The trial and verdict in the Jerry Sandusky case prompted a flood of memories for me, not the good kind.
Back in 1995 in Birmingham, Ala., Don Corley, a man considered by many to be a pillar of the community -- Scout leader, active church member, friend -- was convicted of child molestation and sentenced to 30 years in prison. We were members of the same church and my then-husband had worked with him on different projects involving communication and videotaping and sound. Among other church-related activities, Don led the church's Boy Scout troop, known for the number of Eagle Scouts it produced, and actively mentored the boys, including several who were from single parent households.
When he was arrested and convicted, it was a huge, horrible shock -- and in our household even more so because our daughter had not only attended school with the victims but had been close friends with at least one.
These wonderful young people had had their lives changed forever by the sick perversion of a man who preyed on boys in what was considered to be a safe place, just as Sandusky did.
Corley's victims have created a website with information about Corley and possible parole, and are devoted to making sure the man serves his entire sentence. It has a great deal of information about child molesters as well. I applaud their bravery and acknowledgement of how this crime has impacted their lives, and their work to bring awareness of the issue of child molestation.
But before that, another man (who I knew fairly well) molested someone very close to me, also gathering his victims in what was thought of as a safe place, and threatening them with the loss of their families and friends should they tell, much as Sandusky did with at least one of his victims. I was unaware of the closest molestation until just a few years ago, although I knew about others who had been hurt when the man was prosecuted for molesting the five-year-old daughter of friends -- others, who we knew of, did not choose to be part of that case, unfortunately. He served a very light prison sentence, released early for 'good behavior.' I now know more details of his behavior than I wish I knew.
Like the children molested by Corley and Sandusky, these young boys and girls bear lifelong scars. Even now the memory haunts and taunts at least one victim, causing severe mental distress and vocal and physical hallucinations, despite therapy and medication.
I find it difficult to even consider forgiving such acts. While I understand it is an illness, there is no acceptable excuse to molest children, ever.
And while the families of the perpetrators may have been blindsided and horrified, there are also always signs, looking back, that they either chose not to see or that they took pains to overlook for any number of reasons -- financial or social, for instance. They bear a different kind of responsibility and grief and remorse.
But we all have a duty to be watchful of the children we know, to listen to what they say, to teach them how to respond and to be honest, to help them understand that there are indeed bad people in their worlds but that they should not be afraid to tell a parent or a counselor or a pastor or a friend if they are being hurt.
I pray for the victims of Sandusky and Corley and the unnamed man, but I cannot bring myself to pray for those sick, twisted men, to grant them the release of forgiveness from any source. Justice in these instances will never really happen, no matter how long their prison terms.
Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime. --Herbert Ward
If I Had My Child to Raise Over Again
by Diane Loomans
If I had my child to raise all over again,
I'd build self esteem first, and the house later.
I'd fingerpaint more, and point the finger less.
I would do less correcting and more connecting.
I'd take my eyes off my watch, and watch with my eyes.
I would care to know less and know to care more.
I'd take more hikes and fly more kites.
I'd stop playing serious, and seriously play.
I would run through more fields and gaze at more stars.
I'd do more hugging and less tugging.
I'd see the oak tree in the acorn more often.
I would be firm less often, and affirm much more.
I'd model less about the love of power,
And more about the power of love.
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Showing posts with label youth. Show all posts
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
A trip to family -- part 1
My mind is still all ajumble from spending a week in SoCal attending the wedding of Tony's second cousin Ben, and all the emotions it stirred up.
Part of it was just getting away on our first post-retirement trip, part of it was the fun of the wedding and watching so many family interactions from so many sources. Part of it was being in the LA area -- so big and with so much traffic and houses built practically atop each other, and the myriad of shopping and food choices, and all the amazing eye candy that is the coastline. And then we drove home via Highway 1, up the luscious coast through Big Sur, where there are such amazing views that go on for miles and miles that you almost ache with the beauty.
