No Excuses

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An old feature from CBS popped up on my Facebook page. It catalogued the most crime ridden cities in the United States and described what the infractions were. There were a few surprises on the list, but mostly they consisted of the usual suspects that are traditionally havens for criminals. What was more interesting was the commentary from readers that followed the article as people attempted to determine what actually causes deviant behavior and how we might find ways to curb it.

I’m not a sociologist or expert in criminology, but I spent my lifetime working to educate youngsters, and what I have found is that most of the kids who became lawbreakers shared certain commonalities that had little to do with their economic situation other than placing them in the line of temptation. In the vast majority of cases the kids were from broken homes that had become structureless, without guidance. Often they as well as their parental figures used addictive drugs and joined gangs as a way of belonging. Their lives were focused on getting from one moment to the next as easily as possible. They were not interested in school and no doubt would have simply dropped out were it not for truancy laws. Many of them were marking time until they reached the age of sixteen when they would no longer have to cope with rules that made it illegal for them to leave the world of education. They generally had few positive role models and they almost always laid the blame for their plight on society rather than themselves. They were angry and believed that they had the right to better lives, but were unwilling to do the hard work to take advantage of opportunities. It was heart breaking to watch them becoming more and more adrift and influenced by forces that would ultimately lead them into a very dark world.

As teachers we did our best to motivate them, but we were often uncertain as to how to most effectively help them to escape the bad habits that were bringing them down. We had only a few hours of influence each day and we knew with certainty that when they left us there was no telling how much trouble awaited them. There were many schools of thought as to what we needed to do.

I remember one administrator who felt that only by setting down clear rules and consequences for ignoring them would we ever rescue them. He actually encouraged us to give them after school detentions because at least in that way we would be keeping them safe just a bit longer as well as teaching them that some actions are unacceptable and will be punished by society. He often followed some of the teens home if he thought that they might get into trouble along the way. He indeed saved a large number of individuals, but others only rebelled even more. I began to realize that there was no one approach for everyone.

At the same school we had a coach who used to bring old cars and park them in front of the gym. At the end of the day he invited students to join him for lessons in repairing autos. He had quite a following and many of the youngsters who stayed might otherwise have been up to mischief. Instead they were inspired to learn a trade that would bring them the success that seemed to otherwise elude them. There were fine arts teachers and those who taught science who similarly engaged the interests of children who had once been without any kind of direction.

I also noticed that once some of our kids went to church they changed dramatically. Many of the priests and ministers in the area actively recruited our students with promises of food, fun and fellowship. When they learned Christian principles they began to think about their own lives and actions and even influenced the adults in their lives. The loving concern that they found in those churches felt even more powerful than the gangs and quite often wrought amazing changes in our students.

In my final years in education I worked with the KIPP Charter Schools and their many mantras emphasized hard work, good behavior, goal setting and a willingness to never offer excuses for bad choices. The aim of the schools was to offer students a positive pathway out of poverty and sometimes toxic lifestyles. The route to success was grounded in a focus on education and a belief that with effort anything is possible.

Every single day the students were challenged with rigorous academic work that did not allow them to fall behind. The long days kept them focused on learning with little time for frivolous or criminal pursuits. Those who broke the rules were punished quickly and according to the nature of their actions. Sometimes they were even expelled on a probationary basis until they were able to prove that they were willing to adhere to the standards.

Parents were as much a part of the design as teachers. The adults worked hand in hand to insure that the values of character and industry became an integral part of the youngsters’ lives. While not every individual made it, the majority did and overcame countless obstacles to earn degrees and certifications that lifted them out of poverty and danger.

Poverty alone is not the problem. My brothers and I grew up poor, but we had a mother who never allowed us to wallow in pity or anger. She insisted that we study and work hard. She modeled exemplary character and emphasized that with the will we might accomplish anything. She instilled optimism into our natures and taught us that lack of material wealth did not define us or make us less than even the wealthiest person that we might encounter. Mostly she showed us that sacrifice and honesty were noble qualities that would carry us far. She would have been horrified if we had become so jealous of others that we thought it was somehow our right to steal from them or harm them.

We certainly need to give the poor in our country a lift upward, but helping their children to become self sufficient producers cannot be accomplished with money alone. Instead it requires our efforts to demonstrate how they might survive in positive ways. We must show them the value of hard work and provide them with role models and inspiration. It is a daily task requiring a multitude of good people including their parents.

