Oh, The Humanity!...

If you’ve been anywhere near a television or the internet in the last few days, chances are that you’ve heard (and probably formed opinions) about Snowpocalypse 2014 in Atlanta and all over the south.  Meanwhile, bigger, more important things are happening and I wish everyone would stop talking about What Went WRONG!?!?!? And start focusing on everything that went RIGHT.

I’m one of those people who abandoned a car on an impassable roadway.  My sister’s normally 10-minute commute lasted 6 hours before she gave up and walked the rest of the way home.  My mother spent more than 8 hours in her car before finally, thankfully safely, arriving at my home for a toilet, food and bed (in that order).  I have friends who didn’t make it home at all and spent the night in their cars on the highway, there were children who spent the night in their school gymnasiums because their parents couldn’t get to them.  People took shelter where they could and improvised in whatever ways possible.

If you’re far away and seeing this on TV, with newscasters tsk-tsking the Powers That Be for letting this happen and laying out their vision of what should have been done, you may be nodding your heads in agreement and laughing at “those poor dumb southerners” who can’t handle a little snow. 

I understand the rush to judgment.  I do.  I’m not interested in discussing the politics of it all, other than to say that more people are “in charge” than the 2 faces you see on CNN and none of them were able to shove egos aside and communicate with one another.  I don’t think any of them have a direct line to Mother Nature so while they certainly knew ahead of time that weather was coming, no one could absolutely know how bad/hard/fast it would arrive.  When it was time to make the important calls, my belief is that everyone remembered those times when they did react and nothing happened so they were mocked, criticized and lost re-elections.  The ego is like an elephant.  It never forgets.

As for “poor dumb southerners” who can’t handle a little snow, I will just say this:  I have lived many places, and driven in many conditions - from hurricanes to blizzards.  This was not about snow.  What happens in the south doesn’t happen everywhere.  When it snows, it melts the moment it hits pavement.  When people drive, it becomes slush.  Then it cools quickly and that liquid immediately becomes ice.  I’m not talking about “patches” of ice.  No.  A Zamboni driver could comfortably travel for miles on the solid sheets that have developed.

Now, imagine those miles and miles of solid ice sheets draped over the steep hills and sharp curves that make up the landscape of Georgia, of Atlanta, of the south in general.  And on those hills, on those curves, there are forests of trees that ensure that sunlight will not break through to the ice, meaning there is no respite in sight.  That’s what “a little snow” does to us.  No amount of experience, no amount of advice, no amount of luxury 4-wheel-drive can conquer that.

So that’s the explanation for what you saw on tv or the internet from the comfort of your homes.  Let me tell you what you didn’t see.

When Human Beings are faced with challenges, their HUMANITY shines through.  That’s not always a positive, but MOST of the time it is.   What I believe – fully, completely, 100% - is that human beings are, at their core, mostly really good.  When people LET them be good, they can be great.

We poor dumb southerners got into our cars early, thinking that was the responsible thing to do:  to get home and off the road before it gets worse and becomes a problem.  I think we were all surprised to see just how many people shared our thoughts and how much of a problem it had already become.   I had a way to go, and knew it would not be an easy trek.  Almost immediately, cars were sliding.  Trucks were sliding.  Everyone was sliding.  But you know what?  Everyone was being patient.  Everyone was focused.  Everyone was careful.  I didn’t see a single accident happen.  Because we weren’t clueless southerners at the wheel, we were simply human beings doing the best we could, mindful of what was happening with all of the other human beings around us.

I won’t pretend that I didn’t enlist every angel and guide I could to lend me a hand, but I got pretty far.  On the last major hill, it became clear that I wasn’t going any farther.  After an hour on the side of the road, and many lame attempts at movement, I grabbed a blanket from the backseat, secured the car, and began walking (in not exactly appropriate for the weather shoes) in the direction of home.  I thought that if I could just get a little closer, my husband and kids could come and get me, but I could manage the entire walk if necessary.