Reentry has been slow here: I'm still finishing laundry although the suitcases are unpacked. I'm grateful to be back in my own bed and with our kittyboys, who we missed very much but who were well taken care of by the Anderson Veterinary Clinic where they stayed -- we finally figured out that they do not do well when we gone,despite twice-a-day visits from our friends who care for them. They need more attention, more cuddling, more socialization than that, and they act out when they don't get it.
I think there are several posts in the works about family: those of blood and those of bond, and I'm trying to sort through it all.
The wedding and rehearsal dinner were just exquisite in every respect. Elegant, delicious food and presentation in settings that showcased the magnificent coastline: the rehearsal dinner was at the home of the groom's parents, overlooking Long Beach harbor, which allowed us to see the twinkling lights of greater LA come on as the sun set. The wedding itself was on a sunny hilltop on the Palos Verdes peninsula, with ocean breezes accompanied by a string quartet, and rain chains cleverly filled with tiny bouquets dangling from the tree under whose limbs the ceremony was held. The subsequent dinner, also outdoors on a lovely patio, was a bit chilly despite the outdoor heaters, and the groom's father likened it to the north coast of Scotland -- LA weather can be mercurial in the springtime, and fog was in and out most of the day in the various microclimates found there. We were glad it held off until dinner! A warmer tent filled with inviting couches and chairs and ottomans, and featuring a big dance floor was the focal point for the remainder of the evening. Guests were all dressed up and the mood was joyous -- so wonderful to have family gathered for a happy occasion instead of a funeral, as the groom's mother remarked.
We visited at length with our little clan of Maxeys and watched the interactions of the groom's father's much larger family - some 40 cousins and their families were there to celebrate. The bride's family and friends also were fewer, but they had also come some distance -- the couple had decided to marry in California rather than in the bride's home state. One very touching, somewhat sad note was a sweet slide show about the bride's deceased father, played while her mother and she danced to "I Hope You Dance."
The couple was clearly held closely in the collective hearts of all present, and you could feel the energy and love surround them, and all of us present. They've started their married life together in a magical way, one that I hope they can carry with them for years as they remember the vows they took, the good wishes that accompanied the ceremony, and the love they clearly share.
It made me happy to be a part of this family I've married into. We were so glad we were there, and we will make staying in better touch a priority.
More reflections to come....
Part of it was just getting away on our first post-retirement trip, part of it was the fun of the wedding and watching so many family interactions from so many sources. Part of it was being in the LA area -- so big and with so much traffic and houses built practically atop each other, and the myriad of shopping and food choices, and all the amazing eye candy that is the coastline. And then we drove home via Highway 1, up the luscious coast through Big Sur, where there are such amazing views that go on for miles and miles that you almost ache with the beauty.
Reentry has been slow here: I'm still finishing laundry although the suitcases are unpacked. I'm grateful to be back in my own bed and with our kittyboys, who we missed very much but who were well taken care of by the Anderson Veterinary Clinic where they stayed -- we finally figured out that they do not do well when we gone,despite twice-a-day visits from our friends who care for them. They need more attention, more cuddling, more socialization than that, and they act out when they don't get it.
I think there are several posts in the works about family: those of blood and those of bond, and I'm trying to sort through it all.
The wedding and rehearsal dinner were just exquisite in every respect. Elegant, delicious food and presentation in settings that showcased the magnificent coastline: the rehearsal dinner was at the home of the groom's parents, overlooking Long Beach harbor, which allowed us to see the twinkling lights of greater LA come on as the sun set. The wedding itself was on a sunny hilltop on the Palos Verdes peninsula, with ocean breezes accompanied by a string quartet, and rain chains cleverly filled with tiny bouquets dangling from the tree under whose limbs the ceremony was held. The subsequent dinner, also outdoors on a lovely patio, was a bit chilly despite the outdoor heaters, and the groom's father likened it to the north coast of Scotland -- LA weather can be mercurial in the springtime, and fog was in and out most of the day in the various microclimates found there. We were glad it held off until dinner! A warmer tent filled with inviting couches and chairs and ottomans, and featuring a big dance floor was the focal point for the remainder of the evening. Guests were all dressed up and the mood was joyous -- so wonderful to have family gathered for a happy occasion instead of a funeral, as the groom's mother remarked.
