10-2-09
On Sunday, Khloe Kardashian and Lamar Odom got married. The blushing bride, a pseudo celebrity with roles on multiple reality shows. The proud groom, is a popular and talented player on the LA Lakers. There were flowers, music, and gobs of beautiful people all in the audience watching them exchange their vows of undying devotion to one another. Never you mind that they had only known each other for 2 months. Their first married kiss probably invoked tears in people. The problem? The wrong people were crying.
Rewind back just over a year ago. In September, my brother in law, Andy, and his then partner, Scott, had a small and intimate ceremony to finally after twenty plus years of love, actually become legally married in the great state of California. Their toasts to one another were touching and real, and Scotty even got a little teary as their friends and family looked on. Yet their very union of marriage was soon to be on trial.
Why is it important to look at these two situations closely? I think that the people who have so adamantly protested gay marriage should be ashamed of their arguments that a relationship between two people of the same sex cannot be called marriage because it sullies the good name of marriage. Are you kidding me with this?
Not even taking into consideration all of the quickie marriages in Vegas (my understanding is we can’t count those since what happens in Vegas stays there, right?), doesn’t it seem that if you are truly trying to protect the sanctity of marriage, there should have been some kind of protest for the spectacle that infiltrated even standard news channels for a week for the pending nuptials that took place this last week? Is it better to teach our children that as long as you don’t marry someone who has the same equipment downstairs, you can marry ANYONE even if you have known them for all of 10 minutes? Yes, because clearly the committed, loving relationship between Andy and Scott is harmful. Their devotion to one another has only outlasted most Hollywood marriages (and many Hollywood careers). Quick! Don’t let their love taint my kids!!
Look, at least if you are going to say you are pro marriage, go all in, people. Take the example of PETA. I don’t always agree with their tactics, but you have to admire their tenacity. They will stand up for seals being slaughtered or flies being swatted by the president. They want all living creatures safe. But apparently pro marriage folks only want to keep you from having to decide which one of the happy couple gets to be the bride and who gets to be the groom.
Khloe and Lamar may in fact defy the odds. I mean, only about half of all marriages last. So they have a 50/50 shot, right? And not to mention that probably 75 percent of all Hollywood marriages don’t last, so sure, I bet they last forever. Oh, and I know they have only known each other a short time, but true love, right? But yeah, you’re right, at least they are a heterosexual paring, because they will be the only one to stand the test of time.
So congrats, you crazy kids. Let’s just hope that you understand the luxury you have to marry whomever you love (read: lust, like, kinda thought would be a fun couple weeks, need to help you stay in the country, etc) just because you two have opposite reproductive organs. The only thing that can stand in your way is if the license office isn’t open for a couple hours, or maybe catching your fiancé banging one of your bridesmaids before the ceremony. At least the whole state doesn’t get to vote on it.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Stupid American Idol!
5-21-09
In this world of the internet being our main source of information, I understand that often we learn things before we want to really know. Case and point, American Idol results. Even though the show tapes in LA, they air it on the East Coast live. This means at 8 o’clock when the show starts here, half of the country knows who won by 7 LA time.
Of course, there are the stupid yahoos that will post on blogs and message boards who won and not care on lick about the handful of folks that might see their mindless chatter about the winner. I think they are a-holes for posting it, but truly, it isn’t their job to keep us in the dark.
That job goes to major news networks. When you go to the CNN website, they will have links to stories that declare the winner of something, but the link title will not tell you who, and when you click on it, there is a full paragraph saying don’t read further if you don’t want a spoiler. This is fine with me as I have plenty of warning.
What I didn’t have warning for was when the CNN page on Facebook posted a status change congratulating Kris Allen as the new American Idol. This status was then broadcast to every single one of their fans. This includes us folks in Los Angeles who had not even turned on the tv yet to start watching. It wasn’t even like we had recorded it and not gotten around to it. It had not even aired!!!
I was appalled. It was like I had planned this elaborate Super Bowl party and the first guy who showed up told me the winner. I never watch this show. I watch highlights sometimes, I read the articles. I keep up for the most part. This was a year that in the auditions I fell deeply in love with two contestants and I opted to go ahead and follow at least until they were gone. I was pleased as punch when my two were in the top 3! My fav was projected to win, and I was ready to watch the big grand finale and cheer when my man Adam won, and I was even prepared to deal if Kris had taken the crown as I had grown to really dig him, too.
All of this was taken away from me. In about 140 characters, I found myself not nearly upset that Adam had not won. I was upset that CNN, a national news network would be so irresponsible. I was not alone. Several comments on this post screamed at the news network, also betrayed.
Apparently this is not the first time. The last Summer Olympics, when Twitter wasn’t as prominent so it probably wasn’t as crucial, CNN twittered the results of the historic Michael Phelps race in which he won his 8th gold medal. Mind you, people in the US would not be able to watch the race itself until several hours later when NBC was airing it.
As much as I am thrilled to be able to open my browser and know anything that is going on anywhere at any given second, there still needs to be discretion. Sporting events, competition, all of these are things that even though we as a public want to know the results, we also like to see the race. We want to know if someone out performed someone else, not just that they were made the victor. How many times have you seen a phenomenal match up that even though your team lost, the game itself was not to be missed? If all we had know were the results, we might not go back and watch the Dodgers in game one of the 1988 world series. Maybe we would have missed the amazing victory of the US Hockey Team in 1980. You might have missed Kerri Strug’s courageous vault on an injured ankle that gave the gymnastics team from America the gold in 1996. Sure, they won, but the game, the event, the sport, all would have suffered if we couldn’t be there with them, watching them struggle and yet succeed.
So last night, as I watched my glameriffic Adam grace the stage with Queen, clearly channeling the spirit of the late Freddie Mercury, as much as I loved seeing him in his element, all that went through the back of my head was, well, he loses. When Kris sang with Keith Urban, I might have been impressed, but I was more critical of every note that came out of his cute little mouth because I was still stinging from knowing that he was going to beat Adam. The fun of the night, an eclectic mix of old performers with new was sullied because of the premature announcement of the climax.
I congratulate Kris, I will happily be a shoulder to cry on for Adam, and I shake an angry finger at the media, especially CNN. Although I am glad that the season is finally over and I can go back to blaming something else for keeping me up too late during the week, I find the ending bitter sweet. The moment I looked forward to since January was ripped so unceremoniously that I feel someone disconnected with the whole show. I hope that enough voices are heard and that the powers that be understand that yes yes, we are impressed with your fancy new technology, but sometimes you just have to let things be the way they always were and let us enjoy the competition, not the finish line.
In this world of the internet being our main source of information, I understand that often we learn things before we want to really know. Case and point, American Idol results. Even though the show tapes in LA, they air it on the East Coast live. This means at 8 o’clock when the show starts here, half of the country knows who won by 7 LA time.
Of course, there are the stupid yahoos that will post on blogs and message boards who won and not care on lick about the handful of folks that might see their mindless chatter about the winner. I think they are a-holes for posting it, but truly, it isn’t their job to keep us in the dark.
That job goes to major news networks. When you go to the CNN website, they will have links to stories that declare the winner of something, but the link title will not tell you who, and when you click on it, there is a full paragraph saying don’t read further if you don’t want a spoiler. This is fine with me as I have plenty of warning.
What I didn’t have warning for was when the CNN page on Facebook posted a status change congratulating Kris Allen as the new American Idol. This status was then broadcast to every single one of their fans. This includes us folks in Los Angeles who had not even turned on the tv yet to start watching. It wasn’t even like we had recorded it and not gotten around to it. It had not even aired!!!
I was appalled. It was like I had planned this elaborate Super Bowl party and the first guy who showed up told me the winner. I never watch this show. I watch highlights sometimes, I read the articles. I keep up for the most part. This was a year that in the auditions I fell deeply in love with two contestants and I opted to go ahead and follow at least until they were gone. I was pleased as punch when my two were in the top 3! My fav was projected to win, and I was ready to watch the big grand finale and cheer when my man Adam won, and I was even prepared to deal if Kris had taken the crown as I had grown to really dig him, too.
All of this was taken away from me. In about 140 characters, I found myself not nearly upset that Adam had not won. I was upset that CNN, a national news network would be so irresponsible. I was not alone. Several comments on this post screamed at the news network, also betrayed.
Apparently this is not the first time. The last Summer Olympics, when Twitter wasn’t as prominent so it probably wasn’t as crucial, CNN twittered the results of the historic Michael Phelps race in which he won his 8th gold medal. Mind you, people in the US would not be able to watch the race itself until several hours later when NBC was airing it.
As much as I am thrilled to be able to open my browser and know anything that is going on anywhere at any given second, there still needs to be discretion. Sporting events, competition, all of these are things that even though we as a public want to know the results, we also like to see the race. We want to know if someone out performed someone else, not just that they were made the victor. How many times have you seen a phenomenal match up that even though your team lost, the game itself was not to be missed? If all we had know were the results, we might not go back and watch the Dodgers in game one of the 1988 world series. Maybe we would have missed the amazing victory of the US Hockey Team in 1980. You might have missed Kerri Strug’s courageous vault on an injured ankle that gave the gymnastics team from America the gold in 1996. Sure, they won, but the game, the event, the sport, all would have suffered if we couldn’t be there with them, watching them struggle and yet succeed.
So last night, as I watched my glameriffic Adam grace the stage with Queen, clearly channeling the spirit of the late Freddie Mercury, as much as I loved seeing him in his element, all that went through the back of my head was, well, he loses. When Kris sang with Keith Urban, I might have been impressed, but I was more critical of every note that came out of his cute little mouth because I was still stinging from knowing that he was going to beat Adam. The fun of the night, an eclectic mix of old performers with new was sullied because of the premature announcement of the climax.
I congratulate Kris, I will happily be a shoulder to cry on for Adam, and I shake an angry finger at the media, especially CNN. Although I am glad that the season is finally over and I can go back to blaming something else for keeping me up too late during the week, I find the ending bitter sweet. The moment I looked forward to since January was ripped so unceremoniously that I feel someone disconnected with the whole show. I hope that enough voices are heard and that the powers that be understand that yes yes, we are impressed with your fancy new technology, but sometimes you just have to let things be the way they always were and let us enjoy the competition, not the finish line.
What is Beauty?
7-12-09
Beauty pageants are big business. They are should not be confused with presidential elections. The contestants are not beautiful young women with voices to be heard. They are pieces in a well oiled machine that create income for perhaps some not so beautiful people behind the scenes.
Pageants are important to the women who sometimes work their whole lives towards the dream of having some sparkly tiara placed on their helmet hair. They are the girls that don’t sing into the shampoo bottle, they are the ones that use the shampoo bottle as their pretend scepter or bundle of roses as they practice their kiss and wave in front of a mirror, hoping that some day they will be doing this in front of a large crowd.
The beauty industry is widespread. There is the fashion industry and Hollywood, but the pageants are a different industry altogether. In fashion, the goal is to sell clothing. Hollywood could be selling everything from movies to music. Even advertising uses beauty for its sales. How many people ran out and bought a Carl’s Jr Hamburger once they saw Paris Hilton making a mess of herself on that car?
What does the pageant industry sell? Truly, it comes down to, these are women, selling themselves. Their sole purpose is to flaunt their assets, along with their asses, in front of a panel of judges in order to get the crown, and in the end, whatever cash prizes come their way with this honor.
The question becomes, do we as a society truly care about what these women are selling? At least with Hollywood, we get a little pleasure out of watching a movie with a good looking actress. Carl’s Jr hamburgers are yummy, and even though I am sure I would eat one without Paris’s endorsement, it might have sparked some sales. But if a Miss American contestant happens to look fabulous in a one piece bathing suit, are we running out in droves to get the suit? I would imagine their hopes are that we didn’t notice the suit, and actually saw only the woman in the suit. But we can’t go out and buy her.
We only seem to pay real attention when there is scandal. Vanessa Williams was once Miss America in 1983. Although it is possible she got a lot of press for being the first African American Miss America, the press for the nude pictures 10 months into her reign was much greater. When little JonBenet Ramsey was brought into the spotlight, it wasn’t for her cute smile, it was for the brutal way in which her life was ended.
The last couple weeks have been filled with the media reports concerning Carrie Prejean and her Miss California title. It started with the controversy with her answer to one of the questions asked by the judges. My first complaint with this is that, why in the world are we asking questions? Does it truly mater if she knows anything about the Middle East or about important issues like gay marriage? These aren’t well rounded women. They are women who know how to make their teeth look the right shade of white and how to keep their bathing suit from riding up.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, the question asked came from the judge. Perez Hilton. This man is not to be confused with the hamburger selling chick mentioned before. This is the flamboyant celebrity blogger who is famous mostly for his crude drawings on pictures of people in Hollywood with childish remarks under them. This is the caliber of your judges? This in itself makes not only the question and answer null and void, but it negates any kind of serious tone you could possibly take with this pageant.
His question regarding gay marriage resulted in her answer summed up as she was not a supporter of this. If you are for or against gay marriage, honestly, what does it matter what this woman thinks? Have you been holding on to your ballet for Prop 8, waiting for Ms. Prejean to finally make an official statement on the matter? Did the world stop turning when she said she only believed in “opposite” marriage? Did Steven Hawking stand up for the first time in years, all inspired because clearly, here was a woman truly worthy of his audience because of her brilliance? If your answer is yes to any of these, then I would guess you work for a pageant.
While this controversy was brewing, the outspoken contestant must have forgotten about the cardinal rule. Don’t take naked pictures of yourself unless you are fully prepared to have them splayed across the internet and be publicly mocked for your lack of morals.
Once again, I don’t care what she did in front of a camera. Her little pageant might, but should the rest of the world care? Ok, maybe a little since she is hot, and under 18 so make sure you don’t go looking at that! But other than that, it makes no difference whatsoever. She is the business of selling her body. If her body was photographed, isn’t that the whole point? And maybe that is why the folks behind the Miss California are all up in arms. Not because they exist, but because they didn’t make any money off of their property, which is really, Ms Prejean herself. Wouldn’t it be refreshing if they came out and just asked her to let them use the photo in one of their calendars or maybe on a mug? Shoot, there was a rumor flying around that the Miss California people paid for her breast implants and that these pics are after said surgery. Then in my book, them boobs belong to someone other than Ms Prejean.
All I am trying to say is, yes, put them up on a pedestal. But this pedestal is not made of honor or character. It is simply some pretty statue you see in a museum and marvel at the beautiful curves that may or may not be man made. She should be seen, not heard, as a testament to how amazing Aqua Net can hold and just how much makeup the human face can hold without drooping. Please don’t think that they are role models. They are just models, and I think once we drop the role, the universe will be restored, in the form of a Miss Universe sash.
Beauty pageants are big business. They are should not be confused with presidential elections. The contestants are not beautiful young women with voices to be heard. They are pieces in a well oiled machine that create income for perhaps some not so beautiful people behind the scenes.
Pageants are important to the women who sometimes work their whole lives towards the dream of having some sparkly tiara placed on their helmet hair. They are the girls that don’t sing into the shampoo bottle, they are the ones that use the shampoo bottle as their pretend scepter or bundle of roses as they practice their kiss and wave in front of a mirror, hoping that some day they will be doing this in front of a large crowd.
The beauty industry is widespread. There is the fashion industry and Hollywood, but the pageants are a different industry altogether. In fashion, the goal is to sell clothing. Hollywood could be selling everything from movies to music. Even advertising uses beauty for its sales. How many people ran out and bought a Carl’s Jr Hamburger once they saw Paris Hilton making a mess of herself on that car?
What does the pageant industry sell? Truly, it comes down to, these are women, selling themselves. Their sole purpose is to flaunt their assets, along with their asses, in front of a panel of judges in order to get the crown, and in the end, whatever cash prizes come their way with this honor.
The question becomes, do we as a society truly care about what these women are selling? At least with Hollywood, we get a little pleasure out of watching a movie with a good looking actress. Carl’s Jr hamburgers are yummy, and even though I am sure I would eat one without Paris’s endorsement, it might have sparked some sales. But if a Miss American contestant happens to look fabulous in a one piece bathing suit, are we running out in droves to get the suit? I would imagine their hopes are that we didn’t notice the suit, and actually saw only the woman in the suit. But we can’t go out and buy her.
