Tuesday, March 21, 2017
“Take your mind off the problems for a moment, and focus on the positive possibilities. Consider how very much you are able to do.” – Ralph Marston
My youngest daughter had been a bit of a grumpus lately. At the beginning of the school year she loved her new school, but as the year progressed, the reality of a sixth-grade workload emerged. She no longer came home chirping about all the great things she noticed about her school. When I picked her up, she remarked upon the irritating kids who constantly interrupted the teacher, the girl who deliberately blocked the aisle just to pick a fight, the way her English teacher holds them even after the bell has rung so she often runs late to dance class. I heard all this and more. What I heard little of was joy. Happiness. Positivity.
And while all of what she said were valid concerns and I took them as such, I believe outlook plays a vital role in our happiness.
So Sunday night before we said our prayers I asked her about this negative attitude. I asked her why she only ever told me about the bad things at school.
“I’m just used to looking for the bad things,” she said.
It had gotten to be a habit, this negativity. She had closed her eyes to any positivity around her. And if you knew this child, you would know how strange that is. She is so caring, so thoughtful. She had always just oozed joy and happiness and sunshine. But that had stopped, you see. She began only looking for the bad, so that was all what she saw.
I asked her what good things she could think of about school. She thought hard for a few minutes. “Nothing,” she answered.
“Ok, then. I think it’s time for a project,” I told her.
My kids are used to things like this from me. We come up with a lot of projects.
“This is The Positivity Project,” I told her. “If you always look for the negative, that’s all you are going to see. But if you start looking for the positive, you’ll be amazed how much of that you’ll find.”
Her task, beginning the next day – Monday – was to look for as many positive things as she could find: students asking good questions; someone making someone else smile, picking up a piece of trash, holding a door for someone; teachers explaining something well. Any positive interaction observed, I wanted her to make note of it and tell me about it at the end of the day.
The other part of her task was to avoid sarcasm. It was becoming a little too constant. If someone spoke to her sarcastically, or asked her a question that she would answer in a sarcastic manner, she could not respond that way during the project. She had to answer pleasantly, and not even look sarcastic. Oh! This one chafed her. “What?! How can I not use sarcasm? What if they really deserve it? And how can I be nice if they’re being sarcastic to me?” I just told her that was the challenge. To be kind. To be positive. She didn’t believe it was possible.
She accepted my challenge, though. “How long will this project last?” she asked. “As long as it takes to change your outlook,” I told her. The first day, she only had a few positives to tell me, but that was great improvement over having nothing good to say.
“Well, what did you think about searching for good things all day?”
“It was hard not to be sarcastic,” she said. “But I did it!”
Later that evening she came to my room to talk. “Mom, I really don’t want to say this. But…you were kind of right. I was positive today. And I had a good day. And I’m going to do it again tomorrow. Because I know I can find more things to tell you. I know I can.”
It’s not an instant cure. We are three weeks into The Positivity Project and of course all the negative things are still there: the girl who blocks the aisles, the ELA teacher who lets them out after the bell rings, the boy who snatches the chocolate out of her lunch when she’s not looking.
In spite of that, she continues to look for the positives in each day. Some days it gets hard to find many, but she makes sure that she always has something good to tell me about every day now. She understands the difference it makes when she takes the time to look for the good. Positivity is a choice; it is deliberate.
To live life every day with purpose, even a purpose so small as to simply look for a single positive interaction, is to live deliberately, gracefully, and joyfully. Seeing her reconnect to that joy is an indescribable joy of my own.
Monday, February 6, 2017
“I don’t know; I think I’d be gloomy without some faith that there is a purpose and there is a kind of witness to my life.” – John Updike
It was a slow walk.
When people make choices for you, it can take a while before you really understand how heavily those choices affect you. And when people make those choices because they love you, and they believe they are doing the absolute best thing for you, it complicates matters even further because you simply cannot hold it against them.
I had no choice in religion when I was a child. I slid straight from my mother’s womb into a kneeling position in the Catholic Church. I was baptized, blessed, and anointed before I could even roll over. There is nothing inherently wrong with being Catholic – or any denomination or religion – but I didn’t choose it.
