The People Who Live In My Head: Me Too...

The People Who Live In My Head: Me Too...: I know, I know.   The Me Too movement is hot right now and my eye rolling is not considered appropriate.   Women are taking a stand and dema...

Me Too...

I know, I know.  The Me Too movement is hot right now and my eye rolling is not considered appropriate.  Women are taking a stand and demanding to be heard.  That’s a good thing.  But doesn’t everyone deserve to be heard?

Human beings can be awful to one another.  That’s a fact.  Human beings have always been awful to one another.  While I’m a firm believer that most humans are good, terrible things do happen.  I understand that and accept that as fact but I’ve never been okay with victim mentality.

I’m a child of the 70s and I first hit the working world in the early 80s.  Not only was that a time of 4 martini lunches and recreational cocaine habits, but I was also in the Spring Break center of the Southeast where debauchery was the norm.  I’m also female.  There is no question that my younger self was leered at, grabbed at, backed into corners, and groped by any number of customers, coworkers, and bosses – just as my mother’s younger self was chased around the desk by lecherous bosses and forced to endure endless butt grabs and inappropriate comments.

Why did these things happen?  Not because men are monsters.  Not because women are weak prey.  They happened simply because humans are flawed and bad behavior breeds in the environments that allow it to grow.  Humans make mistakes.  We make decisions about our actions and, sometimes, those decisions are not the best ones.  Thankfully, humans are also capable of evolving and will if they are encouraged to do so.

That is where Me Too gets it right.  If bad behavior is to be stopped, it first has to be identified and rules must be made clear.  That’s how we learn and that’s how we grow.  My issue with this movement is the time lapsed between an action and a claim of action.  Time changes memories.

As I mentioned, I have absolutely been on the receiving end of bad behavior.  But right there, in each and every moment, I spoke up.  I said no.  I pushed back.  I very occasionally threw a punch.  And every single time, I told someone.  Immediately.  Not ten years later.  Not a month later.  Right there and then in the moment, I spoke up.

I’m not saying that these women who have come forward in the Me Too movement are lying.  I’m not saying they weren’t treated badly.  I’m not saying that the men involved didn’t do anything wrong.  I’m just saying that I don’t think Victim movements are very helpful to anyone.

When every woman who has ever felt objectified stands and screams “Me Too!”, it waters down the pain of those who have actually been victimized.  Poor choices sometimes lead to places you didn’t intend to be.  Ideally, we walk away from those places a bit wiser and make better choices.  Sometimes, the ability to leave is taken away and bad things happen.  Those are the times when a person who has been on the receiving end of those bad things should stand up and speak out.

Last week, I was the lucky recipient of a jury summons.  I was called upon, I was questioned, and I was selected as a juror.  The case, unfortunately, was a rape case.  A 5 year old rape case.  For days, I sat with 12 other jurors, listening to detailed testimony, reviewing evidence, hearing witness statements, and taking extensive notes.  It was very clear to me that the plaintiff believed fully that she was raped.  The defendant believed fully that all relations were consensual.  Certainly, police reports and emergency room exams made it seem clear that the woman was upset and had sexual contact.  Reports and exams can’t say that those things were forced but the other evidence can prove or disprove it.

Based on what I saw, what I heard, and what I didn’t hear, I believe that this young woman had been drinking on her birthday and was alone because her friends had to leave and the boyfriend she lived with was sick at home.  She encountered this man who wanted to party with her in the wee hours of the morning.  She got in his car, with her cell phone in hand, and went to several places in attempt to find more drinks.  Eventually, they ended up at his apartment, where she entered on her own, cell phone in hand, and continued to drink.  Things progressed without her ever saying "No" until, at some point, her boyfriend woke up and realized she wasn’t there so he texted her.  She panicked, ran out of the apartment, and began yelling and screaming until neighbors came out, leaving a scared and confused man behind.  Much drama ensued, police were called, the man was arrested and she was taken to the hospital.

After collecting all of this information, when we were sent to the jurors’ room, the judge announced that I was chosen as the alternate so I didn’t have to stay for the deliberation and verdict unless another juror dropped out.  I waited an entire day to hear that a verdict was decided and the man was found guilty and sentenced to 20 years.  I’m still unsettled by it all. 