We visited at length with our little clan of Maxeys and watched the interactions of the groom's father's much larger family - some 40 cousins and their families were there to celebrate. The bride's family and friends also were fewer, but they had also come some distance -- the couple had decided to marry in California rather than in the bride's home state. One very touching, somewhat sad note was a sweet slide show about the bride's deceased father, played while her mother and she danced to "I Hope You Dance."
The couple was clearly held closely in the collective hearts of all present, and you could feel the energy and love surround them, and all of us present. They've started their married life together in a magical way, one that I hope they can carry with them for years as they remember the vows they took, the good wishes that accompanied the ceremony, and the love they clearly share.
It made me happy to be a part of this family I've married into. We were so glad we were there, and we will make staying in better touch a priority.
More reflections to come....
Friday, March 16, 2012
The Scintilla Project - Day 3
Today's prompts. I'm going with the first one.
1.Talk about a memory triggered by a particular song.
2. What's the story of the most difficult challenge you've faced in a relationship? Did you overcome it? What was the outcome?
*******************
Several songs popped into my head when I read this prompt. Like most people, some of the best and worst moments of my life have a song associated with them.
I remember listening to the Moody Blues "Nights in White Satin" constantly during one particularly difficult time in college, driving my roommate practically to the point of homicide -- it was either me or that record, and one of us was not coming out of the room intact. "My Heart will go On" from the movie Titanic was the song that played constantly the winter that Tony and I met.
But the one that always makes me a little wistful is "Catch the Wind" by Donovan. It was summer of 1965, and my boyfriend and I were about to leave for college -- separate schools, his some 800 or so miles away (in North Carolina) from mine in northern Missouri.
We had a wonderful relationship, really. He was my first boyfriend -- two years in high school, and two plus, more or less, in college. We had a great time together and I learned to be more extroverted because of him: he was everyone's friend and a great dancer, talented writer, voracious reader, and I knew that if I was going to be with him, I had to overcome my own shyness.
And it was largely that relationship that clarified forever my beliefs about sexuality and love. One day during our senior year, he'd taken me out on the school lawn during lunch hour to confess that he was attracted to a boy in our choir and that they'd kissed. It wasn't that he didn't love me, but it was that also he loved the boy. And we talked about his feelings and my feelings and societal views and God's views (we were both very involved in our respective church youth groups -- me Methodist, him Presbyterian -- and often attended each other's church functions). As it evolved, we stayed together as boyfriend/girlfriend, and the boy was a part of the large group -- the Motley Horde, as we called ourselves -- that we socialized with. I was okay with things as they were: to my knowledge, he and the boy were just friends after that confession.
The moment I remember best, though, at least in relation to the song, was sitting on the front steps of his house one hot late summer afternoon, and talking about our relationship and how being apart was likely to impact it.We talked about his bisexuality, as we understood it then, and about dating others, and about what we'd meant to each other. We quoted lyrics to each other (as only the young can do) from "Catch the Wind," teared up a little at them, held hands, and cuddled together for one of the last times before leaving. We knew college would change us; he was uncertain about his own sexuality and feelings, and warned me he couldn't promise me anything. Because I loved him, because I understood that he was speaking his conflicted truth, I accepted that. The song seemed to say everything about what we hoped for and wanted in a relationship, and yet how impossible it was to capture at that time in our lives.
Note: At one point in college, he decided he wanted to marry me, and I agreed. That didn't happen, at least partly because eventually I figured out more clearly what I wanted from life and a mate. He has been in a loving, long-time relationship with a wonderful man, and they attended Tony's and my wedding. I will always love him for all that he meant to me then and all I learned from him.
