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.
Monday, August 3, 2009
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!”
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