Merry Christmas

I am reminded that Christmas Day is like every other day on the calendar in that there is no break from life's joys or sorrows. For every story I hear of a child's wonder and unique perspective there is one about a loved one's sudden passing or a trauma that has gripped a family.  Life has its own consistent rhythm.

Yet, Christmas is like no other day when we allow ourselves to embrace its love no matter what life is presenting to us.  The gift is to remember this love even when it is disguised every other day of the year.  This is my Christmas prayer. 

Two holiday songs have risen to the top as I choose music at this time of year. I feel so peaceful listening to them both. One is "Douglas Mountain" performed by Raffi and the other is written and performed by Mindy Smith, "Santa Will Find You."

One song brings light and the other reminds us that we are loved and will always be found by this love.  These are my Christmas wishes.

"Douglas Mountain"

Snows are a falling on Douglas Mountain,
Snows are a falling so deep.
Snows are a falling on Douglas Mountain,
Putting all the bears to sleep.
Putting the bears to sleep.

Trimming the wicks on Douglas Mountain,
Shining my chimney so bright.
Trimming the wicks on Douglas Mountain,
So God can bring the night.
So God can bring the night.

"Santa Will Find You"

If you're far away on this holiday eve
And you're dreamin' of being at home
If you're worried at all that you may be forgotten
You should know that you aren't alone

'Cause you're there and you're shining
Bright like a beacon, bright as a northern star
So, don't worry because
Santa will find you wherever you are
Santa will find you tonight

If you're listening for reindeer and sleigh bells
As they jingle and tap on the roof
You're awake, piled in blankets
With your cousins

And you hope there'll be presents for you

'Cause you're there and you're shining
Bright like a beacon, bright as a northern star
So, don't worry because
Santa will find you wherever you are
Santa will find you tonight

It's the time and the season to bring lovers together
Never let distance keep you apart
With the spirit of Christmas
You'll never be lost
If you truly believe in your heart

When you're there and you're shining
Bright like a beacon, bright as a northern star
So, don't worry because
Santa will find you wherever you are
Santa will find you

Don't worry because
Santa will find you wherever you are
Santa will find you tonight

Merry Christmas......

B-One

Scanning the pile of saved newspaper sections on the ottoman of my favorite comfy chair, I recently came across one that had several articles of interest - details of a yoga practice for beginners, tips for indulging in a Caribbean Christmas, the controversy over full body scans at airport security, a look at the state of today's bingo halls.  It was no contest - bingo halls all the way.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/28/nyregion/28bingo.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=bingo%20in%20the%20blood&st=cse

The bingo hall experience is one from my childhood and it was given to me by my maternal grandmother, Elizabeth. Much to the chagrin of her husband and my grandfather, Vincent, Elizabeth was enamored with attending bingo games.  And to avoid Vincent's terse displeasure about her indulgence in this hobby, Elizabeth devised various shrewed tactics to get to the bingo table.  Elizabeth had many hobbies and led a very full, active life, but this one facet just fascinated me because her participation in bingo transformed her into a mischievous young girl whose eyes twinkled when she was among her fellow bingo babes.

And yes, the bingo hall was filled mostly with women and a smattering of daring men.   The men were either there out of boredom or attempting to make some money. They also could hold their own in a hall full of the other gender. While the game does not exude masculine traits, the location is, in my opinion, quite manly in its starkness.  Back then it was like a smoke-filled boxing arena minus the ring.  Blaring artificial lighting, monotonous rows of chipped-top tables, clanging metal chairs - nothing soft about it.  Yet, it was a haven mostly populated with female attendees. Talk about the feminine mystique! 

I do not recall how I came to be the partner in crime with Elizabeth, but it probably had something to do with being the youngest grandchild and providing a smokescreen for her stealthy departure.  I am sure Vincent was told we were heading to one location together, while the bingo hall was our real target. Elizabeth used to tell me not to utter the 'b-word' - she instead called it 'the secret.'  (She was light years ahead of author Rhonda Byrne's highly touted controversial book, "The Secret.")  Vincent was no fool.  He just could not compete with Elizabeth's focus.  They were quite a pair. I especially loved it when Elizabeth would attend church bingo, whose pedigree edged slightly above the pedestrian bingo hall.  Jesus and I both served as a cover for the ever clever, always motivated, Elizabeth. 

It makes me chuckle to recall our bingo hall moments. While playing the game of chance would seem to be a lighthearted endeavor as a little bit of gambling and some camaraderie blended into one austere setting.  But no.  It was a gathering of formidable players whose interest was twofold: hearing the next number and being the first one to yell the word, "Bingo!"   Simple. Direct. Primitive.