"In the chilly hours and minutes
Of uncertainty
I want to be
In the warm hold of your lovin' mind.
To feel you all around me
And to take your hand
Along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
When sundown pales the sky
I want to hide a while
Behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find.
For me to love you now
Would be the sweetest thing,
'T would make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
Diddy di dee dee diddy diddy,
Diddy diddy diddy dee dee dee.
When rain has hung the leaves with tears
I want you near to kill my fears,
To help me to leave all my blues behind.
For standin' in your heart
Is where I want to be
And long to be,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. ~ Donovan, "Catch the Wind" (you can listen here)
1.Talk about a memory triggered by a particular song.
2. What's the story of the most difficult challenge you've faced in a relationship? Did you overcome it? What was the outcome?
*******************
Several songs popped into my head when I read this prompt. Like most people, some of the best and worst moments of my life have a song associated with them.
I remember listening to the Moody Blues "Nights in White Satin" constantly during one particularly difficult time in college, driving my roommate practically to the point of homicide -- it was either me or that record, and one of us was not coming out of the room intact. "My Heart will go On" from the movie Titanic was the song that played constantly the winter that Tony and I met.
But the one that always makes me a little wistful is "Catch the Wind" by Donovan. It was summer of 1965, and my boyfriend and I were about to leave for college -- separate schools, his some 800 or so miles away (in North Carolina) from mine in northern Missouri.
We had a wonderful relationship, really. He was my first boyfriend -- two years in high school, and two plus, more or less, in college. We had a great time together and I learned to be more extroverted because of him: he was everyone's friend and a great dancer, talented writer, voracious reader, and I knew that if I was going to be with him, I had to overcome my own shyness.
And it was largely that relationship that clarified forever my beliefs about sexuality and love. One day during our senior year, he'd taken me out on the school lawn during lunch hour to confess that he was attracted to a boy in our choir and that they'd kissed. It wasn't that he didn't love me, but it was that also he loved the boy. And we talked about his feelings and my feelings and societal views and God's views (we were both very involved in our respective church youth groups -- me Methodist, him Presbyterian -- and often attended each other's church functions). As it evolved, we stayed together as boyfriend/girlfriend, and the boy was a part of the large group -- the Motley Horde, as we called ourselves -- that we socialized with. I was okay with things as they were: to my knowledge, he and the boy were just friends after that confession.
The moment I remember best, though, at least in relation to the song, was sitting on the front steps of his house one hot late summer afternoon, and talking about our relationship and how being apart was likely to impact it.We talked about his bisexuality, as we understood it then, and about dating others, and about what we'd meant to each other. We quoted lyrics to each other (as only the young can do) from "Catch the Wind," teared up a little at them, held hands, and cuddled together for one of the last times before leaving. We knew college would change us; he was uncertain about his own sexuality and feelings, and warned me he couldn't promise me anything. Because I loved him, because I understood that he was speaking his conflicted truth, I accepted that. The song seemed to say everything about what we hoped for and wanted in a relationship, and yet how impossible it was to capture at that time in our lives.
Note: At one point in college, he decided he wanted to marry me, and I agreed. That didn't happen, at least partly because eventually I figured out more clearly what I wanted from life and a mate. He has been in a loving, long-time relationship with a wonderful man, and they attended Tony's and my wedding. I will always love him for all that he meant to me then and all I learned from him.
"In the chilly hours and minutes
Of uncertainty
I want to be
In the warm hold of your lovin' mind.
To feel you all around me
And to take your hand
Along the sand,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
When sundown pales the sky
I want to hide a while
Behind your smile,
And everywhere I'd look, your eyes I'd find.
For me to love you now
Would be the sweetest thing,
'T would make me sing,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind.
Diddy di dee dee diddy diddy,
Diddy diddy diddy dee dee dee.
When rain has hung the leaves with tears
I want you near to kill my fears,
To help me to leave all my blues behind.