We only seem to pay real attention when there is scandal. Vanessa Williams was once Miss America in 1983. Although it is possible she got a lot of press for being the first African American Miss America, the press for the nude pictures 10 months into her reign was much greater. When little JonBenet Ramsey was brought into the spotlight, it wasn’t for her cute smile, it was for the brutal way in which her life was ended.
The last couple weeks have been filled with the media reports concerning Carrie Prejean and her Miss California title. It started with the controversy with her answer to one of the questions asked by the judges. My first complaint with this is that, why in the world are we asking questions? Does it truly mater if she knows anything about the Middle East or about important issues like gay marriage? These aren’t well rounded women. They are women who know how to make their teeth look the right shade of white and how to keep their bathing suit from riding up.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, the question asked came from the judge. Perez Hilton. This man is not to be confused with the hamburger selling chick mentioned before. This is the flamboyant celebrity blogger who is famous mostly for his crude drawings on pictures of people in Hollywood with childish remarks under them. This is the caliber of your judges? This in itself makes not only the question and answer null and void, but it negates any kind of serious tone you could possibly take with this pageant.
His question regarding gay marriage resulted in her answer summed up as she was not a supporter of this. If you are for or against gay marriage, honestly, what does it matter what this woman thinks? Have you been holding on to your ballet for Prop 8, waiting for Ms. Prejean to finally make an official statement on the matter? Did the world stop turning when she said she only believed in “opposite” marriage? Did Steven Hawking stand up for the first time in years, all inspired because clearly, here was a woman truly worthy of his audience because of her brilliance? If your answer is yes to any of these, then I would guess you work for a pageant.
While this controversy was brewing, the outspoken contestant must have forgotten about the cardinal rule. Don’t take naked pictures of yourself unless you are fully prepared to have them splayed across the internet and be publicly mocked for your lack of morals.
Once again, I don’t care what she did in front of a camera. Her little pageant might, but should the rest of the world care? Ok, maybe a little since she is hot, and under 18 so make sure you don’t go looking at that! But other than that, it makes no difference whatsoever. She is the business of selling her body. If her body was photographed, isn’t that the whole point? And maybe that is why the folks behind the Miss California are all up in arms. Not because they exist, but because they didn’t make any money off of their property, which is really, Ms Prejean herself. Wouldn’t it be refreshing if they came out and just asked her to let them use the photo in one of their calendars or maybe on a mug? Shoot, there was a rumor flying around that the Miss California people paid for her breast implants and that these pics are after said surgery. Then in my book, them boobs belong to someone other than Ms Prejean.
All I am trying to say is, yes, put them up on a pedestal. But this pedestal is not made of honor or character. It is simply some pretty statue you see in a museum and marvel at the beautiful curves that may or may not be man made. She should be seen, not heard, as a testament to how amazing Aqua Net can hold and just how much makeup the human face can hold without drooping. Please don’t think that they are role models. They are just models, and I think once we drop the role, the universe will be restored, in the form of a Miss Universe sash.
Past
12-9-08
I am a person who although doesn’t live in the past, does look back at it with fond memories. You see, the past is how you got where you are today. Good and bad, those are events and memories that have formed who you are and where you are going. My past has taught me to mistrust all people. My past has taught me that too often friends are not there through thick and thin. My past has taught me that you should always be yourself despite what others think of you. There are many more lessons that have created the person I look at in the mirror every morning. Despite my weight gain and cynical look at the world, I am very happy at what I am. Sure, there are things that need to change. I need to get out of the house more to do things for me, not just for the boys. I should have more hobbies. I may need to rethink the plaid skirt since I am no longer 20. And of course, there is the gut that gets in my way. There are plenty of ways to change these things, and sometimes, I look to my past to figure out how to do them.
I used to be thin. How did I do that? Well, in high school, not only did I play soccer, but at one time I used to run 3 miles a day. A year or so ago, I managed to drop 65 pounds because I watched what I ate, and I worked out. Don’t you think I should look at how I did these things in order to see what to do now? Perhaps I can remember how I used to wear some really cute things back in the day all because I was thin. Sometimes, the motivation to fix myself is to see how I felt before. The past is the way to do this.
I don’t see friends like I used to. In high school, and even right out of school, I used to go out with people all the time. I saw movies, I went to concerts, I just hung out at restaurants. Sure, I will never have the same existence as I did then. I am not devastated by this. I love spending time with my kids. I am happy that a good chunk of my time is now spent with family. Of course, it would be not just fun to go out more, but it would be good for me to have some people that I talk to that don’t just speak in toddler. I have that. I keep up with friends via email a lot. It seems to be the easiest medium these days with hectic schedules and responsibilities. It also takes me back to when I was grounded all the time and my primary source of communication was in the form of hand written letters. Yes, the response time wasn’t always as fast, but it still worked. Now, I can write back and forth with someone all day, despite being at work or maybe cleaning up kid stuff. Super handy. I also look back on my past, when I was out with friends, having fun, and I look to see why I was having fun. Well, a good chunk of it was that I was getting to know people. I was having lots of fun chats with people about their likes and dislikes. A lot of the talk surrounded boys. My conversations now have this topic, but a totally different connotation. My past shows me how I was when I was a social butterfly. Was I happy? Most of the time. Would being that way again make me happier than I am now? I don’t know. I use that version of me as a good gauge to see if I am going in a correct direction, or if I am missing out on something I could possibly still have.
One of the biggest disappointments that I actually have now is some of my past that isn’t find of it. Sure, I understand not thinking back fondly of the breakup pains or death or abuse or some other horrific past that may haunt you. But these are people that don’t even appreciate a fun day with good friends. They see pictures, hear stories, and you can actually see them cringe as these memories are drudged up in their mind. I can speculate all day long as to why they react as if I just punched them in the gut when I present them with a photo of them mugging for the camera 20 years ago. But the bottom line is, when they shun the pictures or the tales, they are telling me that their past that involved me was something they wish they never had, and that hurts.
There are people I hung out with that were horrible. They drove me crazy, they were annoying, they were obnoxious, they were not even good friends. But I am ok with that now. If anything, I am even more happy to of had those kind of characters in my life so that I could have some diversity. We were misfits in high school. We were never even close to being the cool kids, and I am so relieved this was the case. Sure, as a little kid, I hoped to be homecoming queen or the most popular girl in the school. It was never meant to be. Not to say those people were not good folks. But I think that I was meant to be something else. The girl in the background that people vaguely remember because I used to hang out with some other vaguely memorable people.
My senior year I should have known that the friends I had would turn out like this. We had a couple of kids that hung out with us that were not seniors. One of my friends decided this was unacceptable. He, and a couple others opted to go sit somewhere else for a while at lunch. They told me that I was more than welcome, as was this one guy that was younger, but not the others. Apparently the other guys were cramping their style. I was appalled. In fact, for a couple days I didn’t even go near any of them. I just felt so lost. Mind you, we were all freshman at one point when we hung out with a senior and a couple of guys already graduated. We were never the kids who would run for student counsel or even have the one obligatory pic in the year book. And maybe they wanted this. Maybe this is what they always yearned for and come the time we were in the 12th grade, they felt like we had missed out on our chance. I on the other hand just didn’t know how they could be so arrogant. Now, 15 years later, they are once again shunning things that they feel are beneath them.
These last few months, I have seen old friends show their true colors. People I love with all my heart, despite the fact that we don’t talk but once every few years or even if we talked every day and had differences. These were people that were my foundation. My base of what kind of people I hoped to have in my life for years and years to come. People that would be surrogate aunts and uncles to my children, and the ones that I would hopefully speak fondly of forever. The latter will always be true, since I will try to always think of the good times. I will keep as much in touch with the less jaded ones and stay up to date on their whereabouts and lives. I chatted with one of my old friends on Sunday for about an hour, and it was awesome. We told stories, we talked about our kids and different things we had been up to. It was so wonderful to know that we would probably always have a place in each other’s lives, even if it was but once or twice a year.
I look at this picture on my desk of a group of us at Disneyland a few years back. I realize when I look at it how many of these folks that I don’t actually talk to that often, if at all. I look at with this naïve sense of warmth. If someone saw this picture who didn’t know us might say, oh, what a nice group of friends. But in reality, the closeness of everyone pictures is as much of a façade as the fake mountain we are posing in front of.
Will these revelations sully my image of these people? I am hoping to answer that with a no. Of course, this can’t possibly be true, but my existence now, the foundation I stand by, despite the changed house that sits atop of it, needs to always be respected. Although some of the people that make up that base can’t face it, I need to believe that they will always still be there. Yes, I may replace some of the pillars with other people as the years pass. I may even move, but this was my very first existence, and I will always hold tight onto the memories.
My future holds so much. Friends that I have only known a short time or even ones I don’t know yet will be who I turn to in times of need. I will have my children’s lives to help mold and structure as they navigate adolescence and build their own foundations of friends. I will grow crazy old with my husband at my side, and he and I can know that we came from the same group of friends and still love each other despite growing up and moving on from high school. I will still have the pictures and the memories near by, though. You have to, since when your life is over, you will have those precious moments ease you into the dark. I refuse to go feeling sad. I want to feel like my life was filled with happy times, no matter when the time was.
I am a person who although doesn’t live in the past, does look back at it with fond memories. You see, the past is how you got where you are today. Good and bad, those are events and memories that have formed who you are and where you are going. My past has taught me to mistrust all people. My past has taught me that too often friends are not there through thick and thin. My past has taught me that you should always be yourself despite what others think of you. There are many more lessons that have created the person I look at in the mirror every morning. Despite my weight gain and cynical look at the world, I am very happy at what I am. Sure, there are things that need to change. I need to get out of the house more to do things for me, not just for the boys. I should have more hobbies. I may need to rethink the plaid skirt since I am no longer 20. And of course, there is the gut that gets in my way. There are plenty of ways to change these things, and sometimes, I look to my past to figure out how to do them.
I used to be thin. How did I do that? Well, in high school, not only did I play soccer, but at one time I used to run 3 miles a day. A year or so ago, I managed to drop 65 pounds because I watched what I ate, and I worked out. Don’t you think I should look at how I did these things in order to see what to do now? Perhaps I can remember how I used to wear some really cute things back in the day all because I was thin. Sometimes, the motivation to fix myself is to see how I felt before. The past is the way to do this.
I don’t see friends like I used to. In high school, and even right out of school, I used to go out with people all the time. I saw movies, I went to concerts, I just hung out at restaurants. Sure, I will never have the same existence as I did then. I am not devastated by this. I love spending time with my kids. I am happy that a good chunk of my time is now spent with family. Of course, it would be not just fun to go out more, but it would be good for me to have some people that I talk to that don’t just speak in toddler. I have that. I keep up with friends via email a lot. It seems to be the easiest medium these days with hectic schedules and responsibilities. It also takes me back to when I was grounded all the time and my primary source of communication was in the form of hand written letters. Yes, the response time wasn’t always as fast, but it still worked. Now, I can write back and forth with someone all day, despite being at work or maybe cleaning up kid stuff. Super handy. I also look back on my past, when I was out with friends, having fun, and I look to see why I was having fun. Well, a good chunk of it was that I was getting to know people. I was having lots of fun chats with people about their likes and dislikes. A lot of the talk surrounded boys. My conversations now have this topic, but a totally different connotation. My past shows me how I was when I was a social butterfly. Was I happy? Most of the time. Would being that way again make me happier than I am now? I don’t know. I use that version of me as a good gauge to see if I am going in a correct direction, or if I am missing out on something I could possibly still have.
One of the biggest disappointments that I actually have now is some of my past that isn’t find of it. Sure, I understand not thinking back fondly of the breakup pains or death or abuse or some other horrific past that may haunt you. But these are people that don’t even appreciate a fun day with good friends. They see pictures, hear stories, and you can actually see them cringe as these memories are drudged up in their mind. I can speculate all day long as to why they react as if I just punched them in the gut when I present them with a photo of them mugging for the camera 20 years ago. But the bottom line is, when they shun the pictures or the tales, they are telling me that their past that involved me was something they wish they never had, and that hurts.
There are people I hung out with that were horrible. They drove me crazy, they were annoying, they were obnoxious, they were not even good friends. But I am ok with that now. If anything, I am even more happy to of had those kind of characters in my life so that I could have some diversity. We were misfits in high school. We were never even close to being the cool kids, and I am so relieved this was the case. Sure, as a little kid, I hoped to be homecoming queen or the most popular girl in the school. It was never meant to be. Not to say those people were not good folks. But I think that I was meant to be something else. The girl in the background that people vaguely remember because I used to hang out with some other vaguely memorable people.
My senior year I should have known that the friends I had would turn out like this. We had a couple of kids that hung out with us that were not seniors. One of my friends decided this was unacceptable. He, and a couple others opted to go sit somewhere else for a while at lunch. They told me that I was more than welcome, as was this one guy that was younger, but not the others. Apparently the other guys were cramping their style. I was appalled. In fact, for a couple days I didn’t even go near any of them. I just felt so lost. Mind you, we were all freshman at one point when we hung out with a senior and a couple of guys already graduated. We were never the kids who would run for student counsel or even have the one obligatory pic in the year book. And maybe they wanted this. Maybe this is what they always yearned for and come the time we were in the 12th grade, they felt like we had missed out on our chance. I on the other hand just didn’t know how they could be so arrogant. Now, 15 years later, they are once again shunning things that they feel are beneath them.
These last few months, I have seen old friends show their true colors. People I love with all my heart, despite the fact that we don’t talk but once every few years or even if we talked every day and had differences. These were people that were my foundation. My base of what kind of people I hoped to have in my life for years and years to come. People that would be surrogate aunts and uncles to my children, and the ones that I would hopefully speak fondly of forever. The latter will always be true, since I will try to always think of the good times. I will keep as much in touch with the less jaded ones and stay up to date on their whereabouts and lives. I chatted with one of my old friends on Sunday for about an hour, and it was awesome. We told stories, we talked about our kids and different things we had been up to. It was so wonderful to know that we would probably always have a place in each other’s lives, even if it was but once or twice a year.
I look at this picture on my desk of a group of us at Disneyland a few years back. I realize when I look at it how many of these folks that I don’t actually talk to that often, if at all. I look at with this naïve sense of warmth. If someone saw this picture who didn’t know us might say, oh, what a nice group of friends. But in reality, the closeness of everyone pictures is as much of a façade as the fake mountain we are posing in front of.
Will these revelations sully my image of these people? I am hoping to answer that with a no. Of course, this can’t possibly be true, but my existence now, the foundation I stand by, despite the changed house that sits atop of it, needs to always be respected. Although some of the people that make up that base can’t face it, I need to believe that they will always still be there. Yes, I may replace some of the pillars with other people as the years pass. I may even move, but this was my very first existence, and I will always hold tight onto the memories.
My future holds so much. Friends that I have only known a short time or even ones I don’t know yet will be who I turn to in times of need. I will have my children’s lives to help mold and structure as they navigate adolescence and build their own foundations of friends. I will grow crazy old with my husband at my side, and he and I can know that we came from the same group of friends and still love each other despite growing up and moving on from high school. I will still have the pictures and the memories near by, though. You have to, since when your life is over, you will have those precious moments ease you into the dark. I refuse to go feeling sad. I want to feel like my life was filled with happy times, no matter when the time was.
Music
Music
12-11-08I recently watched the movie Bowling for Columbine by Michael Moore. I enjoyed it, and despite the editing that made it seem almost too good to be true on certain points, I was particularly amused at his interview with shock rocker Marilyn Manson. I had for gotten the backlash he had received after the Columbine shootings. After the tragedy, all of the media outlets were looking for answers. They couldn’t accept that these two young men could possibly have the kind of anger that would be needed to shoot up a school of their peers, and then turn the guns on themselves. Someone needed to be blamed.
It is incredibly easy to blame music. We had been doing it for some time. Music has been under fire so many times to be the reason why our youth do the awful things they do. Rap music is causing gang wars, rock is causing kids to do drugs. It is a wonder that we don’t have more problems with the kids these days.
Blaming musicians and their artistic statements has always really bothered me. It isn’t as if these rock stars are telling kids to go shoot up a school. And even if they are, I don’t really think they mean it. Rap artists have talked about killing cops and just about everyone they come in contact with. Sure, their lifestyles often mirror their lyrics, but I am guessing most of the folks that listen to their music will never be in a situation that would be similar to the song. And the ones that do, they would have been in said situation despite what song was playing on the radio at this time.
