The Stick and I

As I've mentioned before, I sometimes use a cane. I have two of them, actually - the one the VA issued me, which is set to my flat-footed height, and a lovely wood one that is cut to heel-height and the one that is most commonly seen out of the house. Eventually, I intend to have a wood one cut for flat feet so I am more comfortable going out of the house in flat shoes with a cane (I hate wearing flats and pre-disability me rarely did out of the house unless partaking in an activity that required it, like exercise).

My relationship with the cane is complicated. One of the "benefits" of an invisible illness is that we pass as healthy, in my case for over a decade. Family, friends, the world in general all assumed I was healthy or, if they knew I was sick, never really understood the extent. This isn't their fault, I never let them see me as sick. Despite being more visible about it now, there is still a great deal of surprise (and disbelief) associated with my illness.

But you can see the cane. You can't miss it, actually. It draws attention, especially combined with my usual style of dress and appearance. I don't look sick, I'm wearing makeup, I have two legs that usually can be seen because I tend to wear dresses...what is wrong with me? People are curious and I am the curiosity. For those that also see me when I don't need it, the concept that mobility aids are not an all or nothing game can be a struggle. People think of walkers, canes, crutches, as permanent fixtures that are needed 100% of the time. A friend of mine used a wheelchair, but she could stand or walk short distances, which turned expressions of pity and curiosity into disbelief and outrage.

When I read articles about others who adapt to the use of mobility devices, I am reading not only to understand and develop empathy, but also reading my potential future. We have no idea what course my health will take. I may need a cane full-time. I may need to graduate to a walker or the dreaded chair. I look for coping mechanisms, suggestions, ideas, strategies. I struggled for months before I asked the VA for the cane (which they were quick to provide) and even longer before I allowed myself to be seen using it. I put myself through a lot of physical and psychological pain in the process, stressed about what the cane meant to others, what it meant to me, about me. We're approaching a place of peace, the stick and I, and it's a hard won peace. It helps to read that others struggle too and that they overcome the struggle. That does not make me eager to engage in it again, but I'm trying to avoid the sense of dread through education.

I'm told the tendency to respond to every problem with "Education!" is the tendency of a Democrat...

Peace vs Victory

I was listening to Morning Edition on NPR and there is a story about the President of Columbia, President Santos, winning the Nobel Prize for Peace, even after the voters rejected the peace plan he brokered to stop 50 years of war (http://n.pr/2dxcFcm). As they were discussing how Santos became president, with his history of fighting the insurgents, and then his transition once he became president to peace talks, it struck me that, suddenly, he is incredibly unpopular. He brokered a treaty to end a 50 year war...what else do people want?

The answer, I realized, is that the people don't want peace. They want victory. They don't want the fighting to end, they want their enemy destroyed.

Victory is a win-condition. It decimates the enemy, creates a clear victor, deliniates right and wrong. The Civil War, WWI and WWII - these all had victories, where the winners could proclaim themselves to be advocates of peace while the losers were trampled under heel, buried in reparations and debts, stripped of economic strength and, most importantly, their dignity.

Peace is a process. It takes time, it requires that both sides give a little, it takes negotiations. It's hard. No one may come out a clear victor, but the goal is a standing, lasting peace, one that, over time, heals, which means that both sides must retain their dignity, must be able to live and grow under the terms. For true peace, the conflicts will fade away over time. New ones may arise, but they will not be a rehashing of the past, because peace allows wounds to heal.

If we had focused on peace after the Civil War, would we still be fighting the culture wars that arose from making our own citizens feel as their own was endangered, disregarded, wiped out?

Would WWII have happened if Germany hadn't been stripped of their dignity in the Versaille Treaty after WWI?

Would we be fighting ISIS if we had found a better way in the Middle East over the decades of European and American involvement in the region, rather than cutting up their borders and gutting their culture?

Peace is not popular. It does not generate parades. It costs both sides. When you call for peace, ask yourself: Do you want peace or victory? Be honest with yourself. Do you want to be able to sit down at a table with the people you were formerly in conflict with, with dignity preserved on all sides, prepared to give some up yourself for a lasting, true peace? Or do you want to bring them to heel, to show them who is boss, to ensure they don't dare mess with America again?

These are different. They require different tools to achieve. You cannot call for peace and then support actions aimed towards victory, thinking they will achieve the same result.

So be honest with yourself. What do you want? What are you willing to support?