For standin' in your heart
Is where I want to be
And long to be,
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind. ~ Donovan, "Catch the Wind" (you can listen here)
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The Scintilla Project - Day 2
Today's possibilities:
1. When did you realize you were a grown up? What did this mean for you? Shock to the system? Mourning of halcyon younger days? Or the embracing of the knowledge that you can do all the cool stuff adults do: drink wine, go on parent-free vacations, eat chocolate without reprimand?
2. No one does it alone. Write a letter to your rescuer or mentor (be it a person, book, film, record, anything). Share the way they lit up your path.
Let's try the second prompt today.
********
Dear Mrs. Simmons,
You may not remember me, but you were my English teacher for several classes in high school, most notably the advanced literature classes. I was the one who wrote a book report on "Fanny Hill." (And I worked really hard to justify that book, which you recognized with an "A," thankyouverymuch).
You also introduced me to all the works of J.D. Salinger, among many others, and the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard. And taught me the foundations of literary analysis and criticism. And how to write a well-organized, well-researched paper, as well as many creative essay topics, and how to defend my opinions (which were certainly strong ones, weren't they!)
You encouraged discussion in our classroom, and we responded. Looking back, those classes included some of the brightest and best students in my class, and while I sometimes fumed at the lively and diverse and opinionated discourse, I was never bored.
You not only challenged me to read and to analyze what I was reading, your techniques and methods became the foundation for my own classroom (I taught high school English and speech classes for just three years, but in my work in marketing/public relations/communications, I had the opportunity to mentor many assistants and interns over the years.)
You were not my favorite teacher, at least while I was in school. I don't think I was your favorite student either. But when I think back on the teachers/mentors throughout my life, you had a huge impact on who I have become and the process of how I got there.
I didn't major in English because of you; I majored in English because, when I realized halfway through my freshman year that I was NOT going to be a Methodist minister after all and that indeed I had some serious philosophical and theological questions about the whole thing (and I'm sure you are not surprised), I chose the subject I'd always most loved and excelled in. I am and have always been a reader and a writer. But you saw that from the first day, didn't you. You encouraged and pushed and challenged me, all the while maintaining your very practical persona: a middle-aged, somewhat frumpy teacher who'd been in the classroom for years.
Thank you for all those years of grading essays, of leading classes through Shakespeare and Moby Dick and Canterbury Tales and so many others, and still keeping it fresh and current, of listening to such highly opinionated and self-important juniors and seniors for yet another year, and for keeping us on track. Thank you for teaching me how to teach: I learned more from you than from all the college education classes and student teaching hours. Thank you for helping me find my voice and encouraging all of us to speak our minds, and to be respectful of each other as we did it. I don't think classrooms like yours exist anymore, and that is an enormous loss for today's students.
With deepest respect and gratitude,
Beth
Note: While this was not the letter I wrote, I did write a letter of similar thanks to Mrs. Simmons some 10 years after I graduated high school. She wrote a lovely letter back and told me that she'd never received a thank-you from one of her students before mine, and we exchanged several more letters. Since then, I have tried to express thanks and appreciation more often to those who have helped or influenced me deeply.
1. When did you realize you were a grown up? What did this mean for you? Shock to the system? Mourning of halcyon younger days? Or the embracing of the knowledge that you can do all the cool stuff adults do: drink wine, go on parent-free vacations, eat chocolate without reprimand?
2. No one does it alone. Write a letter to your rescuer or mentor (be it a person, book, film, record, anything). Share the way they lit up your path.
Let's try the second prompt today.
********
Dear Mrs. Simmons,
You may not remember me, but you were my English teacher for several classes in high school, most notably the advanced literature classes. I was the one who wrote a book report on "Fanny Hill." (And I worked really hard to justify that book, which you recognized with an "A," thankyouverymuch).