Throughout my childhood I recited all the right words. I sat, I stood, I knelt, I went through the sacraments. I was told what to believe. Constantly. I was given no allowance even to ask why I was being asked to believe it, or what I might believe on my own. I was expected to believe because I was told to do so.
Every Sunday, I was required to go to church. I began to dread it. Every Wednesday, I was required to go to CCD. I double-dreaded it. It wasn’t petulance. It wasn’t me just digging in my heels because I wanted to eat cereal and watch TV. I was not very skilled at questioning when I was a child. I was too literal. I asked, “Why do I have to go to church?” The answers ranged from an irritated “Because I said so” to a Pope-based explanation of why Catholics attend church every week and on the high Holy Days.
I did not know the right questions to ask, or the right words to use. I didn’t know how to make those in charge of my welfare understand that forcing me to parrot responses was destroying any faith I had. I was learning. I was learning to accept what I was told, that I was not allowed to question, that religion was based not on faith, but on repetition.
Church became a hollow experience for me and I stopped going as soon as I could. I wasn’t going to go unless I knew why I was going, and to do that I needed to figure out what I believed.
This was a slow process.
I believe it took so long because for so many years I was taught that Church = God, when in fact the two are not equal on any level.
This realization came upon me when I was lamenting, yet again, the way nominal Christians (not all Christians, but those who operate in name only, and not in action) in my hometown were treating those they perceived as less-than. There was such vitriol, such judgment against the homeless, homosexuals, those of other religions, those on government assistance, or others who somehow fit out of the “Christian” box. Rather than coming together to aid, support, offer a hand up, a kind word, a comforting smile, there was condemnation and an exclusionary sense of “you’re not one of us.” No. This is man-made. This is not God-made. The tables in the Temple need to be overturned.
Church was not a haven. And I no longer found my God there. But…
If I live my life outside of church, why would I lock my God inside a church?
From this point on, I have had no church home. I have not found one that truly loves and accepts all God’s people. My life is my church, and I try to live as honestly as I can. My faith in God is strong. I do not feel the need to declare a denomination of faith, some sort of divisive doctrine. Faith should be unifying, and I simply have faith.
Saturday, January 28, 2017
“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.” – Maya Angelou
I don't talk politics in my classes, for several reasons. But on a recent Thursday, I was giving my English classes a lecture on Social Commentary, how to write it and how to deliver it orally. We were talking about one of the ways to impart social commentary: the humor piece. “Want to read satire that is sometimes so subtle people don’t even realize it’s satire?” I asked them. “Take a peek at theonion.com, and of course look up the well-known and brilliantly satiric Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert.” Then a student mentioned Alec Baldwin's portrayal of President Trump on SNL and suddenly The Great Divide opened. It was clear that I had both vehement supporters and non-supporters of President Trump in this class.
I had not anticipated a political discussion today. This was a complication I had not foreseen in this lecture, but they were starting to snark at one another pretty heavily and I needed to step in.
"Why do you think Alec Baldwin portrays President Trump?” I asked.
“Because he doesn’t like him,” was one response.
“Because it’s funny,” was another.
“Because he gets paid to,” was a third.
“Think about this,” I implored. “The answer is the same whether you are a supporter of President Trump or not. Whether you like him or not. This is what satire does. So, why, when it's not always funny, when it's sometimes downright painful, but when it's so spot-on, why?”
They were trying. They had those looks on their faces that students get when they are trying to figure something out that is *just* beyond their reach.
“Okay. How many of you have heard the story of ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?” I asked them.