Alan Rickman

Alan Rickman's death has made me incredibly sad. I've been processing it all day. The question of "why" is always one to consider, but with a celebrity, why does it matter so much?

I think when a celebrity who has had an effect on us through art dies, it brings forward the feelings of those we have lost that we did know personally. The music, movies, and theater created by the talented celebrities who can honestly be called "artist" (of whom both Alan Rickman and David Bowie were) create an emotional connection that mimics what we have between us as humans. It's one way, of course, but as anyone who has experienced unrequited feelings knows, that doesn't make it less of an emotional connection.

So in their death, we experience again all the feelings of friends and family we have lost, as well as the tragedy of "what else could they have created, given time?" All combined, it's no wonder we've all been upside down with the loss of such giants.

I had an incredible conversation earlier with a dear friend about death and loss, especially those that seem unfair. I am grateful for friends like him who can express their rage and anger at loss while allowing me to express grief, who don't lessen what I'm feeling. Talking it through is also made it easier, as it usually does. A burden shared...

Tonight we watched Dogma and Galaxy Quest in the name of Alan Rickman. If I had started the Harry Potter movies, I would have to watch them all and I don't know if I can watch him die tonight (Die Hard, Potter, many others). I needed comedy.

Always.

Reluctantly, I Return

I've been a communication hiatus for awhile. I keep waiting for life to slow down, but it hasn't so I think I have to just accept it and come out of my cave. Something about the computer and phone has been particularly offensive, likely because they seem to give the outside world an expectation of access into my life. Funny words from someone who writes a blog, no matter how sporadically. But there's a difference between that which I chose to share and what people expect. My primary annoyance with Facebook* is the apparent assumption that we will share everything. People have been shocked, even offended, that I haven't put wedding pictures on Facebook. I have no intention to do so, though I know my sister and mother will likely do so once they get them. I simply dislike displaying my life. That's true in person as well, as I keep aspects of my life very private (such as religion). I'm not embarrassed by those parts, I just don't think they're anyone else's business.

Once upon a time (the mythical Good Ole Days), this sort of reticence to be available for public viewing was the mark of good breeding. The old adage of one's name appearing in the papers three times in one's life - when they're born, when they marry, and when they die - is laughably quaint in our all-access world. I actually found an issue of LIFE magazine (November 14, 1955) that has an article titled "Society's Switch to Publicity", discussing the rise of the celebrity socialite, so this isn't new, just relatively new for the general masses, where anyone can be someone online. The egalitarian (and American) in me likes that and rejoices at the rise of the marginalized who "make it" due to YouTube or a blog. The part of me that finds scrutiny and uninvited commentary distasteful cringes every time.

While being called "old-fashioned" wouldn't be unfamiliar for me or even unwelcome, this reluctance can come across as anti-social. I must learn how to mitigate the feeling that by dipping a toe into the internet social waters, I am not committing to dive in and certainly not a splash fight. Then again, moderation has always been my struggle.

All that said, the best way to talk to me regularly remains a letter, either handwritten or typed, since I will always answer. I am happily accepting penpals for any who are interested.

*If you want to follow me on social media, Facebook is useless except for the most basic changes, like marital status and location. Google + is your best bet.

Relationship Role Models

So I mentioned in yesterday's post the relationships that I admire. I think relationship role models are important. They give you an idea of what you're looking for, of what it takes to make that happen. They create a realistic expectation. An example:

My primary relationship role model is my parents' marriage of 35 years. Before I knew what it entailed, it set some unrealistic expectations. They got married as kids (they were 17 and 20) and have stuck together this long and raised two kids. It's part of why I got married the first time - I thought that, at 20, I was losing time. Double that when I think that my mother's oldest child (me) was 9 when she was my age. I have felt behind.

But what they taught me, my parents, is the value of fighting for it. That sometimes, one person does the majority of the lifting while the other person coasts, and that it will even out in the end. They had a rough go of it, in part because they were children when they got married and hurt each other a lot without knowing it. But at some point they decided that they were going to fix it, and they did. They let my sister and I see how hard it was, but that it was worth it. Because if it's not worth fighting for, it's not worth the time.