On my way home from work yesterday, I had the radio on. The song playing was a song that I sang to my boys when they were little. Every time I sing the song, I get choked up. It never fails, either. Every time I hear the song, I think of my boys and I get all mushy. If often alters my mood instantly into super mom mode and I find that even when they are being crazy kids, the music will calm me and almost rejuvenate my patience with their antics. As I started to consider all of this, Marilyn Manson came to mind. Here was a song that willed me to being more in touch with my boys. Lyrics and melody all combined with the end result of me actually, if even for a split second, being different.
Of course, this was a positive effect. I had euphoria because of 2 and a half minutes of some British guy singing his heart out. My brain then went back to when I was a teen. Angst was my favorite state of mind, and how many times did I turn to my CD collections to find something to relate to, something to numb the pain I was feeling or perhaps to inspire healing in my soul. Erasure, George Michael, Depeche Mode, all of these people were my therapists. Lucky for me, their fees were very reasonable. For $12 I could get unlimited time with them forever. It was as if they all could understand me on a level no best friend would ever be privy to. When I was in a fight with my boyfriend, I would blare the song, “I Love to Hate You!” over and over, screaming the lyrics, feeling empowered about the current breakup, and it was this that got me through so many rough times.
So how is it any different for other kids who were listening to other styles of music. My choice was British Electronic Pop. Pretty harmless when you look at the grand scheme of things. What would happen had I listened to a more angry song? What had happened had I been more than just mildly emotional about things? What if I had already been troubled to a level where I was angry at the world and the music was ALL I had? I cannot speculate what the psychological issues that the young men who shot up Columbine. I wonder, though, if it is at all possible that they had deeper issues, and the music they happened to choose empowered them in different ways then my little pop songs inspired me. Is it possible that the anger and pure adrenaline that is contained in those songs could have made them feel better because they knew they didn’t have to put up with anything anymore? It isn’t to say that they were told to kill students in such a brutal fashion. It was just fuel to an already burning fire deep in their soul.
We have always ruined to music to inspire, to touch, to laugh at, and to really define our existence. Decades were characterized by genres of music simply because they explained the mood of the youth that listened to the tunes flowing from their radios. Drugs were done to particular songs because they were the best mood enhancers. We slow danced to ballads sung to the artist’s girlfriend, and we dedicated it to our own love. Sure, her name wasn’t Donna, but Richie Vallens knew how we felt about Betty. Music is what makes the soundtrack to our lives and for most people, it is featured prominently in every facet of our existence.
Maybe the media was correct in saying that the music had something to do with Columbine. These boys were influenced in some way to release their inner demons. That being said, though, do we blame the artists for their songs? Do we point the finger at them, making them share the blame of multiple deaths all because they sang a song that inspired a kid to cause those deaths? Is there really blood on the guitar at this point?
It isn’t fair to expect a singer or songwriter to censor their artistic expression simply because there are a few people out there that might find this to be the key to their dungeon of hate. Many of these musicians are using the music to get out their own anger in a more constructive way. Many of them actually help people to do the same thing. Just because one or two people do a horrific crime, it doesn’t mean that the artist caused this.
What is to say that a happy band doesn’t inspire hate? I can tell you when I was young, I would hear New Kids on the Block and I would practically seizure from their cheery boy band ways, and I wanted to hit someone in the face. Did I? No, I knew right from wrong and I was aware that the New Kids Defense would be mocked endlessly by my peers. People snap for various reasons. It could be because someone put onions on their burger when they clearly asked for none. Someone gets fired, someone stubs their toe, someone sees a movie with violence, someone loses their keys. Can we prevent all of these things from happening? Charles Manson was rumored to have snapped when the Beach Boys, one of the most cheery bands ever, ended up not recording with him. Are we then to believe that a band of guys who sang about girls and cars caused Sharon Tate to be sliced up with all of her friends? Let’s hope not.
Should artists be mindful of their lyrics? Probably. It would be a good idea to not target songs to kids that are filled with profanity and hate. Of course, they will still hear it, but it would be good to not shove it down their throats. Kids will discover the music they need, and if talking about beating the hell out of their girlfriend while scoring a whole ton of drugs is what they need and it is what you wrote, then you are set. I am guessing, though, that kids would much rather listen to something that will help them in a more productive way.
So yes, go ahead and blame the music for their actions. But when you do that, you need to look closely at all of the music that has influenced you. When you were so depressed about some boy not asking you to prom, and you polished off a whole gallon of ice cream while listening to the Cure, which resulted in gaining 5 pounds, I would recommend throwing out all of those albums you have cherished all these years. Oh, and when you didn’t get what you wanted for Christmas, make sure to blame Andy Williams since he is the one singing about how Santa is coming to town to bring you everything you wanted. When you get divorced, make sure to file a lawsuit against the band that played at your wedding. We know they must have caused the problems since they are what played at the start of your marriage. If we are truly willing to blame, and credit, all of the artists for everything they have given to society with their voices and tunes, then and only then can we really place any kind of responsibility on the likes of Marilyn Manson for Columbine. And even then, shouldn’t we just know that even if the music plays out hate, it is still our responsibility to turn it off?
No Bleeping Way!
1-16-09
We had recently come across a poster filled with various dinosaurs that Bobby loved. Ken got some Scotch tape and affixed it to his bedroom wall. It was up for a few days when he came running to find me.
“Mommy, come!” he said with a serious tone. I followed him to his room where he then proceeded to gesture towards the poster. The top right corner had come down, and the poster was now folded over a bit. Bobby then explained what was going on.
“It’s all fucked up, Mommy.” There was no malice in his voice. It was a statement. It was matter of fact. He wasn’t screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t telling someone to fuck off. He just wanted me to understand the situation at hand.
I wasn’t sure what to do with his words at first. There is a huge part of me that wanted to laugh. Come on, we all know it is endlessly amusing when a toddler swears. Look at how many hits Funny Or Die.net got when Will Ferrell was out acted by a 3 year old who needed her mouth washed out with soap. It is taboo, but an innocent one that allows us to find humor in it.
Of course, the responsible parent in me also piped up. It was jumping up and down in the back of the crowd of reactions trying to make sure his voice was heard. You can’t let your child swear at this young of an age! Its blasphemy! You have to nip this in the bud right away lest he starts swearing at the drop of a hat.
Sure, I heard his words, but then quickly cursed him out and put him back in his place.
My next thought was, well, pride. And no, not because I used to joke that I wanted his first words to be dammit. In all actuality, I was just impressed that he listens to me. Fuck is one of those words in my house that is interchangeable with any other word. It’s true. I have a potty mouth. I swear like I breathe. It is what gives me edge without having to have a weapon. So clearly Bobby heard me use the phrase, and then proceeded to repeat it.
It isn’t just that he repeated it, either. He used it in a proper sentence structure. His context was right on. It portrayed the problem clearly. Mom, the poster that is on my wall has come down and I feel that it is a problem. I am also rather disappointed in this development in the décor of my room. Of course, had he phrased it like that, I would have been even prouder, but he is only 3. How much can I expect? It’s all fucked up is clear as day to me.
During all of this though, I stood there, speechless. I even asked him to repeat what I was sure to have misheard. Nope. He repeated the phrase that pays and I was amused. I of course had to share my amusement with whomever was closest, and since Dax wouldn’t have understood (and if I was on the fence about wanting my children to swear, telling this tale to the 2 year old was only going to make matters worse), I sent Bobby in to inform Daddy of the poster incident.
What really sucked was the fact that he in deed sprinted into the other room in search of Ken to tell him. But his delivery was lacking. He only said that his poster had fallen, and did not use the colorful language that had my head swimming.
When I say swimming, I refer to this crazy pool of ideals and morals that I have to content with when it comes to my children. Everything from whether or not they can eat sugar before bedtime to what college I can afford to send them to resides in this body of water. An issue like childhood vulgarity is something that before kids I never thought I would care about. I was one of the parents that felt that I wanted to teach my kids a time and a place for this words would give them better education and would keep them from just using bad words because of their forbidden nature. If you drop a rock on your foot, you should be able to scream out anything that your little head comes up with. Even if it is just “Kelly Clarkson!” I wanted my kids to be smart about language. All kinds of language. I don’t talk down to them now. They have heard the words decapitate, agitate and antagonize in reasonable sentences rather than dumbing it down in order to keep it kid friendly. I think kids deserve to know what words mean, and just because the language in Go Dog Go is basic, it doesn’t mean I can’t also read to them from Harry Potter or even Shakespeare.
That being said, swear words are just words. They are only bad when you make them bad. So shouldn’t I utilize these words just like other “grownup” words if they are actually ones I use from day to day?
However, it comes to mind that children don’t always know the time or place where a particular piece of vocabulary is appropriate. Bobby still says, “Whobody said that?” as opposed to “Who said that”. Realistically, he may not understand at this young age that saying something is fucked up may not be appropriate in all situations. If he were in his 3rd grade classroom, I would imagine said statement would get him a detention. If he were at my parent’s house, he would get laughter. If he was in public, I would get dirty looks across the board. All of these are reactions I can’t control, nor do I want to. All I can control is the education I give to my son to explain to him what the world feels about certain pieces of the English language.
So do I tell him that his choice of words was incorrect? But that is an incorrect statement since clearly the sentence made sense. Ok, do I tell him that it is not appropriate to use said language in the house? No, since I personally don’t care what he says as long as it isn’t hurtful. Ok, then where is the lesson? I suppose there isn’t one, yet. If anything, the lesson learned is that Bobby is far smarter than I think I have given him credit up until this point. He also is growing and will soon be in situations that I am not there to protect him or even laugh at his innocence.
My decision is, well, to not make a decision. As of right now, he has emulated my speech, and has done it well. I have no reason to be angry or concerned. It does mean I need to be aware of what is coming, which will undoubtedly be that talk after his preschool teacher sends home a note saying that he uses a curse word. But I think I will cross that bridge when it comes.
The other day I overheard Bobby say something was jacked up, which is another common phrase I use when I know that my swearing would be inappropriate. I smiled since I knew then that it meant that he was versatile and perhaps it really would only be a little bit of training that I would be able to show him words that he could use in place of ones that are offensive to other folks. I also was pleased when I knew that his vocabulary was not limited to just swearing. I know there will be plenty of “he said what?” moments in my future, and I also know that I look forward to every colorful one. Why worry when really, there is nothing “fucked up” about that.
We had recently come across a poster filled with various dinosaurs that Bobby loved. Ken got some Scotch tape and affixed it to his bedroom wall. It was up for a few days when he came running to find me.
“Mommy, come!” he said with a serious tone. I followed him to his room where he then proceeded to gesture towards the poster. The top right corner had come down, and the poster was now folded over a bit. Bobby then explained what was going on.
“It’s all fucked up, Mommy.” There was no malice in his voice. It was a statement. It was matter of fact. He wasn’t screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. He wasn’t telling someone to fuck off. He just wanted me to understand the situation at hand.
I wasn’t sure what to do with his words at first. There is a huge part of me that wanted to laugh. Come on, we all know it is endlessly amusing when a toddler swears. Look at how many hits Funny Or Die.net got when Will Ferrell was out acted by a 3 year old who needed her mouth washed out with soap. It is taboo, but an innocent one that allows us to find humor in it.
Of course, the responsible parent in me also piped up. It was jumping up and down in the back of the crowd of reactions trying to make sure his voice was heard. You can’t let your child swear at this young of an age! Its blasphemy! You have to nip this in the bud right away lest he starts swearing at the drop of a hat.
Sure, I heard his words, but then quickly cursed him out and put him back in his place.
My next thought was, well, pride. And no, not because I used to joke that I wanted his first words to be dammit. In all actuality, I was just impressed that he listens to me. Fuck is one of those words in my house that is interchangeable with any other word. It’s true. I have a potty mouth. I swear like I breathe. It is what gives me edge without having to have a weapon. So clearly Bobby heard me use the phrase, and then proceeded to repeat it.
It isn’t just that he repeated it, either. He used it in a proper sentence structure. His context was right on. It portrayed the problem clearly. Mom, the poster that is on my wall has come down and I feel that it is a problem. I am also rather disappointed in this development in the décor of my room. Of course, had he phrased it like that, I would have been even prouder, but he is only 3. How much can I expect? It’s all fucked up is clear as day to me.
During all of this though, I stood there, speechless. I even asked him to repeat what I was sure to have misheard. Nope. He repeated the phrase that pays and I was amused. I of course had to share my amusement with whomever was closest, and since Dax wouldn’t have understood (and if I was on the fence about wanting my children to swear, telling this tale to the 2 year old was only going to make matters worse), I sent Bobby in to inform Daddy of the poster incident.
What really sucked was the fact that he in deed sprinted into the other room in search of Ken to tell him. But his delivery was lacking. He only said that his poster had fallen, and did not use the colorful language that had my head swimming.
When I say swimming, I refer to this crazy pool of ideals and morals that I have to content with when it comes to my children. Everything from whether or not they can eat sugar before bedtime to what college I can afford to send them to resides in this body of water. An issue like childhood vulgarity is something that before kids I never thought I would care about. I was one of the parents that felt that I wanted to teach my kids a time and a place for this words would give them better education and would keep them from just using bad words because of their forbidden nature. If you drop a rock on your foot, you should be able to scream out anything that your little head comes up with. Even if it is just “Kelly Clarkson!” I wanted my kids to be smart about language. All kinds of language. I don’t talk down to them now. They have heard the words decapitate, agitate and antagonize in reasonable sentences rather than dumbing it down in order to keep it kid friendly. I think kids deserve to know what words mean, and just because the language in Go Dog Go is basic, it doesn’t mean I can’t also read to them from Harry Potter or even Shakespeare.
That being said, swear words are just words. They are only bad when you make them bad. So shouldn’t I utilize these words just like other “grownup” words if they are actually ones I use from day to day?
However, it comes to mind that children don’t always know the time or place where a particular piece of vocabulary is appropriate. Bobby still says, “Whobody said that?” as opposed to “Who said that”. Realistically, he may not understand at this young age that saying something is fucked up may not be appropriate in all situations. If he were in his 3rd grade classroom, I would imagine said statement would get him a detention. If he were at my parent’s house, he would get laughter. If he was in public, I would get dirty looks across the board. All of these are reactions I can’t control, nor do I want to. All I can control is the education I give to my son to explain to him what the world feels about certain pieces of the English language.
So do I tell him that his choice of words was incorrect? But that is an incorrect statement since clearly the sentence made sense. Ok, do I tell him that it is not appropriate to use said language in the house? No, since I personally don’t care what he says as long as it isn’t hurtful. Ok, then where is the lesson? I suppose there isn’t one, yet. If anything, the lesson learned is that Bobby is far smarter than I think I have given him credit up until this point. He also is growing and will soon be in situations that I am not there to protect him or even laugh at his innocence.
My decision is, well, to not make a decision. As of right now, he has emulated my speech, and has done it well. I have no reason to be angry or concerned. It does mean I need to be aware of what is coming, which will undoubtedly be that talk after his preschool teacher sends home a note saying that he uses a curse word. But I think I will cross that bridge when it comes.
The other day I overheard Bobby say something was jacked up, which is another common phrase I use when I know that my swearing would be inappropriate. I smiled since I knew then that it meant that he was versatile and perhaps it really would only be a little bit of training that I would be able to show him words that he could use in place of ones that are offensive to other folks. I also was pleased when I knew that his vocabulary was not limited to just swearing. I know there will be plenty of “he said what?” moments in my future, and I also know that I look forward to every colorful one. Why worry when really, there is nothing “fucked up” about that.
Beach
1-19-09
It was gorgeous out over this past weekend and it seemed like the best thing to do with the boys was to take them down to the beach. I mean really, how often can you say you went to the beach in January? We went Saturday and the kids had so much fun, we decided to go back on Sunday.
There was a larger crowd Sunday, but it was still the same kinds of people, families with multiple kids all enjoying the surf, sand and sun. We set up camp and Bobby and Ken ran down to the water. Dax and I joined them after some sandcastle building.
Dax was a bit unsure of the water, despite his excitement of letting the water wash over his toes. I watched him like a hawk, myself being a bit nervous about the ocean which had already instilled a fear in me years before. You hear all the horror stories, kids getting washed into the riptide. I was not going to let this happen, so my focus was 100% on Dax.
It was at this time that a child no more than 7 started milling around at my feet. I have become more and more accustomed to kids all gravitating towards my kids. I don’t think that it is just my children, either. It seems like kids all just want to be around other kids having fun. But this kid was different.