Dr. Ben Carson often speaks of his own troubled childhood in Detroit where he lived in the midst of temptations that might have lead him into dangerous behaviors. His mother was not willing to simply allow him to waste his life, and so she became a force that changed the trajectory of the person he would become. She pushed him to use the talents that he had by being adult enough to be in charge. She devoted her life to demonstrating to her sons that they had the power within them to become better and better versions of themselves.

I suspect that they key to reduction in crime is to be found in lovingly and firmly guiding children from the time that they are very young, never allowing them to become hopeless, protecting them from forces with evil intent, and slowly showing them how to focus on learning how to use their talents for good. This is a job for parents, teachers, religious groups, and mentors who are willing to demonstrate that the world is a good and inviting place that wants to embrace them. We have much work to do.

It Takes A Village

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Fit pitching seems to run in my family. If you’re not sure what that means, it refers to over the top defiant behavior by a child between the ages of two and five. My eldest daughter was quite adept at creating embarrassing scenes both at home and in public. One summer she wore fur lined reindeer slippers everywhere because she refused to put any other type of shoe on her feet. Not even two of us were able to hog tie her so that we might force a more appropriate type of footwear onto her tiny feet. I used to marvel at her strength and wonder if perhaps I had given birth to a superhero. I finally gave up deciding that once her little toes got sweaty enough she would surely eschew the footwear designed in Norway for harshly cold winters. With a mind of her own that is evident to this very day she persisted, and I endured shaming looks and unwanted advice wherever I went.

My niece was not to be outdone. She is the child of an Anglo father and an Asian mother, a beautiful girl who very much resembles my eldest, but has definite Asian features. My mother, my more grown up and matured daughter, this niece and I were once on a shopping adventure together. My niece was still a toddler, but with three of us to help keep her happy we were certain that there would be no problems. I don’t recall what set her off, but something did and she began carrying on like a demon possessed. Her cries and screams became exponentially more insistent with each passing second until my mom wisely decided that we had no recourse but to leave the shopping behind and get her home for a nap. My niece had other ideas and resisted our efforts to move from the spot where she was entertaining a crowd of critics with reproving faces. Picking her up was a bust because she wiggled from our grasp each time we tried that maneuver. When we attempted to get her to walk she lay down on the ground challenging us to drag her if we wished to move forward. Somehow we ultimately got her to the car but not without worrying that we were going to end up in jail for kidnapping as she yelled, “You’re not my Mama! You’re not my Mama! Go away!”

My eldest grandson was not to be outdone by the ladies in the family. On one particular outing he repeated his mother’s propensity for footwear after he saw a pair of very expensive tennis shoes that he wanted to take home. When we denied his request he went into an act of rebellion that outdid anything I had ever seen. It got so bad that I actually whispered to my daughter that I would spring for the shoes if she didn’t mind. Thankfully she stood firm because she was a good mother, insisting that he had to learn that we would not be moved by a tantrum. Having grown weak as a grandmother I wasn’t as sure of her reasoning in that moment, but I ultimately felt proud of her strength of character.

The good news is that all three of these children turned out to be quite remarkable. They did exceedingly well in school and were often complimented by their teachers and other adults for being exemplary young people. My daughter graduated from the University of Texas with a business degree and now balances an accounting job with caring for a household of four young men. My niece is a Pediatrician and works at Texas Children’s Hospital while mothering three boys of her own. My grandson was an honors graduate of his high school and is studying at Texas A&M University and serving as head coach of his neighborhood swim team. All three outgrew the behaviors that had once made them appear to strangers as spawn of the devil.

I have more often than not found that very inquisitive children sometimes become intractable, especially when they are tired. They want to freely explore the world and learn for themselves without barriers. Since we adults have to guide and protect them we sometimes have to inhibit their native curiosities and desires for their own good. We find ourselves locked in a battle of wills that is exhausting and might even make us look bad to passersby.

I feel great compassion for a parent who is attempting to deal with an angry child. Sometimes the struggle becomes so public because the little one does not care that he/she is creating a disturbance. It is apparent that the adult is doing everything possible to quell the situation all to no avail. I always want to help but know that my interference will undoubtedly make things worse. All I can do is quietly send signals of support to the harried adult.