I try to imagine how hard it would be to not have that example growing up. I saw it everyday of my life, so I know it's hard, but that it's worth it. But if you grew up not going that, not seeing that...how do you know what you're supposed to do, how good it can be? Who do you look to for advice? If you're lucky, there are others in your life who can demonstrate that for you. How can someone create a somewhat realistic expectation of a relationship if they don't know what one is supposed to look like? They might look elsewhere, develop the mentality that it's not possible, or create unrealistic expectations. If your only example is what you read in books or see in movies...how do you know?

I have often said that I'm lucky to have been raised the way I was. Lately, that's been more apparent than usual. And I'm thankful for it, despite the problems it can cause.

Independence vs Relationships

So as I've been watching my way through Scrubs, I came across Season 8, episode 9, "My Absence". A patient whose husband of 50 years had recently died passes away and Kelso comments that it was probably because she lost her soul mate. Elliot says she hopes she would have more going on in her life if it was her, though she later bemoans that she's no longer a strong or independent woman because she's miserable with JD out of town (hence of the title of the episode).

Why do we do that? Why we do associate being strong and independent women with being unwilling to put life on hold for someone else, or to wait for what someone else needs?

I've spent most of my adult life in relationships, including one marriage and one engagement (they are not related). I have also spent a lot of it working through the ins and outs - what I want in a relationship, where my stick points are, etc. And I've come to the understanding that I am a strong and independent woman. One thing everyone in my life knows about me is that, no matter what happens in a given situation, I will be fine. I am incredibly resilient. But I am also willing to put aside what I want in the name of what someone else who I care about needs.

I wasn't always able to do that. I'm good at short term care taking, especially physical things. But putting aside my own long term wants and desires for someone else is not my specialty. I think I saw it as weak, a special blend of feminist and military mindsets, and a fear of losing myself in someone else. But as I've gotten past the age where I care so much about those kinds of things, I've realized that the relationships that I admire all have a sense of sacrifice to them. They are the people who are willing to put aside the 'me' for the 'us'...and who do that by recognizing that sometimes, making the 'us' better means fostering the other side. There has to be faith that it will be reciprocated if the time comes, that when my career or my goals are at stake, the partner will sacrifice in return.

That faith is the hard part. It's much harder than love. But if achieved, it bolsters a love that is so much better than the quick and easy (and inherently selfish) love without sacrifice. At least, that's what I'm told.

How to Measure a Man

We are all familiar with the idea that if you want to judge the character of a man, you look at how he treats his inferiors. An ex of mine translated that to mean how people judge service people, specifically waiters. The problem with that is the reason that was always included - waiters can poison/spit in your food.

What that says to me is that you should treat people well...if they can respond in some way that might hurt you. That hardly seems like the measure of a person to me.

So, truly, I think the measure of someone is how they treat road crews. They're in your way, it's almost always at an inconvenient time and place, and you generally don't see the direct results of their work. If the person in question swears at them, honks at them, or generally is rude to people trying to do their job...now that's the measure of a man (or woman). 

Changing Your Perspective

Thanks to a combination of family, the Army, and life, I have now lived in California, Oklahoma, South Carolina, South Korea, Maryland, Virginia, and New York. I'm about to add another state and check off Mountain Time, but that's 6 states and 2 countries, covering 4 time zones.

Not only has this assured that I can pack incredibly well when motivated, but it means I've seen a lot of ways of life. My sister's marriage gave me access to another way of life I was distantly but not directly exposed to - the rural upbringing of her husband. I know beach bums on both sides of the country (they're different based on which ocean they worship), farmers, city girls...I love having access to so many perspectives, even though I know I couldn't live many of those lives.

I get frustrated with people who never force themselves to see other perspectives. The military is great for that. My brother-in-law, whom I adore, had never met a black person before he joined the Air Force. He saw the ocean for the first time dating my sister and all sorts of new experiences while serving two Iraq deployments. He was able to make decisions about the kind of life he wanted, both in the ways it would be similar to his own and the ways it would be different, based on the fact that he had seen something other than the rural, somewhat secluded upbringing of southeastern Oklahoma.

There are ways other than the military, if you're brave enough to try them. After my sister, who spent most of her life in Oklahoma, graduated from high school, she chose to move to the DC area and live with one of my dearest friends. For a year, she associated with a variety of people she hadn't accessed before - people who lived differently and believed differently than she had been raised to live and believe. She made the choice to return to Oklahoma and raise her family here, but not because it was her only choice, but be cause it was the one she wanted to make based on having seen, and understood, another point of view. She's considerably more open to others and interested in their views because of the time she spent in another area.