He watched Dax closely; often trying to communicate with him and at one point, I was almost sure he considered holding Dax’s hand. I can assure you, my son would not have tolerated this. Either way, it was a curious thing to watch. Dax and I continued to play in the surf, despite this young stalker.
It was at this point that this young man in Sponge Bob swim trunks tried to engage me in conversation. I told Dax at one point to be careful of this one wave. Our admirer then tried to tell me some ocean trivia. He took this tactic a few times before at one point he asked me if Dax would play sandcastles with him. I explained that Dax probably would not want to as he was already pretty happy in the water. He looked defeated, but he did not let up.
I continued to play with my child while this other child stayed close. At one point, I held onto Dax’s hand, bracing for a series of larger waves. Before I knew what had happened, I had another small hand in mine and I looked down to find Sponge Bob at my side, seemingly content to have this connection.
I would like to say that I am just that cool of a mom that other kids come running to me. I know this is not the case. This poor boy was not in need of me, he was in need of a parent who wanted to play with him. I would imagine if I were lonely, I too would go towards families that looked like they truly enjoyed being a family. I looked around at one point to find some kind of relative for him, but honestly, it was hard to say who he was with.
After he determined that we were not a suitable surrogate family, he moved on to other families. I saw him insert himself into a sandcastle building adventure with another boy and his father, both looking equally confused by their new contractor. I saw him playing with a handful of other children, all with parents near by, and sometimes I didn’t see him interacting with just the other kids, but with the parents.
Sure, you could make the argument that he was just a friendly kid. I didn’t get this impression. There was a sadness about him that made him seem almost lost. You wondered if perhaps his parents did this often. Drop off their kid at the beach since it costs nothing, and then go on with their lives as if he didn’t exist. I have zero frame of reference when it comes to this. I have a hard enough time taking the boys to daycare, let alone just abandoning my child some place that could be dangerous. It seems more and more common, though.
Of course there will be kids that want to be away from their mother’s watchful eyes. I would imagine my own Mama Bear style of parenting will grow tiresome for my two cubs who undoubtedly will want to explore outside the cave without me in tow. But I would like to think they would want this free time because they do spent a lot of quality time with me. I would hate to think that I would ever kick my kids out just so that I wouldn’t have to spend time with them.
It seems like this is almost the norm, though. How often have I gone to Target, only to be stopped by someone complimenting me for, as they put it, “having fun with my boys.” They marvel at me when I will talk with both of them as we wander the aisles. They have told me that most people just seem to drag their kid from place to place, with no sense that they are happy to have reproduced at all. How sad for these parents to not see the absolute joy in what they have brought into this world.
I am not saying that I am mom of the year by any stretch. I know I have an unusual pride in my kids since it took me longer to conceive them despite my lifelong desire to be a mommy. Maybe this has given me the appreciation that other moms who can get knocked up just by thinking about it. But shouldn’t this genuine affection be the norm, not the exception?
So many moms today tell the tale of how they were instantly, deeply in love the second that ball of goo shot out of their body. They were connected by more than just the umbilical cord and they would always love them the same way. How does this turn into parents looking miserable every time they are with their children? How does this evolve into parents not wanting to spend time whenever they can with their offspring? How does this become a little boy wandering the beach hoping someone, just someone, will offer him up a little bit of attention?
I have no answers to these questions. I suppose the only thing I can do is try to be as kind as possible to these kinds of kids that will come in and out of my life, if only for a few minutes in the sand. Hopefully I am not the only one he encounters.
It was gorgeous out over this past weekend and it seemed like the best thing to do with the boys was to take them down to the beach. I mean really, how often can you say you went to the beach in January? We went Saturday and the kids had so much fun, we decided to go back on Sunday.
There was a larger crowd Sunday, but it was still the same kinds of people, families with multiple kids all enjoying the surf, sand and sun. We set up camp and Bobby and Ken ran down to the water. Dax and I joined them after some sandcastle building.
Dax was a bit unsure of the water, despite his excitement of letting the water wash over his toes. I watched him like a hawk, myself being a bit nervous about the ocean which had already instilled a fear in me years before. You hear all the horror stories, kids getting washed into the riptide. I was not going to let this happen, so my focus was 100% on Dax.
It was at this time that a child no more than 7 started milling around at my feet. I have become more and more accustomed to kids all gravitating towards my kids. I don’t think that it is just my children, either. It seems like kids all just want to be around other kids having fun. But this kid was different.
He watched Dax closely; often trying to communicate with him and at one point, I was almost sure he considered holding Dax’s hand. I can assure you, my son would not have tolerated this. Either way, it was a curious thing to watch. Dax and I continued to play in the surf, despite this young stalker.
It was at this point that this young man in Sponge Bob swim trunks tried to engage me in conversation. I told Dax at one point to be careful of this one wave. Our admirer then tried to tell me some ocean trivia. He took this tactic a few times before at one point he asked me if Dax would play sandcastles with him. I explained that Dax probably would not want to as he was already pretty happy in the water. He looked defeated, but he did not let up.
I continued to play with my child while this other child stayed close. At one point, I held onto Dax’s hand, bracing for a series of larger waves. Before I knew what had happened, I had another small hand in mine and I looked down to find Sponge Bob at my side, seemingly content to have this connection.
I would like to say that I am just that cool of a mom that other kids come running to me. I know this is not the case. This poor boy was not in need of me, he was in need of a parent who wanted to play with him. I would imagine if I were lonely, I too would go towards families that looked like they truly enjoyed being a family. I looked around at one point to find some kind of relative for him, but honestly, it was hard to say who he was with.
After he determined that we were not a suitable surrogate family, he moved on to other families. I saw him insert himself into a sandcastle building adventure with another boy and his father, both looking equally confused by their new contractor. I saw him playing with a handful of other children, all with parents near by, and sometimes I didn’t see him interacting with just the other kids, but with the parents.
Sure, you could make the argument that he was just a friendly kid. I didn’t get this impression. There was a sadness about him that made him seem almost lost. You wondered if perhaps his parents did this often. Drop off their kid at the beach since it costs nothing, and then go on with their lives as if he didn’t exist. I have zero frame of reference when it comes to this. I have a hard enough time taking the boys to daycare, let alone just abandoning my child some place that could be dangerous. It seems more and more common, though.
Of course there will be kids that want to be away from their mother’s watchful eyes. I would imagine my own Mama Bear style of parenting will grow tiresome for my two cubs who undoubtedly will want to explore outside the cave without me in tow. But I would like to think they would want this free time because they do spent a lot of quality time with me. I would hate to think that I would ever kick my kids out just so that I wouldn’t have to spend time with them.
It seems like this is almost the norm, though. How often have I gone to Target, only to be stopped by someone complimenting me for, as they put it, “having fun with my boys.” They marvel at me when I will talk with both of them as we wander the aisles. They have told me that most people just seem to drag their kid from place to place, with no sense that they are happy to have reproduced at all. How sad for these parents to not see the absolute joy in what they have brought into this world.
I am not saying that I am mom of the year by any stretch. I know I have an unusual pride in my kids since it took me longer to conceive them despite my lifelong desire to be a mommy. Maybe this has given me the appreciation that other moms who can get knocked up just by thinking about it. But shouldn’t this genuine affection be the norm, not the exception?
So many moms today tell the tale of how they were instantly, deeply in love the second that ball of goo shot out of their body. They were connected by more than just the umbilical cord and they would always love them the same way. How does this turn into parents looking miserable every time they are with their children? How does this evolve into parents not wanting to spend time whenever they can with their offspring? How does this become a little boy wandering the beach hoping someone, just someone, will offer him up a little bit of attention?
I have no answers to these questions. I suppose the only thing I can do is try to be as kind as possible to these kinds of kids that will come in and out of my life, if only for a few minutes in the sand. Hopefully I am not the only one he encounters.
Instant Gratification
1-21-09
We were driving home yesterday, and Bobby was playing with his balloon that Poppy had given him. As he batted it around, it got loose and ended up in the back of the car. Bobby of course was distraught. “Mommy! My balloon! Get it!” I calmly explained to him that I could not reach it since I was driving. “Then stop, Mommy!” He really wanted the balloon. I once again told him that he would need to wait until we got home since we only were about 5 minutes out. “But Mommy, I want it really quick!” Yes, my son wants instant gratification.
This of course is my fault. I have memories of him as an infant screaming in the back seat because he wanted some kind of toy. I was driving quickly in order to get home so I could help him, but all the while, my right hand was behind me, desperately grabbing for anything I could find to hand to him to appease his cries. Not the safest thing, but I couldn’t handle him crying. Specifically, I had a hard time letting him feel for even a moment that he wasn’t being given anything I could get for him.
They tell you that you can’t spoil a baby. If they want to be hugged, hug them as much as they want. Listen to their needs and really take it upon yourself to make sure you provide for those needs. Sure, you do eventually let them cry things out and you tend to not buy them something EVERY time you enter a store. You make sure that you aren’t giving in to their every demand. Yet, I know I am not alone with children that demand things instantly.
Can you blame them, though? Our culture has been evolving with instant gratification in mind. It is the dream of everyone to have everything handed to us. We eat at fast food places because we don’t want to spend the time cooking. There was a time when people made their own clothes, whereas now not only can we just go down to any mall and get pants, we can be even lazier and order them online. Point and click is really instant gratification at its finest.
There are diet pills that claim to make you thin with no effort. We don’t have to spend weeks reading books anymore since all the good ones are made into 2 hour movies. Didn’t call your best friend on her birthday? No problem! You can send her a virtual card, write her a note on Facebook and send her an email all in about 5 minutes online. Christmas used to be a time where we scoured the earth for the best present for our loved ones. Now, we can pick up a handful of gift cards at the supermarket while we get milk. Where is the joy in that?
I am certainly not suggesting I don’t take full advantage of many of the technological breakthroughs we have made. There was a time when I would have been writing this with my trusty ball point pen and lined notebook paper. But now, I can type this out, let the computer tell me where my spelling errors are (and often it will just go ahead and correct them for me!), tell me the number of words and even put pretty page numbers. Why in the world would I write something out by hand now being that I would end up having to type it later anyway?
Keeping all of this in mind, I still want to instill a sense of hard work into my children. Yes, use technology as a way to make things easier, but make sure you also take the time to put some elbow grease into things. Presents shouldn’t come every time you do something good. Candy isn’t a treat for every night.
It also means that because of these lessons, I will need to apply them to my own life as well. Sure, I may be tired after working all day, but I should cook dinner instead of getting takeout. Use that time to teach the boys how to make food. It will come in handy when they are teenagers who will eat me out of house and home and I can’t keep up with the demands. Plus, it will woo the ladies later in life. If I want to buy something big, I need to save up for it. If I need to get my own piggy bank, so be it. But I can also use this lesson to teach the boys valuable lessons in money saving. Maybe have them put their coins in their banks as not just a game, but as a way to buy that cool Buzz Lightyear action figure, or the Darth Vader costume they have their eye on. It is never too soon to teach the value of a dollar.
Really, I need to appreciate the shortcuts and cool things that I have, but I also need to make sure to earn those things. Only then will the boys have a real example of what patience and hard work can really bring you. If Bobby loses the balloon, he needs to be taught to understand that no matter how much crying he does, it isn’t coming back until a later period. And I need to be ok with that.
Don’t worry, I am sure I will still spoil them. I can’t help going in the dollar aisle and picking up random things that I am sure they will enjoy. But perhaps instead of bestowing them on them the instant I see them, I will hold on to them, save them, and make sure that I don’t just give them everything they want. Otherwise, they start to misunderstand the word “treat”.
When we got home, I retrieved Bobby’s balloon for him and he took it proudly inside. Within about 5 minutes, though, he managed to pop it with one of this toys. I was concerned that he would demand a new balloon on the spot, but instead, he calmly said, “Poppy will have to make me a new one when we go there.” I was impressed that he didn’t melt down. He actually seemed to understand that he would have to wait for something he wanted. Perhaps teaching him these lessons won’t be as hard. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. There is hope for us! “Mommy, go get me milk!”
We were driving home yesterday, and Bobby was playing with his balloon that Poppy had given him. As he batted it around, it got loose and ended up in the back of the car. Bobby of course was distraught. “Mommy! My balloon! Get it!” I calmly explained to him that I could not reach it since I was driving. “Then stop, Mommy!” He really wanted the balloon. I once again told him that he would need to wait until we got home since we only were about 5 minutes out. “But Mommy, I want it really quick!” Yes, my son wants instant gratification.
This of course is my fault. I have memories of him as an infant screaming in the back seat because he wanted some kind of toy. I was driving quickly in order to get home so I could help him, but all the while, my right hand was behind me, desperately grabbing for anything I could find to hand to him to appease his cries. Not the safest thing, but I couldn’t handle him crying. Specifically, I had a hard time letting him feel for even a moment that he wasn’t being given anything I could get for him.
They tell you that you can’t spoil a baby. If they want to be hugged, hug them as much as they want. Listen to their needs and really take it upon yourself to make sure you provide for those needs. Sure, you do eventually let them cry things out and you tend to not buy them something EVERY time you enter a store. You make sure that you aren’t giving in to their every demand. Yet, I know I am not alone with children that demand things instantly.
Can you blame them, though? Our culture has been evolving with instant gratification in mind. It is the dream of everyone to have everything handed to us. We eat at fast food places because we don’t want to spend the time cooking. There was a time when people made their own clothes, whereas now not only can we just go down to any mall and get pants, we can be even lazier and order them online. Point and click is really instant gratification at its finest.
There are diet pills that claim to make you thin with no effort. We don’t have to spend weeks reading books anymore since all the good ones are made into 2 hour movies. Didn’t call your best friend on her birthday? No problem! You can send her a virtual card, write her a note on Facebook and send her an email all in about 5 minutes online. Christmas used to be a time where we scoured the earth for the best present for our loved ones. Now, we can pick up a handful of gift cards at the supermarket while we get milk. Where is the joy in that?
I am certainly not suggesting I don’t take full advantage of many of the technological breakthroughs we have made. There was a time when I would have been writing this with my trusty ball point pen and lined notebook paper. But now, I can type this out, let the computer tell me where my spelling errors are (and often it will just go ahead and correct them for me!), tell me the number of words and even put pretty page numbers. Why in the world would I write something out by hand now being that I would end up having to type it later anyway?
Keeping all of this in mind, I still want to instill a sense of hard work into my children. Yes, use technology as a way to make things easier, but make sure you also take the time to put some elbow grease into things. Presents shouldn’t come every time you do something good. Candy isn’t a treat for every night.
It also means that because of these lessons, I will need to apply them to my own life as well. Sure, I may be tired after working all day, but I should cook dinner instead of getting takeout. Use that time to teach the boys how to make food. It will come in handy when they are teenagers who will eat me out of house and home and I can’t keep up with the demands. Plus, it will woo the ladies later in life. If I want to buy something big, I need to save up for it. If I need to get my own piggy bank, so be it. But I can also use this lesson to teach the boys valuable lessons in money saving. Maybe have them put their coins in their banks as not just a game, but as a way to buy that cool Buzz Lightyear action figure, or the Darth Vader costume they have their eye on. It is never too soon to teach the value of a dollar.
Really, I need to appreciate the shortcuts and cool things that I have, but I also need to make sure to earn those things. Only then will the boys have a real example of what patience and hard work can really bring you. If Bobby loses the balloon, he needs to be taught to understand that no matter how much crying he does, it isn’t coming back until a later period. And I need to be ok with that.
Don’t worry, I am sure I will still spoil them. I can’t help going in the dollar aisle and picking up random things that I am sure they will enjoy. But perhaps instead of bestowing them on them the instant I see them, I will hold on to them, save them, and make sure that I don’t just give them everything they want. Otherwise, they start to misunderstand the word “treat”.
When we got home, I retrieved Bobby’s balloon for him and he took it proudly inside. Within about 5 minutes, though, he managed to pop it with one of this toys. I was concerned that he would demand a new balloon on the spot, but instead, he calmly said, “Poppy will have to make me a new one when we go there.” I was impressed that he didn’t melt down. He actually seemed to understand that he would have to wait for something he wanted. Perhaps teaching him these lessons won’t be as hard. Maybe it isn’t as bad as it could be. There is hope for us! “Mommy, go get me milk!”