In closing arguments, both attorneys referenced Me Too and Time’s Up.  Was that enough to sway what 12 intelligent people would have decided without it?  Was that enough to take this man away from his wife and 2 young children (remember this case was from 5 years prior) for 20 years?  Had I not been dismissed as the spare, would I have been able to convince the others on his behalf?  I don’t know and that makes me sad.

I believe that this young woman regretted her decision to go with this man that morning.  I believe that she realized she’d have to answer for those decisions to her boyfriend.  Her story didn’t fit the places, timelines, and evidence presented, but she’s had 5 years to convince herself that she was in the right and that she was raped.  Regret is a powerful thing.  But regret does not equal rape.

The timing of this case was unfortunate.  Many lives have been shattered by one person’s story, just as we’re seeing careers and reputations being damaged in the daily news.  I absolutely believe that some bad people did some bad things, and I’m happy that those  women are finding the courage to fight.  Sadly, too many other women are using Me Too to lash out for vengeance, attention, or both. 

I appreciate that these things are no longer being swept under the rug and women are able to tell their stories and be heard.  But single voices can easily get lost in crowds so I hope we as a society can find a way to hear individual stories, consider what we’ve been told, and base our opinions on real information.  That’s how we can move forward and evolve as a human family.  I further hope that those who have been a victim of something terrible can find a way to make that word past tense.  I have been on the receiving end of bad behavior.  I was a victim in that moment when the bad behavior happened.  I don’t wear a label and carry it around.  I DO carry lessons learned.  I do talk to my daughters about these things so they don’t have to learn these lessons the hard way.

Do you want a world where we don’t have to be afraid?  Do you want a world where we’re all respected and we can speak our truths? 

Me Too.  So that’s my goal and I don’t think a protest sign is going to get me there.

 

Lines In The Sand...

Here’s the thing about lines in the sand:  they are, by nature, temporary.  No matter how much focus is placed while drawing a line, a change in the wind or the flow of the water can easily make it disappear.

I think that rings true with more than just a simple mark in the sand, it’s true of division of any kind.  Separation goes against nature.  Division is counter to growth.  So why do we humans keep trying to make it work?  Whether we’re choosing sides based on gender, race, ethnicity, religion, class, or any number of other arbitrary labels, how does division serve us?  How does it serve anyone?

This is not new, obviously.  Prejudice, judgment, fear, and ignorance have drawn lines between people since the beginning of time.  Fortunately, those willing to open their eyes to see, notice that it’s pretty easy to cross the lines and greet those on the other side.  This is how we’ve evolved.  It’s how we’ve learned.  It’s how we’ve grown.  But so many just keep drawing the lines and keep dividing.

I’d like to think that, in the 21^st century, this would no longer be such an issue.  With our ability to communicate so quickly, to travel so easily, and to interact with strangers outside of our own communities, we should be able leave those issues behind us.  Instead, the ability to speak so instantly seems to be revealing the fears and bigotry that never actually disappeared; they only hid behind polite facades.

It seems that so much of this separation is self-inflicted.  Standing in solidarity with a group of like minded cohorts can feel empowering.  When one is marching in protest against something, it can be easy to forget to be for something, too.  Likewise, focus on gender, faith, race, and so on can separate us more than it unites us.

Human beings – ALL human beings - are stronger together.  United in our love for one another, united in understanding, united in support, we can withstand any storm.  When you think about the wind that blows away the sand where lines are drawn, instinct is to seek protection.  The strongest blankets are woven from many strands.  As a bonus, those blankets woven from many different strands are not only stronger but more interesting, too.

Think about some of the slang we use to describe those we disagree with or those who loudly advertise their disinterest in the well-being of others.  We call them “blowhards”, “windbags”, “blusterers” and so on.  So is it any surprise that they deliver the gusts that do the most damage?

When the winds blow against me, I find that weaving together with other strands – human strands – is what keeps me safe and warm.  On the other side of the chill that the wind brings, I trust that the lines drawn will no longer be visible so humanity can continue to walk together with no concern for dividing footprints in the sand.

 

 

It's Not The El Dorado...