I got about 30 feet before I heard “Ma’am!  Do you want a ride?”  There stood a teenage boy, about 16 or 17, offering to rescue me.  He was joined by another.  They offered to push my car to get it going.  Then they realized that wouldn’t be safe, so I accepted the ride and was led to a man waiting in a front-wheel drive vehicle, ready to save the day.  While I sat in the toasty warm backseat, I learned that he was the uncle of one of the boys.  His sister asked him to go pick up his nephew and friend from their Catholic high school and he saw how many people needed help along the way.

This man sent those two young men out to push and assist numerous cars.  He coached them on how to approach the drivers, what to say and how to guide them to safety.  Then he carefully drove me to a safe place to await my husband.  He’d have taken me all the way home if I let him but I didn’t want to put him out any more.  I thanked them profusely and gave my gloves to one of the boys who was rescuing damsels in distress with his bare hands.

I know that when they left me, they surely helped others, because that was where their hearts were focused.  That man taught those boys more about humanity than any classroom could ever teach and I told my girls all about them so they, too, could understand that people can be so good.

Once home, I learned that my sister was still out there.  My mother was out there.  My sister was nearly home when she found a safe place to park and walked the rest of the way.  My mother turned around so she could come to my house when it was clear she’d never make it to her own.  She’d been in the car for hours, she was tired, she was hungry.  She had to pee, dammit, so when we realized she was very close to us, my husband and I thought we’d go meet her ½ mile away and bring her home.  We didn’t have to go far to realize we were in too deep and not going to get to her.  Just as we (husband and children) were about to abandon a second car, three men in a big truck came to pull us out. 

These young men said they were home watching the news and thought they could go out and help people, so that’s what they were doing.  They got us going, we thanked them, and they went on to help others.  A few blocks and another steep hill later, we realized we weren’t going to reach my mother.  So we began to walk back home until a familiar pick up truck came along and insisted that they drive us home.  Junior, Moses, and their friend-whose-name-suddenly-escapes-me, were sweet, kind and dedicated to helping anyone who would let them.

Meanwhile, social media was lighting up with people reaching out that they could help, that they knew someone who needed help, or that they needed help themselves.  My friends walked through the ice and snow to retrieve a mutual friend who was stranded at a nearby hotel (with no rooms at the inn) and give her warm respite for the night.  Similar stories popped up all over my news feed.  People who had the luxury of being home loaded up wagons with water and food and delivered it to people stuck in their cars.

A facebook page dedicated to those in need during this chaos took off and people reached out to help wherever they could.  Strangers were brought in to become friends.  Businesses kept their doors open for those seeking shelter for the night.  Connections were made to get people what they needed.  Human connections.  And isn’t that the point of it all?

Over the next days and weeks, news casters will be talking about something else.  Politicians will move on to a different crisis for which to shift blame.  Snowpocalypse 2014 will fade to a distant memory and will only come up as a Remember When during the next time.  But *I* will not stop talking about the important part:  The Humanity.

I won’t forget the Dentist and the Catholic school boys.  I won’t forget Moses and Junior and their friend (and I’ll probably remember his name when I finish typing this).  I won’t let my kids forget about all the human beings who reached out to help other human beings simply because they could. 

For anyone who’s read this far, I hope that you’ll remember, too.  Names aren’t important but the hearts and the deeds are and if you look beyond the political blame game, you will see hundreds upon hundreds of similar stories.  (see link below for examples) Human connections, helping where they can, accepting help when they need it. 

 

Humanity at work.

 http://www.buzzfeed.com/kimberlyt/the-silver-lining-of-atlantas-snowpocalypse-2014-w6l

 

Curse Of The Capable Woman...

The other day, I attended a Chamber of Commerce luncheon for women executives.  This is not a thing I’d normally do for a good time, but it was my first week at my new job and I thought it would be a fine way to get my foot in the door with some people I may need to know down the road.  At the very least, there’d be food!