Monsters
12-11-08
The trouble with monsters is that they are everywhere.
This is according to my two sons, who on one too many occasions the last six months have had run ins with the mysterious creatures. It started when Bobby, my three year old, decided that they were living in his bedroom. It caused him to be fearful of being in there at night. He would get up in the middle of the night, convinced that one of them was jumping around and breaking things in his room. It was some very exhausting nights while we went through the arsenal of solutions available to us on the net.
We tried the monster killer, AKA squirt bottle. This seemed to keep them at bay for a while. He armed himself each night with the spray bottle after we showed him how to use it against the rude houseguests. The bottle had nothing in it, but this didn’t seem to bother Bobby. He ran through the house before bed and claimed to have killed all of the monsters and he settled in for sleep feeling victorious. Not as much as we did since it meant that we also would get sleep.
That was of course until we heard the pitter pat of his Lightning McQueen slippers enter our room with the hushed whisper of “Daddy?” The monsters were back. We tried “friends” in the form of his toy Shrek and even Blue. He has a small army of stuffed animals, lead by General Buzz Lightyear who seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the onslaught of these pesky buggers.
Finally on a whim, I decided to make monster powder. My husband and I rummaged through the house looking for the best container for this magical remedy that consisted of baby powder and some sparkly body powder I had in my makeup drawer. In our search, we came across these plastic bottles and colored sand that were some craft project I had purchased long before either of my children would care to make sand bottles. However, it was their time to shine as I cam out of the craft box with excitement. Bobby would help me make the monster powder with the colored sand. He would pick a pinch of the colors to put into the base of baby powder to create a tailor made concoction specific for his brand of monster. Luckily, it seemed to do the trick as he and Daddy sprinkled the dust all over ever square inch of his room and most of the house.
What makes this even more frustrating is that monsters truly are everywhere. They are on Sesame Street. Grover, Oscar and the truly frightening Elmo are all technically monsters. The description of Yo Gabba Gabba, which is a favorite in our house, says that is the adventures of four monsters and a robot. Even one of their beloved Pixar films is an entire world of monsters. Mind you, all of these creatures are totally acceptable to each of them. They even have a set of the Yo Gabba Gabba crowd on their beds and Dax loves his Sulley action figure. I have tried to explain to them that the monsters in their rooms are friends with the good monsters and will not hurt them. My pleas fall on deaf ears.
Bobby was looking at something that had the Loch Ness Monster on it. He asked me what it was. I actually had to come up with something else to call this fictional character. I can’t even bring myself to say monster for anything. I am so scared that it will put a new image of the bad monsters in their heads that I have to come up with creative ways to describe things.
How can you battle something that has such a prominent place in our lives? I don’t want to say that all monsters are bad, since we know this isn’t the case. Of course, they aren’t all good, either. I guess monsters are just like people. They come in all shapes and sizes and some are pleasant, some are grumpy, and some are child like. Maybe this is why monsters are so easy for children to gravitate towards, not just because of their cuddly aspects. They are exaggerated images they might have of the people in their lives. Elmo is just like a kid brother, always willing to play, full of wonder and someone you can always teach a lesson to, which is great for kids to be the ones who teach instead of being taught. They also see monsters like Oscar who are grouchy like his name and I would bet the monsters under the bed look more like him than Elmo. Kids are not scared of monsters, so much as they are frightened of the characteristics that certain monsters portray. Clearly my lesson plan has changed. I need to be teaching them how to deal with difficult monsters much in the same way I deal with difficult humans. I am pretty sure no amount of magic monster powder will get rid of that annoying boss or rude checkout girl. Maybe the monsters need some compassion.
I am now on a mission to make the monster lessons similar to the training classes we get at work on how to work with all different sorts of people. I think this will be a better lesson overall with the boys. Maybe it will help Bobby sleep, and in turn, create a better person for the future.
Of course, now the monsters have now moved on to torment Dax, my 2 year old. The last couple nights we headed out for a walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights when Dax gripped onto my legs on a particularly dark section hissing at me, “Mommy! Scared!” I asked him what he was afraid of and he said with all seriousness, “Monsters!” I guess I need to get him enrolled in my new classes, too.
The trouble with monsters is that they are everywhere.
This is according to my two sons, who on one too many occasions the last six months have had run ins with the mysterious creatures. It started when Bobby, my three year old, decided that they were living in his bedroom. It caused him to be fearful of being in there at night. He would get up in the middle of the night, convinced that one of them was jumping around and breaking things in his room. It was some very exhausting nights while we went through the arsenal of solutions available to us on the net.
We tried the monster killer, AKA squirt bottle. This seemed to keep them at bay for a while. He armed himself each night with the spray bottle after we showed him how to use it against the rude houseguests. The bottle had nothing in it, but this didn’t seem to bother Bobby. He ran through the house before bed and claimed to have killed all of the monsters and he settled in for sleep feeling victorious. Not as much as we did since it meant that we also would get sleep.
That was of course until we heard the pitter pat of his Lightning McQueen slippers enter our room with the hushed whisper of “Daddy?” The monsters were back. We tried “friends” in the form of his toy Shrek and even Blue. He has a small army of stuffed animals, lead by General Buzz Lightyear who seemed to be at a loss as to what to do with the onslaught of these pesky buggers.
Finally on a whim, I decided to make monster powder. My husband and I rummaged through the house looking for the best container for this magical remedy that consisted of baby powder and some sparkly body powder I had in my makeup drawer. In our search, we came across these plastic bottles and colored sand that were some craft project I had purchased long before either of my children would care to make sand bottles. However, it was their time to shine as I cam out of the craft box with excitement. Bobby would help me make the monster powder with the colored sand. He would pick a pinch of the colors to put into the base of baby powder to create a tailor made concoction specific for his brand of monster. Luckily, it seemed to do the trick as he and Daddy sprinkled the dust all over ever square inch of his room and most of the house.
What makes this even more frustrating is that monsters truly are everywhere. They are on Sesame Street. Grover, Oscar and the truly frightening Elmo are all technically monsters. The description of Yo Gabba Gabba, which is a favorite in our house, says that is the adventures of four monsters and a robot. Even one of their beloved Pixar films is an entire world of monsters. Mind you, all of these creatures are totally acceptable to each of them. They even have a set of the Yo Gabba Gabba crowd on their beds and Dax loves his Sulley action figure. I have tried to explain to them that the monsters in their rooms are friends with the good monsters and will not hurt them. My pleas fall on deaf ears.
Bobby was looking at something that had the Loch Ness Monster on it. He asked me what it was. I actually had to come up with something else to call this fictional character. I can’t even bring myself to say monster for anything. I am so scared that it will put a new image of the bad monsters in their heads that I have to come up with creative ways to describe things.
How can you battle something that has such a prominent place in our lives? I don’t want to say that all monsters are bad, since we know this isn’t the case. Of course, they aren’t all good, either. I guess monsters are just like people. They come in all shapes and sizes and some are pleasant, some are grumpy, and some are child like. Maybe this is why monsters are so easy for children to gravitate towards, not just because of their cuddly aspects. They are exaggerated images they might have of the people in their lives. Elmo is just like a kid brother, always willing to play, full of wonder and someone you can always teach a lesson to, which is great for kids to be the ones who teach instead of being taught. They also see monsters like Oscar who are grouchy like his name and I would bet the monsters under the bed look more like him than Elmo. Kids are not scared of monsters, so much as they are frightened of the characteristics that certain monsters portray. Clearly my lesson plan has changed. I need to be teaching them how to deal with difficult monsters much in the same way I deal with difficult humans. I am pretty sure no amount of magic monster powder will get rid of that annoying boss or rude checkout girl. Maybe the monsters need some compassion.
I am now on a mission to make the monster lessons similar to the training classes we get at work on how to work with all different sorts of people. I think this will be a better lesson overall with the boys. Maybe it will help Bobby sleep, and in turn, create a better person for the future.
Of course, now the monsters have now moved on to torment Dax, my 2 year old. The last couple nights we headed out for a walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas lights when Dax gripped onto my legs on a particularly dark section hissing at me, “Mommy! Scared!” I asked him what he was afraid of and he said with all seriousness, “Monsters!” I guess I need to get him enrolled in my new classes, too.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
My New Hero
“I screwed up.” Who knew those words would make me fall deeply in love with someone. When our president said those words on Anderson Cooper, I felt a swelling of pride for the man. I didn’t care how he screwed up or what he was going to do in order to fix said screw up. I was just enamored with the man, the leader of our country that just admitted fault on national television.
This is something that really shouldn’t be that amazing. Yet it is. Looking back at history, so many politicians have flat out lied to us. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” “I am not a crook” and countless other statements have been made by elected officials which have no truth behind them whatsoever. I know, it isn’t shocking. I mean, if a politician doesn’t lie, he must be lying about being a politician. Perhaps that is what makes Obama so remarkable.
It isn’t just that, though. Not only is it amazing that the president admitted fault, the fact that a human being admitted fault blew me away! How often in life these days does someone actually admit fault? I know on a daily basis I see errors being made, with no one ever stepping up and taking responsibility for it. I’m not just talking about people cleaning up the mess, either. Just simply saying they did something wrong would be a great step in the right direction.
A coworker told me yesterday about how when she approached another coworker about how a particular task was handled incorrectly, he dodged responsibility and told her, with a growl nonetheless, “Oh well, it is already done.” One might assume that he was in fact saying it was done poorly. But instead of agreeing with her that he had made a wrong choice he got defensive about it and refused to listen to input. How is this productive?
They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. This isn’t just the steps for alcohol abuse. This is true for all aspects of life. If you are looking to grow as a person, you need to be able to accept that more often then not, you are going to make mistakes. Why not own up to them? Going back to our buddies in office, don’t you think that had Clinton just come out and said, “Yup, I hit that” that there wouldn’t have been as much of a problem? His private indiscretion became a bill for you and I to have to pay with our taxes. It is especially aggravating when really, we all knew the truth. Most people probably wouldn’t care (Oh no! a president cheated on his wife! Not that!), and it certainly would not have been as big a news story that it became.
Why don’t people want to say they screwed up? I suppose fear of reprimand is the first thing that comes to mind. You make a mistake and you don’t want to get in trouble for it. Of course they don’t look at the big picture to see that had they just fessed up in the first place, the problem would not have become even worse, as they often do. In fact, many of the biggest lies that folks get busted on are not the source of punishment. It is all in the cover-up. Clinton didn’t get in trouble for playing hide the cigar with an intern. He got in trouble for lying under oath. The consequences for that are so much higher. By doing that, he added impeachment to the ass kicking he undoubtedly got from Hilary. Maybe he did that on purpose as those hearings got him out of the house. Touché, Mr. Clinton.
I just wish that more people in authority would be ok with having flaws. People who are managers, mayors, ministers, and teachers, all of them have lied about their wrong doings, which in turn makes them less trustworthy, and gives a bad name to all those who work in the same profession. They do these horrible things, and then bold face lie about it, despite the glaring evidence to the contrary. When they do this, the next time something happens that really wasn’t the fault of another professional, we don’t believe them because of course the last time we heard that story we were hit with the truth being nothing close to it. Folks are not only crying wolf for their own lives, they are now jeopardizing other people’s reputations.
Obama offers not only hope for our country in terms of is policies and plans. Today, I see hope because he has shown folks that it is possible to be a leader and a decent human being. Sure, his inauguration speech was inspiring, but not as much as those three little words of “I screwed up”. He has just given the power to everyone of us to know that we can make mistakes, and that we are all in the same boat. With the pressure of finding out who to blame being gone, the time spent now will be to make things better. What a much more efficient way to spend time. I think there is a chance for America after all.
This is something that really shouldn’t be that amazing. Yet it is. Looking back at history, so many politicians have flat out lied to us. “I did not have sexual relations with that woman.” “I am not a crook” and countless other statements have been made by elected officials which have no truth behind them whatsoever. I know, it isn’t shocking. I mean, if a politician doesn’t lie, he must be lying about being a politician. Perhaps that is what makes Obama so remarkable.
It isn’t just that, though. Not only is it amazing that the president admitted fault, the fact that a human being admitted fault blew me away! How often in life these days does someone actually admit fault? I know on a daily basis I see errors being made, with no one ever stepping up and taking responsibility for it. I’m not just talking about people cleaning up the mess, either. Just simply saying they did something wrong would be a great step in the right direction.
A coworker told me yesterday about how when she approached another coworker about how a particular task was handled incorrectly, he dodged responsibility and told her, with a growl nonetheless, “Oh well, it is already done.” One might assume that he was in fact saying it was done poorly. But instead of agreeing with her that he had made a wrong choice he got defensive about it and refused to listen to input. How is this productive?
They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. This isn’t just the steps for alcohol abuse. This is true for all aspects of life. If you are looking to grow as a person, you need to be able to accept that more often then not, you are going to make mistakes. Why not own up to them? Going back to our buddies in office, don’t you think that had Clinton just come out and said, “Yup, I hit that” that there wouldn’t have been as much of a problem? His private indiscretion became a bill for you and I to have to pay with our taxes. It is especially aggravating when really, we all knew the truth. Most people probably wouldn’t care (Oh no! a president cheated on his wife! Not that!), and it certainly would not have been as big a news story that it became.
Why don’t people want to say they screwed up? I suppose fear of reprimand is the first thing that comes to mind. You make a mistake and you don’t want to get in trouble for it. Of course they don’t look at the big picture to see that had they just fessed up in the first place, the problem would not have become even worse, as they often do. In fact, many of the biggest lies that folks get busted on are not the source of punishment. It is all in the cover-up. Clinton didn’t get in trouble for playing hide the cigar with an intern. He got in trouble for lying under oath. The consequences for that are so much higher. By doing that, he added impeachment to the ass kicking he undoubtedly got from Hilary. Maybe he did that on purpose as those hearings got him out of the house. Touché, Mr. Clinton.
I just wish that more people in authority would be ok with having flaws. People who are managers, mayors, ministers, and teachers, all of them have lied about their wrong doings, which in turn makes them less trustworthy, and gives a bad name to all those who work in the same profession. They do these horrible things, and then bold face lie about it, despite the glaring evidence to the contrary. When they do this, the next time something happens that really wasn’t the fault of another professional, we don’t believe them because of course the last time we heard that story we were hit with the truth being nothing close to it. Folks are not only crying wolf for their own lives, they are now jeopardizing other people’s reputations.
Obama offers not only hope for our country in terms of is policies and plans. Today, I see hope because he has shown folks that it is possible to be a leader and a decent human being. Sure, his inauguration speech was inspiring, but not as much as those three little words of “I screwed up”. He has just given the power to everyone of us to know that we can make mistakes, and that we are all in the same boat. With the pressure of finding out who to blame being gone, the time spent now will be to make things better. What a much more efficient way to spend time. I think there is a chance for America after all.
For the Love of a Child
Two of the big stories this week have been about two moms who have gone to extraordinary measures to keep their children away from reasonable, proper medical care. You have got to wonder what these women are thinking. One is somewhere in Mexico, looking for alternative medicine to help with her son’s cancer because she, and supposedly her son, both don’t want to continue with chemotherapy. The other, a mom with a 14 year old son who is, wait for it, 500 pounds. The authorities are after her because they feel that this unhealthy weight is her fault and want to get this child some real help.
When I heard both stories, I found myself torn. On one end, there is the feeling of camaraderie with these mothers. Despite their ignorance in terms of what it best for their offspring, they do love their kids. Think of it this way, if they truly didn’t care, wouldn’t it just be easier to give the kids to the police, let them deal with the health issues and be done with it? The woman whose child is dying from cancer has indicated that she didn’t want her child to suffer through the rigors of chemo. Granted, cancer is no picnic, either, but I can understand the irrational thought process that wants to keep your son out of harm’s way.
In today’s society, every little thing we do for our children is looked at under a microscope. Not just in how we treat a cancerous mass in their little bodies, either. Everything from whether we breastfed or formula fed, pacifier or no pacifier, even just how we got the kid out of our bodies in the first place is criticized. It doesn’t just stop when they are infants. Potty training, teaching them to read, what foods they consume, every significant and insignificant step in childhood is a test for a mother. I have a 4 year old, and already, I feel as though I have failed him at times. I see my 2 year old learning things quicker, and I think to myself, I guess at least I learned from my mistakes with Bobby and now Dax stands a chance. Mind you, these little mistakes are just with getting them to pee in the toilet or how to get them to put on their own shirt. Not headline making, yet I feel the pressure.