What fascinated me the most in those number-filled halls were the tabletops carpeted with seemingly limitless rows of bingo cards. The introduction of multi-colored bingo daubers (yes, that is their official name) revolutionized the speed of the game, yet it is one incident that occurred during the time when players covered the cards with plastic discs that is seared into my memory.  I did not witness this firsthand, but the story holds magnum opus status in my family.  It also explains Vincent's disdain for bingo.

He once attended a game with Elizabeth. Vincent, who emigrated from Italy early in the 20th century, could only write his name and never learned to read during his eighty-plus years on the planet. Incredibly, he did all of the food shopping and scanned the supermarket fliers, looking at the food photos and the numbers associated with them to discern the weekly prices of lettuce or chicken. He adapted magnificently. 

Except for bingo.  

Apparently, in the heat of a series of bingo games one evening, Vincent came close multiple times to having the needed numbers to win.  In his last game, he thought he heard his number which would have catapulted him to the winner's circle.  He was mistaken.  Embarrassed and frustrated, Vincent said nothing, but in an embittered gesture, swept his cards with one angry thrust of his arm and threw them along with their companion chips up toward the harshly lit bingo hall ceiling, creating a confetti shower of disappointment.   

With no words, Vincent acted out his final say about bingo. 

Elizabeth was mortified but undeterred.  I imagine this is the opening that ushered me on to the gambling scene.  I would sit next to my grandmother, fascinated by the many cards, the colored chips, daubers, the mixed scents of perfume and smoke, and the clarion call of numbers with their associated letters.  I sometimes would even get my very own card (well, really one of Elizabeth's, but I could pretend it was mine).  She and some of her nearby friends would rub my head often as a good luck gesture.  Playing a minor role in her theatrical past-time brought me such joy.  Feeling included in this seductive, mystifying effort where players could yell out one word of victory and momentarily be a winner hooked me.

Sitting alongside this strong, generous, and humorous woman was the real gift in our bingo hall forays.  Thank you Elizabeth.  In bingo terms, to B-One with you was sweet victory.

Walking Into History

It was a warm November day in New Orleans and six-year-old Ruby Nell was starting first grade at a new school.  Her father was very concerned about the change to this school, but her mother felt more confident, yet anxious.  Ruby's first day was not only momentous for her, but for her country. 

Ruby was the first black child to attend a white school in New Orleans. She became the symbol of integration in 1960. 

Fifty years later, Ruby Nell Bridges recalled those first months at William Frantz Elementary School.  This week she was a guest on National Public Radio's program "Tell Me More."  She shared her memories of walking up to school with her parents and several US Marshalls amidst a huge crowd of white people screaming and shaking their fists at this little girl.  "I thought it was like Mardi Gras with all the hooting and hollering," Ruby stated. "I really did not have any idea why all those people were outside the school."
http://www.npr.org/2010/12/01/131727013/Wisdom-From-A-Trailblazer-Ruby-Bridges-Talks-Racism-In-Education

Ruby's parents deliberately did not mention the crowds or their purpose to their young girl because they thought she would be upset that the hateful protest was focused on her.  In a striking contrast, Ruby was warmly met by her white teacher, Mrs. Henry.  Mrs. Henry allowed Ruby to pick any seat in the room and she chose one in the front row.  Once Ruby was settled in, she could hear the sound of doors opening and closing and people shuffling up and down the hallways.  White parents were taking their children out of school because of what this little girl represented to them.  For the rest of that school year, Ruby and Mrs. Henry were the only two people in the first grade at William Frantz Elementary. In fact, the school had very, very few students attending classes in the other grades. 

Norman Rockwell's 1963 painting
"The Problem We All Live With."



One of the images that has stayed with Ruby, and which caused her to have some sleepless nights, was a box that the protesters placed on the sidewalk outside her school every morning and afternoon.  It was a child-size coffin containing a black baby doll. Fortunately Ruby also had some pleasant memories from her first grade year, many of which were with Mrs. Henry, who taught her pupil with the same enthusiasm she would have had for a full class of students. 

Ruby is no stranger to feeling battered by seemingly unbeatable odds. She continues to live in New Orleans and was among the thousands of people who had homes destroyed by Hurricane Katrina. The strain of her attendance at the integrated elementary school 50 years ago eventually put such stress on her parents marriage that the couple separated when she was in sixth grade. Ruby noted that her parents did not discuss the role integration played in their eventual divorce, but the damage was already done.