I entered the room prepared to cringe at forced female bonding.  Roaring is just not my thing and I don’t need anyone to tell me that I am valuable or worthy even though I’m a woman.  Thankfully, it wasn’t as “Rah-Rah-Ladies” as I feared and I’m glad I went, if only for the handshakes that came from it.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t occasionally roll my eyes at Words Of Empowerment from the keynote speaker, but it wasn’t terrible.

I suppose it has more to do with my upbringing than anything else, but I’ve never struggled to find my footing as a woman in the world.  I’ve always known that I could do whatever I wanted to do and never felt that I had to fight to prove it to anyone.

Certainly, I know that my grandmother was born in a time when women were not permitted to vote.  When her rights were at last given to her, she used them.  She voted.  She drove a car when few other women of her time even attempted.  When the Catholic church decided it was OK for women to wear pants, she never turned back!  And when I was a child, she told me I could do anything.  She believed it, so why wouldn’t I?

I know that my mother, and women of her generation, went to work with the understanding that a lecherous boss would likely grab her ass or make lewd comments and that she would only go so far or get paid so much.  She also told her daughters that they could do whatever they wanted.  She believed it, so of course we did, too.

So my sisters and I – and most of the women of our generation – didn’t ever think that we  Couldn’t or that we Shouldn’t because we were female.  We learned our history.  We remembered the importance of what happened before us.  It’s important that we know it and appreciate it, but it just isn’t our burden to carry.

As a result of those who forged the path before us, I’m very secure in who I am and what my capabilities are.   The women in my family are Strong, Independent and Capable of taking care of themselves and the women that I choose to surround myself with are also strong and capable.  That’s why we’re friends.

So there, in that room full of women who possibly needed to be reminded of their value, I couldn’t help wondering how many of them have The Curse.  My grandmother had The Curse.  My mother had The Curse.  Many of my friends have The Curse.

I’m talking about a little known ailment that plagues strong, independent, self-sufficient and capable women all over the world.  It strikes at the worst possible times.  I don’t know if there’s an official scientific or Latin name, but in my circle, it’s known as The Curse Of The Capable Woman or CCW Syndrome.

My grandmother was about as Capable as any woman could be.  She was strong and healthy and did it all.  She did the family laundry in an old-school ringer washer in the basement of their home and then carried the wet laundry up the stairs and hung it on the line outside.  Sometime in her mid-90s, she told my grandfather that it had become too much for her to handle.  He responded by telling her that all she had to do was carry it up one step at a time: Lift, rest, step up, lift, rest, step up.    As you might imagine, this response did not please my grandmother.

Now, my grandfather wasn’t trying to NOT help her.  She asked for help and he offered advice that he sincerely thought was helpful.   I can’t really blame him for getting it wrong.  It’s not as though he had a lot of practice answering her pleas for help.  In their seven decades of marriage, she made it very clear that she could do it.  Whatever “it” was.  So when the time came for her to ask for assistance, she was not taken seriously.  He didn’t know how to respond.  My grandmother suffered from The Curse Of The Capable Woman.

I don’t know that my mother intended to be so strong and independent and capable, but fate made it necessary.  We children knew she could do whatever needed to be done.  Men in her life loved her for her ability to handle anything…until those rare occasions when she needed to ask them to lend a hand.  Then she was met with blank stares, slack jaws, and little action.  My mother suffered from CCW Syndrome.

It takes a strong man to partner with a Capable Woman.  They have to learn when to accept “I can do it” as truth.  If she says “I can do it”, she means it.  Or at least it means she really wants to try to do it herself.  For a secure and confident man, I think that’s probably an easy thing to figure out.  The problem lies in those very rare moments when she says “I can’t do this”, “I can’t do this by myself” or “I need help with this.”