The house that has been our wonderful home for the past 17 years has been revolting against us.  All normal wear and tear, really, but our family has aways been prone to the “when it rains, it pours” approach to challenges.  Of course, a 27 year old water heater was going to go.  Air conditioners don’t last like they used to.  Carpets and furniture need life support.  And so on and so on.

Carpets were removed and beds and couches left the building with plans for flooring and more comfortable seating.  Unfortunately, our perfect storm hit at a time when my income stopped flowing, so all improvement plans were put on hold for better days.  Fair enough.  Floors can wait and we’re comfortable enough on temporary furniture.  We knew the HVAC was struggling but we survived the hottest part of August and September and felt victorious!

And then…then the water heater threw in the towel.  Or, I guess I should say WE threw in the towels to prevent the steady stream of water from getting to the vintage amplifiers in the room on the other side of the wall.  We were lucky!  Well, we were lucky that we caught the breakdown before we left the house (as we were about to do).  We stopped the hemorrhaging and forgot about it for a few hours.

Pulling back into the neighborhood, we remembered there was work to do…and there was school tomorrow for two girls who could really use a shower.  Thankfully, I am my mother’s daughter and those instincts guided me into action.  Large pots of water hit the stove and old fashioned baths saved the evening.  Then, financial juggling commenced and 12 days later, we had hot water once again.

Obviously, none of these life hiccups are all that unusual.  That’s part of home ownership.  That’s the luck of the draw sometimes.  That’s life.  We survived it and, in the grand scheme of things, I’d choose that challenge over many others and, I hope, our children learned something about life by observing the way we handled it.

When I talked to my brother Mike about our latest adventure, he said that when faced with residential breakdowns, he tells himself “It’s not the El Dorado, so I’m doing okay.”  I laughed, because I think of the El Dorado often – usually when dealing with a minor inconvenience and wondering how my mother did it.

I’ve mentioned the El Dorado before, usually as a funny little aside when talking about other adventures.  As an adult looking back at myself as a child, it IS kind of a funny adventure we had.  As an adult looking back as a mother, I am astounded by my own mother.  We were kids and kids are resilient.  How did SHE survive?  More to the point, how did she survive with her sanity and sense of humor intact?

Let me walk you through this.  My mother had lived in the same town all of her life.  This place was home to her parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and half of her siblings.  One of her brothers was in Maryland, preparing to open the first of many restaurants and he thought she needed to come along to help him.  I can’t pretend to know what moved her to pick up everything she knew and head east, but that’s what she did.  What we all did.

First, we needed a place to land, so my oldest brother Tim headed to Baltimore with my uncle to scout landing pads.  Tim found the perfect home for our family - a cool house in a great neighborhood, close to schools and everything a family would hope for.  All that was left was to load up the station wagon and complete the move.  So my mom, her nine children aged 5 (me) to 16, along with two extra teenage boys, said our goodbyes to our hometown loved ones and away we went!  I was little, but I was excited for this adventure and I remember the drive pretty clearly.  I remember plotting with my brothers about what our new life would be like.  I remember finally seeing our new house in our new neighborhood and I remember walking though the knee-high grass in the yard.

That’s all I remember because that’s as far as we got.  After the long drive, with a car load of energetic kids, we were met with the news that we would not be moving in to this new and exciting home.  Again, I was 5, so I don’t recall what happened next.  There was an issue with financial paperwork and we had no place to go.  No home back in the home town.  No home in the new town.  11 kids – including 2 extra brooding teenage boys – now what?

My uncle made some calls and worked out a temporary landing spot for us.  Next door to the restaurant he was opening, was a motel called the El Dorado Motor Lodge.  A closed, completely vacant for a very long time motor lodge with limited plumbing and limited electricity.  But, we’re on an adventure, right?  Besides, this was only a hiccup on the trail, right?  Right!?!?

What I remember is the fun.  We had free range of countless motel rooms to explore!  We were experienced campers so we can do this!  And we’ve got a roof over our heads and actual beds instead of sleeping bags on the ground!  What I remember is my brothers sneaking me in to the movie theater across the highway to see Jaws!  I remember elaborate hide and seek games.  I remember dumpster diving and finding treasures like notepads and pencils.  Fun!