Ruby Nell Bridges, 2010

This month Ruby, along with New Orleans Mayor Mitch Landrieu and his wife Cheryl, are co-sponsoring the First Annual New Orleans Children's Book Festival.  "I've participated in so many book festivals across the country. And I thought, well, you know, we here in New Orleans have a festival for everything you can imagine, but we had not had a festival for kids to celebrate reading and literacy. And so it was something that I really wanted to do, and I thought this was a great opportunity to try and commemorate and celebrate the 50th anniversary," Ruby explained on the radio show. The festival is part of a commemoration of the 50th anniversary of Ruby's historic walk into elementary school.  When asked about her opinion of integration, Ruby replied, "I believe integration has intrinsic value." 

1960 school integration protesters



Integration. I am so distracted with wrapping my thoughts around sending my six-year-old child past an angry mob of adults who are carrying hateful signs and making vicious gestures that I need to address that first.  Ruby did not yet understand her own bravery.  Her parents understood. They were all too aware of the risks and weighed them against their feelings about equality and who has the right to a good education. Their bravery knocks me back on my heels 50 years later. Hate is fear that has no bottom. I think integration is one way to equal the education playing field and I feel it became an answer partially due to how the school tax base is structured.  Instead of moving money, move the children.  I believe leveling the funding playing field is a more substantive way to go so all schools have more balanced resources to be safe, clean, up-to-date places of learning.  That is a bit of a pipe dream as long as the design of school districts and the taxes they receive are the geographic equivalent of walled cities.  Everything stays in and nothing gets out.   

In the NPR interview, Ruby said she supports initiatives that give all children the same access to the same education.  Her concern was the all too familiar scenario where children in poor areas face lacking opportunity while those in more affluent areas having an abundance.  "There are two kinds of parallel dialogues going on. One is that, you know, the whole reason that people wanted integrated schools was not just because they wanted to go to school with people of different races, but because of - they wanted to end the political invisibility that came with segregation. They wanted access to the same schools, the same textbooks, good facilities as the white kids had, and integration was seen as the way to achieve it."

She continued, "Now there are some people who are saying, you know what? Forget all that. We put all this effort into access and integration and so forth. The real issue is: What are kids learning? And it doesn't matter if they learn in all-black or Latino or all-white schools. It matters that they are learning. What you have to say about that?"

"Tell Me More" host Michel Martin ends each interview asking her guests for any wisdom they have to share.  Ruby Nell Bridges waxed eloquently, "I always say the lesson that I took away is the same lesson Dr. King tried to teach us before he was taken away from us: you absolutely cannot judge a person by the color of their skin. You have to allow yourself an opportunity to get to know them. And racism is something that we, as adults, have kept alive. We pass it on to our kids. None of our kids come into the world knowing anything about disliking one another. And that's the wisdom that I took away from that experience, and that is the wisdom that I pass on to kids across the country."

Through My Eyes is the title of Ruby Bridges book about her experience 50 years ago. Her website is:   http://www.rubybridges.com/home.htm

The Parenting Games

Earlier this month, the Wall Street Journal ran an article titled, “Mother Madness” authored by Erica Jong. The headline immediately grabbed my attention, but the byline equally got me as well.  It intrigued me to read something new by the famed “Fear of Flying” author. She has been a prolific novelist since her first famous book in 1973, but I have not thought about her or her writing since I read that inaugural novel.  http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704462704575590603553674296.html?KEYWORDS=mother+madness
 

The WSJ article dives right into Jong’s observations about Attachment Parenting, and she quickly declares that today’s parents, “run themselves ragged trying to mold exceptional children.  It’s assumed that we can perfect our babies by the way we nurture them.”   This parenting style, advocated by William and Martha Sears, co-authors of “The Baby Book” (2003), promotes that parents should, as Jong notes, “wear your baby, sleep with her and attune yourself totally to her needs.”  Jong’s concern is that militant adherence to this total commitment is a form of bondage that hails from another time. She rails against the extreme.  “Giving up your life for your child creates expectations that are likely to be thwarted as the child, inevitably, attempts to detach.”  Lastly, Jong notes that “our obsession with parenting is an avoidance strategy.  It allows us to substitute our own small world for the world as a whole.”  She concludes that the larger world is the one we are sending our children into, so we should parent toward preparing them for what is real, not insulate them in the name of total nurturing.

Offering parenting advice can be such a high stakes game of right and wrong.  I can hardly think of one statement that can be universally agreed upon when it comes to parenting.  I heard Bette Midler say once, in an interview, that, “Parenting is not for sissies.”  This continues to be my favorite tip and I often invoke her line.  I did, however, appreciate Jong’s concern over parents, especially women who continue to be primary caregivers, being weighed down by, “accepting the ‘noble savage’ view of parenting with its ideals of attachment and naturalness.” Her concern of accessorizing our lives with our children rings out.

