Times Change Slowly…

I watched a true film today called Fruitvale Station. Only hours before, I read about Michael Sam being an instrument of change as the first gay football prospect in the NFL. We have evolved, but times move slow. Oscar Grant was a young black man trying to do the right thing. Society has changed so much yet so little. In the wrong place at the wrong time intersecting with a white gang banger from prison two years earlier. But when the two cross paths on New Year’s Eve on a train, the latter was the aggressor. Many witnesses recorded the entire incident as police dragged boys off the train. White cops pulling black guys off the train. Not the white bangers. And then it went all wrong. The cops got aggressive. Physical. Even though Oscar was cuffed, lying on his belly, a cop pulled his gun, and shot this young man in the back. Michael Sam, a survivor…a young man who has survived losing a two-year old baby sister, an older brother who disappeared presumed dead, two other brothers shot and killed during his formative years. But Mike channeled his energy into football and excelled. From a small coastal town in southeast Texas, Sam was recruited to Mizzou, and he grew. But it wasn’t until he unveiled being gay in August 2013, that he released the burden of the secret to his teammates and his coach, that he became a giant. Tied sack records, led a team to an SEC championship, and won SEC defensive player of the year. He announces his lifestyle to beat the leak to the press. His draft status? Mid-third round to fifth… In the words of journalist Dale Hansen, “the best defensive player in the best conference in football and he’s a third round pick at best? Really?” Oscar had a good heart and a volatile temper. But he tried desperately to do good. To be good. And witnesses corroborate his last day of having fun, of celebrating New Year’s Eve, and then of being profiled and brutally murdered in Fruitvale Station. It sounds like a story from the 60s, maybe even the 80s, but surely not the late 2000s, right? Wrong. 2009. Racial profiling. Homophobia. Internalized fear, judgment, even hatred. We are all different colors. We are all different people, like different things, have different beliefs, and view the world differently. Our perceptions are different because our lives are different, our upbringing is different, and our outsides are different. But our insides aren’t so different. We all bleed the same color, need the same sustenance, and cry the same tears. Oscar Grant was judged by the color of his skin, but his history will generate conversations about profiling, about judging, and about trying to break down that ever-present barrier. Michael Sam is trying to break down a newer barrier. He could have passed. He did not have to out himself to his teammates. He could have stayed hidden in a closet. Instead, he has opened the door for kids of color, for athletes, for a society that needs to recognize that we are all human. How can our predilections in the bedroom impact how people interact with one another? What right do people have to judge others for the color of their skin or their sexual preference? The same people, as Dale Hansen put it, the very same people who want the government out of our lives but yet they want them in our bedrooms…. Time changes slowly. Oscar Grant was a victim of that truth. Of how little ground we have gained. Michael Sam is trying to be an instrument to propel that change. If we stand by and do nothing, then we are doing something: we’re holding the Oscars and Michaels back. If you’re silent, your silence is your voice. Have a voice. Stand up. Embrace change and our differences. Don’t let the loudest voices be those of the likes of the Westboro Baptist Church. Strip away color and money and sexual orientation and gender and age… and ultimately we should be left with a society seeking human equality. One about love, about peace, about acceptance. Life moves slow. It’s up to all of us to be an instrument of change.

Boys Will Be Boys...

Has it always been like this, discounting the hierarchal bullying as "boys being boys?" We quickly quip that girls are caddy, that you know how gossiping is and you just can't stop it. But if not, if girls are going to be caddy and if "boys will be boys," then how do we stop this bullying cycle that is claiming children's lives? When will the parents of the bullies see what's happening? How can we help those bullied know where to go for help? How can we possibly open the eyes of kids of all ages to see that it is not okay, never okay, to be mean to another human being? What have we done wrong that children have become so cruel that they will drive a child to suicide? While watching the documentary Bully, it was the aftermath of a teen's suicide that struck a nerve of disgust in me. The day after Tyler Long, a 17-year old, hanged himself, kids came to school with ropes dangling from their necks. What does that say about them, about us, about our culture? Being disgusted isn't enough. Doing something about it is. No one single entity is to blame. Schools can't take all the blame. Parents can't take all the blame. Classmates can't take all the blame. Even the bullies can't be exclusively blamed. But collectively, they're all to blame. We are all to blame. Adults have to show kids that it's not okay to be mean, to belittle, to ridicule, to tease. Instead, we need to let them see how to interact with others. Because bullying is only part of the problem. Mental health is a significant factor. Ugliness in others can be survived if you're strong. It doesn't justify it, but for decades, possibly centuries, children have endured the teasing of others. In a new age of mental health issues, ranging from depression to the autism spectrum, bullying can have a deeper and a longer-lasting impact on kids. And the mental health of those capable of wearing a rope around their neck suggests a deep-seated apathy, a sociopathic nature that has become part of today's culture. And now, suicide has become an option. Bringing a gun to school has become an option. And until we show them other options, how will they know? As teachers, we witness bullying on many levels. No matter the severity, adults must speak up and out. Silence condones the behavior. It reinforces it. But it is our actions that matter most. We must lead by example. We have to be positive models for how human beings should treat one another. Hopefully, kids will see that it takes character to speak up against a bully, that having a voice is more powerful than being popular. And perhaps they will choose to be the one. Everything starts with one.