Less you think this is a problem constrained to the middle of the country, it is one I saw in New York over and over. People who had never lived, or even extensively visited, other areas of the country, other ways of living, but are so quick to dismiss it as a possibility. They scoff at the "flyover states" without ever considering that there might be something there for them, even if it's only another perspective. How can you say, definitively, that X is what you want when you've never seen Y? There's a perspective that I heard again and again in the northeast (and other areas, but it's overt in the northeast) about where they live and that nowhere could be as good. So many wear it as a badge of superiority, but I always thought it was sad when it came from people who never ventured out of the area. Are you so scared to push your own opinions that you have to dismiss others?

Having been so lucky as to see much of the country and some of the world (though so much more remains on my "to visit" list in both categories), I am now looking to settle and establish roots. I have a clear picture of the life I want to have and how I want to live, based on getting to try on a few options both directly and vicariously through others. I can't imagine making those decision based on a lack of choice, rather than an abundance of it. My best friend is taking her first big step towards her life goals. She mentioned she's scared and I told her that I like to think of fear as your body saying "Pay attention!" rather than "Don't!". She doesn't have to run towards like I do (I admit to a reckless streak in me), but the fact that she is rationally choosing her path, even though it's scary, as one that will expand rather than limit her perspectives makes me incredibly proud of her. It takes courage.

Rain on a Tin Roof

My parents own 300 acres, as seen recently in the Asher post. Kellie and I were talking about the future and we decided we really want a cabin out there that will hold the entire family (which is growing rapidly) and will be a place where kids can hang out. The current hunting cabin only sleeps 8 and is not kid-friendly. So we started mentally designing and planning the Asher Cabin.

We envision it being built on the flat spot over the big pond that my parents chose when they considered living on the property. We see a large, open downstairs with a kitchen area, dining area (large table), fireplace (maybe two), and sitting area. Lots of windows, probably east facing so that it gets warm in the winter, with storm shutters so we can protect the glass and block out sun in the summer. There would be stairs to a loft, where half walls will divide beds (reserved for adults always).

There are challenges to this. Running electricity out that far is expensive (we have electric on the main road, but we'd have to run it in and only the first two poles are free), so we'd have to plan for, initially, no electricity (though possibly a generator). Plumbing also doesn't run out there, so we'd have to plan for no running water, including toilets. But eventually, we could add a septic tank and maybe drill a well (we have several natural springs). It'd be a bit rustic to start, but it's the middle of the woods, what do you expect?

Kellie and I talked about the added bonus after mom and dad are gone - we'd have a "family home". Big enough to accommodate both our families, we see Christmas trees (we cut ours from Asher anyway) and fires and lots of kids and, someday, grandkids. We even timelined the building of it (my dad always says for anything that's happening, he's got a daughter with a list and a daughter with a plan). Our parents are preparing to expand their house (three additions), so after that's done (we're calling it 18 months even though dad says a year) then we can start actually laying plans. By then, we should all be able to pitch in, so it's three households helping pay for it instead of one.

Last night, I fell asleep to the sound of rain on my sister's metal roof. I think we should have a metal roof at the Asher Cabin, just so we can sleep to the sound of rain on it.

And we'll even let the hunters use it when we're not there...

Unexpected Joy

Tonight, my parents went to the 70th birthday part of a member of my parents' Sunday School class, Floyd. I've met him and his wife, Becky, before at church and at a few get-togethers at my parents' house, but I don't know them very well. I could tell my mom wanted to spend more time together (we got our nails done and poked around antique stores this afternoon) and that they expected to not know a lot of the people there. Floyd is a car enthusiast (he drove his Edsel) and his car club was most of the people there. So I went, mainly to keep my parents company.

No need, of course. My parents never met strangers (my sister and I come by it honestly) and enough of their Sunday School class was present that they were kept socially happy the entire time. I settled in to ignore people after wishing the birthday boy happiness, only to be bombarded by his wife (who might be one of my favorites). Soon I was talking to people there about tracing family lines, NYC, and other various topics. We stayed around after everyone had left to help clean up and chat with Floyd and Becky.

It struck me, later, how something I had no interest in doing produced some beautiful moments. An elderly couple told me how they were both from OKC, but he had moved to California as a child. Incredible happenstance brought them together, back in OKC as young adults. His parents were welders during WWII. His mother was so small, they put her in the tight places to weld since she could fit. We discussed how my maternal grandfather couldn't join because he was so small, all his uniforms would have had to be custom fitted, so he made A26 Invaders in Tulsa, where he met my grandmother, who was a wing inspector for the B24 Liberator made in the same factory. It was just a lovely moment.