Breast feeding? Making your own baby food? Using cloth diapers?  All are choices.  Bottle feeding? Buying baby food? Disposable diapers?  More choices. Decreeing one over the other in the name of ‘good’ parenting is a slippery slope.  Yes, there is environmental correctness to some of these choices, but speaking strictly about what it is that we take on to be good parents, there should be few rules.  Loving, feeding, and clothing our children are all good starts.  But what do we really mean when we say we love our child?  Your explanation will probably differ in some ways from mine.  Multiply that by the number of parents on the earth and I’d say we are off to a rousing start of the parenting games.

I think when we support each other in our roles as parents is when we have the best shot at doing a decent job.  It does take a village.  A parent needs to know someone has their back when navigating the world with kids in tow.  I am grateful to my friends, family, neighbors and caregivers who have helped me, especially when my kids were little.  We all didn’t parent in the same way, but we felt somewhat united by this job and tried to lighten the load for one another.  I am afraid for the parent who feels isolated.  And I think sometimes that parenting books, in their earnestness to provide ‘the best advice,’ can make a parent feel insecure for not following it.  I think Jong wants to warn parents about the pitfalls of keeping too singular a focus on the job.  Life is bumpy and messy so let’s be sure our kids experience it enough to successfully function in it.

As for attachment parenting, I find myself on the 'back nine' of that route.  Learning to let go has been more of a focus. There is a fierceness to being a parent in how we try to protect our young.  Does it ever subside?  I believe it has to be re-directed.  When I really think about it, I have been at the beginning of my re-direction.  Having a child living away at college has forced me to do this. I think it all began as we started touring colleges during junior year of high school.  You begin imagining your child on a certain campus and see a glimmer of them in the faces of those university students.  Once your child is in college your emotions are with them, but let's face it, they are the sole director of their time and efforts.  Hmmmm....perhaps I could write a book about 'detachment parenting.'  Well, a few chapters anyway.

An interesting addendum to Jong’s article is one written by Molly Jong-Fast, her daughter and only child.  The title makes me smile, “Growing Up with Ma Jong.” 

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748703805704575594213125914630.html?KEYWORDS=mother+madness

   

She writes frankly about her famous mother’s parenting noting, “To my mother and grandmother, children were the death of a dream; they were the death of one’s ambition.” Molly Jong-Fast stands in the sweet spot of understanding what challenged her mom, why she made the choices she did, and accepts all of it.  “Yes she was hippy-dippy and career –obsessed, but she worked hard to give me choices.” Not a bad review from an adult child.

Thank You Mrs. Hale

Don't mess with the meal.

The ingredients to the feast are well established. Tamper with these staples and there will be mutiny.   A few years ago I suggested that I was going to make pumpkin profiteroles instead of pumpkin pie, just to break out of the sameness of the Thanksgiving dessert, and I received a hefty backlash ending in a resounding 'No!" 

The pie prevailed.

I recall Italian themed Thanksgivings of my childhood with escarole soup, antipasti, some type of pasta (ravioli perhaps?) and, oh right, turkey with all the sides. That table of bounty was a Sunday dinner on steroids - I loved it.  Clearly, I was not making the food for such a meal. I was more of a cheerleader for the event, but I have wonderful memories of the abundance and flavors. (Antipasti is still served thanks to my mom.)

I am reading an interesting book titled "Lies My Teacher Told Me" by James Loewen.  It is a kind of counter-textbook of historical facts that clarifies and debunks some of what we are taught about American history.  Thanksgiving takes quite a hit. Did you know that "although George Washington set aside days for national thanksgiving, our modern celebrations date back only to 1863?"  President Lincoln, in the darkest days of his presidency, sought to rouse patriotism in the throes of civil war.  He proclaimed Thanksgiving a national holiday.  No Pilgrims in starched white shirts. (The only tall black hat was the stovepipe one Lincoln was known to wear.) No Native Americans. While Eastern Indians observed autumnal harvest celebrations for centuries, many of the foods represented were not those we identify with Thanksgiving.  Seafood anyone?
 

Loewen goes on to state, "the civil ritual we practice marginalizes Native Americans." I am fresh off completing an Ethnic American Literature course, and the stories written by Native Americans and their descendants are filled with raw narratives about the decimation of their indigenous nation.  Thanksgiving is the least of their concerns, yet its invented origins have an arrogance that overlook what Native Americans truly experienced.  I don't mean to pour cold water over this holiday - I celebrate it but with more thought toward its spirit and less about the fictionalization of who did and ate what.  Native American poet Wendy Rose pinpoints the hypocrisy in, "For the White Poets Who Would Be Indian."