The Real Issue...

This is the time of year to celebrate family, to give of ourselves to those less fortunate, and to focus on the good in all of us. Yet in Connecticut Friday, a young man shocked the nation with a brazen act of violence. Kindergartners died, teachers and administrators died, a mother died, and heroes were born. Anger and confusion raged. We cried together, we grieved, we were angered, frustrated, terrified… Questions emerged. And we started a conversation about guns. What need do we have for automatic weapons other than in warfare? None. What benefit is there to keeping them legal for the average American to buy them? Very little. Why do we need any guns other than handguns and hunting rifles? We really don’t. Sure, there will be arguments for what the police need, other recreational weapons, but essentially, handguns and hunting rifles are the only weapons that serve a purpose. The problem is, criminals will always find a way to own tools of violence. But the saying is true…guns don’t kill people; people kill people. And in this case with Newtown, Connecticut, the crux of the problem has little to do with guns. It has everything to do with mental health. That’s the discussion we need to be having right now. Regardless of what the young man I purposely do not name here had available to him, he could’ve gotten weapons anywhere. Perhaps he wouldn’t have, but the truth is, he was a ticking bomb. An article by Liza Long addresses what issues should be being discussed right now. If you want a glimpse into the true issue, if you’re ready to start talking about the problem that really plagues this nation, Read “I Am Adam Lanza’s Mother.” It will give you a pause, but it will also open the door to understanding the shift in today’s youth. Having just read Jodi Picoult’s House Rules, I have begun to understand that though a mother’s love cannot be dissuaded, sometimes it is not enough. Sometimes there is no warning. Sometimes there are no cures. Sometimes the answers are just as hard as the questions.

Sept. 11 Eleven Years Later...

I'm a die-hard patriot. September 11th shook my foundation as an American, but until this year, I had not visited New York City. Now my thinking has changed. I went to NYC for Labor Day to go to the U.S. Open (my PhD celebration). I had no idea about The Survivor Tree... I read the picture book by Cheryl Somers Aubin (a must if you haven't read it) and it made Sept. 11, 2001, so relevant to me in a different way. So many people were impacted that day, lives changed, and our perspective changed. But it brought out the best in us in so many ways, in our nation's unity, and it strengthened our resolve as Americans, as survivors. We are not the same since that day. Innocence is gone. Naïveté is gone. And sadly, the unity is waning. The political ends are more polarized than ever, but as Americans, we can bridge that gap, because what's most important to this country is not our affiliation, not a policy that affects so little of what we do and what we're about. It's what came about that day. The morning of Sept. 11th, we gasped in horror and then we joined hands to help, to heal, and to head into a future with a strengthened resolve. Remember that feeling. It is what helped us overcome that day; it is what re-emerged after Hurricane Katrina, and it can be our rallying cry as we demand more from ourselves, our friends, and yes, our opposition. Americans can overcome anything. Standing at the edge of the reflecting pools at Ground Zero, a sensation pulsed through me. Through the tears of empathy, I felt all those who died for our freedom, for our rights to express ourselves and stand up for what we believe in. And what I believe in is unity. Glancing at faces around me when I was at Ground Zero, few looked like me yet all shared the same expression. Every walk of life, culture, and race wore the somber expression of our loss but also of our resolve. United we still stand. We did not let terrorism break us down. Surely we will stand just as strong as the divisiveness within our country attempts to do the same. Because no matter what you believe, I hope you believe in America first.

Cyber Dilemma

A former education student of mine just emailed and asked me, “What do I do if one of my students is being bullied online? Should I say something to someone? How can I possibly do anything to help?”

