Father's Day

Father’s Day is not a holiday that has had much of a place in my life. My parents divorced just before my 5^th birthday and my father, quite literally, disappeared from my life for five years. We had some vague notion that he’d moved to California, but birthdays and Christmases came and went with no word. And no matter how hard I tried to convince myself that I didn’t care and it didn’t hurt, I never quite succeeded. I learned early that you can miss what you never had.

When my father reappeared, I felt suspicious and frightened. Totally unable to fall into a family relationship with someone I had no memory of. Despite acrimonious court dealings, I probably saw my father no more than half a dozen times before I was 17.

I survived, but it could get tough. As a young child, no other kids in my elementary school had divorced parents. This led the other children to taunt me, as if I had driven my father away all by my little self. This did not do a thing to lessen the usual child’s guilt in such cases. If only, I’d been a better little girl! Preposterous from this angle, but very real at age 5, 6, and 7.

After I became a mother, my father and I made some attempts to get to know each other. But distance and his early death ultimately made that impossible. And when he died, I mourned what I could never have more than what I had lost.

I’ve often wondered how I might have been different if I had had some sort of consistent father figure in my life. Someone to look up to, or resent, or both in turn. As it happened, there is nothing there to lean on or push against and it remains a big question mark. I’ve looked on, with both envy and relief as I witnessed my friends’ relationships with their fathers, and wistfully wondered what that would be like.

Happily, I’ve had a glimpse in the past two years. My fella came fully equipped with one regulation-sized father whom I am privileged to call Pop. It’s a new experience having someone to call by that name. I don’t expect Pop will be helping me with any skinned knees, flat bicycle tires or teenage angst, at least I hope not. But he has certainly welcomed me into the family. And, for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m able to pull back the curtain a little bit and take a peek, up close, at what a father is like. And while I’ll never have what I never had, it makes me smile to see it was real for someone else.

More Words

Shortly after my mind started spinning at the manipulation of Twain’s words, a tragedy unfolded in Tucson, Arizona in which 19 people were shot with 6 killed by a deranged young man. Almost immediately mud started being flung from both ends of the political spectrum blaming the other for their inflammatory language causing the incident.

It started a discussion about the lack of civil discourse in this country, particularly in the political arena. Clearly, it is not reasonable to point the finger at anyone other than the perpetrator as being responsible for what happened. However, all the accusations flying back and forth tended to reinforce the point that our civil discourse has become ugly. It doesn’t seem that we have the option of agreeing to respectfully disagree any longer. It must escalate to an angry tone with name-calling. We can’t just believe that there are different ways of thinking about how to solve problems or even what we identify as problems. Those that we disagree with must be evil, stupid and/or unpatriotic and probably all three.

Naturally, the initial calls for civility have quickly disappeared and the nasty rhetoric is back in full swing just two months after the shootings. What is to be done? With a 24-hour news cycle broadcasting the worst of the worst in inflammatory speech, how do we avoid its influence and throw water on the flames? How do we maintain righteous indignation in the face of wrong while refraining from contributing to the uncivil discourse that is seemingly everywhere?

I’ll admit I started bristling when I was first called unpatriotic for having a different political opinion than some others. And after hearing it several dozen times, well, we won’t get into my unladylike response just now. How to defuse such things? How to opt out while maintaining one’s own integrity and remaining engaged? Clearly the media is not going to tone things down. And neither are the politicians. So that leaves the rest of us.

Perhaps a first step could be to reduce or eliminate adjectives when discussing someone with whom we disagree. No longer is that politician/commentator that stupid, lying, evil SOB. He or she is Job-title What’s-his-name and he or she did not tell the truth about X. Maybe it is time to act like Sgt. Friday on Dragnet and use “just the facts.” Naturally, there are people who don’t care what the facts are because they know better and their agenda requires that they not acknowledge any pesky little things like facts. In which case, why bother to talk to them about it any way?

Secondly, we can recognize and acknowledge that most folks on both sides of the political chasm believe that they have the best intentions to work out the best solution to a problem and they are not attempting to do evil things. Whether or not their beliefs are justified is another matter, but we need to stop assuming that the other side is acting from nefarious motives. The person who cuts your hair is not evil just because they prefer a socialist dogcatcher to one from the Bull Moose Party. I have absolutely no doubt that there are some folks that are acting from bad motives, but they are not likely to be among the people you run into on a daily basis.

You may have noticed that these two suggestions are aimed purely at how we perceive someone with whom we disagree and how we respond to them. But isn’t that truly all we can do about the situation? Resolve to not be part of the problem? Maybe, if enough people refused to play along with the status quo, it would spread like a cold until enough people caught it to ignite a spark of civility across our sadly polarized society. At the very least, it could make us, as individuals, feel calmer in our daily lives. And who knows where that might lead?