You think of us only

when your voice wants for roots,

when you have sat back

on your heels

and become primitive. 

You finish your poem

and go back.

A New York Times article, by James McWilliams, published a few years ago tells of the food choices surrounding Thanksgiving and looks at the myths with frankness. "There's no evidence to support the holiday's early association with food - much less foods native to North America. Thanksgiving celebrations occurred irregularly at best after 1621 (the year of the supposed first Thanksgiving) and colonists observed them as strictly religious events (conceivably by fasting). " If History could be taught with an eye for realism, even if it pushes against the often more self-serving versions of how we'd like things to be remembered or that we emotionally hold dear, its purpose would be best served- in truth.
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/11/24/opinion/24mcwilliams.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=sarah%20hale%20thanksgiving&st=cse

So now, who is Mrs. Hale?  Well, she can be rightfully called the Mother of Thanksgiving, and yet, until this week, I had never heard of her.  Sarah Hale was the nineteenth century's Martha Stewart figure who was the first female editor of a popular magazine titled "Godey's Lady's Book." She ran the magazine for 40 years! An article in Humanities magazine, a publication of the National Endowment for the Humanities,  tells of her prolific activism. She was born in New Hampshire and lived a life of advocacy. She lobbied governors, congressmen, and presidents to have Thanksgiving declared a national holiday. http://www.neh.gov/news/humanities/2009-11/NewHampshire.html

In 1837, Hale wrote that a national day of thanksgiving, "might, without inconvenience, be observed on the same day of November, say the last Thursday in the month.... It would then have a national character, which would, eventually, induce all the states to join in the commemoration of 'Ingathering,' which it celebrates. It is a festival which will never become obsolete, for it cherishes the best affections of the heart—the social and domestic ties. It calls together the dispersed members of the family circle, and brings plenty, joy and gladness to the dwellings of the poor and lowly."

Interestingly she also founded the Seaman's Aid Society, "to assist the surviving

families of Boston sailors who died at sea." One more fine factoid - she is the author who gave the world, "Mary Had a Little Lamb." 

In my Thanksgiving Day thoughts of gratitude, I will remember to thank Sarah Hale - feminist, humanist, activist.  Other things I am grateful for include:

-a packed farmer's market the day before the feast - these are my people;

-nasturtiums that defy the odds and bloom for the feast; 

-the many expressions of kindness floating about me

-music that moves, entertains, and comforts me;

-having more books than time to read them - my anticipation abounds;

-feeling loved - feeling loss: the richness in both;

-my family, friends and acquaintances.

My friend, Stephanie, summed up her thoughts this holiday with the satisfaction a parent revels in as children come home, when she stated, "The nest is full." I hope all of your nests feel full, warm, comforting especially during this unique time of year. This holiday asks for nothing more.



Author Anne Lamott writes of the two best prayers she knows and these have become two of mine as well mostly because they are simple and direct.

Help me, help me, help me and Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Thanksgiving blessings to all!

One Good Deed...

The power of one. It runs counter to the pluralist phrase “power in numbers” which, after this mid-term election, I am relieved to set aside and consider a more singular viewpoint.

Greg Mortenson’s book “Three Cups of Tea” is a distinctive reminder of the power of one, though I daresay he would see his journey to build schools for girls in Pakistan as a effort borne of many minds and hands.  My fellow book club members and I heard the author speak several years ago in Media, PA shortly after we read his book.  What impressed me most was how he did not intend to impress us at all.  For example, as he was to begin his talk, he noticed some people arriving late, and pointed out a few available seats at the front of the auditorium.  He tended to those visitors as though he was an usher at the event.  This was no deflection on his part – he truly cared about the newcomers feeling welcome and comfortable.  His intention was warm and transparent like the tea he drinks in his bestselling book.   

I thought of him when I read a couple of related articles about the ‘power of one’ this week. They are gentle reminders of the power in each of us.

There was an anonymous donor in Canton, Ohio during the 1930s who remained so for almost 75 years. It is important to note that this donor was no Bill Gates as far as phenomenal wealth and philanthropy.  His story is as compelling, however, because his intention carries the same magnificent impact as any philanthropic powerhouse.