Fast forward 10 years for me. When Bobby is 14, and possibly going by Robert, how competent will I be? It will no longer be Dr. Seuss I will have to worry about but Algebra and pre calculus. Is my son being stimulated enough in the classroom, is he well rounded outside of school. Is he nice to other kids, or is he a bully? All of these things that all parents deal with, and have dealt with for years, and yet it is so much different today than even 5 years ago. Don’t even look back 10 or 20 or even 30, because you will see that despite our parents’ and grandparents’ drives to push their kids to succeed, they didn’t have the crazy that is the internet, 24 hour news stories on new learning tools, and TLC programs showing us how a family of 18 kids can be more efficient than one with only 2.
Now let’s add to the mix some horrible words. Cancer. Obesity. These are only two of the many things we may have to deal with. Now put those words in conjunction with your child’s name. Bobby has cancer. Dax is morbidly obese. They send chills through your body and although some may be able to step up in ways that don’t seem humanly possible, doesn’t it seem also possible that some parents will simply crack from that kind of pressure?
We do what we think is best for our kids. Most people truly do. They don’t sit idly by on the sideline watching their son or daughter suffer though the beast that is flowing through their blood or feel good when their kid can’t make it up a flight of stairs without wheezing. Often our best isn’t good enough, and yes, we turn to doctors for their help and expertise. We look to them for guidance. What we don’t always realize is that, despite their years of training, despite their vast knowledge, we have been trained to not trust them.
Think about it. How many malpractice suits are filed each year? How many times have we been told to get a second opinion about something as trivial as a bad cough? We glamorize doctors in sitcoms and dramas every night on our television, and yet we don’t even listen to our own physician who is there on our team of wellness.
When we then hear a doctor telling us the pain and agony our child, our baby will go through to kill the cancer. We hear that our child, our baby will go through food withdrawals and it will be tough. Of course we know the benefits, but haven’t we been good about keeping them from harm’s way to begin with? And even though this is harm to bring about a greater good, our gut reaction is often surprising when we decline a treatment only to keep them from shedding one tear.
I of course understand that despite my sympathy for these mothers who have to overcome nature and push past their human shield, that bottom line is, it is in fact a village that raises these children. Of course, it wasn’t my next door neighbor that stayed up late at night with my son at their breast, but they may have been up, trying to not call the cops for the loud baby cries. It wasn’t the Ralph’s employee who dressed my son in the morning, but it was him who guided him back to me when he wandered off. It was I who taught him how to walk, but it is that special teacher that really taught them how to fly with a love of science. We all have a hand in every one person’s life, and with that, when we see a mother, who is stressed beyond her capacity to think rationally, we have to step up, we have to help. Not just the child, but her as well.
I hope with all my heart that even though these two women were wrong in taking their children away from the village that wants to help, we still can stop and put ourselves in their shoes. It isn’t easy being alone while raising a child, and perhaps if they understand that, future decisions that they make will be more beneficial to not only her, but to her child.
Even though I am sure that my life is going to be bombarded with advice, success stories and tragic tales all surrounding every aspect of my boys’ upbringing, I want to make sure to take from that the good that truly is intended. Hopefully it isn’t too late for these two women to really be able to grasp that and I hope that they get the help their kids need as soon as possible. I think once they do, the healing their kids will be going through will not be the only healing. They too, need our support to get them to a point where they know, they were never alone in the fight for their child’s health.
When I heard both stories, I found myself torn. On one end, there is the feeling of camaraderie with these mothers. Despite their ignorance in terms of what it best for their offspring, they do love their kids. Think of it this way, if they truly didn’t care, wouldn’t it just be easier to give the kids to the police, let them deal with the health issues and be done with it? The woman whose child is dying from cancer has indicated that she didn’t want her child to suffer through the rigors of chemo. Granted, cancer is no picnic, either, but I can understand the irrational thought process that wants to keep your son out of harm’s way.
In today’s society, every little thing we do for our children is looked at under a microscope. Not just in how we treat a cancerous mass in their little bodies, either. Everything from whether we breastfed or formula fed, pacifier or no pacifier, even just how we got the kid out of our bodies in the first place is criticized. It doesn’t just stop when they are infants. Potty training, teaching them to read, what foods they consume, every significant and insignificant step in childhood is a test for a mother. I have a 4 year old, and already, I feel as though I have failed him at times. I see my 2 year old learning things quicker, and I think to myself, I guess at least I learned from my mistakes with Bobby and now Dax stands a chance. Mind you, these little mistakes are just with getting them to pee in the toilet or how to get them to put on their own shirt. Not headline making, yet I feel the pressure.
Fast forward 10 years for me. When Bobby is 14, and possibly going by Robert, how competent will I be? It will no longer be Dr. Seuss I will have to worry about but Algebra and pre calculus. Is my son being stimulated enough in the classroom, is he well rounded outside of school. Is he nice to other kids, or is he a bully? All of these things that all parents deal with, and have dealt with for years, and yet it is so much different today than even 5 years ago. Don’t even look back 10 or 20 or even 30, because you will see that despite our parents’ and grandparents’ drives to push their kids to succeed, they didn’t have the crazy that is the internet, 24 hour news stories on new learning tools, and TLC programs showing us how a family of 18 kids can be more efficient than one with only 2.
Now let’s add to the mix some horrible words. Cancer. Obesity. These are only two of the many things we may have to deal with. Now put those words in conjunction with your child’s name. Bobby has cancer. Dax is morbidly obese. They send chills through your body and although some may be able to step up in ways that don’t seem humanly possible, doesn’t it seem also possible that some parents will simply crack from that kind of pressure?
We do what we think is best for our kids. Most people truly do. They don’t sit idly by on the sideline watching their son or daughter suffer though the beast that is flowing through their blood or feel good when their kid can’t make it up a flight of stairs without wheezing. Often our best isn’t good enough, and yes, we turn to doctors for their help and expertise. We look to them for guidance. What we don’t always realize is that, despite their years of training, despite their vast knowledge, we have been trained to not trust them.
Think about it. How many malpractice suits are filed each year? How many times have we been told to get a second opinion about something as trivial as a bad cough? We glamorize doctors in sitcoms and dramas every night on our television, and yet we don’t even listen to our own physician who is there on our team of wellness.
When we then hear a doctor telling us the pain and agony our child, our baby will go through to kill the cancer. We hear that our child, our baby will go through food withdrawals and it will be tough. Of course we know the benefits, but haven’t we been good about keeping them from harm’s way to begin with? And even though this is harm to bring about a greater good, our gut reaction is often surprising when we decline a treatment only to keep them from shedding one tear.
I of course understand that despite my sympathy for these mothers who have to overcome nature and push past their human shield, that bottom line is, it is in fact a village that raises these children. Of course, it wasn’t my next door neighbor that stayed up late at night with my son at their breast, but they may have been up, trying to not call the cops for the loud baby cries. It wasn’t the Ralph’s employee who dressed my son in the morning, but it was him who guided him back to me when he wandered off. It was I who taught him how to walk, but it is that special teacher that really taught them how to fly with a love of science. We all have a hand in every one person’s life, and with that, when we see a mother, who is stressed beyond her capacity to think rationally, we have to step up, we have to help. Not just the child, but her as well.
I hope with all my heart that even though these two women were wrong in taking their children away from the village that wants to help, we still can stop and put ourselves in their shoes. It isn’t easy being alone while raising a child, and perhaps if they understand that, future decisions that they make will be more beneficial to not only her, but to her child.
Even though I am sure that my life is going to be bombarded with advice, success stories and tragic tales all surrounding every aspect of my boys’ upbringing, I want to make sure to take from that the good that truly is intended. Hopefully it isn’t too late for these two women to really be able to grasp that and I hope that they get the help their kids need as soon as possible. I think once they do, the healing their kids will be going through will not be the only healing. They too, need our support to get them to a point where they know, they were never alone in the fight for their child’s health.
Mercy
What can be forgiven? What should be? These are questions that can come to mind when it comes to everything from a partner’s indiscretions to something trivial like a ripped sweater. You would think that even using those two examples you could easily say what is the correct answer, yet there have been couples who stayed together happily even knowing about a one night stand and friendships tattered worse than the sweater.
The question comes up because of the news stories concerning Susan Atkins. Atkins, in case you are unfamiliar with the name, is one of the members of the famed Mason family who gruesomely ended the lives of nine people, including actress Sharon Tate and her unborn child. Atkins was originally sentenced to death, but it was changed to life in prison when the US Supreme Court overturned the death penalty. Atkins was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and is currently paralyzed over 85% of her body. She has but a short while left before she dies. In 2008, she requested a compassionate release from prison which was denied. Her next parole hearing is in September of this year, if she makes it that long.
There are valid arguments on both sides of this coin. Granting mercy to a woman who showed no mercy both undermines the justice system and makes mankind more compassionate than the monsters that sometimes come from it. How do you explain to Sharon Tate’s sister, who has been at every parole hearing for Atkins, that despite being denied parole 17 other times, now that she has a tumor it is like a get out of jail free card? How do you explain to the countless prisoners who have tried very hard to take advantage of prison programs and truly showed compassion and remorse that no matter what you do, you cannot be rehabilitated in the eyes of the state and you may as well not bother?
Atkins if anything has truly shown that our prison system can help people who have committed horrendous crimes. She was sentenced to death on March 29, 1971, and within 3 years she had turned to religion to help cleanse her soul. She has been a model prisoner, having worked in several programs in the prison. She received commendation for her role in saving the lives of two fellow inmates. She also has worked towards discouraging teenagers from idolizing Manson. She knows he was a monster, and she knows that much of the influence he had over her brought out her own demons. Yet, despite her best efforts to be a reformed criminal, she finds that every time she is up for parole, she is denied. You can make the argument that she should just be happy that she recognized the agony she has put so many people through. She shouldn’t be trying to get out of prison when she belongs there for the people she killed. But isn’t that why we offer parole? Do allow for people to know that yes, you will pay for your crime, yes, you have done bad, but we still believe in humanity and we still believe that there is good in everyone and we are hoping that yours will float to the surface to wash away the side we put in jail in the first place?
The question I have is, why would we dangle freedom in front of this woman so many times? 17 different parole hearings? It is cruel when it can be assumed that every member of that parole board made up their mind about Susan Atkins long before they sat down and read her file. They have seen the pictures, they have read the stories, they know the image of a swastika carved into Manson’s head. They hear this woman giggling at her own trial some 40 years ago, not realizing the gravity of not just what she is facing, but what she has done. Take into consideration, also, the members of the families torn apart because of those murders. 17 times they had to wonder if they would have to witness the release of the person who killed their sister, their daughter or their son. Doesn’t it make more sense for us as a people to be more concise with our punishment system? Right now, we are doling out torture towards many parties. Have we taunted the prisoner? Check. Have we picked the scab off the wound of the families? Check. Have we caused the public to once again be reminded of the bloody scene and made them question not only their beliefs, but also to wonder if our tax dollars have been improperly used in the cost of every parole hearing, every hospital visit to keep a death row inmate healthy, and every moment we spend on something that happened so long ago? I would say we got a perfect score on this.
Although she was sentenced to death, it is hard to say if she ever would have faced death at the hands of the state. The length of time an inmate stays on “death row’ is so lengthy, it has been shown that nearly a quarter of deaths on death row are actually from natural causes. As of 2008, 3263 prisoners are awaiting execution. The longest serving prisoner on death row, who was only recently executed, served 33 years. 33 years! This man had to sit around and essentially wait to die. I am not suggesting that any crime he may have committed didn’t warrant 33 years of prison. What I do suggest is that if the sentence was death, shouldn’t we get on with it already? Don’t keep him around like a dog in a cage, pacing back and forth, possibly fueling his own mental demons that got him there in the first place, only to kill him 33 years later. At this point, is it any wonder that sympathies start to bubble up for these prisoners? Are the victims of the crimes committed even remembered by anyone outside of their family and friends? In a high profile murder like the Mason crimes, we remember Sharon because of who she was, who she was married to and her husband. Yet I would imagine people would be hard pressed to come up with the other people in the house that night. Yet we all know who killed them. Wouldn’t it have been possibly better to kill off the killer right away so that we can get that nasty taste in our mouth out? Let’s instead honor the dead instead of thinking of the bad guy?
Mind you, I am not for this solution, either. I feel our legal system is flawed and even though the percentage of wrongly convicted felons is probably super low, isn’t even 1% something we need to be concerned about? I also question our own society. How many times have parents been called down to their son’s school because he had hit another child? Yet we cheer at boxing matches. How many times do we tell our children that killing is wrong, yet you will read the newspaper headlines showing everything from war to executions, all sanctioned killings. We can rationalize each of these things. War is needed to keep people safe by getting rid of evil. Capital punishment is crucial in a deterrent to keep people from acting out on primitive actions and we can say “an eye for an eye” without really considering what eyes are involved.
I would like to think as a society we are better than all of that. We have let women vote, and elected a black president. We have come together over tragedy like 9/11 and Katrina. We have seen the good in some of the most horrid places, and witnessed evil in paradise. Shouldn’t we then see that in order to continue to evolve as a people, as a species, perhaps a little bit of compassion, a little bit of mercy might in fact help us to gain another level of existence?
Susan Atkins is going to die. There is no question. Whether it be today, tomorrow or in 20 years, it is going to happen. Of course, it also may not make much difference in the grand scheme of things to keep her in her prison hospital bed, unable to move, and knowing that she did horrible things in her life. It may not make much difference to release her to her own home where her husband will be left to care for a killer because he loves her that much. But every small action has an impact, and I would like to think that a simple act of mercy truly does go a long way.
The question comes up because of the news stories concerning Susan Atkins. Atkins, in case you are unfamiliar with the name, is one of the members of the famed Mason family who gruesomely ended the lives of nine people, including actress Sharon Tate and her unborn child. Atkins was originally sentenced to death, but it was changed to life in prison when the US Supreme Court overturned the death penalty. Atkins was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and is currently paralyzed over 85% of her body. She has but a short while left before she dies. In 2008, she requested a compassionate release from prison which was denied. Her next parole hearing is in September of this year, if she makes it that long.
There are valid arguments on both sides of this coin. Granting mercy to a woman who showed no mercy both undermines the justice system and makes mankind more compassionate than the monsters that sometimes come from it. How do you explain to Sharon Tate’s sister, who has been at every parole hearing for Atkins, that despite being denied parole 17 other times, now that she has a tumor it is like a get out of jail free card? How do you explain to the countless prisoners who have tried very hard to take advantage of prison programs and truly showed compassion and remorse that no matter what you do, you cannot be rehabilitated in the eyes of the state and you may as well not bother?
Atkins if anything has truly shown that our prison system can help people who have committed horrendous crimes. She was sentenced to death on March 29, 1971, and within 3 years she had turned to religion to help cleanse her soul. She has been a model prisoner, having worked in several programs in the prison. She received commendation for her role in saving the lives of two fellow inmates. She also has worked towards discouraging teenagers from idolizing Manson. She knows he was a monster, and she knows that much of the influence he had over her brought out her own demons. Yet, despite her best efforts to be a reformed criminal, she finds that every time she is up for parole, she is denied. You can make the argument that she should just be happy that she recognized the agony she has put so many people through. She shouldn’t be trying to get out of prison when she belongs there for the people she killed. But isn’t that why we offer parole? Do allow for people to know that yes, you will pay for your crime, yes, you have done bad, but we still believe in humanity and we still believe that there is good in everyone and we are hoping that yours will float to the surface to wash away the side we put in jail in the first place?
The question I have is, why would we dangle freedom in front of this woman so many times? 17 different parole hearings? It is cruel when it can be assumed that every member of that parole board made up their mind about Susan Atkins long before they sat down and read her file. They have seen the pictures, they have read the stories, they know the image of a swastika carved into Manson’s head. They hear this woman giggling at her own trial some 40 years ago, not realizing the gravity of not just what she is facing, but what she has done. Take into consideration, also, the members of the families torn apart because of those murders. 17 times they had to wonder if they would have to witness the release of the person who killed their sister, their daughter or their son. Doesn’t it make more sense for us as a people to be more concise with our punishment system? Right now, we are doling out torture towards many parties. Have we taunted the prisoner? Check. Have we picked the scab off the wound of the families? Check. Have we caused the public to once again be reminded of the bloody scene and made them question not only their beliefs, but also to wonder if our tax dollars have been improperly used in the cost of every parole hearing, every hospital visit to keep a death row inmate healthy, and every moment we spend on something that happened so long ago? I would say we got a perfect score on this.