As I said earlier, words are powerful things. We should be careful how we wield them.

Words

I've been thinking a lot about words recently. It started when I heard an interview on the radio with Dr. Alan Gribben, who has edited a bowdlerized version of the novels The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain. (Published by New South Books) His stated purpose was to make the books more accessible to younger readers by removing every instance of the word "nigger" from the books and replacing it with the word "slave". His stated purpose is to remove barriers because the word makes younger readers uncomfortable and thus puts a barrier between them and Mark Twain's work. He also stated that teachers were reluctant to use the books in class because it contains that word. Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I started thinking about his argument and found the whole notion of his changes objectionable.

Huckleberry Finn came under fire almost immediately. Published in 1864, by 1865 it was banned because it was "coarse". Who knows what was meant precisely, but the primary objection of the Brooklyn library in 1902 was concerned that Huck both itched and scratched and that the word "sweat" had been used rather than perspiration. Now, of course, the objections are focused on language, which reflect the cultural norms of a particular place and time in history.

In Dr. Gribben's concern for teachers being unwilling to use the book, I believe he shortchanges the profession. I'm certain that any good teacher would begin the study of the book by explaining the book's historical context. They would tell their students that the word was in the book and why Twain used it. They would talk about Mark Twain's childhood, growing up in a slave state and his witnessing of a brutal murder of a slave by a slave owner. They would talk about Twain's position on slavery and his use of sarcasm and irony. They would go on to point out that the character Jim, who is saddled with the unsavory adjective, is the most admirable character in the book. They would point out that Jim frees Huck from his ingrained prejudices and becomes free himself. So, I don't think Dr. Gribben's concerns for the teachers were justified.

Moving on to his concerns for students, particularly African American students, being uncomfortable with the word. Hopefully, their teachers would have taught them about the book before actually reading it. They would know about historical context, how the ugly bigotry and the nasty words related to it are no longer acceptable and why. They would have had discussions about ethnic/racial and all other sorts of prejudice. They would have been given ideas to look for within the characters of the book; the education and evolution of Huck, the ignorance of his father, Jim's essential dignity. Then they would begin their reading. And then, I hope that the word would still make them uncomfortable, no matter what the student's ethnicity, because it is a filthy, hateful word used by hateful people. It should make everyone uncomfortable. And if the students are too young to grasp all of that information, then they are too young to be assigned the book.

Perhaps because I am from Missouri and feel a bit proprietary about Mr. Twain or perhaps because I write a bit myself, the question is is Dr. Gribben's version of Huckleberry Finn still Mark Twain's work once he has tinkered with the objectionable adjectives? At the very least, it is something less than the original. It takes on the weight of a Cliff Notes version, a graphic novel or a condensed edition and, thus more than just a word has been lost in translation. It is not Mark Twain's book any longer. (And I swear that I can hear him cursing in the distance.) It is not just that the words Twain chose have been fiddled with, but also the tone he intended to set has been altered along with them. The people who call Jim by that word do so out of either ignorance, in Huck's case, or hatefulness and that is clearly shown in the book.

Words are powerful things and no childhood rhyme about sticks and stones can negate that. And Twain's use of the word is powerful enough that we discuss it, debate it and are made uncomfortable by it 101 years after his death. He knew what he was doing.

Resolutions and Procrastination

I've been thinking about firing up the old blog again for months and kept putting it off. Why? I don't think I can answer that. I think part of the problem was the longer I left it dormant the more profound I felt the next posting should be. WARNING: This blog post is NOT going to be profound. There, now that that's out of the way, we can continue.

I'd also been thinking about New Year's Resolutions, as one does at this time of year. The more grandiose the better, right? But as I mentally listed the various steps that I could take to improve various aspects of my life, I was left with the absolute certainty that none of them would last past January 18th, if that long.

So, what to do with all these rambling thoughts? Is there a value in resolutions? They say that most people's resolutions rarely make it past February. So, why make them? For me, they seem to have value in that they let us articulate, if only to ourselves, what our highest aspirations are for ourselves. They let us visualize a better us and offer the opportunity to take some steps toward that better self. Sure, many times we don't succeed to the level we envision to begin with. But that's really not the point. Any notion that "perfection" is actually attainable is doomed to failure. However, the awareness of goals and incremental steps in their direction offers us a focus and motivation to move forward in our lives rather let them idle indefinitely.