Looking back, what I also remember is that we were there for about 8 weeks.  Our new unavailable home was 25 miles away.  My mother drove us all 25 miles every morning to the elementary, junior high, and high schools.  I was in kindergarten which was only half day.  So after driving us to school, she drove back to try and untangle the paper nightmare that was keeping us homeless.  Then she picked me up at lunchtime.  We’d go to a park to eat a sandwich and use the playground until it was time to retrieve my siblings.  Then back to the El Dorado, where she pulled groceries from the camping coolers that we had, to assemble dinner using an electric skillet, an electric popcorn popper, and an electric coffee pot.  We also had a camp stove, but I don’t remember using that inside.  After dinner, dishes were washed in the bathtub in one room while homework was done, showers were taken and grumbling was done in other rooms.  Buckets of old bath water flushed toilets.  Extension cords ran to powerless rooms for those few with power.

Eight weeks.  Two months.  Eleven kids.  100 miles or more a day.  I never saw her cry.  If she did, she did it out of our line of vision.  Life at the El Dorado Motor Lodge was an adventure.  For me.  I was five.  For my mother, I can only now imagine that it was a hell that most of us can’t fathom.

Things worked out.  We finally got in to our fabulous new house in Baltimore (furnished, in part, by dressers and tables acquired at the motel).  We were in a great neighborhood, surrounded by all the wonders of a bustling city, and we made friends with kids from our block who are still in our lives to this day.  I don’t know the behind-the-scenes details of those El Dorado days, but I believe that my entire family is stronger for having lived it. 

There’s no question that my mother quietly provided that strength.  That she never *showed* us any chinks in the armor allowed us all to carry on with faith that all is right in the world.

So, when my house stages a revolution and I want to scream and cry, I think back to those times and remind myself that It’s Not The El Dorado.  This, too, shall pass.

Splinters In The Toe Of Humanity...

My house is undergoing a bit of a transformation.  Long overdue repairs and cosmetic updates, mostly, but it’s enough to feel the ripples throughout the daily flow.  In preparation for the new flooring that will come, we pulled up all of the 17 year old carpet that lived through 2 kids, 2 dogs, one cat, and a thousand spilled chocolate milks, magic markers, and muddy footprints. 

In the interim, this leaves us with rough plywood subflooring upon which to walk.  It’s a step in the process, so we’re not complaining about the disturbance.  However, we still have a household of active bare feet.  Bare feet + rough plywood = frequent splinters.  That’s the cost of progress and we have tweezers at the ready.

Usually, this is a problem with a simple solution.  Shine a light on the area and eject the offending intruder.  Sometimes, however, the offender is more persistent and will not leave easily but the evil has been identified, so the solution shifts to applying healing salve and monitoring the situation until the healthy body ejects the intruder on its own.

Hmm, this seems familiar, doesn’t it?

Unless you’ve been under a rock for the last several months – and, honestly, I can’t say I’d blame you – you are aware of some of the bigger disturbances happening in our bigger homes – our country and our planet.  Splinters in our foundations.

The thing about splinters is that they arrive unannounced.  Even if we know we’re walking on rough wood, we assume that the care in our steps will be enough to prevent attack.  But the splinters see our tender skin and get under it in effort to show their might and deliver their painful messages.  They think they’ve accomplished something but all they’ve really done is gotten our attention and caused us to shine a light on their hurtful acts so they can be ejected.  If they don’t go easily, a salve of love and healing will drive them out.

Likewise, when rough hateful groups show up and attempt to cause harm, the solution is to shine a light on them, identify them, and drive them out with a show of love and human healing.  That strips them of any power they may have thought they had and strengthens the true power – LOVE.

Sometimes, we are called upon in other ways to show our loving humanity.  In the past couple of weeks, Mother Nature descended upon us in the form of hurricanes and, instead of splinters, we were attacked with water.  Lives were lost, homes were lost, but LOVE was never lost.  In the hours and hours of news reports covering two hurricanes in a very short time, that’s where the focus lies – the loving humanity.

Businesses opened their doors to provide free shelter.  Families took in strangers.  Celebrities raised funds to support recovery.  Neighbors gathered food and clothing for strangers who lost everything.  A millionaire hunkered down on his private island not to save his things but to save animals.  You know what these news reports never talk about when reporting these acts?  Politics or religion.  Just humanity.  Maybe that’s the lesson here.  I hope the lessons carry forward.