One student raised his hand. One. Really? Wow. So I told them a very abbreviated version of the story:
Once upon a time, an Emperor – a vain and silly man who loved all the best things – ordered a new set of robes. The dressmakers who came to make his clothes fooled him, though. They could spin material that was lighter than air, they said, so fine it was lighter than a spider’s web. But people who were uncommonly stupid or unfit for their post would be unable to see it. Who would ever admit they couldn’t see the cloth? When the clothes were “revealed” to the Emperor, he couldn’t see them (because they did not exist). But instead of admitting that, and perhaps catching the dressmakers in their hustle, he was afraid people would think him incapable of office. So he remained silent. Thus, all those around him remained silent. He “dressed” in his non-existent clothes and went out for a procession. Finally, it took a child to speak up. “But he hasn’t got anything on!” the child said. “He’s naked.” The Emperor continued, with every step realizing what he was.*
This is why Alec Baldwin portrays President Trump, I told my students. He shows us precisely the behavior we closed our eyes to. He shows us what we chose not to see. We saw the clothes that we pretended were there. Alec Baldwin is the child in the crowd repeatedly telling us “But he hasn’t got anything on!” President Trump, of course, is the Emperor.
*Credit to Hans Christian Andersen, "The Emperor's New Clothes," 1837
Friday, December 16, 2016
“I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.” – Pietro Aretino
I did not teach my kids about Santa Claus. They know about him, of course, but I did not teach them that the joy of Christmas is found in a jolly man in a red suit.
There are big decisions to be made in parenting, and the idea of Santa Claus is one of them – to me, anyway. Let me explain.
I’m a single mom. I have been a single mom almost all my maternal life. I take this with a great sense of responsibility. I’ve always wanted my children to know that they can trust me, that they can count on what I say. So when it came to what I would tell them about Christmas, and Santa Claus, and how those stockings got filled, I had to think.
I know some parents get very into the idea of Santa Claus. Some stores even sell boot-print kits (here, for example) that parents can sprinkle snow or soot into so parents can leave Santa’s boot-prints behind to flesh out the ruse of Santa having visited the house. I’ve spoken to parents who would leave a wrapped present on the roof, as if it had fallen out of Santa’s sleigh and somehow manage to get their kid to spot it in the morning. The parents would haul out a ladder, climb onto the roof, and oh! amazingly, the gift would be for their child. Other parents hide presents until the night before Christmas. After the child goes to bed, the presents appear under the tree, “from Santa”.
I chose not to do any of the above.
Instead, I asked myself questions: Do I want to lie to my children? Do I want them to place their faith in something that isn’t real? Why would I encourage the build-up and belief of a lie to my children, when I teach them to be honest?
When kids are little, they cannot distinguish between real and not real, between cartoon and real life. This is why adults have to do it for them. And of course, as adults, it can be hard for us to understand this sometimes (“but it’s a cartoon! Can’t you see that?” – No, actually, they can’t.). When a child is reared with the notion that Santa Claus is real, believes that for years, and then finds out that his parents lied to him, for years, that entire part of his ideology is shaken…because he was asked to believe in something he had not seen. There are songs about Santa. There are images of Santa. But Santa will not come if the child is awake and waiting for him, so the child can only believe, but can never see him. Do you see where I am going with this? This kid is being conditioned to take on faith something that turns out to be a lie. So when that child is also reared in the church, is told about God, and His Son, and is asked to take this on faith as well, how – in the child’s mind – will this not be a lie also? Why plant a doubt for the temporary gratification of Santa Claus that will end, when Christmas can be so wonderfully enjoyed without Santa Claus?
But religion is not the only reason I did not teach my kids about Santa Claus.
The tags on the presents beneath our Christmas tree are honest tags. The gifts are not from Santa. These gifts were not created in a fantastical workshop in the North Pole. I bought them for my children. My children know that they do not get presents just for being good. There is no “naughty list” or “nice list”. Knowing those niftily wrapped presents under the tree come from me lets them know there is no gift fairy with a limitless budget who grants gift-wishes. My children appreciate each gift they are given because they know the budget we live with.
I love the Christmas season: the music, the decorations, and the spirit of generosity. So when my kids were very young and were learning about Santa Claus with their peers, I told them that Santa Claus was not an actual person, but was just an idea. He was the idea of giving. People like to put faces on things, so they made the idea into a person: Santa. (I also told them it was not up to them to tell other kids Santa was not real.)