You also introduced me to all the works of J.D. Salinger, among many others, and the philosophy of Søren Kierkegaard. And taught me the foundations of literary analysis and criticism. And how to write a well-organized, well-researched paper, as well as many creative essay topics, and how to defend my opinions (which were certainly strong ones, weren't they!)
You encouraged discussion in our classroom, and we responded. Looking back, those classes included some of the brightest and best students in my class, and while I sometimes fumed at the lively and diverse and opinionated discourse, I was never bored.
You not only challenged me to read and to analyze what I was reading, your techniques and methods became the foundation for my own classroom (I taught high school English and speech classes for just three years, but in my work in marketing/public relations/communications, I had the opportunity to mentor many assistants and interns over the years.)
You were not my favorite teacher, at least while I was in school. I don't think I was your favorite student either. But when I think back on the teachers/mentors throughout my life, you had a huge impact on who I have become and the process of how I got there.
I didn't major in English because of you; I majored in English because, when I realized halfway through my freshman year that I was NOT going to be a Methodist minister after all and that indeed I had some serious philosophical and theological questions about the whole thing (and I'm sure you are not surprised), I chose the subject I'd always most loved and excelled in. I am and have always been a reader and a writer. But you saw that from the first day, didn't you. You encouraged and pushed and challenged me, all the while maintaining your very practical persona: a middle-aged, somewhat frumpy teacher who'd been in the classroom for years.
Thank you for all those years of grading essays, of leading classes through Shakespeare and Moby Dick and Canterbury Tales and so many others, and still keeping it fresh and current, of listening to such highly opinionated and self-important juniors and seniors for yet another year, and for keeping us on track. Thank you for teaching me how to teach: I learned more from you than from all the college education classes and student teaching hours. Thank you for helping me find my voice and encouraging all of us to speak our minds, and to be respectful of each other as we did it. I don't think classrooms like yours exist anymore, and that is an enormous loss for today's students.
With deepest respect and gratitude,
Beth
Note: While this was not the letter I wrote, I did write a letter of similar thanks to Mrs. Simmons some 10 years after I graduated high school. She wrote a lovely letter back and told me that she'd never received a thank-you from one of her students before mine, and we exchanged several more letters. Since then, I have tried to express thanks and appreciation more often to those who have helped or influenced me deeply.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Reverb 11 -- Day 10
#1 Prompt: Energy: Where are you losing energy in your life? When/where are you most drained? What energizes you? What jolts you, lifts you up, gets you giddy? Makes you relax? What has you feeling better immediately no matter what?
#2 Prompt: Beauty - Describe a moment of beauty that you witnessed this year.
#1 -- Oh, gosh. Energy. My biggest energy drain is probably handling the paperwork for my daughter's disability. It looms over me every time I walk into the office: receipts need filing, correspondence needs filing; and they pile up easily. It isn't that it is such a huge task when done consistently, but I tend to allow them to pile up. Actually, I'm that way with any paperwork, as my wonderful husband can attest: my desk and surrounding area has many papers and bits of notes scattered across it. I do make headway, but not regularly enough to make it stop.
What energizes me is -- well, aside from a good dose of something chocolate -- doing something I enjoy doing: acting, or reading for fun, or yoga, for instance. I love gardening, but right now the garden needs to be tilled, compost worked into the soil, and topped with a leaf and newspaper and manure sandwich, and that is just sheer work.
I'm too good at avoiding such tasks, actually: I'd rather go to lunch with a friend or putter in the kitchen or read blogs online, for instance, or browse for that fabulous shoe bargain that I'm sure is there somewhere if I look long enough.
I always feel better immediately if I sit still, sip a cup of good tea, and pet a cat. There are always kitties to pet around here.
#2 -- Beauty. I love seeing the moon rise over our land, smiling down at the deer and the kitties and the trees and making it all look magical, every single month. I always take time to step outside and open my arms wide to her benevolent beauty, and remember a long-ago moon family, think of faraway friends and family members, and ask for enlightening energy.
