This I Believe

Recently, a friend was asked to give a talk called “This I believe” at a Universal Unitarian Church.  He gave an excellent treatise on why he was an atheist, and how he found religion incompatible with scientist he is.

Being the good friend I am, I called him out on that.  Because, while defending atheism is something any atheist can understand, it isn’t actually a statement of belief, is it?  It’s more like explaining why you are planning to vote for one candidate instead of another, rather than what makes your political blood boil. 

Crash Davis gave an awesome speech about what he believed in during a memorable scene in Bull Durham.  All Annie could say in response was, “oh my”.  That’s what I’m talking about!  Only I don’t believe the hanging curve ball, and baseball bores me.  I just can’t sit still for 9 innings.  I can’t even make it to the 7^th inning stretch and I’m not terribly fond of hot dogs.    Obviously, I’m an UN-American, communist, atheist weirdo.

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But really, I find myself being challenged about my morality as an atheist more and more often.  How can one have any morals if one has no superior being?  From whence does one’s sense of right and wrong originate?    People want to give credit to my Christian upbringing, which seems to me as specious an argument as saying that two heterosexuals couldn’t possibly produce a homosexual.  I will gladly credit my parents for raising me well, but only in that they raised me with good human values. 

This leads me to what I do believe:  I believe that humans are more alike than we are dissimilar.  When discussing religions, this means that if you look closely at all the texts of all of the major (and probably minor, but I haven’t read those) theologies, you’ll find the same basic tenets.  Love your neighbor.  Treat people the way you would like to be treated.  Don’t murder, don’t steal, honor your commitments.   No one has a corner on these notions.  When discussing people in general, it means that we all want the same things:  a place to live, people to love, food to eat, satisfying work to do, beauty in our lives, fun.  I believe we are alike enough, that these desires are hard wired.  We don’t need a deity or an ancient text to tell us about how to interact.  We know.  We may not choose to behave rightly, but we know.

I believe in treating the earth well, for it is our home.  I believe in conserving resources, because waste is stupid, and needless.  I believe in joy.  I believe in doing the right thing, even when it’s hard.  I believe in volunteering, and in asking for help when you need it.  I believe in beauty, and art for their own sakes.  I believe in fun, and in good friends, and laughter.  I believe in good food. I believe in forgiveness. And I believe in the power of the human mind.

We have, within us, the ability to think, and to process not only what we have experienced, but what thousands who have gone before us have experienced, through books, and theater and art.  Through storytelling, we can utilize the experiences of our friends and neighbors.  By using science, we can deduce things, and set up experiments to help us figure out if this or that may be true.  We have the power to understand great things, not the least of which is each other, if only we choose to use it.  

For you see, I believe we have the power of choice.  We can be proper bastards, or we can be amazing souls.  We can also be blobs. We can help or hinder, or do nothing.  We can toddle on, fall back, charge forward, or even keep time in place.  We can learn from our mistakes, or blithely repeat them.   We can do each thing in turn, for we are not bound by yesterday’s choices.  And this is true whether you believe a deity controls your life or not.  Why else would Catholics need confession and Jews the day of Atonement?   Some people say they only choose to right because they fear Hellfire, or prison.  Perhaps, that motivation works for them.  I hope they find a place where they can choose to do right because the prospect of right is more intriguing, and has more intrinsic rewards than the opposite.  But many people don’t really do much of anything, do they?  And that’s okay too.  If you make the choice to be benign, if you find peace in being and nothingness, more power to you.  It’s still a choice, isn’t it?  

I believe in today.  As much as anything else, I believe in now.  Now is what we have; not tomorrow, not some afterlife, not even really yesterday, because memories shift and fade.  We have today.  I’m not good at waiting, and while I may save dessert until after dinner, I would never save it for next week.    Maybe it’s 30 years in a trauma center, maybe it’s that I became convinced at 13 that I would die by 35, and now at 51 am still marveling at each new day….  Whatever sent me down that path, Zen masters and wise souls have agreed with me:  Carpe Diem.  You may never get another chance.

I believe in growth, and change and yes, evolving.  I don’t have to believe in evolution, it just is.  But I do believe that it gets better, and we are a part of that process, an active part, if we will be.  Each day, each generation, each time we take a chance, we can make a step forward.  I’m not kidding myself about the waltz step process of reality, but the forward motion is there.  We can make our collective and individual ways around the dance floor. 