So we go to things we don't care about, but if we go with an open mind, sometimes we'll leave with a beautiful new moment.

Why Do They Yell?

Being home with my family, I've gone to church more this summer than I have since 2004, which is to say, three times thus far. The first was to my parents' church for Father's Day. Their Sunday School class is a lot of fun and made up of great people. Their pastor, on the other hand, is a mission focused pastor, who would have every heathen converted. I don't have a lot of patience for that type.

The second time was in California, when we went to our old church (Immanuel Baptist in Highland) to hear the pastor we grew up with, Rob Zinn, preach. I love that man. I didn't agree with everything he said, but I like his message and his attitude. His sermon was basically about how judgement has no place among God's people, but to approach others with love.

Today was church three, as I attended Sunday School and church with my sister and brother-in-law. They're class was also a lot of fun, and you can see the group environment and learning. Kellie attended the church when Brandon was in Iraq, but she wasn't a member yet (they joined after he returned). Even so, they took care of her, taking her out to lunch and ensuring she wasn't too alone. That's the kind of community I expect from a church, and I was glad she had it. The sermon made me ask the question, "Why do Southern Baptist* preachers yell?" Kellie said that he didn't usually get so excited, but it's a common thing. They seem to think that if they yell at you, you'll hear them better. Rob gets loud, that's for certain, but you can see the excitement in what he's saying pour off of him. But for most, it just seems like they're yelling so you'll think they're serious.

I haven't been a member of a church since I left high school. Technically, I'm still a member at University Baptist Church in Shawnee, since I never transferred my letter of membership. I've been involved in a couple of Catholic communities since I left, but I've never joined a church. I don't like most aspects of community worship and the message that comes from the majority of the pulpits is one that chafes me greatly. Anytime someone teaches exclusion or superiority (which is often how a mission-oriented minister sounds) or hate, they've lost me entirely.

I haven't had much use in my life for a church, and I don't see that changing soon. Faith is a very private matter to me and I don't have the desire to share it, especially not in the manner that proselytizing faiths employ. It's been nice to visit a range of churches, to see what I like and don't like about them. But I don't see a return to them for me in the near future. Maybe, someday, a faith based community will call to me again. But not now. And never to one that yells.

*I'm sure other ministers yell. My experience is with the SBC.

The (tiny) Guilt of Not Breastfeeding

One of the truths to being me is that I can't carry a child through pregnancy. I don't mind, it was never something that was important to me. It is something incredibly important to my sister, who is healthy as a horse and had a relatively smooth first pregnancy and lightning fast labor (hour and a half - of which 20 minutes was in the car on the way to the hospital!). Basically, this isn't a problem, it's just life and I'm fine with it. I think of the upsides - I can have children while working on my PhD with less physical recovery time and  I will get to share the child-rearing experience with my husband from the same level of involvement and attachment, which is pretty awesome in my book.

Where I run into trouble is the ever-growing research on the benefits of breastfeeding children for their first 6 months (or longer). It's simply something I won't be able to provide - I won't be pregnant, therefore I won't have breast milk. I'm not concerned about the apparent emotional bonds and such and I know that there are perfectly healthy children who were never breastfed. But each time I come across an article or blog post about the benefits of breastfeeding, there's a brief twinge of guilt that it's just something I can't provide. It passes and I move on. Watching my sister breastfeed while we're hanging out does nothing to fuel a desire for the experience myself, but I do envy her that her child won't ever have formula (nor baby food, but that's different).

Nothing that my future children will be denied by not being breastfed is insurmountable and I know better than anyone that breastfeeding doesn't ensure a healthy life for your children (I was breastfed). But still, in our current climate, it's hard not to feel guilty, even briefly, for not being able to provide your child with what is considered, more and more, the foundation for a healthy life. 

This moment of guilt brought to you by Andrew Sullivan. Don't worry, Andrew, I don't blame you. You can't breastfeed either.

That Thing You Do

There's a lot of psychological theories about why we do what we do. In fact, it's really the entire field. Why do we do X? What motivates us? etc.