The trick is to make resolutions realistic and not restricted. If I say that I will lose 46.5 pounds and then only lose 35 have I really failed? Sure I didn't hit a magic number, but I made measurable progress towards an overall goal. Once the sense of failure is allowed to settle in, it is far too easy to give up entirely and slide back into behavior or thinking that we have admitted to ourselves is not in our best interests.

So I propose a more realistic model. Choose an area of life that you'd like to see an improvement in and then resolve to improving it in some realistic way. Small bites, in small time periods; rather than grand gestures over long periods of time, would seem to have more chance of some sort of success.

Given that I haven't written here since last February, you might have guessed that my major bug-a-boo is procrastination. Surprised? I could get the gold on the Olympic procrastination team, if such a thing existed. This is only made worse by the fact that I am very good at working under pressure. If a task doesn't have any other challenge associated with it, then I add one by putting it off as long as possible. It certainly gets the adrenaline going, heart racing, etc. However, I'm finding that I'd much rather approach things in a more peaceful manner. Goodness knows that life hands us enough adrenaline inducing events without adding to it.

So my resolution for 2011 is to reduce my chronic procrastination. Notice I don't say eliminate, just reduce by some amount. I've been at it since I was in high school; I have no illusion that I can quit cold turkey. I will attempt to do assignments as they come in, rather than just before they're due. I will attempt to do the laundry before I'm totally out of clean clothes. I will respond in a timely manner to all communication. And I will blog in something approaching a regular manner.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Bemused

Tomorrow, the 9th, I begin my second half century of life. It's a weird age to think about in the abstract. Folks tend to make a big kerfluffle about birthdays that end in zero, which seems a bit arbitrary to me. In reality a person is only one day older than the day before, but, in our youth-loving culture, the higher the number of birthdays, the closer we come to being seen as irrelevant by society.

Most of my birthdays ending in zero have been non-events. Twenty is lost in a haze of unhappiness and misdirection. Thirty was headed toward being not much of anything until it turned into thirty-and-haven't-finished-college, which made it a bit of a bummer. Forty wasn't much at the time either, but, in hindsight, I can see it as the beginning of my Great Awakening in which my life began turning into a more fulfilling direction.

And now it is fifty. I come to the number with neither excitement nor dread. In fact, the number has no particular meaning to me by itself. I don't know what fifty is supposed to feel like and doubt that I ever will. The only dread attached to the number fifty is the baggage that other people will attempt to attach to it and me. Of course, there is good-natured teasing about getting "old", which isn't a problem. The problems come when others assume you can't do things, like jobs, because of it. The gradual invisibility which descends on "women of a certain age." The dismissals that occur from others based on nothing but a birth-date. These are the things I am not looking forward to and plan to reject as much as possible.

It's mind-boggling how we collectively approach age. "Really? You look so much younger than that!" No matter what that is. "You're so young for your age." Whatever that might mean. And we're expected to take it as some sort of compliment. As though there is something wrong with the age that we truly are. As though they are surprised that we haven't fallen apart yet. And then there is the very real possibility of age discrimination in the work place, which is the only true downside to the number attached to our birthdays.

So, how do I approach this phenomenon? First and foremost, I refuse to let anyone categorize me as "old." Any young whippersnapper who tries to pigeonhole me is going to be sat down for a few home truths. As far as the world of work goes, I plan to omit any and all references or hints to how many birthdays I've celebrated. And, since I'm frequently told that I "don't look my age," I plan to take out stock in L'Oreal and keep those gray hairs that I've been collecting for the past quarter century well hidden.

Given that I have no idea what fifty is supposed to look or feel like, I plan to continue on in a way that suits me. And that includes becoming a bit more outrageous. Anyone who has a problem with that will be politely invited to go suck an egg.

I don't feel any different inside that I did when I was thirty-five. So I may just remain thirty-five. Okay, maybe thirty-six. Tomorrow will be the fifteenth anniversary of my thirty-sixth birthday. Given that I am blessed (or cursed) with long-lived genes, I could very well end up celebrating the fifty-fifth anniversary of my thirty-sixth birthday. And I intend to go forward as I have these past few years, grabbing all the gusto I can and having as many new experiences as possible.

"We are always the same age inside." -- Gertrude Stein.

Chasing 20 minutes

I was talking with a friend a couple of weeks ago and I discovered how much internet dating and job hunting have in common. Having enjoyed(?) both endeavors, it all boils down to packaging oneself in such a way that someone reading your profile or resume will want to meet you to delve into the possibilities further. And, more likely than not, you will miss the secret words and be dismissed out of hand.

