The People Who Live In My Head: A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime...

The People Who Live In My Head: A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime...: Thirteen is a rough time for a kid.   It always has been, but in today’s tech age, I think it’s even harder.   There’s never a break from ...

A Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime...

Thirteen is a rough time for a kid.  It always has been, but in today’s tech age, I think it’s even harder.  There’s never a break from the constant “communication” that is not actually communication at all.  Emojis and a steady stream of words doesn’t actually amount to informative dialogue that delivers real messages. 

Talk doesn’t exist anymore.  There are no long drawn out phone conversations.  There’s no conversation at all, really.  When two or more young folks are gathered, heads are bowed to cell phone screens and the only talk is to quote a meme or to say “Look at this!”  The closest thing there is to chatting is done online in private group messaging.  That’s where things get ugly.

I realize that I’m saying this online and that I communicate with my dearest friends via social media, so these thoughts could sound hypocritical to the kids about whom I’m writing.  There is a difference, however.  The difference is that I’m a grown up (sort of) and I am capable of having real conversations live and in person.  I know how to share facts, I know how to enjoy humor, I have – and use – manners.  I can’t say the same for these kids who are still learning who they are.

I’ve done everything I can to teach my kids how to properly interact with people.  They can talk to me about whatever’s on their minds and I talk to them.  I’ve brought them into my grown up world, where they can and do make conversation with all sorts of people about all sorts of things.  I’m proud of them for doing so.  They’re (mostly) not precocious.  They’re (mostly) polite.  They interact and they communicate.

My daughter’s pack of 13 year old friends hasn’t learned these skills and that is where it all falls apart.  My daughter doesn’t believe me when I say that I truly never had any drama in middle school.  It happened, of course, and I saw it in certain groups but I was either oblivious to it in my own pack of friends or it just never touched me.  I’d like to believe that’s because I have meticulous friend-picking skills.  It’s probably more that I’ve always been able to walk away before things got weird.  That’s a skill that I hope my girls will also acquire.

When issues arise in my daughter’s circle, I tell her not to sweat it.  That’s my job.  She rolls her eyes, of course, because that’s her job.  That doesn’t stop me and I keep talking, telling her to think about the people around her and think about what they bring to her life and what she brings to theirs.  More eye rolling ensues, and I pull out the old adage:  People come in to your life for a Reason, a Season, or a Lifetime.

I know that sounds trite to a 13 year old who is so sure that this week’s BFF will always be there, but it’s true.  What is, unfortunately, also true is the fact that it’s impossible to know in the moment which friend fits which label.  Only time and experience can answer that and, if we’re paying attention, we can look back and understand which people in our past and present fit which labels.

If someone had said these things to my 13 year old self there’s no way I would have listened or avoided eye rolls.  Actually, I’m sure my mother must have said them to me, but I gave her the “OK, whatever brush-off”.  I’m sorry, Mom.  You were right, as always!

Hindsight is always so clear, isn’t it?  I can now flash back to those people of my past and understand the roles they played.  The ones who were there and gone – sometimes leaving a scar – were there for a Reason.  I learned something and have carried those lessons through the rest of my life.  Then there were the Season players.  They fit a particular time in my life.  We experienced things together, learned together, had fun together, and then moved on down our own chosen paths.  I have fond memories and am grateful for the Reasons and the Seasons.

The ones that sneak up on you…the ones who are usually most unexpected…are the Lifetime players.  They come out of nowhere, sometimes, and their Reason is not always clear but I’m happy I have them!  These are the folks that sneak in the side door.  The ones who stumbled in to the party and end up being the ones with the best dip recipes, the strongest shoulders, the softest hearts, and the funniest jokes at either the most or least appropriate times, depending on the need.