We can all point to things we do and say "I do this for that reason." There's the inevitable moment as a grownup when you realize that you're doing things a certain way because your parents did it that way, which always leads to a moment of "I'm becoming my mother/father!" and often a conversation with said (amused) parent. That's always fun. But you get over it and either accept it or change it, depending on where you are in your life and how appropriate that way of doing things is.

Other things are more subtle. The way someone interacts with the opposite sex is usually a combination of active social shaping (often by parents) and personal experience. If a guy has gotten poor responses for holding doors for women, he might be less likely to do so, though if his parents (and/or society) taught him it was the way men do things, it's related more to his identity than to his relationship with women and he's gonna hold that door.

Just like when we realize we're becoming our parents, there are moments when you make a connection between a part of your personality or behavior and something that influenced it. One of the therapy process for PTSD uses CBT - Cognitive Behavioral Therapy. It is a pretty standard cognitive/behavioral process that has to do with actively recognizing your actions, determining the reason for you actions, determining if that is an appropriate response, and making active, conscious decisions to change inappropriate responses. The more extreme the reaction, the harder it can be, but it's shown to be very effective. It's a list of questions that, after awhile, become second nature. "Why am I doing this? Is this an appropriate response? What is a better response?" I run through these questions all day, everyday. It's mentally exhausting, but it allows me to better function in society. I still jump a mile when someone drops a book on the floor in class, but I no longer assess them as a target and take an alert position. Better!

Once the major behavioral issues are dealt with and the patient has the tools to manage themselves, smaller, more subtle things come to light. Tonight, I had a moment in the shower (where a great deal of introspection seems to happen) where I realized that while a lot of my "hardness" - the enjoyment of guns, the casual nature of violent and aggressive speak - is simply residual from the Army and it's environment (and is not behavior that needs active correcting since I recognize socially acceptable situations and abide accordingly), a portion of it, maybe even a lot of it, is laying down warnings. It's "Do not mess with me or I will destroy you" behavior. In a physical situation, I am simply outgunned when facing someone bigger and stronger (which is less people than perhaps it should be for my size, but is still a significant portion of the population). I make up for it with a very clear attitude of "if I have to kill you, I will. Please stay over there, where I don't have to kill you." 

In my Psychology of Violence class, we discussed what it takes to kill someone in the context of the military and how it trains. My professor asked us if we could. And I knew, without a hesitation, that I could. With that knowledge comes no value judgement on myself. There were people in class who felt like they could if they were protecting someone (and every mother said she could to protect her children) but they didn't like it about themselves. It doesn't bother me. Could be desensitization to the concept. It could be that I have thought about it a lot more than others. But either way, the knowledge is very clear to me. I don't want to kill anyone (no murders in the making, promise). I don't want to hurt anyone. But I know that the situation could arise where I would. 

I Hope You Have One Just Like You

Truth - I am terrified of having a daughter. Specifically, I'm terrified she'll end up like me.

Not like me in personality. I'll take a few difficult teenage years in the name of producing a daughter who's strong and has her own personality. That's fine.

And not like me in looks. May she be so lucky (okay, the fair skin is a lot of work, but come on...)

No, I'm worried she'll inherit all the medical crap I deal with. She has a 50% chance, theoretically*. But the pain that I deal with - how is passing that along love? What gets me through this idea is this:

1. Medical science is awesome and while I have no faith in them making enough strides to help me out, she might benefit.

2. My sister is 100% healthy despite us coming from the same gene pool.

3. I have a lot of awesome girly knowledge and goddaughters, nieces*, and gay sons just won't do it all.

So hope (or embryonic gender selection, which is better than hope) for a daughter someday is a go. A very scared go.

* The medical community theorizes that endometriosis is genetic, and my mother having it indicates that might be the case. We also think her mother had it, but grandma didn't discuss such things. No one has a clue about the fibro since they can't even agree on what it is or if it exists.


* If my sister ever gets around to giving me a niece...with our luck (and history) it'll be all boys.

Historical Acts in Fiction

After waking up an an awful time for no good reason, I decided to catch up on TV. I started with Downton Abbey, which remains my favorite show on television and which I can watch on pbs.com since I don't have a television. If you're not watching it, you should be. First season is available on Netflix and the second on PBS.

Then I watched my second favorite show on television, Pan Am. I love that era and the jet age, so no surprise there. Sunday's episode ended with Kennedy being shot, but it only showed the initial reports, which all said the President had been shot but was alive. It closed with Maggie (Christian Ricci) stating that he would be alright, he had to be. Of course, the viewer knows its not. The viewer knows that Kennedy is dead and that Maggie, an ardent supporter of the President, is going to be crushed. The viewer knows that all those shocked faces are going to to mourn the loss of the President who was a symbol of youth and change in culture.