Because, the bottom line is: I believe in me.  I believe in you, and in my children, my friends, and the collective potential of humanity.  I do not believe that I, or anyone else needs a superior being to tap into that power, and that potential.  Do I have morality?  Yeah.  I have a credo, and standards by which I live.  I make my choices in hope and optimism, in a desire for all that is good.  I do not make them in fear of damnation, or dreams of Paradise. I make them for today, and in hope of a better tomorrow, here, right here, on this planet, in this now.

Jumping Rope

This morning, per Cocoa‘s request, I style her hair in Princess Leia buns. Sighing, she asks, "Is our family normal?" I chuckle because I don't think most moms get the request for a Science Fiction character hairstyle to wear to school on an ordinary Wednesday. But then again, they probably do in this particular Geekdom. She gives me the "it's not funny glare" and my heart sinks. She has a serious reason to ask this.

Because of where I grew up, I worry about the old stigma of an interracial/multicultural family, but assure myself that this can't be the case because a lot of children who she goes to school with are from multiracial/ethnic families. I worry about her having to deal with a parent who had a terminal illness and the chance of it coming back always looming over her head. I worry about how her father and I come from a different socio-economic background than most of her classmate’s parents. I worry about all the quirky things that I love about our family and all the things we’ve had to endure that has made us stronger but…not normal, in the sense that our family is not typical and has made her feel different, isolated somehow.

Instead of answering as if one of these fears has been implied, I go to the mother’s standby, “What do you think normal is?” She is silent for a moment. “I mean everyone looks different but they do things the same. Does our family do things the same way as everyone else?”  “Oh sweetie,” I say, “no two families do everything the same way.” “But we must to do things differently. At recess everyone else jump ropes in place perfectly.”

I let out a-great-big-are-you-fucking-kidding-me?-Is-that-all?-sigh of relief.  “Honey, you have a jump rope at home just like they do. You choose to use yours to tie your doll’s car to your scooter to give them a ride or to lasso a branch and use it at as a swing for your dolls. I assume they choose to use theirs as a…well… jump rope. All jumping rope well takes is practice. You could practice jumping rope and soon you’ll be as good at it as they are….but only practice it if you want to, not to be like everyone else.” I place the last pins in her buns and kiss the top of her head, our signal that I’m done with her hair.

She looks at me and considers what I said. “Nope, I want Rose E. and Pose E. to have fun with me.” Then she hops off the bed and skips away.

Cheers,

Sangria

The Education Lottery

School is never far from a mother’s mind, but it’s been on mine a lot recently, as I have been helping my oldest apply to colleges.  I used to think that day care was the worst part of being a parent, but really, all the parts where you turn your angel (hah!) over to strangers and their value systems are challenging.

I remember preschool so well, in some ways.  My oldest needed to get registered just after my second was born.  Of course, I had put no thought whatsoever into this, not realizing the cut-offs were so draconian, as he was my first born.  It’s pre-school, for crap’s sake, you probably register at the door, or something, I reasoned.  Now I know that if you don’t apply by February, you will be lucky to get into a second tier preschool, and you may not get in at all!  Fortunately, I had a neighbor with an older only, who had done all the research, and could keep me on track.  In hindsight, C. probably had done white glove inspections, median student IQ surveys and teacher background checks, but at the time, all I was knew was that her daughter had been happy there, it was reasonably close by, and (just) affordable.  It turned out to be brilliant, and an excellent choice for both my knuckleheads, for which I am eternally indebted to her, but that’s not my point.  

My point is this:  Parents make such a difference. 