I thought about it hard and realized that we all have a voice, and I preach using it. As a teacher, I call it a “teachable moment.” As a human being, I cry out any time I see it, hear it, feel it. But as an author, in the final stretch of my PhD, I’ve left that hat sitting on a table. I should don it every chance I get, if it means putting even the slightest dent in a growing trend that is beyond disturbing. Children taunting children until they commit suicide. The bullied become the bullies, and the cycle is growing into an epidemic.

Today, I realize that what is wrong in this cyber bullying trend, something captured powerfully in the “Harry’s Law” episode Queen of Snark, is so deep-seated, I’m not sure we can fix it. But we have to try. The symptoms are on TV and the internet every day. But the catalysts aren’t the children doing the bullying, though we can’t condone what they do, but the real culprits sit in studios behind a microphone. The Huffington Post and the like, Nancy Grace and those who use the first amendment to empower their attacks, and every blog that centers on caring more about what goes on in other people’s lives than their own. Because with scrutiny comes judgment, and with judgment comes persecution. When did we allow the shift to this current age of magnifying glass distortion? A friend once told me to get out my mirror before taking out my magnifying glass – and as a society, we’ve long since ditched the mirror.

Why do we care what the Huffington Post says? When did we become permanent lookie-lous? What has happened to us that we care so much about the blood and the yellow? Why do we not only condone judging others but take part in it?

We can’t blame our children for doing what they watch us do everyday and what they see on TV. The downward spiral is dangerous, and if we don’t do something about it – even one person at a time – it will never go away.

Our children are committing suicide because of what others are saying about them. This issue has two sides: let’s stop the bullies, but let’s also start the conversation. Talk to your kids. Help them find the strength to ignore the ignorant and to put the media’s role in perspective. Find out what is going on and what they read and do online. Open your ears and your eyes, because if you don’t, the only voice they’re hearing may be the one taunting them.

For more information, check out http://www.ncpc.org/cyberbullying

Today

I cheer the fall of the instigator and orchestrator of September 11th. I mourn the past few weeks as we recognize the 12th anniversary of the Columbine disaster and watch fellow Americans lose their homes to tornadoes and storms. I struggle to understand the chasm that is growing in the country between the left and right, when the majority of us falls somewhere closer to the middle. And yes, I worry that the Hopis, Aztecs, Mayans, Chinese philosophers and Nostradamus have some insight into the winter solstice next December…

But in the grand scheme of life, I focus on today, on a mother who fights to remember what she had for breakfast, the smartest person I know struggling to get her to brain to cooperate. I strive to inspire her to fight…to beat the disease we can’t see, that robs her of so much of her freedom.

The world is full of turmoil, from losing a house to a fire to so many who struggle to recover from an economic downfall. But nothing any of us can lose, short of a life, can compare to knowing you’re losing your mind. What we use as a cliché looms real for so many. And it looms on the horizon for so many entering middle age. If you could, would you choose cancer over Alzheimer’s? Even death first? Many would…

The idea of losing who we are can’t compare to anything else…I want to crawl into my mom’s brain and jumpstart it, to fill in the blank spaces that are growing like ink stains on a paper towel. And deep down, selfishly, I fear the day she looks at me and has that brief instant of not-knowing….and the brief moments giving way to more.

So yes, I’m thrilled we’ve destroyed the monster who shattered our lives nearly a decade ago. But today, I will cheer when I walk in to visit my mom and marvel at her smile, at the moment when I know she loves me…and remembers me.

Sometimes today is enough.

After the Fire

Few things surprise me anymore. Fewer things humble me, stop me in my tracks and remind me I’m human, I’m fallible, and above all else, I’m one tiny cog in the mechanism of life.

Today, sitting in a rental house, contemplating the months before I’m able to return to my house, a home that will be vastly different, new, absent of the marks fifteen years of life once put on it, I’ve learned a lot. People who love you don’t see the things; people who care about you sift through ashes, the insulation-covered belongings, and roll up their sleeves to put it all back together. And people you see only occasionally step up and remind you that when you give, it comes back to you. I’ve always been quick to donate to those who’ve suffered loss, who go through trying times, to cook a meal for those who need it. Now, after the fire, to have so many people come help us at the house, others who’ve taught for us, who’ve rallied behind us, who’ve offered a thought, a prayer, a heartfelt ‘we’re there for you if you need us,’ renews my strength to overcome this. My house burned down but I didn’t lose my home. My home is with friends, with colleagues, with all the warm messages on Facebook, by email, and phone. I may not have as much as I did before Nov. 4th, but in many ways, I have so much more, and for that, I’m incredibly grateful…