In 2008, a few days before Christmas, an op-ed piece appeared in the New York Times written by Ted Gup, a professor of journalism at Case Western University in Cleveland, Ohio and the grandson of a clothing store owner.  In the piece, Mr. Gup wrote about his mother giving him an old suitcase that belonged to her parents, Samuel and Minna Stone.  The bag was stuffed with papers and had been sitting in the attic since the Depression.   

The 150 letters inside the suitcase all requested one thing – financial help.  How they found their way to the home of the Stones and eventually to their grandson is a story of awareness and compassion. 

Samuel Stone was born into a poor family in Romania and immigrated to the US in the early 1900s.  He knew hard times.  He eventually started a clothing business, married, and had three daughters in Canton, Ohio. His business thrived, failed, and thrived again.  Mr. Stone never forgot the help he received to get back on his feet. In 1933, understanding hardship and the blessing of a helpful hand, Mr. Stone put a notice in the Canton Repository newspaper stating he would give $10 to the first 75 people who responded to his offer with letters that briefly explained their need.  He signed the letter “B. Virdot”  which was an alias he devised from the names of his three daughters, Barbara, Dorothy, and Mr. Gup’s mother, Virginia.

The healthy response quickly led Mr. Stone to decide to halve the dollar amount and double the number of recipients.  Christmas in Canton that year was a little bit better for these 150 folks who each received $5.  (Several years later, Mr. Stone sent winter coats to British soldiers prior to WWII – each coat contained an anonymous note of encouragement.)  And while the Canton Repository reported on the generosity of the person behind the ad, Mr. Stone's status as the donor remained anonymous, even to Mr. Gup until he opened that suitcase in 2008.  The letters, canceled checks and bank deposit slips inside detailed the efforts of his grandfather and led to the stories behind those whom he helped.

Last Friday, in Canton, at the grand Palace Theater, Mr. Gup met many of the relatives of those who received the $5 checks.  In attendance was Helen Palm, who at age 90, is the only one of the original 150 recipients alive.  She read her original letter to the group gathered, noting, “I am writing this because we need clothing and sometimes we run out of food.” 

Mr. Gup noted that in 1933, milk cost 7 cents, bread cost 7 cents, and a pound of meat cost 11 cents.  Five dollars was no small sum.

Mr. Gup researched and found many of the families who received the checks, interviewing over 400 people. He has written a book, just published, titled “The Secret Gift,” documenting the lives of those whom his grandfather helped. 

I don’t know what to call the economic times we currently are experiencing.  But I do know our every deed has a ripple effect and it humbles me to share the story of one person’s decision to act during some mighty tough economic times.   

www.nytimes.com/2010/11/08/us/08canton.html?src=tp

www.nytimes.com/2008/12/22/opinion/22gup.html

www.cantonrep.com/news/x1060487646/B-Virdot-A-Canton-hero-in-the-Great-Depression

Who Are You?

I love Halloween.
I don't dress up. I don't try to scare people. I don't assume a new identity.
Let's say I am a Halloween Appreciator. 

It does intrigue me to see the alter egos chosen to honor the night of fright.  What makes us choose a pop culture icon over a witch? What is the attraction to being someone or something else for a few hours?  How do we choose the face that will meet the other faux faces? 

Letting down our guard and grabbing a new identity is the stuff actors and actresses are made of, so there must be a large dose of the theater arts in each of us. But who or what we choose to try on as characterized training wheels goes right to what do we see as an alluring persona (for a few hours, anyway!) 


Philadelphia Inquirer writer Robert Strauss' article, titled "Halloween's Changing Face," notes that a cursory check of local Halloween costume retailers bore similar results. "When it comes to children's costumes, goodbye scary bats and ghosts and skeletons. Hello SpongeBob, Dora the Explorer, and Harry Potter."  The more familiar, the more desirable.

Strauss questioned Daniel Cook of the Rutgers University Dept. of Childhood Studies about the character choices kids make.  "Cook said that many parents tend to be more comfortable knowing there is an already established story line associated with characters from sources such as Disney movies and reality TV, even though those costumes convey an inherent lack of creativity."  Instead of going with creatures more indicative of Halloween's essence - ghouls, zombies and things from the netherworld - kids (and their parents) seem to lean more toward what is known.  There is a sense of fantasy because the characters probably surround the child throughout the year from movies, television, books and the like.  Cloaking themselves as a character they admire offers the sweet satisfaction of total immersion into an alter ego.http://www.philly.com/philly/entertainment/20101027_Halloween_s_changing_face__Spooky_costumes_yield_to_mass-market_characters.html#ixzz13kU5aVYK

In her post titled "Halloween Judgments," Motherlode blogger Lisa Belkin pointed out an essay written by an editor at Redbook magazine about alternative Halloween choices that work for her 7-year-old son, (diagnosed with cerebral palsy) and her daughter. The editor, Ellen Seidman, explained that after a few years of Halloween excitement turning into a night of tears for her son, a "quieter tradition" was chosen with no costume.  This flexibility made the holiday enjoyable for all.   http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/10/08/halloween-judgments/

Enter those who see it differently.