 Naturally, I joined the preschool coffee klatch crowd, hoping to gain insights into the whole child rearing business, and boy was that an eye-opener.  It turns out that I had wandered into the preschool for the rich and famous.  C. and I lived in a non-descript suburb with 30 year old houses we were all busy remodeling.  I was totally used to having the oldest and dirtiest car swimming through the teeming gleaming Lexii like a lost cod in a school of Atlantic herring, so I hadn’t noticed the parking lot.  But when I started visiting the McMansions for coffee, I realized how out of my depth I was.  Not only did the nanny usually handle the other offspring, and the dog, as we sipped our select brew on white sofas, but the conversations were sometimes surreal.  “Should we put little Jasper in a French-Immersion Kindergarten?, one would query. “I hear that French is language Dartmouth is into these days.”  “Perhaps Dartmouth is, but I believe Brown is leaning toward Spanish, and Yale to Chinese!  How confusing it all is!  I do wish they would make up their minds!”   Of course we talked about normal things, like when it was appropriate to start piano lessons, Judo v. Tai Kwan Do, the horror of household help, and whether or have clowns or ponies for birthday parties, but I never felt quite comfortable asking if anyone else had a kid who chewed on his own toenails.  I probably needed to talk to the nanny about that one.  My last coffee was one where they were heatedly debating how many of them could go to Lakeside, because, you know, Harvard only takes one person from each school’s graduating class, so if their children were to continue on as lifelong friends, this would take careful planning.    FYI:  the Ivies may take more than one from a school’s graduating class but you probably don’t want to plan your life around any given year’s admissions committee anyway.

After preschool, you might think you are done with choices, unless you can afford private school, because, you know, there’s this school down the block where your kids are supposed to go.  HAHAHAHA!  

Is my little darling ready for Kindergarten at all?  Must I hold him back a year until he stops running with scissors?  Is he ready for full day, or should I enroll him in half?  What if I want full day, and I only get half, which is all that is guaranteed?  How will I keep him enriched and level with his peers?  Can a child actually grow to maturity in this day and age without Kindermusik and Zen Poetry with Bonsai as actualized by Ball Pits?  What if the only thing he eats, ever in his life is peanut butter sandwiches, and the school doesn’t allow them?  Is it wrong to keep a child in gymnastics until he falls over from exhaustion just one day a week so I can get some peace already?  I mean if he likes it.   What if he gets into full day, but with the wrong teacher, the one all the other moms say should have retired 5 years ago?  Should I ask for half day instead?

Okay.  You’re in.  Kindergarten achieved, and now you have to figure out what all those ambiguous teacher notes mean (my, what a curious child he is smiley face), and why your child is the one not getting invited to birthday parties, and what a 5 year old could possibly do to merit a trip to the principal’s office.  But the year flies by, filled with construction paper and songs about the alphabet and firemen; and reading stories, and suddenly you are asked how to help place your child for 1^st grade.  

It hits you.  You are never out of it.  You have to decide whether or not to test for gifted pull out, or full day, you have to know about every teacher in the elementary school, and how they would manage with your child, you have to know about all your child’s classmates, so that you can ask never to be placed with that one mean kid who always gets away with bullying somehow.  You need to know who the IA’s are, and if they get your kid’s sense of humor.  True story:  Boy2 was getting in trouble at recess for not playing in the group games, like wall ball.   He didn’t like the long wait, and the rules seemed stupid to him.  He was walking around talking to his friend when he should be playing, doggone it!  We bought some extra balls for his classroom, but he still never seemed to snag one.  He finally figured out how to get a ball, and he and his friend started playing Calvinball.  Calvinball, of course, has no rules and anyone can play, but you have to get the scope of the game.  The boys didn’t exclude other players; in fact, a few other kids did join in.  But the IA didn’t understand the game.  She banned it.  Because it was wide ranging, and involved shouting, the principal backed her up.  And Boy2 went back to hating recess.  Something that should have been a win-win situation was yet another headache in what was the worst year of El for Boy2 because an IA had no imagination and was irritated often by Boy2.  

These are the things that make you crazy.  This is when you quit your job, decide to run for PTA president, and spend as much time as possible at the El, hoping that you can somehow make things work for your child/ren.  Or maybe you will hire on as an IA yourself, just so you have the inside line.

Because parents make a difference.   We make a difference when we help with homework.  Or kick start a project for the science fair.  We make a difference when we eat dinner together at the table with the TV off and ask how was your day, demanding an answer.  We make a difference driving to Mosaic appointments twice a week to do sensory integration or anger management classes. We make a difference when we check parent viewer and ask about missed assignments.   We make a difference when we read bedtime stories, go on a nature hike, or play the eleventy billionth game of Candyland.  We make a difference being soccer moms, or hoop dads, or baseballs martyrs.  We make a difference when we spend some time, doing whatever it is we do with our children, if it’s what our children want or need to do.  