Who ever would have guessed when a goofy long haired dude walked in to my job at Weiner World for a cup of root beer that we’d still be friends more than 30 years later?  There have been weddings, babies, funerals, and beyond since then, but that guy still likes root beer and I still make fun of him for his goofy friends.  When I walked in to a new job in a new city, there was no reason to think a connection was made with the boss and his family, but they are still in my life and in my heart.  When I was six years old in Baltimore, and my brother’s hippie friend helped me with my homework, who ever would have guessed that many years and several states later, it would be important to have him at my wedding?  These are just a few of the Lifetime representatives in my life.  Some make cameo appearances and fade back in to the shadows.  Some are always present.

What I want my daughter to understand is that ALL of these people are important.  I want her to live in the moment and have fun.  There’s no reason to figure out the Reasons, Seasons or Lifetimes in the here and now.  I don’t even think that’s possible but I hope that while she’s there in the moments, she’s storing data.  The day will come when those memories and lessons resurface and, hopefully, it will all make sense and he life will be richer for it.

Meanwhile, of course, I hope she’s able to quickly identify the jerks, the weasels, and the soul suckers and cast them out quickly.  They fall under Reasons.  They don’t get a long term pass.

Won't You Be My Neighbor...

I haven’t written much here lately.  The old adage says, “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all”, so that’s what I’ve been doing.  Saying nothing.

It’s not that I no longer have nice things to say.  I do.  I just find myself being more frustrated with my fellow homo sapiens than not these days and I choose not to give my energy to those thoughts and feelings.  I don’t like feeding the monster.  Fortunately, Good has a way of revealing itself and Humanity’s light shines through!

While sadness and anger are still going strong over one group of children (which is justified and if you don’t agree with that, shame on you), another group of children were at the center of a heroic display of courage, strength, determination, and the power of focus and prayer.  Study the faces of those 12 rescued boys, because I suspect we will see them again in acts of good in the future.

During their ordeal in underground darkness, my family was enjoying fun and sun with a group of friends at the lake.  The kids got to do things they’d never done – rock jumping, wave riding, boating, and such – while the grownups got to tell remember when stories and just relax.  It was beautiful.  Until…

During the drive home, we got a call from our neighbor, David.  He’s our friend, we asked him to get our mail and offered use of our pool, so we weren’t surprised to hear from him but we didn’t expect “There’s a problem.” and certainly didn’t expect “The house is flooded.”  He told us it began with the kitchen sink.  He turned off the water and then went to the garage – which is not a pleasant place to be – and found our shopvac, so he sucked up the standing water.

We were still about an hour away from home, so our brains kicked into overdrive, imagining the worst.  My husband has thousands of dollars worth of irreplaceable vintage amps.  We thought of my daughter’s violin, we thought of photos and books and all the things that may be low to the ground.  We assumed our brand new floors were ruined and there’d be a lot of damage.  Then, we started to process what could have possibly happened and how amazing it was that it was discovered so quickly because our neighbor said that it was not leaking the evening before when he was there.

Thankfully, when we got home we saw that the water had been fairly well contained, thanks largely to David’s efforts.  When I thanked him, he told us that he didn’t discover it.  The neighbors directly behind us saw water pouring down the back of our house!  We were obviously not home, but the man of the house remembered that our family was friends with David’s family and they alerted him to the water.  David took it from there.

We don’t know this other neighbor well.  The man speaks English, but works a lot and we don’t see the woman, who doesn’t speak English well, very often.  It’s clear we look out for one another, and we smile and wave, but that’s about it.

Their neighborly deed saved us a world of heartache, hours of hard work, and probably lots and lots of money.  How do you repay that?  By being a good neighbor in return, of course.  And a cookie cake that says “Gracias” doesn’t hurt.  When I took the giant cookie to their door, our neighbor just said “You don’t have to do that.  We’re neighbors.  That’s what neighbors do.”  I agreed with him, thanked him, and told him to shut up and take the cookie.  Because that’s also what neighbors do.  They smile at the naked toddler running past the door, they shake a hand, and say thank you for being a great neighbor.

It really is that simple, isn’t it?  Aren’t we all neighbors here on this giant ball?  Aren’t we ALL better off when we look out for one another, when we help one another, and when we offer one another kindness (and a cookie cake sometimes) instead of walls and closed doors?