In an internet dating profile, you have one paragraph to interest the other person enough for them to even read further. Of course, if your photo doesn't fit their ideal of the 'perfect' person, then you won't even get them as far as the first paragraph in most cases. If you can get them to paragraph two, you have to pack as much information about yourself as possible into as few words as possible for them to even consider sending you a short message. Then, always mindful of the secret words that you don't know, you may write back and forth for a bit until one or the other actually suggests a cup of coffee. Then you are off for your nerve-wracking interview. It is very hard not to feel piles of rejection, even if you aren't particularly interested in the person.

I tried to remain fairly open minded in looking at profiles. Height, occupation, visuals were not show stoppers for me. I did eliminate people whose profiles indicated wildly different outlooks than mine, but I avoided only looking at the tall, dark and handsome sorts in favor of good and interesting men.

I was amazed at what sort of men cropped up and how quickly they made decisions without knowing anything about me. I'm no spring chicken, but I don't scare small children or animals either. And I clean up pretty good. One of the worst ones was a garbage collector who wanted to meet for dinner. As he walked up, I noticed he had immediately decided against spending any time getting to know me. This was confirmed when he said, "why don't we just go across the street and have coffee?" Rejection. And from a garbage man? That one hurt, even though I wasn't all that interested yet. I always figured it would take some time to get to know someone before you could be interested. Silly me. There were several who I rejected out of hand because either they began touching WAY too early, like the first 15 minutes, or their first topic of conversation was sex. Not that I'm not a fan of both things, but not with just anybody and certainly not less than 30 minutes into it.

Out of all the men I met through on-line dating, only one engaged me in conversation from the very beginning and truly wanted to get to know me as much as I wanted to get to know him. Needless to say, he is the one I am with for the long haul.

Job hunting is pretty much the same. You have one or two pages to put down all the right words on your resume so that you may be deemed worthy of an interview for a job. Of course, in all likelihood, the person who is looking at your resume is working in the human resources department, knows very little about the actual job and is scanning for 'secret words'. If the magical words aren't there, it doesn't matter how capable you are, the hiring manager will never see your resume and you won't be seriously considered for the job.

I've applied for jobs whose description did all but say "and your name must be Natalie"; I was so clearly qualified for the position. But I apparently either didn't use the right magic words or they had only posted the job because they had to, having already decided who they wanted to hire. And, in most cases these days, you never hear anything at all from the company. They don't even send out 'drop dead' letters any more.

In both dating and job hunting, your friends and family will try to lessen the rejection with platitudes. "The right job (or man) is just waiting for you." "Clearly it wasn't where you are supposed to be." "He was obviously the wrong one." "There are more fish in the sea." True, as far as they go, but not comforting. What if it (or he) isn't just waiting? What if there isn't any place where you are supposed to be? Sure are more fish in the sea, but clearly my angling skills are not up to snuff. And, after too, too many rejections, the temptation to give up is high.

It all boils down to trying to package yourself so that someone will find you worthy of 20 minutes of their time. And I wonder, how did we allow ourselves to reduced to anonymous words on either a screen or resume? And why are people willing to make snap judgments about just about everything based on so very little?

Half of a century in, it feels as though people have become more distant from each other. I don't know if that is truly the case or if it is a regional difference between where I grew up and where I have lived most of my adult life. As a kid, I knew all the neighbors for several blocks around, at least on a nodding basis. Now, I don't even know all the people in my 13 apartment building. It was even worse when I lived in California. There it took the 1989 earthquake to even get a conversation going with the folks across the hall.

It also seems as though things have sped up considerably over the years. And that fact alone has to meddle with interpersonal connections. I swear nothing makes me want to scream more than "time is money." As if money is the most important thing in the world. I've certainly met people for whom it is, but I don't think that's most of us. And if I am correct, why are most of us allowing that hurry up, abbreviated mind set to dominate how we must deal with things and people? It might be extremely difficult to go against the flow, but if enough of us tried might we not turn the tide? What might happen if we give the person more than the 20 minutes they are desperately chasing? What if we gave them 30? We'd learn more. We'd be showing more respect. And we might just slow everything down to a more human speed. Could be it would be worth it to try.

Simple connection

Yesterday, I woke up with one of those migraines that make me long for the days when sucking my thumb and whimpering were an acceptable way of coping with things. Thus, I expected a day filled with a whole lot of nothing much. Once the pain killers began to take the edge off, I made myself an industrial strength, super-sized cup of tea, watched a few geese migrating and looked at some internet links that friends had sent me. Two different people had sent me a link to the same blog post. (here) I cried as I read the story and mulled over its meaning.