It doesn’t stop in El, you know.  In our school district, there are the choice schools for Middle School, and those involve mandatory visitations, and essays, and such.   You spend the pre- application days in hushed whispers and anxious texts requiring information from people you met once in a police lineup. Do they really pull blackberry brambles in the rain?  Can my budding scholar manage 6 hours of homework a night?  Does the headmistress really stand on the desks?   “I heard Midge Thumbweezil said that The Academy for Extreme Knowledge couldn’t possible stay at the top of the pile once the Awesome Principal switched schools, but I rather liked it, and really how fast can it fall apart if she was that awesome?”, you ask over gulps of wine. “ Won’t they hire another Awesome Principal?” “I don’t know, Midge always seems to know the dirt”  “I think she’s a twit”.  You were supposed to be a friendly game of dice, but none of the tables will be able to move, because no one is rolling except the woman with the infant who has exactly two hours until she has to breast feed again….Applications finally in (yes, you walked yours into the office and handed it to the secretary, because we all know how unstable the Post Office has been lately!) and the waiting period begins.  The mailbox is checked twice daily for the week leading up to the promised date.  Facebook flutters.  Anxious hearts are soothed, sometimes your child’s, sometimes yours.  The letters finally arrive and there is some rejoicing and some ruffled feathers, some angst.  More anxious muttering.  What does this number mean?  Is #52 52^nd on the wait list or 22^nd?   Historically, how often does the list move?  Reality finally sinks in for everyone.  Resignation.  Then your child finally gets up the nerve to tell you that they really wanted to go to the feeder middle school anyway, because she has always wanted to try out for cheerleading, or his best friend will be there.  And life goes on.

We were very fortunate with the lotteries for choice schools, and I can’t say enough good things about them.  But even if you don’t get into a choice school, there is Honor Society, and Honors classes, and all sorts of new things to worry about.  Will wrestling cause brain damage?  Can I stop my child eating only cookies and pizza for lunch? 

 It starts again in High School, with the AP or IB/Cambridge programs.  By 9^th grade, you are already in a panic about college, and extra-curricular activities, and service hours. (I mean, if you weren’t in preschool)  Volunteering still helps, but there aren’t as many opportunities.  I’ve learned about how to write college entry exams, what wins scholarships and a few other useful things by volunteering in High School, but mostly, it’s just feeding people, and selling tickets.  You find yourself on the home pages of various colleges looking at scatter shots of incoming classes.  Hmmm…. 35% of the freshman class last year only cured cancer before being graduated from High School.  Still a chance! There’s always Potawatamie U.  Uncle Buck went there, so we’re a legacy and they consider dog walking a service credit.  I think their minimum GPA is 1.8, and if we donate to the football team…. Good Fallback school! You ride the parent viewer like it was a bucking bronco.  What do you mean, you didn’t turn in that extra credit in Art?  Just because you have a 4.0 doesn’t mean you can’t use the extra credit, mister!

At 15, they can get a learner’s permit, and then you have to decide about driving schools.  Driving!  He can’t be trusted with the vacuum!  

When I was growing up, I had a job at a fast food restaurant to pay for my gas money, and clothes and stuff; and I still was supposed to get all A’s.   My oldest is allowed to babysit and do odd jobs, but we tell him his first job is school, and that we expect him to pay for his gas, but that’s about it.  I’d rather subsidize his extra-curricular activities than have him short his studies.  I want my boys to learn life-work balance, too.  Just because I am peripatetic, doesn’t mean they are, or need to be.  I love that I can set the example of volunteering, working, parenting, and home-making.  But I want them to learn how to prioritize and not go crazy.  And most of all I want them to know that I believe in them and love them.

In the end, though, I believe that is how you win the education lottery.  I think the choice schools succeed because of the kind of parents who are drawn to enroll their kids in them.  I think whatever choices you make for your children are the right ones, because, by golly, you know your children, and you’ve thought about it.  Whether you had the luxury of planning your education strategy since difference.preschool, or faced it on a day to day basis like most of us, you were there.  And that is what makes all the difference.

Pass the Teacher's.  On the Rocks, please.