Somehow those statements don’t register.  They go unheard, misunderstood, or – at some times – taken as a joke!  Honestly, you can’t blame a guy for not getting it.  If his partner has conditioned him to know just how completely capable she is, there’s no natural instinct to believe she might not be.

I’ve lectured my friends about the Curse.  Many of them are afflicted.  They are women in control of their lives.  They have good, loving and supportive partners.  Then that moment arises when they need help with something.  They wrestle with their own pride and ask for help.  And they don’t get it.  Not because the partner is a bastard.  Not because he’s incapable or clueless.  Not because he doesn’t want to assist.  Simply because The Curse has made the call unintelligible.

I’m not a man-basher.  I love men.  Men are not the problem.  The Curse is the issue here.  The Curse is self-afflicted and only a Capable Woman can lift her own Curse. 

One day, when I’m in charge of the world and someone invites me to be the keynote speaker at a luncheon,  I’m not going to tell women that they’re good enough to succeed in business.  I’m not going to tell them they’re worthy of whatever they want.  I’m just going to tell them to continue to be Capable, but don’t be stubborn about it.  Just because you CAN do it all yourself, doesn’t mean you SHOULD do it all yourself.  Letting someone help you is not a sign of weakness.  On the contrary, allowing someone to help takes strength and courage and being open enough to ask for that help can break The Curse.

 

 

 

 

 

Movin' On Up...

Every year on New Years Eve, I try to find a moment of quiet (between neighborly fireworks) for a bit of meditation to reflect on the year behind me and get a grip on the one ahead of me.  As it happens, I’ve learned that the message I seek for myself usually expands to those close to me as well.  Since the blogosphere is probably already littered with Happy New Year posts, I thought I may as well share the message I got for 2014.

Anyone who knows me certainly knows by now that messages come to me in really kooky ways. I get cartoon images. I get movie scenes. Whatever it takes to make me see, right?

In the case of 2014, it’s music. When I asked what this year is all about, I was immediately hit with the theme song to The Jeffersons. That’s right. “Movin’ on up!” That segued into the old Coca Cola commercial from the 70s with young shiny happy people holding hands and wishing to teach the world to sing. Next came a medley from the Beatles…a bit of “I Want To Hold Your Hand” and a bit of “Help!”

What the hootin’ hell holler? What am I supposed to do with that!?!

But then it started to make sense. We ARE moving up. All of us. For some of us, it’s obvious…jobs, opportunities, adventures. For some it’s more subtle, but it’s still upward movement.

So what about those damn Coca Cola kids? I think they just represent an opening. Open eyes. Open hearts. Open minds. Open to give. Open to receive. They’re all about love and sharing. So it makes sense how The Beatles tie in.

We’re all rising up. Not exactly a phoenix out of the ashes, but maybe a duck rising from a stagnant pond. There hasn’t been a lot of movement for most of us in a long time, but we’ve gotten restless enough to MAKE things happen. And a lot of that making things happen comes from reaching out to others.

When we think of reaching out, we usually think that means ASKING for help. But sometimes it really just means finally being willing to ACCEPT help. Sometimes help we didn’t see coming or didn’t know we needed.

My situation is pretty evident. After waiting and waiting and waiting for the Right and Perfect opportunity, the Right and Perfect job has presented itself.  There were a lot of disappointments along the way, but if I know anything, it’s that Right and Perfect doesn’t care abut my calendar or my watch, but it comes when it’s…well…right and perfect.

 
Even if it doesn’t *seem* like an obvious upward movement, it’s happening to all of us.
If we all look around, we’ll see that we’re gaining altitude. Each time we reach our hands out to help someone else. We’re rising. Each time we reach out to comfort, we’re rising.

So this year, lets keep our eyes, hearts, minds and hands open. The boosts upward are going to come from some unexpected sources, but they’re going to come. When you notice that you’re rising, take a minute to enjoy the view and be grateful. Then you’ll rise some more.

So there we go. George Jefferson, Coca Cola, and John/Paul/George/Ringo can’t be wrong!

