Steph Campbell

I have a good life. I have an amazing son who is developing and growing more miraculously than I'd ever dreamed he would.  I take little credit.  He is his own grower.  Even though most of the time my mind tells me I am personally responsible for nearly everything that comes out of that beautiful mouth of his.  That I am accountable for all the movements he makes and choices he pursues. Even though this mind has staked my life on a one way silent agreement with God that he live a long, healthy and prosperous life - even though - he has his own path, his own way to make, his own thoughts.  He is his own grower. I have a good life. I have a roof over my head, money to pay my bills, a plethora of friends and love and family.  I have a voice that sings, music in my heart, and food in my belly. I have a good life. I can see and hear and my limbs work fine.  I can sit then stand I can breathe then hold my breath.  I have survived several wars of the mind and heart.  I have eve

"Steph's a professional singer" Boasted a proud friend as she introduced me to a woman she was chatting with.  It was opening night of the spring musical at my son's high school.  Little did I know that the dagger eyes that were about to scope me up and down with a look of disgust was in fact the mother of the female leading role. I walked up to tell my friend how wonderful her son was as the leading role. She modestly thanked me and quickly turned the attention away to "the woman."   It quickly became clear to me that (for lack of a better phrase) the "mother of the bride" was intent on sucking up all the praise of the moment.  I understood my friend's dilemma and went with the flow. "Oh your daughter was great!  You must be very proud." Not even a smile.  She turned her head slightly and looked at me through the corner of her eye with a hate that although familiar I had not felt in many years.  Me being who I am moved in clo