There is a hilarious video circulating on Facebook in which a quite funny woman tackles the issue that mom’s everywhere have endured. She vividly describes the scene of a mother dealing with an uncooperative child in a public place. She wonders why there always seems to be someone in the crowd who signals unrelenting disapproval for the mama, even though we all know that sometimes these things happen. She notes that our inconvenience is temporary while the parent will continue dealing with the problem at home. She wonders why we can’t all be more supportive, especially given that this is supposed to be the era of solidarity with our sisters from all over the world.

In the age of Pantsuit Nation women are doing their utmost to break glass ceilings and join one another in #MeToo moments. Why can’t we also demonstrate a bit of understanding and compassion for anyone who is dealing with a difficult toddler moment? Why do we so often become judgmental rather than helpful, when anyone who has been a parent honestly knows that there are many times when we feel totally inept and defeated by the tiny creatures that we are working so hard to raise.

I always loved my mother-in-law because whenever either of my daughters behaved badly in front of her she would smile impishly and suggest that maybe they had taken after her. She would then recall multiple stories that her elegant mother had told her about her own childhood missteps. One involved a scene in front of a downtown department store which became so heated that her mother had to give her a little swat on the fanny to get her back in line. When my mother-in-law shouted that her mother was embarrassing her the reply from her mom was, “If you embarrass me, I will embarrass you.” My mother-in-law repeated this tale rather proudly as if it conveyed the strength and conviction of her mother that she believe inspired her to become a great woman in her own right.

Next time you see a parent dealing with a seemingly bratty child, try not to judge. Instead send a vibe that let’s the weary individual know that everything will one day be amazingly good if they just hang in there and do what is right. Show that we are all in this parenting thing together. Hillary was right. It takes a village.

Love For All Time

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Prince Harry has been quite open about the intense trauma that he endured from the death of his mother. He has admitted to undergoing therapy after struggling with debilitating feelings in the aftermath of his loss. He was twelve when Diana died, so he vividly remembers the shock of that moment, but also treasures his recollections of the wonderful mother that she was. Her influence on him is quite apparent and his feelings for her are as strong as ever. Her spirit permeates his life and the choices that he has made.

The death of a parent is difficult regardless of whether it happens when we are adults or children. A sense of being without the very essence of who we are lingers long after the beloved is gone. For a child the suffering often goes unnoticed and untreated because young ones have difficulty expressing the hurt they are feeling. The emotions become internalized in so many varying ways that they are not always apparent. Harry acted out by being a goof ball and sometimes bad boy. He appeared to simply be a silly and rebellious young man, but he was actually reacting to the fears and hurt that he was enduring. Luckily he eventually found the help that he needed and channeled his angst into purposeful pursuits by emulating his mother’s example.

I find myself feeling a kind of spiritual connection with Harry because of our shared experience of losing a parent at a young age. There are many parallels between our stories. His mother died, and for me it was my father. Both of our parents were in car accidents. Both events occurred around the time of a holiday. Harry was twelve and I was eight. We both endured emotions that we didn’t quite understand after the tragedies. Harry became rowdy, and I became shy and withdrawn. Eventually we managed to come to grips with the what had happened and to better understand ourselves and the frightening feelings that had plagued us. Ours were successful journeys that ultimately lead to happiness and dedication to causes that help people, but for so many things do not turn out so well.

I think of my father quite often, and particularly on the anniversary of his death, May 31. I find myself wanting to know him and talk with him as an adult. Instead I have to rely on tidbits of childish conversations that I had with him. I borrow stories from adults who knew him as well. I have painted a picture of him that is admittedly idealized. I know that he had many flaws and I have wondered about them and how they might have impacted me without my ever realizing. I also recall the wonder of him, and know without a doubt that I am very much his daughter. He lives in me, and I see him in my brothers, and children, and grandchildren as well. Through him my ancestry reaches far back into the history of Great Britain just as Harry’s does, although mine is not quite as illustrious. I am an amalgam of many genes and influences, but his reign over me as much as if he had lived to walk me down the aisle and celebrate all of my milestones. I was old enough when he died to know with certainty how he might have reacted to the continuation of my history.

It is the knowledge of my father’s goodness and his love for me that has sustained me whenever I have felt a bit shaky. I suspect that Harry would say the same about his mother. We made it in spite of the horror of losing our parents because they had already undeniably imprinted their undying devotion on us. Once the love of a parent is imparted it becomes a fountain of strength whose healing waters stay with us. It is our shield from all of the terrors of the world. Like Simba in The Lion King we grow to understand that our parent never truly leaves us. Through some cosmic force they become our spiritual guides. We feel their presence, not in a supernatural way, but in our hearts.