It is a simple story of a woman reaching out in a simple way to a total stranger. World peace is not achieved. Cancer is not cured. Nothing that the world views as grand is accomplished. And yet, something extraordinary does happen. And perhaps the tears were brought on by the very fact that it is extraordinary. Or at least much more extraordinary than it should be. I talked about it with a few folks who had read it as well. There were different reactions, as one would expect. These reactions, of course, made me consider it further.

One person was concerned about the impact her action could have had on her small children. Granted, we do tell our kids not to talk to strangers, especially strangers on the street, with very good reason. And every parent is rightly protective of them in that way. But the person seemed to miss the other side of it. What impact, indeed, might it have on her children to see their mother showing compassion to another human being on a regular basis. A very positive one, I imagine. It very well could inform how they come to view and treat others in their lives. The mother showed respect toward a stranger and, from her own need, shared what she could. Not a bad model to be putting forth.

A couple of others expressed concern as to whether or not the recipient was either really in need or was responsible for their own situation and thus, perhaps, not deserving of her compassion. This is a position that I understand. In our city, we've enacted laws about "aggressive pan-handling" because of certain people harassing others on the streets downtown. It became a big enough problem that the city government had to take steps. And, granted, we do have a number of groups of homeless kids constantly trying to beg money for coffee and puppy chow. It is no wonder that folks become tired of it. But, for me, there is another side to it. What do we do to ourselves, if we do not see and respond (in someway) to those who are around us? When we cease to recognize them as one of our own? I think we damage a part of ourselves. That part that was so alive on the kindergarten playground when another child was hurt. That cries over news stories from the other side of the world. That cannot bear the thought of a mother's loss of her child, no matter who she or her child might be. It's a part of our humanity that gets buried a bit each time we turn away from part of humanity.

And I believe that this goes far beyond street people and their obvious problems. It extends to everyone else around us with their not so obvious situations. Perhaps it is the fault of societal problems. Perhaps it is our myth of self-sufficiency. Perhaps it is nothing more than fear for our own security. Whatever it is, almost all of us pull our hearts in and shut them off from various people and situations. We believe that we cannot or should not cope with any problems other than our own. I fail miserably at it myself, but I do have two reasons why we should try to move beyond this belief.

First of all, whatever or whoever is before us is, by definition, a part of our life. We may not have invited them. We may not have asked for the event or situation or person to present themselves, but there they are awaiting a response. Certainly, our response can be to turn away. Sometimes that is possible. We can ignore the beggar, the sick, the criminal, the inconvenient, generally without overt repercussions. They (or someone just like them) will continue to be there, whether we ignore them or not. We can't fix all the problems of the world. Very true. But might we not also be able to address the small problem of this minute that stands right in front of us? And if we do not, who will? And if we do not, what does that do to us?

Secondly, every organized religion that I'm aware of (and most of the non-organized spiritualities as well) demand that we reach out to help others. The holy books and great thinkers do not suggest that it might be a good idea. They do not say, "do it if it is convenient." They do not say, "hope that someone else will come and do it." They just say do it. Whatever IT might be in the moment.

Do I follow my own ideas all of the time? Of course, not. I get wrapped up in my own worries just the same as anyone else does. I am only too aware that I cannot solve a single solitary major problem in the world and that can quite easily lead to not even wanting to acknowledge that they exist. I am frequently asked for money and, more often than not, I am unable to give even small change. And there is no way in the world that I could respond to each request that comes my way. So what's to be done?

I think the most important part of the story in the blog is not that she gave a man a hamburger. I think the important part is that she recognized their common humanity and reached out to him. Even without the sandwich, the impact would have been there just in looking at him, smiling at him, calling him "sir". Giving him the recognition of his dignity as a fellow human, a brother. Every so-called bum on the street once had a mother who cradled him. Somewhere along his path something went terribly wrong but that innocent child still is there. Every cranky old person once had a vibrant young life full of promise that has been buried by time or tragedy. Every lonely person sitting in a theater had dreams of vital connections that never came their way. And that is the person we should acknowledge, respect and, if possible, reach out to. Even if only for a moment.

Did the lady of the blog permanently change the man's life? I guess that depends on what sort of change one means. Is he still homeless? Most likely. Will he be eternally grateful for the hamburger? Probably not. But in that simple interaction, several lives were impacted by her small, kind act. The man had a small amount of dignity restored to him. The woman, with problems of her own, was able to see a connection. Her children witnessed, what I am sure will be, one of many examples of how to be with other people. Many people read the story and forwarded it through the internet. And I felt compelled to write about it. Quite an impact from a trip to McDonald's.