thought about it? Missy, I lived it. And honestly, I think you've got all those best possessed qualities. A bit curious, able to listen." He stood to his feet this time.

"I'll leave you to it. Just be careful if you get up."

Ralph headed to the door, saying, "And if it's any consolation, you'll never truly feel alone. They do love communicating!"

The coffee shop door closed behind him with a ding.

I looked down at my laptop. I slowly plugged it back in, took a sip of my too sweet Golden Hour, and opened the screen.

I typed in my password and clicked on the Word icon.

Ralph had said "You'll never feel alone."

At this point, I didn't know if that was a threat or a promise of chapters to come.

I took a deep breath. I began to type, "She started to trip and threw out her hands ..."