The remaining parent and family members also play a critical role in raising a healthy and happy child. My mother filled our home with a strong sense of safety and  comfortable routine. She went out of her way to surround us with caring family and friends. She religiously kept us in touch with our paternal grandparents. She often told us tales of our father and remarked whenever we did something that reminded her of him. She kept him very much alive in our minds, so that it sometimes felt as though he had merely gone on a very long journey from which he would soon return. Of course we understood that he was gone forever, but it helped to be able to speak openly of him and sometimes even to cry about him.

A child instinctively responds in a vigorous and healthy way when surrounded by the unselfish love of good parents. While losing one of them leaves a ghastly scar that hurts from time to time, with good memories and the care of those who remain things will ultimately turn out fine. Harry and I are both happy people because we were lucky enough to have a beautiful start in life that did not end with our horrific losses. His mom and my dad had already given us tools and examples that were ours to keep for all time. Theirs was love for all time.

Being Leonard

10246301_10205604543090004_3263112611847433681_nIt’s graduation time, and when it rolls around each year I can’t help thinking of my own commencements from junior high, high school and college. So much hard work, angst and happy memories lay behind those glorious moments, and so much hard work, angst and happy memories lay ahead. Graduation day itself was somewhat like a wedding, a blur of people and speeches and congratulations that went by so fast. It somehow didn’t seem right for the culmination of so much effort to come and go so quickly, but that’s the way good times always seem to be. What strikes me most as I think back to those glorious moments of achievement is that each time I was surrounded by a core of my friends and family who took the time out of their busy lives to celebrate with me. While so many variables have challenged me in my life, such people have been a constant source of stability and love.

Graduations always make me think of my cousin Leonard. He’s the elder statesmen of our raucous bunch of cousins who is almost as close in age to our parents as he is to those of us who played Hide and Find each Friday night at our grandmother’s house. He was married and raising children while I was still happily engaged in the loveliness that was my childhood. When we saw him, he was far more interested in conversing with my mother and father than getting on the floor to entertain me. I always looked up to him not just because he was the first of our long line of cousins, but because he always appeared to be so happy and wise and confident.

Anyway, Leonard became known as the one person who never missed a single graduation. No matter what the timing was, or how bad the weather had become, Leonard would represent the whole family with his presence at one commencement after another. It almost became a game for us to scan the crowd at such events to find our own “Waldo” in the crowd. We always knew that we could count on seeing him just so long as we had sent him an invitation. While we joked about his perennial presence, I suppose that we never really took the time to think of how remarkable his devotion to family actually has been over the years. Little wonder that his own brood that has grown to gargantuan proportions is such a loving and tight knit group. With a kind of superhuman energy Leonard has managed to quietly take the helm and demonstrate to us the importance of finding time to honor members of the family as they pass through the milestones of life.

We Americans are a chronically busy and productive bunch. It doesn’t seem to be in our DNA to slow down even after we retire. There is nothing quite as shocking to us as someone who chooses to chill for a bit too long. We join organizations and volunteer and fill the nooks and crannies of our calendars so tightly that when we receive heartfelt invitations we quite often have to beg off, send our regrets. We’d love to be with family, but there is just so much to do that forces us to decline. Such has never been so with Leonard, a man who worked hard at his career, raised four delightful children, helped at his church and within his community, and still found ways to pause just enough to demonstrate his love for his us time and again. He has been as dependable as they come.

I suppose that if I were to give one single bit of advice to graduates it would be to follow Leonard’s example. As I look back on my life a sea of faces and experiences fill my head. Jobs and honors have come and gone. People entered my life and exited never to be heard from again. Many of the things that I labored to purchase have broken or gone out of style. The one aspect of my life that has continued to sustain and support me has been family and a circle of special friends who have stayed by my side. I have learned that when someone is as continually faithful as Leonard has been, it is due to great sacrifice and genuine concern. It is not easy to be as responsible and dependable as he is, but somehow he has made it his mission to be so. He is a rare gift in a day and age when behavior such as his is becoming less and less common. He has not allowed the rat race to become the focus of his pursuits. He has found balance and purpose in a life well lived.

There are so many stories of people on their deathbeds voicing regrets, being alone, realizing that they in their quests for riches, power, glory they forgot to remember the people who might have loved and remembered them most. When we hear such tales we marvel that someone who seemed to have it all actually had so little, and yet we also have tendencies to expend all of our energies chasing people and things that may ultimately leave us lonely and forgotten. Leonard on the other hand is a man who is beloved because little that he does is only about himself.