Relax, Stop Thinking, Let Yourself Float...

I spent this cold, dreary and wet afternoon splashing around with my children in the indoor pool at the YMCA.  It’s not a regular place, but we had a free weeklong trial pass, so why not?  Splashing around in a pool is always a good thing.  Splashing around in a heated pool in December borders on great.

While the eight year old swam laps and made friends with the closest nine year old, I stayed in the more shallow end helping the five year old remember how to paddle and kick.  Next to us, another mother was trying to teach her youngster how to float on her back.

I heard her say “You have to stop thinking and just let it happen!” which led us grownups to chatting about what great advice that is for Life In General. 

We put so much emphasis on thought.  And that’s not a bad thing.  We want our children to be Thoughtful.  I try to teach them to think before they speak.  To think before they act.  To think about the consequences of their actions:  If I do X, then Y will probably happen.  I want them to think their way through problems and think about what is Real and what Matters.

While thinking is good, over-thinking is not something I want them to do at all.  Over-thinking leads to Worry.  It leads to Self-Doubt.  It leads to Fear.  And it leads to ending all progress.  One of my favorite quotes about worry (which can be applied to over-thinking) is: “Worry is like a rocking chair.  It gives you something to do, but you don’t get anywhere.”

When I think about the biggest leaps forward in my life…the greatest successes and the nicest surprises...they came as a result of just being in the moment.  That means there was no thought about whether I knew what I was doing, whether I was doing it right, whether anyone was watching, or what the result might be.  I just Did it.  Whatever IT was.  And IT worked out.

Every job I ever started, I had to walk in with my head up and eyes open and act like I knew what I was doing.  Suddenly, I realized I DID know what I was doing.   Whether I was juggling a project, teaching a class, cracking the mic to interview someone I never heard of, or figuring out how to feed my own babies, there was no point in thinking about it.  I just DID it.

When people ask my mother how she managed to raise nine decent human beings while working and living her life, she usually gives the same answer: “I don’t know, I just DID it.”

When you turn on the news and see a hero being interviewed after going into a fire to save someone, or jumping into a runaway car to stop it, don’t they always say something like “I didn’t really think about it, I just did it.” to the reporter?

As we head into the new year, I’m going to work a bit harder at reminding my kids – and remembering for myself – to just relax, stop thinking too much, and let yourself float.

 

I Hope There Was Pie...

When I think of my favorite times with my grandparents, there is a myriad of options to choose from.  Every moment is precious to me – learning at my grandmother’s side as she went about her day, watching my grandfather work outside, lunching privately with them at the breakfast nook – but very high on the list is Thanksgiving at Grandma and Grandpa’s.

Everyone loves Thanksgiving, right?  I don’t know if anyone loved it more than my grandfather.

Now, a Christ family Thanksgiving dinner was really pretty simple.  Your basic fare: turkey, potatoes, dressing (Grandma’s wild rice dressing!), and an assortment of pies.  Nothing that would impress Martha Stewart and, frankly, I don’t think Grandma would give a hoot about her opinion, anyway.

Grandma cared very much about table manners.  Every family meal required proper table setting, traditional Russian service etiquette and a blessing.  This example set the tone for all of us as we made our way out into the world.  A formal dinner like Thanksgiving was an opportunity to flex our manner muscles!

Grandpa cared mostly about the pie and the wine.  We are not a typical wine-with-dinner family.  Wine is for special occasions and, at holidays, was most often homemade with origins in a local (family owned) orchard.  Grandpa loved to share his wine with all present.  Even the little people.  So even though we were often relegated to the Kid’s Table in the kitchen, we still felt like a big part of the family gathering.  We knew we mattered as much as the tall folks in the dining room because our grandparents made it very clear that it was so.