Seidman's article brought a reader response chastising her choice as "rude, boring, and shows a lack of spirit."  The reader furthered her consternation with the idea that if no one dressed up for Halloween, then it would negate its purpose.  I learned so much from how we can all read the same thing and walk away with different interpretations.  The Motherlode blogger received close to 200 replies to her piece about the Redbook essay and the cavalcade of responses spanning from declaring the ruination of Halloween to applause for a mom considering what is helpful for her special needs child makes for some interesting reading.    

Within all of the opinions (and outrage) there was an agreement about caring; it was those who employed the sharper edges of "caring" that caused me some sadness. Overall, readers agreed that Seidman's choice showed creativity and grace, and while I bet she does not need the blogosphere's approvals, I hope they were welcomed. 

Sometimes we don't need to don a mask or costume to satisfy our curiosity about another personality.  Let's 'face' it - it's what's inside that counts.

You've Got A Friend

Googled. Texted. Friended.

These are 21^st century verbs.  ('Tweeting’ continues to be, for me, the sound a bird makes.)

We are ‘friended,’ we ‘friend,’ we (gasp!!) ‘ignore.’ Facebook provides some delicate and well thought out options as we are contacted or we contact other social network users.   It seems easy enough – we see someone we know (or knew or want to know) on Facebook and send a friend request.  Then we wait.  It has a sort of “will I get asked to the prom?” dimension to it.  It surely reminds me of a most elemental question attached to growing up – will I be accepted?

Ah, there’s the rub.

I’ve been on Facebook for two years and, just recently, an acquaintance who friended me when I first signed on asked me why I ignored her request.  Of course I don’t remember the request (the whole memory thing is another issue) but was intrigued by the timing of her search for a plausible answer. And, sadly, I was flattered.  Yep, I am inches away from my rightful place on my childhood playground. It is true – everything I ever needed to know about life so far, I learned there.

This month, Facebook has included an advanced “Group” feature which allows users to delineate their friends into appropriate (or, I guess inappropriate if the user so desires) groups.  Parents all over the world hear the siren’s call here – my child can finally separate me from the real action on their Facebook page!  Saturday Night Live presented a keenly funny version of this parental block-out in the October 9th skit titled, “My Mom’s On Facebook Filter.”  Actress and comedian Jane Lynch posed as a Kohl’s buying, autumn sweater wearing mom who, instead of seeing a photo of her son and a girl, both underage, with drinks and sloppy facial expressions viewed the filtered version of her son with a ventriloquist’s dummy on his lap. It is hilarious and illustrates the real issue of how to separate those you’ve friended from what you want them to see. http://www.hulu.com/watch/184577/saturday-night-live-moms-on-facebook 

Facebook co-founder and chief executive, Mark Zuckerberg in a recent New York Times article noted his company had long been planning to put this seemingly simple ‘group’ feature in place but the technical machinations that had to happen were complex. And he sees the usable dimensions of Facebook increasing exponentially.  “We think this is going to be a pretty fundamental shift for how people use Facebook,” Mr. Zuckerberg said. “The amount of sharing will go up massively and will be completely additive.” Reporter Miguel Helft explains in the same article, that “Groups allows anyone to create a group and include other people. For example, someone’s cousin may create a group for their family and put every family member in it. In that way, Facebook contends that if even a small percentage of users create groups, most people on Facebook will end up in several groups.” http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/07/technology/07facebook.html?_r=1&scp=2&sq=facebook%20groups&st=cse

So everyone is eventually included but in a very specific way? Does this electronic social behavior mirror our face-to-face interactions? It sure does give users more control.  But what about those waiting to be asked to the prom? Or join the group? Or be friended?  I believe there are more opportunities out there to fortify our backbones and drop our insecurities, but let’s follow this thread for a sec.