I attempt to emulate Leonard. He has demonstrated to me the importance of showing up again and again. He may not be able stay long but he always manages to demonstrate that he cares enough to be part of our most important milestones. That is all that we need to see. He has been our immutable constant in a world that seems ever less dependable, but he is growing older and time is taking its toll on his health. He won’t be able to carry the family banner forever, so its up to the younger generation to accept and honor his lead. He has shown us how its done. It would be a terrible shame to forget the importance of his efforts. It’s time for all of us to be more like Leonard.

Mama Says

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When I was still a child my mother often instructed me in the ways of being mannerly before we went to visit someone’s home. Among her routine admonitions was the time worn platitude, “If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.” Thus we were more likely to remain silent when we saw something that was not to our liking than to accidentally insult our hosts.

I suppose that it would be prudent to resurrect that old saw in light of the current propensity for commenting on virtually everything that occurs, often with a kind of rancor that has no place in the discussion. Because of the relative anonymity of the worldwide web with it’s platforms like Facebook, Twitter, Instagram Snapchat and such far too many individuals feel free to say whatever comes to mind regardless of how unkind the thoughts may be. If a young girl posts a photo of herself in her prom finery invariably someone will take offense and sound off with a negative commentary that is totally inappropriate. Somehow far too many people have come to believe that their opinions matter so much that they must be pronounced regardless of the consequences.

I was watching The Today Show recently and there was a bit of a dust up over a marriage proposal and its appropriateness. It seems that a young woman was receiving her college degree when her boyfriend used the occasion to ask her to marry him. What should have been a double joy for the lady turned into a public debate after she posted the video of the incident online. The images went viral not because people thought that it was sweet, but rather because more than half of those who viewed it wanted to bash the young man for stealing attention from his fiancee’s accomplishment. The comments that followed were unbelievably blunt and accusatory, so much so that the woman at the center of the controversy felt compelled to defend her suitor. In fact she announced that it made a wonderful day even more perfect than it might otherwise have been. In spite of her protests there were still complete strangers who were enraged that the proposal had happened the way it did.

As I listened to the ridiculousness of the story I had to scratch my head in wonderment. I heard my mother’s voice in my head reminding me to bite my tongue unless asked to convey my opinion. I seriously thought that it incredibly bad form for complete strangers to seize what should have been a lovely moment for two people in love to convey their own ideas. My question for them would be, “Who asked you to critique?”

I genuinely believe that if we would revert to old times when simple etiquette was the rule, we might rid ourselves of much of the ugly hurtfulness that so plagues our society. If the young man had wanted anyone’s thoughts on the matter he probably would have inquired, and even then it would have been with people who know him and have some genuine interest in his and his fiancee’s well-being.

On the same day that I heard the story of the proposal gone unintentionally bad, I saw a cute little post on a friend’s wall. It went something like, “A real friend is someone who straightens a loved one’s crooked crown without telling the world.” I like that idea and it is one that I have always followed. It’s embarrassing to have flaws or make mistakes. Such things need not be compounded by public humiliation. There is no worse feeling in the world than having someone make a very big deal about something that should have been only a small moment of assistance.

I would say to those who have been so vehemently and publicly incensed by what they saw to be an unfortunate faux pax with regard to the proposal that it is quite simply none of their business. They have made the matter far worse than it should have been, blighting the young woman’s glorious day in ways that the man who loves her never did. That’s what generally happens when critics publicly impose their tyrannical views. If we are going to straighten crowns it should be done with quiet kindness and out of view.

For many weeks my home was under repair and I had little time for following  the news or Twitter or any of those things. I had to limit my social media time to sharing information about my blog and wishing friends and family Happy Birthday. I founds that I was feeling much more optimistic about the world in general than I had been when I was spending time encountering toxic posts and comments that needn’t have been expressed. My happiness meter went wild. Perhaps it is because I had by omission silenced the negativity that is so rampant today.

I suggest that we simply enjoy the images and commentaries of our friends and acquaintances rather than feeling some kind of compulsion to make suggestions or orchestrate critiques. Just be polite and loving. That is really all that anyone ever wants. If we feel the need to remark be certain that it is positive. Only be truthful if the person has genuinely requested ideas. It’s the old fashioned way to be, and it works rather nicely in the long run. It’s time we all took a deep breath and remembered some of those lessons our mamas taught us.