When the dinner dishes were cleared, Grandpa sat, unmoved, waiting for his pie and coffee to be served to him.  Not patiently, but unmoved.  This was a good time for him to talk to the other grown ups still at the table (not much talking during the meal) or to pinch the cheek of a grandchild making her way to the toybox.  I believe that Grandpa was at his happiest there, at the head of his table, watching over his family and giving thanks for all that he had.

Certainly, he was not perfect.  I’m sure that his wife would have liked to clobber him from time to time.  I know his children still carry some battle scars from their childhood under his reign.  He had unreasonable expectations of his kids and never let them forget that they needed to do better.  His tough judgment and stern rule was, I think, typical of his era and the best that he knew to do. 

Still, my Grandpa was the greatest measure of a man I’ve ever known.  Whether I was conscious of it or not, I have spent my life comparing everyone I meet to him.

He was a devoted son, leaving school in 6^th grade to take care of his mother and 8 siblings when his father was too ill to work the farm himself.  He was a dedicated and loving brother.  I don’t know if he ever said the words out loud, but he made a commitment to his parents to always look after his younger brothers and sisters and that was a job he took seriously.

He was, of course, the most dedicated hard worker there was.  He taught me, by example, that NO job is beneath me.  There’s no such thing as “menial work”.  ALL work matters and ALL work is important, so whatever it is you are doing, do your very best.  He worked so hard because he wanted to give his family everything that he didn’t have for himself and he taught his children to work so that they could DO for themselves.

He was a man with no grey areas.  Right was Right and wrong was wrong.  There was no room for excuses or justification, so he did what he felt was Right.  Period.  He held his loved ones to those same standards.  If you can help someone, you should.  There’s no point in words if they’re unkind.  He lived it and embodied it and we all soaked it in.  My brother Rick has often said that when he’s called to make a big decision, he asks himself “What Would Grandpa Do?” and that makes the decision easy.  I find myself doing the same.

He loved his wife and never stopped looking at her with adoration.  She was no-nonsense and he was playful.  As their granddaughter, it brought me great joy to catch him reaching out to grab her butt and to hear her bark “Ach, Al!” and swat him away.  He lived and breathed for my grandmother and when she left this earth, his body may have still been here, but his spirit went with her.

For the last few years, he’s been trapped in a body in limbo.  Too strong to quit, but too weak to really function.  When it became clear that he couldn’t stay in his home, he had to go to a care facility.  With each day, the light in his eyes faded, he was more and more lost and his moments of lucidity were fewer and farther between. 

This year, he was able to leave the sad, gloomy home and go live with his eldest daughter.  In July, most of his family came together for his 100^th birthday.  The light in his eyes returned for a bit, as great-grandchildren hugged him, long-ago coworkers came to celebrate him, and there was no shortage of pie as he looked around at the legacy of Love and Life that he created.

I think most of us knew that would be our last visit with Grandpa.  I think he knew, too.  He returned to Fran’s home, where he had comfort and a window with a beautiful farmland view, but every day was harder than anyone would want it to be.

On Thanksgiving 2013, Fran’s children and grandchildren came to her house for the family dinner.  Grandpa visited with his grandchildren, soaked in the energy of the great grandchildren, had a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with PIE.  He spent the next day not feeling well, and by Saturday, he just wanted to nap.  So that’s what he did.  In his own room, surely with thoughts of pie in his head, and a smile in his heart, he closed his eyes and made his way to the table on the other side.

There, I believe, he was greeted by his parents and his siblings, who hugged him and said “Good job!”  That’s what he’s spent his life hoping to hear, I think. Surely, his wife and eldest son, Joe were there, too,  And I really hope there was pie.

So, Happy Thanksgiving, Grandpa.  Thanks for Giving us your love, your wisdom, and your hell when we needed it.  Your Legacy is Love, it is strong, and it is everlasting.

Don't Mind Me, I'm Just Making Pearls...