Although she was sentenced to death, it is hard to say if she ever would have faced death at the hands of the state. The length of time an inmate stays on “death row’ is so lengthy, it has been shown that nearly a quarter of deaths on death row are actually from natural causes. As of 2008, 3263 prisoners are awaiting execution. The longest serving prisoner on death row, who was only recently executed, served 33 years. 33 years! This man had to sit around and essentially wait to die. I am not suggesting that any crime he may have committed didn’t warrant 33 years of prison. What I do suggest is that if the sentence was death, shouldn’t we get on with it already? Don’t keep him around like a dog in a cage, pacing back and forth, possibly fueling his own mental demons that got him there in the first place, only to kill him 33 years later. At this point, is it any wonder that sympathies start to bubble up for these prisoners? Are the victims of the crimes committed even remembered by anyone outside of their family and friends? In a high profile murder like the Mason crimes, we remember Sharon because of who she was, who she was married to and her husband. Yet I would imagine people would be hard pressed to come up with the other people in the house that night. Yet we all know who killed them. Wouldn’t it have been possibly better to kill off the killer right away so that we can get that nasty taste in our mouth out? Let’s instead honor the dead instead of thinking of the bad guy?
Mind you, I am not for this solution, either. I feel our legal system is flawed and even though the percentage of wrongly convicted felons is probably super low, isn’t even 1% something we need to be concerned about? I also question our own society. How many times have parents been called down to their son’s school because he had hit another child? Yet we cheer at boxing matches. How many times do we tell our children that killing is wrong, yet you will read the newspaper headlines showing everything from war to executions, all sanctioned killings. We can rationalize each of these things. War is needed to keep people safe by getting rid of evil. Capital punishment is crucial in a deterrent to keep people from acting out on primitive actions and we can say “an eye for an eye” without really considering what eyes are involved.
I would like to think as a society we are better than all of that. We have let women vote, and elected a black president. We have come together over tragedy like 9/11 and Katrina. We have seen the good in some of the most horrid places, and witnessed evil in paradise. Shouldn’t we then see that in order to continue to evolve as a people, as a species, perhaps a little bit of compassion, a little bit of mercy might in fact help us to gain another level of existence?
Susan Atkins is going to die. There is no question. Whether it be today, tomorrow or in 20 years, it is going to happen. Of course, it also may not make much difference in the grand scheme of things to keep her in her prison hospital bed, unable to move, and knowing that she did horrible things in her life. It may not make much difference to release her to her own home where her husband will be left to care for a killer because he loves her that much. But every small action has an impact, and I would like to think that a simple act of mercy truly does go a long way.
Lakers Schmakers
This morning at 11 am, Los Angeles is celebrating.
The Los Angeles Lakers brought home yet another World Championship. Everyone rejoice and cheer since our beloved heroes are going to grace us with their presence in a huge parade through the streets of Los Angeles.
Are you out of your mind?
I will preface this with a disclaimer. I don’t like basketball. Never have, probably never will. I have attended one game because we were given phenomenal seats for a Clippers game. I enjoyed myself only because of the amusing music selections determined by who had the ball. When the Clippers had the ball, it was an upbeat selection, and when the opposing team had the ball, it was a menacing melody. It was good guy/bad guy music set to a sport. But even that wasn’t enough to keep me interested.
However, I do recognize that sports are important to a city. I have enjoyed baseball games, hockey games, even football, which is only slightly less offensive than basketball. When your home team wins, it is awesome. I watched the 1988 Los Angeles Dodgers win the World Series and I was elated with pride. I felt the same way about a team that I never routed for before, the Red Sox, when they finally broke their curse with their World Series win a few years back. I even have cheered the Ducks when they won the Stanley Cup, and they are rivals of my Kings! It doesn’t really matter the sport, it just matters that we are enjoyed the game and cheer the victors.
But where do we draw that line? Does every championship need that much fanfare? And more importantly, does the fanfare need to cost millions of dollars?
Athletes as it is, make gobs of cash for a game. They are good at it, and they make a franchise a crap load of money for their talent, therefore giving many people jobs, and even more people hours of enjoyment at the ballpark, local sports bar or even their own home. We could make the argument that all of the places you watch a sport put money into the economy. From the ticket price, to the beers bought at Nationals to the pizza you ordered from your living room. Professional sports are big business, and not just to the owners.
Perhaps we should in fact celebrate their victory with vigor. Didn’t they in fact not only give us entertainment, but they possibly are one of the only things that is still stimulating our hurting economy?
Even though I agree that these are all good reasons, I don’t think they are enough to warrant the parade scheduled for this morning.
I am not the only one who feels this way. There was a lot of backlash about the price tag on this little shin dig. We are a city, we are a state, in financial crisis. Jobs are being eliminated, city workers put on furlough and budgets slashed across the board. Isn’t it a tad irresponsible to throw a party just because some sports team played a game, made lots of money for themselves, and let’s face it, will do it again.
Bernard Parks had the audacity to say, “"I don't think we have a choice, this is one of those things that happen once in a decade."
Has he only lived in LA for a week?
Let’s look at the facts. The Lakers since their creation in 1948, they have only missed the NBA playoffs 5 times. They have 15 NBA titles, with 4 of those championships this decade. 4 out of the last 9 years they won! Hardly a once in a decade sort of situation.
The criticism resulted in today’s parade being paid partially by the Lakers organization and other sponsors, guaranteeing any costs the city would have been responsible for being covered. Great, problem solved, right?
Does this check being cut to LA cover the citizens that got to work late because of the freeway closures this morning? Does it cover the businesses that are likely to be closed along the parade route due to the congestion of fans converging along the route? Does it cover the messes that are not on city property? Does it cover the productivity slum that may occur when employees log onto the live broadcast from their work computers? I realize that these may seem like minor expenses, but what I am trying to say is that by paying the city for this, it doesn’t cover all costs of a major event like a parade in downtown.
In addition to these costs, there is the possibility of violence and vandalism. This isn’t news to anyone, especially since some of the players records PSA’s begging our city to not go stupid. If we really think that there is even the slightest chance of riots, shouldn’t we reconsider rewarding the team and city? When someone is killed by this violence, no amount of corporate sponsorship is going to cover that loss.
Be happy for your win, cheer for your team, enjoy your moment, but don’t for one moment think that this was so important that we spent as a community 2 million plus dollars on a frivolous party when there are so many more important things that need that kind of funding. Hey, Lakers players? I applaud your skills on the court, but instead of us celebrating you, maybe you should celebrate your city and volunteer this morning at a shelter instead of expecting adoration from Angelinos? Homeless shelters, unemployment issues, health care, and any other countless number of things rank higher than a parade right now. We should have an escape, we should have something to celebrate every once in a while, but we need to keep it in perspective. A man in Hermosa Beach was found this week in his apartment with a gunshot wound to his head. It was self inflicted only moments after he set his apartment ablaze. The reason? He couldn’t make rent this month. Do you think he was celebrating a 5 game series?
The Los Angeles Lakers brought home yet another World Championship. Everyone rejoice and cheer since our beloved heroes are going to grace us with their presence in a huge parade through the streets of Los Angeles.
Are you out of your mind?
I will preface this with a disclaimer. I don’t like basketball. Never have, probably never will. I have attended one game because we were given phenomenal seats for a Clippers game. I enjoyed myself only because of the amusing music selections determined by who had the ball. When the Clippers had the ball, it was an upbeat selection, and when the opposing team had the ball, it was a menacing melody. It was good guy/bad guy music set to a sport. But even that wasn’t enough to keep me interested.
However, I do recognize that sports are important to a city. I have enjoyed baseball games, hockey games, even football, which is only slightly less offensive than basketball. When your home team wins, it is awesome. I watched the 1988 Los Angeles Dodgers win the World Series and I was elated with pride. I felt the same way about a team that I never routed for before, the Red Sox, when they finally broke their curse with their World Series win a few years back. I even have cheered the Ducks when they won the Stanley Cup, and they are rivals of my Kings! It doesn’t really matter the sport, it just matters that we are enjoyed the game and cheer the victors.
But where do we draw that line? Does every championship need that much fanfare? And more importantly, does the fanfare need to cost millions of dollars?
Athletes as it is, make gobs of cash for a game. They are good at it, and they make a franchise a crap load of money for their talent, therefore giving many people jobs, and even more people hours of enjoyment at the ballpark, local sports bar or even their own home. We could make the argument that all of the places you watch a sport put money into the economy. From the ticket price, to the beers bought at Nationals to the pizza you ordered from your living room. Professional sports are big business, and not just to the owners.
Perhaps we should in fact celebrate their victory with vigor. Didn’t they in fact not only give us entertainment, but they possibly are one of the only things that is still stimulating our hurting economy?
Even though I agree that these are all good reasons, I don’t think they are enough to warrant the parade scheduled for this morning.
I am not the only one who feels this way. There was a lot of backlash about the price tag on this little shin dig. We are a city, we are a state, in financial crisis. Jobs are being eliminated, city workers put on furlough and budgets slashed across the board. Isn’t it a tad irresponsible to throw a party just because some sports team played a game, made lots of money for themselves, and let’s face it, will do it again.
Bernard Parks had the audacity to say, “"I don't think we have a choice, this is one of those things that happen once in a decade."
Has he only lived in LA for a week?
Let’s look at the facts. The Lakers since their creation in 1948, they have only missed the NBA playoffs 5 times. They have 15 NBA titles, with 4 of those championships this decade. 4 out of the last 9 years they won! Hardly a once in a decade sort of situation.
The criticism resulted in today’s parade being paid partially by the Lakers organization and other sponsors, guaranteeing any costs the city would have been responsible for being covered. Great, problem solved, right?
Does this check being cut to LA cover the citizens that got to work late because of the freeway closures this morning? Does it cover the businesses that are likely to be closed along the parade route due to the congestion of fans converging along the route? Does it cover the messes that are not on city property? Does it cover the productivity slum that may occur when employees log onto the live broadcast from their work computers? I realize that these may seem like minor expenses, but what I am trying to say is that by paying the city for this, it doesn’t cover all costs of a major event like a parade in downtown.
In addition to these costs, there is the possibility of violence and vandalism. This isn’t news to anyone, especially since some of the players records PSA’s begging our city to not go stupid. If we really think that there is even the slightest chance of riots, shouldn’t we reconsider rewarding the team and city? When someone is killed by this violence, no amount of corporate sponsorship is going to cover that loss.
Be happy for your win, cheer for your team, enjoy your moment, but don’t for one moment think that this was so important that we spent as a community 2 million plus dollars on a frivolous party when there are so many more important things that need that kind of funding. Hey, Lakers players? I applaud your skills on the court, but instead of us celebrating you, maybe you should celebrate your city and volunteer this morning at a shelter instead of expecting adoration from Angelinos? Homeless shelters, unemployment issues, health care, and any other countless number of things rank higher than a parade right now. We should have an escape, we should have something to celebrate every once in a while, but we need to keep it in perspective. A man in Hermosa Beach was found this week in his apartment with a gunshot wound to his head. It was self inflicted only moments after he set his apartment ablaze. The reason? He couldn’t make rent this month. Do you think he was celebrating a 5 game series?
Goodbye, Michael
My friend asked me if this whole MJ memorial is over the top. I have to say, I am so torn on this. People gravitate towards tragedy. It is why traffic stops when there is an accident. It is why we wear ribbons depicting various illnesses. Magazines sell when there is sadness, or babies. It is a strange thing. The middle ground doesn’t hit us the same, only the extremely happy events and truly upsetting events.
I wish I could say this was a recent phenomenon. I wish that we could point to a point in our history where this trend started. Yet it seems as though we have always sought out the horrible. It wasn’t that long that there were public executions. We wanted to see the suffering. The internet of course has only added fuel to the fire when we can see videos of any horrible image imaginable. Even news is filled with imagery of war and famine. It is not something we can escape.
We want to criticize the media coverage because when you get right down to it, it is so tacky. This is a man who died; a man with a family, young children and lots of fans who adored every note that he sung. Sometimes we do forget all of that. Yet you know, aside from the handful of people who truly don’t want to know about what he was wearing in his casket, we will all look. Perhaps it is some kind of instinct. We look at those less fortunate to make ourselves feel better about our own lives. We look at the dead celebrity and feel sad that their talent is now only old recordings. The last pictures of Marilyn Monroe showed such a sweet and sad soul. Kennedy had recently had to bury a baby and with that personal tragedy, his marriage was stronger than ever. Diana was in a happy place, finally away from the Queen, and possibly in a happy relationship with someone who truly loved her. All of these people died young. Was it before their time? We don’t know, we just know it seems so unfair, and like when thousands of people die at the hands of terrorists, or just one woman is gunned down in a foreign country for having a voice, we are drawn to all of their stories, and we try to be a part of it any way we can if perhaps to just feel closer to them. We are a country who likes to mourn. Michael Jackson’s memorial is everything that we are as a people; mourning, a melting pot of different cultures, good music, celebrity and togetherness.
There is probably no correct way to say goodbye. Whether it be through quiet soul searching or public spectacles, we will do it how we need to. Dame Elizabeth Taylor, Michael’s close friend and confidant, is not attending the public memorial. She said it was not how she chose to remember her dear friend. Does this mean she didn’t love him? Not likely. It means that she chose to remember him differently. His family has chosen to be at the memorial. Does this mean they are tacky? No, they just felt this was fitting.
Paparazzi gets stupid when they take pictures of a dying man. They push people around just to get that perfect pic. Would they do this if we kept watching? Probably not. Yet there are enough of us that do watch, who read the magazines, and watch TMZ. We are more to blame for the very media we are chastising than the photogs that hound everyone who ever had a minute of fame.
So yes, this is a circus. Is it something I agree with? I am not sure. There is something fitting to have this memorial on the very stage that he was only a few days before his death doing what he did best. He was a performer, and shouldn’t his last performance be great?
The coverage may be over the top and the fans rabid, but let’s put it into perspective this morning. This is a man who truly gave to the world. I think that one crazy day in LA is a reasonable amount of time to give to this man. He may be gone, but let’s not forget him already. Trust me, we will find something else to obsess over in a few weeks. Jon and Kate’s marriage will be scrutinized some more and Lindsey will forget her underwear again. For today, let’s just remember the man and his music, even if it does shut down a few freeways.
I know that I hope that his family finds peace with all of it and that Michael is finally laid to rest. I think I can safely say that Michael would have probably enjoyed his moment this morning, if only because he would have know that he was truly loved, which is something I don’t think he every really could understand when he was alive. Isn’t that truly why we have a memorial in any way shape or form? It is to remember our loved ones, and make sure that wherever they are after death, that they hear our voices. Michael, our voices are loud and clear this morning. I hope that it brings you peace.
I wish I could say this was a recent phenomenon. I wish that we could point to a point in our history where this trend started. Yet it seems as though we have always sought out the horrible. It wasn’t that long that there were public executions. We wanted to see the suffering. The internet of course has only added fuel to the fire when we can see videos of any horrible image imaginable. Even news is filled with imagery of war and famine. It is not something we can escape.
We want to criticize the media coverage because when you get right down to it, it is so tacky. This is a man who died; a man with a family, young children and lots of fans who adored every note that he sung. Sometimes we do forget all of that. Yet you know, aside from the handful of people who truly don’t want to know about what he was wearing in his casket, we will all look. Perhaps it is some kind of instinct. We look at those less fortunate to make ourselves feel better about our own lives. We look at the dead celebrity and feel sad that their talent is now only old recordings. The last pictures of Marilyn Monroe showed such a sweet and sad soul. Kennedy had recently had to bury a baby and with that personal tragedy, his marriage was stronger than ever. Diana was in a happy place, finally away from the Queen, and possibly in a happy relationship with someone who truly loved her. All of these people died young. Was it before their time? We don’t know, we just know it seems so unfair, and like when thousands of people die at the hands of terrorists, or just one woman is gunned down in a foreign country for having a voice, we are drawn to all of their stories, and we try to be a part of it any way we can if perhaps to just feel closer to them. We are a country who likes to mourn. Michael Jackson’s memorial is everything that we are as a people; mourning, a melting pot of different cultures, good music, celebrity and togetherness.