It got me thinking about how the viewer having knowledge that the characters don't in historical fictions gives the show a chance to make a point without having to explain it. In the first season of Downton Abbey, the very first thing that happens in that the Titanic sinks. They don't have to talk about the how and the why and they can avoid discussing the larger effects of the event because there is an assumed knowledge. I suspect something similar is going to occur in Pan Am (and has, actually, in the revolution in Cuba). They won't show us Kennedy dying - it will simply be the case because they don't need to tell the viewer that Kennedy dies. It frees them up to focus on the effects that the viewer doesn't already know about - the personal stories that were changed because of things we learn in history. It gives the viewer, most of whom aren't of an age to remember these events, a chance to feel what people were feeling through the characters. If they've done their job, the viewer is attached to the characters and cares about them, so their heartbreaks are ours. We may not, as modern viewers, understand what it means to lose an heir (explaining that is what the first season of Downton Abbey is about) but we get an idea of the suddenness of the Titanic sinking through their dilemma and response. I am not old enough to remember Kennedy being shot (in fact my parents were quite young) but I already anticipate what it will do to Maggie as a character I care about and thus can feel it on her behalf.

It's an interesting device that I hadn't really thought much about until today, but one that I apparently like since I am so fond of historical fiction (Downton, Pan Am, Mad Men, etc). The escapism to a world gone by is one part, certainly, but I think being able to relate, even artificially, with the joys and losses of the characters allows us to experience history in a way that we wouldn't otherwise be able to. It brings history off the books, as it were, and makes it something personal. And isn't that the point of fiction, in addition to entertainment, also to capture the reader or viewer and transport them elsewhere?

I Used to be Fat...and other absurdities

There are some reality TV shows I have a hard time clicking past. Like a car crash, I'm drawn to them. Hoarders is one of those shows...it makes me want to clean. My need for order kicks in and I can't understand how people live like that.

Shows about people losing weight are another. I cheer for them, especially the ones about teenagers. I get angry at the slackers and self destructive behaviors. But more than anything, I've been amazed by some of the families. Some of them are as hard on the kids as their trainers, really pushing them to succeed and making large changes in the family lifestyle as well. I want to hug those parents. But some of them are so negative. They eat fast food in front of their kids who are trying desperately to change their lives. Discouraging their kids by disparaging their progress. Those parents I want to slap. Kids are a product of their environment. We have an obesity epidemic in our country among kids because they learn to be lazy and eat poorly from their parents. Those kids become adults who have kids and perpetuate the cycle.

My best friend and I have often talked about our wildly different upbringing and how that has effected our adult lives. I learned from an early age to regard fruits and vegetables as snacks. We had salad at every dinner and my sister and I ate it liberally. Even when there were cookies in the house, mom made them and they were out of site - never snacks, only dessert. More often, though, dessert was strawberries or some such. My friend, however, grew up making her own food decisions usually since her mom was in school at night, trying to make a better life for them. When her mom did cook, she made a lot of pasta and not much in the vegetable arena. She has fought being heavy her entire life and finally took matters into her own hands and lost 70 lbs by overhauling her eating habits. 

Parents have a responsibility to their children to teach them how to be healthy. The fact that we just ignore that as a society is disheartening. Letting children do other things that will kill them would be a huge problem, but we can't tell parents to fix their children's eating habits. Absurd.

Teaching vs. Training

Recently, I've had several conversations about teaching methods. As a tutor in the Writing Center (WC), we are constantly encouraged to use non-directive methods, more commonly known as the Socratic Method. The goal is to develop the writing and critical thinking skills of the writer by allowing them to discover the answers independently. We all vary at our comfort and skill level with this method and I am most definitely on the directive side of things. But I've been in school the majority of my life, so I should be more comfortable with the Socratic method, given it's the primary tool for education.

Right?

Well....maybe. Lower education is a very strong mix of the two..we let children do a lot of self discovery as they develop skills and independence, but we also directly teach a great deal. And as we move up in education, in class work becomes more directive and out of class work less directive. There's not a lot of sitting in class, considering, debating. I would argue that I got some more of that than other students based on classes - AP worked hard to develop those critical thinking skills. But otherwise...