Just like my human body will eject an ugly and annoying splinter that happens in the midst of my home's transformation, perhaps we should look to our humanity to eject the Ugly in our daily world.  Shine the light, folks.  Apply the loving salve  Heal.  Transform.

Nostalgia Burgers...

The old adage says “you can’t go home again”.  I disagree.  True, you can’t go back in time and experience things the same way and the past is not a healthy place to reside, but there’s nothing wrong with taking a peek at the Used To Bes and Once Weres.

I moved enough as a kid that I didn’t have my own connection to my family’s hometown.  I certainly have memories created during summer visits but that was vacation for me.  I loved my grandfather’s tour of all the sites and places that were important to him.  “Over there’s where the barn used to be. It’s not there anymore.”  I sat on barstools next to him, drinking my YooHoo, listening to him talk to his buddies about all of those places that used to be.  They mattered.  They mattered to him because they were part of his life story.  They mattered to me because they were part of my life story, too.

As adults, ,my siblings and I shared ice cold Stag beers at the bar that used to be the Bikini Club…which used to be the school house where our father went to school as a boy.  Sure, many years have passed and many bodies have crossed that threshold since those school days, but I believe some of those memories linger in the ethers.

The first place that I really called MY home – the town where I spent my formative years and shaped the Terri that I am today is a place that most people only visit from time to time.  Before MTV descended upon us, the beach of my heart was a sleepy little haven between Labor Day and Memorial Day with a noisy party thumping during the summer in between.  All of my first big moments happened there.  First job.  First kiss.  First car.  First place of my own.

I’m lucky enough to be able to return to that beach every once in a while.  Naturally, the beauty of the place is the main draw, but I can’t help but run through the Memory Tour.  It feels good to glance back sometimes.  And now, with my kids next to me, maybe they’ll understand a bit about me beyond “Mom”, in the same way I saw my grandfather as more than just my grandfather when he reminisced.

Sadly, many of “my” places now only live in the land of Used To Be.  The Pier 99 Motor Lodge, where I was a 13 year old maid (hardest physical job of my life) is no more.  In its place is yet another towering condominium.  But Pineapple Willies - which I watched being constructed as I squeaked my toes in the sand behind it - is still going strong.  Miracle Strip Amusement park has been gone for a few years now.  The pier radio tower where I first thought “I could be a DJ” is probably not even a memory for many of the families who visit now.  The Treasure Ship perished in a fire.  Dracula’s Castle gave way to giant souvenir shops.  Their absence doesn’t stop me from pointing out where they Used To Be to my eye-rolling husband and kids.

Last weekend, I had an opportunity to visit my beach again.  After I squeaked my toes in the sand, I promised my girls a visit to my hometown anchor – Funland – for a Nostalgia Burger and maybe a round of Goofy Golf.  We only made it to Funland but that was enough to restore my soul.

You see, when I lived there, the roads were uncluttered.  A drive on the main road meant there was beautiful visible beach on one side and small houses and mom and pop businesses on the other.  Perfection, really, but for teenagers, we could always find fault in something.  There was no high school on the beach in those days, so early morning loooong bus rides or a beat up old car were necessary.  There was no McDonald’s, no fast food at all. 

But there was Funland.  Steps from my front door, I could meet up with my friends, eat a delicious hamburger, have some ice cream, and play a little skeeball while figuring out where to go next.  Go drink beer in the dinosaur’s belly at Goofy Golf?  Catch up with the skaters at the pier?  Both?

 

The first time my husband’s band was booked at Pineapple Willie’s, I told them to go have a Nostalgia Burger at Funland.  They saw the beauty of the place right away.  Any time I am within an hour of the place, you’d better believe I’ll make it there.  It never disappoints.  The moment I walk in, the bells ringing and games clanging take me right back to 16. 

My kids see the magic of the place.  OK, they’re probably just humoring me so I give them game tokens but they do appreciate the snack bar.  They surely cringe when I talk to the folks behind the counter and call my Nostalgia Burger a Nostalgia Burger, but that’s what it is and I will honor that!  They pretend to ignore me when I strike up a conversation with the same maintenance guy that has been there since 1982 but I think they’re also paying attention.  These things matter.