I recently heard an interview with Phyllis Diller, who was talking about comedy and the fact that so many of our beloved creative geniuses come from broken or dark places with dysfunction, neglect and turmoil.  She said “Let me put it this way…it takes an irritation to make a pearl in an oyster.”

I’ve often found the greatest wisdom comes from society’s clowns rather than from serious scholars, theologians or world leaders and there, in that one sentence, Ms. Diller knocked me over with a wrecking ball Reminder of Truth.  It’s not that she said anything new or unheard of, but 1.) she said it in such a way that it registered and 2.) She’s Phyllis Diller, queen of the crazy hair and cackling “Ha!”so the unexpected source was powerful.

Now, I certainly don’t compare myself to the comedians she was talking about.  I come from light, joy-filled places of love.  But she reminded me of an old proverb:

 

It isn't the mountain ahead of you that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe.

I’ve always loved that one just for the simple truth of it.  We all have sand in our shoes.  We call the grains Obstacles, we call them People, we call them Burdens.  There’s no end to the variety of challenges we meet every day.

The problem with the sand is that it seems insignificant.  The mountain stands before us and is an obvious force to be reckoned with.  No matter what the mountain represents in our lives, it’s there.  It shows itself and allows us to plan how to deal with it.  We can climb it, go around it, turn the other way and walk away from it or just give up and accept that it will always be there, but it doesn’t just creep up and yell “Surprise!”  It’s there and we know it’s there.

The sand, however, goes unnoticed for a while.   When we finally feel it, maybe we think that however it managed to get into our shoe, it’ll find its way out.  So we keep walking.  We don’t stop to think that if ONE grain of sand found its way in, others can, too.  Before long, more sand is there, a blister has formed, and we have no choice but to acknowledge the sand and decide what we’re going to do about it.

 

Any beach lover knows that no two grains of sand are alike.  Some sand is fine – beautiful, even – and will do no harm.  We can walk for miles with fine sand in our shoes with no discomfort and at the end of our walk, it serves as a reminder about where we’ve been.  Other sand is abrasive and starts rubbing us the wrong way immediately.  We notice it.  It’s annoying.  But so often, we think it’ll just go away, or that taking the time to deal with it will slow us down or make us seem petty so we suffer through it.  Sound familiar?

When I think about what Ms. Diller said, I can’t help but to think of it as a Pearl Of Wisdom.  That’s what we say, isn’t it?  When someone hits us with a beautiful truth, don’t we call it a Pearl of Wisdom?  Hmmm.

I’ve learned a lot from the sand in my shoe.  I appreciate the soft fine grains.  I’m not worried about the mountains ahead.  I’m enjoying the walk and have learned to stop and brush off the rough and abrasive grains and keep them from rubbing blisters so I can keep moving.  When I get to my destination (whatever that is), maybe I’ll have a pearl or two for my effort.

 

 

When I Was Your Age...

“When I was your age…” is just not something I heard much as a kid, so I never thought I’d be guilty of doling it out to my own kids.  But I am.  Guilty. 

The dreaded “When I Was Your Age…” (WIWYA) rolls effortlessly off my tongue weekly – if not daily – in one way or another.  So far, my girls have been kind enough to not roll their eyes at me.  At least I haven’t caught them mid-eye-roll yet.  Yet.  I’m sure it’s coming.

I suppose the reason I didn’t hear it much was that things weren’t all that different.  There were the obvious differences, of course.  I’ve had indoor plumbing all my life, which is something that was new to my mother at some point.  Television has always been present in my home and that wasn’t the case for her.  I never experienced an air raid drill in school and I’ve never known life without the polio vaccine.  The rest of the really huge changes, however, we experienced together.

In our life together, our home phone went from rotary to push-button, from wired to the wall to easy to use phone jacks, from tethered in a room to cordless, from either home and available or away and not to a phone in your pocket wherever you are!  I’ve found myself trying to explain the concept of a payphone to my eight year old and the look on her face is the way I imagine she’d look if I suddenly began speaking Russian.  She is simply not able to understand.

