Tag Archives: publishing

In my hand he held my heart

My love
My love

In my hand he held my heart

Silently I was crying inside. But my son’s entourage was an unusually welcomed distraction, deflecting from the highly anticipated event, the first day of school.

No wonder my son looked slightly on edge, with so much build up. I think he was starting to believe that we were giving him to the Missions. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve said goodbye, but for some reason, this one magnifies that this is the first of many to come.

We all know the stories, but when it’s your own story, it’s raw. And I felt alone.

Well, I would have if my over-the-top, noisy, Italian, and brash father-in-law had allowed me to lament in the moment. But no, he was a running commentator on the day’s event and how my emotions were stacking up. My mother was adding some realism, years of experience as a school teacher; my husband was nonchalant; my mother-in-law was reminded of her boy starting school, but was on a strict warning not to cry, so she looked like she’d sucked a few lemons, straining to hold it together. The circus ensued with the little brother pleading to join the big one. And after a few poses for Facebook, show’s over, and it’s time for school.

In his hand, he held my heart. And we walked on.

I was more nervous than he. Schools do that to you. He hardly spoke, but I knew he was assessing the situation. He does this. And all I wish, is that his teachers get to know him like I do. I haven’t totally lost my sense of reason, he’s still a five year old. I’d have thrown him through the doors when he was two, when the thought of Boarding School didn’t seem so bad, but not today. He is perfect and I won’t be told otherwise.

In my state of delusion, we made it through the grandparents, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and the flash photography. But I saw no one. So consumed by holding his hand and steering him through. There may have been tears and tantrums but we walked silently on.

My nerves grew. I wanted the transition to pass seamlessly. Because you see, I thought he was starting next week and today wasn’t the day for my son to realise that his mother’s still looking for the parenting handbook.

My fly by the seat of your pants approach suits me, but my son needs everything just so. I had to step up and make him as proud of me as I am of him. Ok I got off to a bumpy start, wrong class. Though, I was sure it was that one. The relief when I found his peg and hung up his jacket. If I could have ripped the thing off the wall, I think I would have. I was raw.

Never have I felt so happy yet so sad.

P&RBut there were no tears. I wouldn’t do that to him, I had the rest of the afternoon after all.

And as I’d expected he turned and I let him go. To make new friends, have good days and bad days, dreams and disappointments, and to start making stories of his own.

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Musings

One

One day love will cry for you

but love is never lost,

just missed.

I think of my gran when I read this. I see her in every day, I know what love is because of her and I miss her.

Original Musings

by

Felicity Fox ©

 

Olympics 2012 – The Torch Came and Went by Felicity Fox

 

By Felicity Fox
© Felicity Fox
My boy x

Like going to see your auntie’s for an annual visit, some chit chat and niceties, that’s what yesterday’s whistle stop Olympic torch tour felt like. They’d probably rather not but just one of those things they had to do.

The Olympics hasn’t really captured hearts and minds. And no wonder, with only 1% of contracts going to Scotland there has not really been much to shout about or perhaps not enough people shouting about that.

London’s looking like its having the party of all parties, and we’re the uninvited guests looking on.

Laying down my savvy cynicism for a moment, I too became swept away and joined in the watchers. Racing by the houses was a torch. A flame. The start of the Games. Summer TV watching 2012. And then it was gone, racing out of Scotland as fast as it had arrived.

But when I turned around, the sheer delight on the faces of my boys and my friends was a spectacle. The party planner of all party planners had decked out her house, the drink was flowing and the food plenty.

We are athletes, my friends and I. Rounds one, two, three and four we took in our stride.
And when there’s ever a hurdle or two along the way we each pass the baton seamlessly.

We were together. We weren’t celebrating the Olympics, not really. We were celebrating friendship and our beautiful children.

© Felicity Fox

Why? By Felicity Fox

 

Felicity Fox ©

Why?

I remember the first time I read Anne Frank and the first time I saw the little girl in the red coat in Schindler’s list. I remember thinking why? Why hadn’t someone stopped it? How could people stand by and watch? Why? Why? Why?

But that was then, and this is now.

I felt this despair again last week, watching Syria. I wanted everyone to stop too.

Stop going on and on about the Jubilee, the Olympics, tea parties and cupcakes.

Stop.

This time it was far worse. It was happening now. It had happened.

 

Devastation. Children. And politics.

Talk of international relations and policies, but what about the children?

My five year old was watching too. Should I shun him from this? Spoil his innocence?

But what about their innocence? I can’t explain this to him because I don’t want to.

I’m not angry. I’m sad.

To think about it is all-consuming, so should I ignore it? It feels like everyone else is.

Being on the opposing side of the fence is exhausting,

but it’s as wrong today as it was yesterday and more than sixty years ago.

Felicity Fox ©

 

Love – to my friends by Felicity Fox

I’m not going to give you wise words,
I know none.
Great loves aren’t fairytales, they’re battles.
Love is jealous, sometimes cruel and unforgiving.
Patience and kindness, words by St. Paul held up as the pinnacle, spoken at marriage.
Love – a little word, it means so much.
Find it, keep it, and work at it – it will be your life’s work and your greatest success story.
Love one another, this is my message of hope.

Love

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Adam, Eve and the Apple by Felicity Fox

Skye
Felicity Fox

 

In the beginning there was no Facebook and Twitter, and the world was void and the inbox empty.

And God said, “Let there be light”; and someone switched on the bulb.

“Let us make man in our image and likeness”, and he did. He made an over exaggerated ego and the world revolved around him.

“Be fruitful and multiply”, so he said.

And we did. Again and again and again. It was even mildly enjoyable.

And whatever you do, don’t touch the Apple; this, the forbidden fruit.

For he knew the Apple possessed a greatness, making man redundant.

Naked and exposed, Adam and Eve were cast out of the Garden of Eden. But Eve had her Apple; the key.

Banished, Adam felt alone and exposed.

Eve, liberated.

Man’s best friend became his companion. A slobbery, obedient, loyal and subservient canine. And in tandem the two conversed in deep and meaningful conversation. Frequenting parks, enjoying one another’s company, bonding. The love between the two grew.

Eve flourished.

Little Cain turned up, followed by Cain II a while later, and no, Jesus isn’t in this story. He came a few hundred years after that. A troubling point for one of my readers. I’ve checked and he definitely doesn’t make an appearance in Genesis.

Eve had opened Pandora’s Box and unearthed the glorious mysteries. No longer would she be shunned in favour of Skysports or Super Sundays, the Masters or the Darts, content with her new found fruit.

Every high street, designer outlet, swap shop, gossip column, friend or foe were contained in her Apple. No wonder such escapism had been forbidden.

Work she called it. Entering her own domain, exploring it at her leisure. Liaisons may have been less frequent. Oh well, you can’t have your cake and eat it, and she preferred the Apple.

To One Lucky Bastard by Felicity Fox

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I wrote what I could not say to my cousin today. I’m using the term “bastard” in the traditional sense, not as an offence. He calls himself a lucky bastard….

To one lucky bastard…

As this is not my story to tell,

I’m sending it to you my cousin.

In a crowded room, you’ve always stood tall,

I’ve watched you and wondered?

I’ve seen your mum and dad proudly look on.

And I too have proudly called you my cousin.

And now I see a new family there for you as well.

You’re not a lucky bastard, we are.