This place, with its burgers and cheap beer and pinball helped to shape me.  It is my hope that I will always be able to get a Nostalgia Burger and that, one day, my kids will have their very own memories of the place.  At the very least, I trust that *they* will have a place for their own version of Nostalgia Burgers.

 

Embrace The Mad Genius...

Recently, my family was on an impromptu vacation, wandering the hills and sites of Chattanooga.  It’s close to home and one of those places that we always drive through on the way to someplace else, so why not?

 Chattanooga, if you’re not familiar, has a landscape of mountains and valleys and is under 150 miles from Atlanta, Nashville, Knoxville, Birmingham, and so on.  Geography historically made it a desirable place to set up camp.  First for the Cherokees, and then for soldiers and miners.  So, my family set up camp (in a motel with a pool and breakfast buffet) for a few days. 

Mother Nature did a fabulous job designing the area but human nature is to tinker and make changes and improvements that suit whims or needs of the moment.  So while the caverns, waterfalls, and mountain ridges were pretty great on their own, man made them accessible and more comfortable for other humans to enjoy.  Not so coincidentally, these adaptations created money flow. 

As a tourist, I appreciate these “upgrades” and embrace them.  However, because my brain works the way it does, I always find myself marveling at the creativity and tenacity of the people behind the technology instead of the natural beauty in front of me.  We know why the railroad was built.  We know why and how roads were constructed.  We can kind of understand the need for the cable rail that goes a mile up the side of a mountain. 

Tour guides can explain the reasoning behind the technology and can talk about the challenges or obstacles on the way to the top, or to the bottom to the falls.  But they never really shed light on the mad genius behind it all.  That’s the tour I want to take. 

What made that chemist tunnel under ground for 17 hours in the first place?  When the first hang glider strapped himself to wings and launched off the side of a mountain, how sure of himself was he?   

I think maybe I come from a long line of natural tinkerers.  Grandparents, uncles, brothers, and cousins who, when met with a problem, figure out a way to keep getting the work done.  It’s not so uncommon.  My grandmother figured out how to make her own tin cookie cutters (and sold them to neighborhood housewives) when such things weren’t readily available during war rationing.  My grandfather, working in a meat packing company, suggested that White Castle poke small holes in their burger patties to speed up line cooks (he received a cash reward and they are still made that way), and my mother can create the perfect box or packaging for whatever she needs with cardboard scraps. 

Those are all very practical things.  But what about the weird and/or fun stuff?  That’s where my brothers come in.  Brother Ken once created a very elaborate system to reach around a corner and across a room for the sole purpose of swiping frosting off of a cake that was being closely guarded.  Why?  Probably just because he could and seemed like fun.  That was the only reward. 

I’m always most impressed by the people who create not out of need, but for the fun of it.  I wish I had that in me.  I absolutely have the creativity and have countless zany ideas in any given moment.  I just don’t have the drive to see it to fruition.

 

When we strolled through Rock City and heard the tale of the man who turned a rough natural treasure into a fairyland garden, I was moved by the vision of this local guy who recognized a resource and turned it into something grand.  Perhaps I was just in the right frame of mind to notice, in one of the many gift shops, this little gem!

It is exactly what it appears to be:  a retired cigarette machine – the kind once found in every bar or restaurant in the country – but with a new purpose!  This particular machine is an “Art-O-Mat”, vending handmade goodies from local artists.  Hand crafted soaps, oil paintings (which, I imagine, are probably small), jewelry, etc.  There was even a Mystery selection, so who knows what your five bucks could have gotten!

 

Now, my focus was off of the rocks and rope bridges.  I wanted to know about the mad genius behind this object!  Because this is just the kind of thing I would create in my head but that would never actually happen.  1. I’m lazy by nature and 2. I’m easily distracted so the first time my idea was rejected, I’d certainly drop it. 

I think the world would be a much happier place if we appreciated and encouraged our mad geniuses more.  True, this recycled vending machine isn’t solving world hunger or global warming, but it’s definitely spreading whimsy and encouraging the growth of ideas into reality.  And who knows, maybe it’s the thinkers of this variety that are going to save us all!