Recently, she’s been discovering “Yo Mama” jokes which led to discussion of prank calls.  I was telling her some of the silly jokes that we used: Prince Albert In A Can, Is Your Refrigerator Running, etc. and realized she’ll never truly know the joy of a dumb prank call or of a bunch of girls calling a boy just to hear his voice, giggle and hang up and that makes me a little sad.  In her world, Caller ID has always been there to announce a prankster’s identity.  She’s never had the experience of a phone that rings and rings because there has always been voicemail to take a message.

I remember learning to type on a manual typewriter and the thrill of upgrading to an electric model.  Much later, the excitement came from going to the house of a friend who got one of those new-fangled Radio Shack TRS80 things!  Imagine!  A computer!  In your home!  It would be years before I ever had one of those things myself, and the idea of such a thing being small enough to sit on my lap was unthinkable.  Yet my children were born into a world where tiny little computers announced their presence all over the planet.

The idea that there was a time when a person took a picture, waited to finish a roll of film and then had to bide time for weeks to see that the subject’s eyes were closed is something they just can’t accept.  Imagining a time when cartoons were only available on Saturday, that TV had 4 channels (more if you had enough aluminum foil to bring in the UHF channels) and that there was no rewind and no fast forward through commercials is beyond their grasp.

When you sit and think about the development of these now every day things that we take for granted, it can induce a kind of mental whiplash.  So it’s natural, once I’ve scooped my chin up from the floor, to release a When I Was Your Age on my children, right?

I don’t deliver a WIWYA in a “walked six miles through the snow, uphill both ways” kind of way.  My intention is always to demonstrate how amazing it is that human beings can DO these things and that we get to watch the world evolve all around us.  My aim is to encourage appreciation for the wonders that we have.  I can only hope that at least a little bit of that comes through to bored children who just want to get back to their Minion Rush game on their handheld tablet computer.

 

When I think about the warp speed progress we’ve made as a people, I wish I could ask my grandmother what she thinks.  What would she say about the medical miracles our family experienced?  Kidney transplants certainly existed in her time, but in much more gruesome and unpleasant ways.  When the girls video chat with their uncle on the other side of the country, would she be amazed?  Would she be on facebook, looking at pictures of her grand and great-grandchildren or discussing the art of beekeeping with apiculturists from around the world?  OK, probably not.  But I do think she’d appreciate the ability to do so if she wished.

That’s what I want from a WIWYA.  I want my kids to understand the power (and responsibility) that is in their hands and view it with appreciation instead of expectation.  If I achieve even some measure of that, I’ll be content.

Admittedly, their world is not entirely improved from When I Was Their Age and so many of the changes are just not tangible.  They’ll never know the freedoms that I had to aimlessly wander, to experiment and to just generally goof off.  They’ll never know what it felt like to travel with few restrictions or that a person could get through an airport without ever taking their shoes off.  They’ll never be completely anonymous and that’s kind of a bummer.

Still, I think the tradeoff is worth it.  Their time is just beginning.  So far, it’s beginning with understanding that all human beings are equal and deserve the same rights.  They see the world with no apparent prejudices, with no borders and no ceilings.  They know they can do or be whatever they want because their society has never told them otherwise. 

I didn’t have their technology, but they don’t have much of the close-minded beliefs that weighed my generation (and many generations before that) down.  Their time is far from perfect, but it’s definitely progressing and to me, THAT is evolution.

I’m not going to promise to limit my WIWYA stories.  They’re going to keep coming.  I hope at least a small percentage of them will be digested enough to nurture gratitude and understanding of those who have walked before them.  If the rest of the stories are cast aside and I just get to use them as a torture device, I’m fine with that because I know a day will come when they are telling their own kids that When They Were Their Age, they didn’t have a cool teleportation apparatus, they had to depend on their solar powered flying cars!  And their kids are going to roll their eyes, too.