And then the military happened. Military education, at least at the basic levels, is all directive. Purely directive. The first lesson we learned in basic training was how to stack our bags i.e. how to follow orders. I have it on video, but the basic concept is that the standard is presented, the standard is demonstrated, you are given a chance to meet the standard. If you fail to meet the standard, corrective training is issued (usually pushups at this point in our military lives). Repeat process. And because this is conducted as a group, you very quickly learn to help each other meet the standard, since everyone pushes if one person fails.

This particular method is used in all aspects of military life. The type of corrective training becomes more helpful as you're learning actual tasks (such as tutoring or extra task training), but for the most part, this method is a standard way to impart knowledge. I use it all the time with people - I tell them what I expect, I show them how to meet my expectations and then I leave them to do it. And it is, in fact, very effective.

But what I have realized is that this is not teaching. It's training.

I am a great trainer. I will train you to do a skill or task and you will know how to do it and how to do it well. I trained students when I was a teacher to function in my class, understand my expectations and what to do if they didn't think they'd meet those. I trained them in classroom behavior, test taking procedures and resource allocation (i.e. how to look stuff up for themselves). But I don't know if I actually taught them much. There was some teaching. I stood in front of them and taught them words. But I don't think that's the primary thing those students took away from the class.

When I look at the difference between the two words in the dictionary, teach is a catch all for showing someone how to do something. Train is nearly entirely task oriented (job training, etc). But I think the difference is more than that. Teaching has to do with concepts, training with skill acquisition. They are related, most certainly, but they are not the same.

I am a trainer. I am not a very skilled teacher. And I'm okay with that.

Why do we go to school?

When I was fighting to get into my Bio class, the professor asked me why I was taking science. He pointed out that every semester I took science, my GPA went down (my Psych GPA is a 4.0). And I can get the BA in Psych without it. I told him that I wasn't in school for my GPA, I was in school to learn about things that interested me. And science interested me. Besides, when is the next time in my life I'm going to get access to a proper science lab? Most likely never.

I have repeated this concept to my classmates who are astounded that I am taking a class that most people are failing simply because I enjoy science, even though I'm not particularly good at it. I remember being their age and believing that the purpose of school was to do well (by whatever definition of "well" you ascribe to). But I waited for my education, so I think I get the privilege of learning for the sake of learning. I didn't do great on my lab practical today, but I learned a lot while taking it, including a lot about what I don't know. Every lecture class leaves me with more questions. If I had all the time in the world, I'd be an astounding biologist because the subject fascinates me on a really deep level and I'm constantly looking for ways to expand my knowledge. But I don't have all the time in the world, so I'm happy with a passing grade and a continued fascination. It brings down my GPA, but GPAs are arbitrary numbers. Knowledge may not be quantifiable, but it's so much more fulfilling.

Join the Circus?

Sometimes, I get the urge to run away. Just for a day or so, somewhere where no one knows me. Go out to eat, lie on a beach, go out dancing - really anything. Just somewhere new, somewhere unknown or different. The urge strikes and there's not much I can do about it. But it comes on strong a few times a year. I don't think it indicates anything other than a restlessness that I've always had. Maybe one day when I'm in a position to travel more that will abate. But in the meantime, it's there, ready to strike when I least expect it. I've actually done it a few times, mostly when I was in language school and didn't have anyone to check in with until formation on Monday morning. I could go wherever I wanted and just disappear for a couple of days. Oh, the days before cell phones! Now I'm constantly reachable and people worry when they don't get a response. I suppose that complaining about having meaningful connections with people that means that they are concerned about my well being is silly and in truth, that's not what I'm talking about. It's mostly just a desire for anonymity and new experience, and the freedom that comes with it.

But is it censorship?

I was wandering through Barnes and Noble today, looking for a book to read in the hurricane. As often happens, I wandered into the pregnancy section. And as it nearly always the case, there was one practical book on adoption, one narrative from an adopted person now grown and nothing, not a single book on surrogacy. 500 versions of the Bible and nothing on surrogacy. One book on adoption.

It's frustrating. Not everyone is going to be a parent in the traditional way. So why not offer books that cover a variety of options? I'm not saying to cut down on the pregnancy books, they're needed and sell like crazy. But why not offer more on other options? There are 14,000 options about adoption and 450 on surrogacy on Amazon. The books are out there. Why isn't anyone selling them?