Psychology Today magazine contributor, Melvin Konner’s article, “The Social Network, 10,000 BP,” addresses the Facebook group changes as nothing new under the sun.  He suggests that just as ancient nomadic men and women gathered in small community groups by way of what their needs and wants were, the ability to parse out which people go into which groups keeps the information shared manageable and meaningful.  “With the advent of multiple levels of privacy, intimacy can be nested in concentric circles just as it was for scores of thousands of years on the African plains.  It’s just that it no longer depends on geography, and you have a lot more choice,  Whether you are gay, vegan, a kick-boxer, a Baptist-turned-Buddhist, or all those things, you can find and build a network of people like yourself.”  http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/the-tangled-wing/201010/the-social-network-10000-bp Hmmm.....but isn't it the 'choosing' that is being done the thing in question?  If geography dictated the community circles our ancestors chose, isn't the fact that we are limitless in our ability to reach out and be reached the difference?  We are choosing our circles based on our whims and desires, not by necessity. I think this differentiates us from those who went before us long ago. 

Now, if we are not accepted by someone on Facebook, are we conversely being rejected?  Not necessarily.  We thin out and fill in our daily lives with people on all levels.  Some people we must interact with (at work or school), some we choose to interact with, and some we literally bump into on our way.  We give these moments and people our attention but more as a way to navigate the day. We figure much of it out as we go along.  It has me thinking about where are these skills first honed?  Is there a razor thin line between casual non-acceptance and being mean?

A recent New York Times article titled, "The Playground Gets Even Tougher," by Pamela Paul considers the age group of 3 to 8-year-old girls in which incidents of 'relational or social aggression' also known as mean-girl behavior possibly becomes seeded.  The pre-school and early elementary school age group is often overlooked in studies of this behavior, Paul infers, but "The fear is that the onset of bullying behavior is trickling down."  She writes,  "We no longer live in the pigtailed world of Cindy Brady where a handful of (television) channels import variations on sugar and spice, with prompt repercussions for the latter.  So much of what passes for entertainment is about being rude, nasty and crass," said Meline Kevorkian, who studies bullying at Nova Southeastern University in Fort Lauderdale-Davie, Fla.  "What we see as comedy is actually making fun of other people."  http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/fashion/10Cultural.html?_r=1&scp=1&sq=the%20playground%20gets%20even%20tougher&st=cse

And is what is shown in the omnipresent media the kernel to what spurs someone to be a bully?  Bullying is as much about fear and rejection as it is about control and power, and it has sadly been blanketing the headlines of late.  Social scientists who study social aggression fall on both sides of whether or not this young age group is where the starting line begins for mean girl behavior. The article notes, "Experts point to a shift in childhood play with a focus on controlled environments, techno-goodies and material objects.  Instead of working out issues themselves during free play outside, children are micromanaged by parents who step in to resolve conflicts for them.  Debbie Rosenman, a teacher in her 31st year at a suburban Detroit school, said that helicopter parents simultaneously fail to provide adequate authority or appropriate forms of supervision.  'The girls who are the victims tend to be raised by parents who encourage them to be more age appropriate,' Ms Rosenman said. 'The mean girls are 8 but want to be 14, and their parents play along.  They all want to be top dog.'"  And so the nastiness begins.

The subsequent reader's comments to the Times article are interesting as they contain some thought-filled ideas about how to help all children with this type of behavior - those giving and receiving it. After glancing over some letters, it seemed to me that addressing the incidents early on with consistency seemed to stop the flow of this behavior.   
http://community.nytimes.com/comments/www.nytimes.com/2010/10/10/fashion/10Cultural.html?scp=3&sq=playground&st=cse  

It is also noteworthy to mention that some psychologists who feel this behavior is not as widespread as feared, but is more of a result of, "A heightened awareness among hyper-parents, ever attuned to their children's most minuscule slight."  Another explanation in the Times article offers that, " It could be a side effect of early-onset puberty, with hormones raging through otherwise immature 8-year-olds." 

Gavin de Becker's 1997 book The Gift of Fear made quite an imprint on me and one of the points de Becker drives home is listening to our gut feelings. He makes a compelling case for us to limit our media exposure and to most definitely turn off the reporting of fires, robberies, violence and the like as it numbs our sensibilities and skews our inborn awareness i.e. our gut.  If we lose the connection to the thing that lays our soul bare then the outside noise can rule our judgment.  I try to go by the axiom, that if it feels bad it probably is, so address the thing that is creating the bad feeling. 

I recall reading an essay written by a teenage boy reflecting on a period when he was in middle school and was bullied.  Circumstances arose in which he was paired with the boy bullying him outside of school for a club sports practice. In their time together, the two adolescent boys unintentionally found themselves working it out, one-to-one.  What came out of their brief conversation was that the bully felt like the boy was a threat because he was becoming popular with the bully's friends.  The boy explained that he was just being friendly because he was new to the school and wanted to connect with his peers.  Once each child heard the other, on their own terms, civility ensued.

Heard.  Understood.   Accepted...................Friended.