There is probably no correct way to say goodbye. Whether it be through quiet soul searching or public spectacles, we will do it how we need to. Dame Elizabeth Taylor, Michael’s close friend and confidant, is not attending the public memorial. She said it was not how she chose to remember her dear friend. Does this mean she didn’t love him? Not likely. It means that she chose to remember him differently. His family has chosen to be at the memorial. Does this mean they are tacky? No, they just felt this was fitting.
Paparazzi gets stupid when they take pictures of a dying man. They push people around just to get that perfect pic. Would they do this if we kept watching? Probably not. Yet there are enough of us that do watch, who read the magazines, and watch TMZ. We are more to blame for the very media we are chastising than the photogs that hound everyone who ever had a minute of fame.
So yes, this is a circus. Is it something I agree with? I am not sure. There is something fitting to have this memorial on the very stage that he was only a few days before his death doing what he did best. He was a performer, and shouldn’t his last performance be great?
The coverage may be over the top and the fans rabid, but let’s put it into perspective this morning. This is a man who truly gave to the world. I think that one crazy day in LA is a reasonable amount of time to give to this man. He may be gone, but let’s not forget him already. Trust me, we will find something else to obsess over in a few weeks. Jon and Kate’s marriage will be scrutinized some more and Lindsey will forget her underwear again. For today, let’s just remember the man and his music, even if it does shut down a few freeways.
I know that I hope that his family finds peace with all of it and that Michael is finally laid to rest. I think I can safely say that Michael would have probably enjoyed his moment this morning, if only because he would have know that he was truly loved, which is something I don’t think he every really could understand when he was alive. Isn’t that truly why we have a memorial in any way shape or form? It is to remember our loved ones, and make sure that wherever they are after death, that they hear our voices. Michael, our voices are loud and clear this morning. I hope that it brings you peace.
Race
Your house is broken into, you call the police. Your car is stolen, you call the police. Someone steals your wallet, you call the police. Your neighbor is being too loud, you call the police. When there is a crime, and even sometimes when there isn’t, the police are called in to help. These men and women chose a profession in which not only are they helping people in their community, but they are also putting their lives on the line every day. You can’t really say that about most jobs. I am pretty sure accountants don’t have to worry about someone in the shadows pulling a weapon on them. Unless of course they have dealings in government, but that is a whole different situation.
These high stress situations that they have put themselves are needed in order to keep the peace. Without them there would be an indescribable amount of crime and problems in our towns. Law would be decided by the people, which let’s face it, is not what any of us want. People would run amok and would shoot first and ask questions later. So it is comforting to know that we have these officers there to help us sort out the bad from the good.
In this last week, though, there was an incident that once again, made the country question our law enforcement. A Harvard law professor was returning home from a trip and was having difficulty with his key. He ended up punching in the door a bit, which made a neighbor take notice. So they called the cops for a possible breaking and entering. One loan officer arrived on the scene, and when it was all said and done, the professor was in cuffs being taken downtown for disorderly conduct. You wonder what was said, what caused the owner of the house to be taken into custody for breaking in to his own house. The public certainly is ready to speculate.
The professor? He is black.
The cop? He is white.
Their stories differ slightly, boiling down to the officer probably being a little more aggressive due to the professor being angered for being investigated after he said he showed his identification. Note that he wasn’t arrested for breaking and entering. He was arrested for disorderly conduct, which means this man was pretty out of control.
Was his conduct just? Was this professor, who has now shouted it from rooftops to everyone who will listen, targeted because he is a black man? Was the white police officer reacting to his suspect differently because he was black, and therefore was less convinced of there being no suspicious circumstances?
My actual question, though, is should any of this color matter?
This professor is an educated man. Let’s face it, he teaches at Harvard so he is probably not a complete idiot. He has to consider that he was in fact, breaking into his house. His neighbor, concerned for his well being, contacted the authorities in order to make sure nothing bad was going down. Even if this cop was the biggest ass on the beat, is it a good idea to get all worked up while it is just you and him? We seem to have come to a point in our society where we no longer respect authority in the form of law enforcement.
Even if I were to believe his description of what went down, I don’t think that making a huge fuss with no witnesses was his finest move. Who are we as a society going to believe? A man with a temper, or a cop?
And yet, as I write that, I find myself saddened by the actual answer. We never seem to believe the cop anymore. There have been so many corrupt cops with the horrible attitude and really are just bullies with a badge that have been highlighted not only in shows like the Shield but on the front page of our newspapers and the top story on the local news. If someone says a copy roughed them up, it must be true, and it must mean the cop was out of line. Have we forgotten what the police has to go through on a daily basis?
On top of all of this, we have to recognize the golden ticket known as the race card.
I think that racism is appalling. In this day and age, have we not figured out yet that we are all idiots equally, no matter what shade we are? Trust me. I know white idiots, black idiots, Asian idiots, and idiots who are mixed races. People act the fool so often, it is almost impossible to pin it to one race anymore.
I also know that even though it is not nearly as prominent as it was even just 30 years ago, it is still out there. In place of the rampant race based hate, we now have hate for 1000 sub sections of diversity. If you are gay, a woman, retarded, old, young, foreign, or any other number of differences you will find some kind of discrimination in your lifetime.
I am white. I am a woman. I have experienced discrimination when I was 19 in the form of ageism. I was purposely overlooked for a position because of how young I was. In high school, I wanted to go out for the baseball team. But did you know you could not try out because baseball is for boys, and softball is for girls. I was disappointed, but I can safely say I didn’t call for a press conference. In fact, I complained to my friends, but left it at that. It was a shame that this is how it was.
Ironically, that same year I was passed over for the position I was accused of racism by a black coworker. In retail, as a manager you often don’t have the time for formalities when it comes to relaying information to a subordinate. It is quick paced, and when something needs to be done quickly, often orders are barked over a crowd, such as the instructions I gave to this gentleman.
I shouted for him to come up to get on his register due to the increasing line. He obliged, but later when the crowd had died down, he took me aside and chastised me for having not approached him, addressed him by name, and asked him nicely to essentially do his job. He told me he understood that I didn’t like black people and even told another manager (who is a friend of mine) that I discriminated against people of color.
I have to say, that may have been one of the most difficult things to deal with as a white person. I had not treated him any different because of his color. I can safely say I was annoyed with him when he wasn’t proactive in his position and that he needed a reminder despite the line to the back of the store. But never in a million years would I be rude to him because he and I don’t look alike.
The race card was in full effect, and it scared me to death. Would people believe my side? Would I be assumed forever as this punk kid who also was racist?
Luckily for me, I only had to worry about the store staff on this one. Jesse Jackson wasn’t calling for me to turn in my Blockbuster uniform because I was some kind of a disgrace to the profession of video rental. Rallies with me burned in epitaph didn’t fill the streets of Manhattan Beach.
What did occur was a general concern over every time racism was yelled.
I know I was innocent of any wrong doing. I am certainly not saying that every person who has been accused this behavior was innocent. Not everything that you see that results in the mistreatment of another person of a different color some form of racism. Sometimes it is really just raining, and the sky isn’t falling. Unfortunately, there are a lot of chickens running around assuming the former.
We want to explain why people are asses by giving it a fancy label. You hate your neighbor because he is black. You hate your mayor because he is gay. Sometimes the hate is just that, hate, and it doesn’t make sense. And sometimes, there isn’t hate at all, just a miscommunication that causes people to get all worked up. My employee didn’t understand that his job was fast paced and assumed that I would grant a different kind of respect. I assumed that my employee knew the rigors of the job because he had worked at another store prior to ours. We didn’t communicate correctly, but it didn’t mean that I hated him because he was black. It didn’t mean he hated me because I was young and in the position he wanted. It was just a disagreement that didn’t need that label.
Going back to this cop and the professor, I honestly think that although both parties were idiots, there was no real wrong doing. The police officer was doing his job by investigating a possibly burglary. He wasn’t called out because the suspect was black. He was called out because it looked wrong. When he asked the professor to come out of his home to essentially finish this up, the professor was angry, assuming a flashing of his driver’s license would prove he was who he said he was, and there was no reason to continue to waste time when it was, wait for it, a misunderstanding. The cop perhaps acted poorly by taking the anger personally, but really, wouldn’t you be a little concerned at someone screaming and carrying on? If everyone had stayed calm, acted rationally, I think that nothing would have come from this.
Yes, it is important to be aware of the jerks out there that do still feel that anyone who isn’t a white male is a lesser human being. There is part of me that thinks they should be somehow surgically altered, ala Robert Downey’s Jr’s character in Tropic Thunder so that they would have to spend the rest of their lives as a black man. It is one thing to walk in another man’s shoes, but how about their skin to make them really appreciate things.
But in the future, before we assume that every interaction with a white person dealing with a black person must include a white sheet and rope in their pickup, let’s really listen to the facts. Let’s see if maybe it was mis-communication, before we run them out of town. I can guarantee that the black community would want the same consideration if they had been the cop and the professor was white, and the professor called on the press to get support.
Once again, as I wrote that last paragraph I was sad to have to refer to a community by color. Perhaps none of this would ever be a problem if communities were not classified by the prominent characteristics of the members, but instead we had a rainbow community that didn’t look at things in terms of black or white, but in terms of right and wrong. In a perfect world, I suppose, but we have to keep trying, since if we are truly looking for that rainbow community, I guarantee the pot of gold at the other side is so worth the wait.
These high stress situations that they have put themselves are needed in order to keep the peace. Without them there would be an indescribable amount of crime and problems in our towns. Law would be decided by the people, which let’s face it, is not what any of us want. People would run amok and would shoot first and ask questions later. So it is comforting to know that we have these officers there to help us sort out the bad from the good.
In this last week, though, there was an incident that once again, made the country question our law enforcement. A Harvard law professor was returning home from a trip and was having difficulty with his key. He ended up punching in the door a bit, which made a neighbor take notice. So they called the cops for a possible breaking and entering. One loan officer arrived on the scene, and when it was all said and done, the professor was in cuffs being taken downtown for disorderly conduct. You wonder what was said, what caused the owner of the house to be taken into custody for breaking in to his own house. The public certainly is ready to speculate.
The professor? He is black.
The cop? He is white.
Their stories differ slightly, boiling down to the officer probably being a little more aggressive due to the professor being angered for being investigated after he said he showed his identification. Note that he wasn’t arrested for breaking and entering. He was arrested for disorderly conduct, which means this man was pretty out of control.
Was his conduct just? Was this professor, who has now shouted it from rooftops to everyone who will listen, targeted because he is a black man? Was the white police officer reacting to his suspect differently because he was black, and therefore was less convinced of there being no suspicious circumstances?
My actual question, though, is should any of this color matter?
This professor is an educated man. Let’s face it, he teaches at Harvard so he is probably not a complete idiot. He has to consider that he was in fact, breaking into his house. His neighbor, concerned for his well being, contacted the authorities in order to make sure nothing bad was going down. Even if this cop was the biggest ass on the beat, is it a good idea to get all worked up while it is just you and him? We seem to have come to a point in our society where we no longer respect authority in the form of law enforcement.
Even if I were to believe his description of what went down, I don’t think that making a huge fuss with no witnesses was his finest move. Who are we as a society going to believe? A man with a temper, or a cop?
And yet, as I write that, I find myself saddened by the actual answer. We never seem to believe the cop anymore. There have been so many corrupt cops with the horrible attitude and really are just bullies with a badge that have been highlighted not only in shows like the Shield but on the front page of our newspapers and the top story on the local news. If someone says a copy roughed them up, it must be true, and it must mean the cop was out of line. Have we forgotten what the police has to go through on a daily basis?
On top of all of this, we have to recognize the golden ticket known as the race card.
I think that racism is appalling. In this day and age, have we not figured out yet that we are all idiots equally, no matter what shade we are? Trust me. I know white idiots, black idiots, Asian idiots, and idiots who are mixed races. People act the fool so often, it is almost impossible to pin it to one race anymore.
I also know that even though it is not nearly as prominent as it was even just 30 years ago, it is still out there. In place of the rampant race based hate, we now have hate for 1000 sub sections of diversity. If you are gay, a woman, retarded, old, young, foreign, or any other number of differences you will find some kind of discrimination in your lifetime.
I am white. I am a woman. I have experienced discrimination when I was 19 in the form of ageism. I was purposely overlooked for a position because of how young I was. In high school, I wanted to go out for the baseball team. But did you know you could not try out because baseball is for boys, and softball is for girls. I was disappointed, but I can safely say I didn’t call for a press conference. In fact, I complained to my friends, but left it at that. It was a shame that this is how it was.
Ironically, that same year I was passed over for the position I was accused of racism by a black coworker. In retail, as a manager you often don’t have the time for formalities when it comes to relaying information to a subordinate. It is quick paced, and when something needs to be done quickly, often orders are barked over a crowd, such as the instructions I gave to this gentleman.
I shouted for him to come up to get on his register due to the increasing line. He obliged, but later when the crowd had died down, he took me aside and chastised me for having not approached him, addressed him by name, and asked him nicely to essentially do his job. He told me he understood that I didn’t like black people and even told another manager (who is a friend of mine) that I discriminated against people of color.
I have to say, that may have been one of the most difficult things to deal with as a white person. I had not treated him any different because of his color. I can safely say I was annoyed with him when he wasn’t proactive in his position and that he needed a reminder despite the line to the back of the store. But never in a million years would I be rude to him because he and I don’t look alike.
The race card was in full effect, and it scared me to death. Would people believe my side? Would I be assumed forever as this punk kid who also was racist?
Luckily for me, I only had to worry about the store staff on this one. Jesse Jackson wasn’t calling for me to turn in my Blockbuster uniform because I was some kind of a disgrace to the profession of video rental. Rallies with me burned in epitaph didn’t fill the streets of Manhattan Beach.
What did occur was a general concern over every time racism was yelled.
I know I was innocent of any wrong doing. I am certainly not saying that every person who has been accused this behavior was innocent. Not everything that you see that results in the mistreatment of another person of a different color some form of racism. Sometimes it is really just raining, and the sky isn’t falling. Unfortunately, there are a lot of chickens running around assuming the former.
We want to explain why people are asses by giving it a fancy label. You hate your neighbor because he is black. You hate your mayor because he is gay. Sometimes the hate is just that, hate, and it doesn’t make sense. And sometimes, there isn’t hate at all, just a miscommunication that causes people to get all worked up. My employee didn’t understand that his job was fast paced and assumed that I would grant a different kind of respect. I assumed that my employee knew the rigors of the job because he had worked at another store prior to ours. We didn’t communicate correctly, but it didn’t mean that I hated him because he was black. It didn’t mean he hated me because I was young and in the position he wanted. It was just a disagreement that didn’t need that label.
Going back to this cop and the professor, I honestly think that although both parties were idiots, there was no real wrong doing. The police officer was doing his job by investigating a possibly burglary. He wasn’t called out because the suspect was black. He was called out because it looked wrong. When he asked the professor to come out of his home to essentially finish this up, the professor was angry, assuming a flashing of his driver’s license would prove he was who he said he was, and there was no reason to continue to waste time when it was, wait for it, a misunderstanding. The cop perhaps acted poorly by taking the anger personally, but really, wouldn’t you be a little concerned at someone screaming and carrying on? If everyone had stayed calm, acted rationally, I think that nothing would have come from this.
Yes, it is important to be aware of the jerks out there that do still feel that anyone who isn’t a white male is a lesser human being. There is part of me that thinks they should be somehow surgically altered, ala Robert Downey’s Jr’s character in Tropic Thunder so that they would have to spend the rest of their lives as a black man. It is one thing to walk in another man’s shoes, but how about their skin to make them really appreciate things.
But in the future, before we assume that every interaction with a white person dealing with a black person must include a white sheet and rope in their pickup, let’s really listen to the facts. Let’s see if maybe it was mis-communication, before we run them out of town. I can guarantee that the black community would want the same consideration if they had been the cop and the professor was white, and the professor called on the press to get support.
Once again, as I wrote that last paragraph I was sad to have to refer to a community by color. Perhaps none of this would ever be a problem if communities were not classified by the prominent characteristics of the members, but instead we had a rainbow community that didn’t look at things in terms of black or white, but in terms of right and wrong. In a perfect world, I suppose, but we have to keep trying, since if we are truly looking for that rainbow community, I guarantee the pot of gold at the other side is so worth the wait.
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