Mother Teresa said it best, when she said “I want you to be concerned about your next door neighbor. Do you know your next door neighbor?” If you really want to get deep, she also said “It is impossible to love God without loving our neighbor.” That’s good advice for those who want to carry a religious flag while preaching about walls and borders.  Just sayin’.

So, with that in mind, I shake off my frustrations, go back to smiling at all who cross my path, and ask them in my best Fred Rogers voice, "Won’t you be my neighbor?”

Recall Notice...

When you come from a family as large as mine, a family of tough, stoic Germans who just keep on keeping on, and who generally stick around for a long time, it’s easy to take that strength for granted and forget that while we may be resilient, we’re still all human.

Of course, there have been challenges in our big family.  There have been accidents and illnesses and those aunts, uncles, cousins, spouses, and children just keep bouncing back.  Never an audible complaint.  Never a plea for pity.  Just “keep on truckin”, as the bumper sticker advises.  That’s what we do.

My pack of nine was only one segment of this tough and healthy brood.  As the baby of the litter, my big brothers and sisters were just always there.  There was never any doubt or question that the big dogs would ALWAYS be there to protect me, to entertain me, and to make sure I was loved.  That’s what we do.  And, of course, these big brothers and sisters went out into the world and accidents happened, injuries occurred.   They happened to the baby, too.  But we got patched up, shook off the road dust and came back to the pack - happy and healthy, once again.   Because that’s also what we do.

So we all carry on with life, doing our things, spread out across the states, happy to see each other when we can.  We’re all busy, so it’s kind of easy to forget that the pack is no longer a bunch of puppies and we’re not as spry as we used to be.  Still, when the bones creak and the joints ache, it’s easy to remember that folks in our line live to 100 and ignore the cues that something isn’t right. 

Usually, we notice the signals but we’re too busy putting out other peoples’ fires to take our own alarm bells seriously.  Thankfully, we’ve managed to surround ourselves with people who will grab us by the shoulders and tell us “Hey, idiot, your car is on fire!” until we have no choice but to stop and do something about it.  I don’t think that’s all that uncommon.  I just don’t appreciate the fact that my box of dogs always tends to experience these fires in packs.

One of my brothers was hit with a serious illness that brought us to preparing for his final arrangements.  Thankfully, love, prayer, and tenacity returned him from the edge – stunning doctors and caregivers and renewing hope for his ultimate complete healing.  A week after we got his clean bill of health, another brother was rushed to the operating room to deal with an unexpected heart blockage.  The surgeons did their magic, and all is well now. 

However!!!  There’s always a “however”. While working the phone chain across the country to talk about those 2 brothers, another brother confessed to symptoms that indicated possible strokes and neurological issues.  He had an appointment scheduled but, in typical Albert fashion, he had some other stuff to do first.  The morning after the heart brother was released from the hospital, the third brother was in an ambulance.  Tests, transfers, more tests, and it was revealed that a large, thankfully operable and cancer free, tumor had taken up residence in his skull.

 

Normally in life, I prefer all the rain to pour down at once so we can get it out of the way, let the clouds clear, and allow the sun to shine freely once again.  That’s the way car problems and house repairs tend to come and I’m fine with that.  This is a bit much.

When life offers challenges, I often look to the lessons of the previous generation for encouragement.  Grandpa would make some machine-based analogy, I think, and that makes sense. 

My pack came from the same factory.  Some of us are SUVs, some of us are diesel trucks, and some of us are sedans.  We all rolled off the line during the same production era.  Should it really be a surprise that the recall notices all come around the same time?  Sometimes, it’s necessary to replace a part or repair a hose so you can get back on the road and keep adding miles to the odometer.

My job as the baby of the family is to nag everyone else to check their recall notices and make sure we have regular inspections and tuneups.  I’m confident that we’ll all be rocking down the highway again soon but for now, I’d like the rain to stop so the sun can shine on our chrome once again.

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.