But true beauty came recently during a performance of "A Cascade Christmas" when I watched the granddaughter of a dear friend dance a dream. The young woman is in her early teens, just bursting with vulnerable youth on the cusp. That achingly precious anticipation of life and all it has to bring her was so evident as she twirled joyfully across the stage, those smooth young limbs easily rising and stretching gracefully to embrace her future. I puddled up immediately, watching that amazing dance, and I hope it is a long, long time before someone/thing interrupts that hopeful enthusiasm. There is nothing more beautiful than watching young people start out on their life's path with trust and faith that their lives will be incredible and wonderful.
And yes, I realize that not every young person has the benefit of supportive, loving parents as this young lady has had. Yet I think most still have some measure of trust and confidence that their life will be good, that they can achieve a goal, be better and different from what they know.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
20 things I wish I'd known earlier
I've been thinking about doing this list ever since I read this blog post on The Lettered Cottage. Layla Palmer illustrated hers with wonderful photos and included some of her favorite quotes, and I loved it.
So on the eve of my 64th birthday -- how did I get to be this old so fast! -- here are some things that I would tell my teenage self. I'm not putting photos here, but picture your own self as you were when you were a high school senior with all those dreams and desires and plans.
I probably wouldn't have listened carefully enough back then to have understood some of the ramifications of my actions and non-actions. And I probably wouldn't have believed some of the stories that I now tell about my life. But for what it's worth, here is what I would say now to my teenage self:
1. You are pretty, although I know you don't think so now. You're taller than average, yes, and you desperately envy the girls with the great hair and bubbly personalities who are "average" height and weight and build. But one day a man is going to fall head-over-heels in love with you and your long legs, your green eyes, your straight, fine hair, and your what-you-see-is-what-you-get personality, and he's going to tell you every day how loved you are, how pretty you are, and how lucky he is. You will feel like you won the lottery with him. Promise.
2. Your big voice that carries so far and that you try so hard to control will serve you well one day. People will want to hear your words.
3. Your mother and father love you more than you will understand for many years. Cherish the family times; listen to their stories; hug them every time you get the chance, and listen to their advice, even when it irritates the living crap out of you. One day you will miss hearing their voices so much that it makes you cry.
4. Not everyone is going to like you, and you aren't going to like some of them either, and that's okay. You don't have to be a people-pleaser; in fact, you'll be better off if you just be who you are instead of who you think they want you to be.
5. Listen more than you talk: you'll learn more that way. Everyone has a story that they want to tell someone.
6. And think before you speak: be sure the brain is engaged before the mouth opens. Your words carry a lot of weight: be sure your message is clear. You are very good at the quick, sarcastic comeback, but it can hurt others, and you really do not want to do that.
7. Take care of your body: parts wear out faster than you'd think.
8. Moisturize your neck. Really.
9. Write. Keep a journal. Remember stories and practice writing them down. You'll make money from writing, and you're good at it, better than you think you are. You will want to write a book.
10. Be easier on yourself. Disbar that critical judge that lives in your head who tells you all the shoulda-coulda-woulda stuff. Be who you really are, and love yourself.
11. Be kind, even when you do not feel kindly. There is not enough kindness, ever. Thumper had it right: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."
12. Be careful with the alcohol, the chocolate, the rich, fried, buttery foods. It is all about portion control. And you'll never not love sweets, but you'll eat more veggies than you could ever think.
13. Practice gratitude every day. Even on the worst days you can find something to be grateful for -- a hot shower, a cup of Earl Grey tea in your grandmother's china teacup, clean sheets. It makes things easier.
14. Ask for help. You do not have to do it all yourself. You CANNOT do it all yourself, although you'll try and suffer for it until you learn better.
15. Cherish your friends, but be sure you know who they are. Not everyone is trustworthy: guard your confidences.
16. Children are a mixed blessing. You will love your children more than you could imagine, but you will also suffer great pain when things happen to them that a kiss and a hug can't make better. This will always be true.
17. Live each day as though it were the only one you have, because you never know if it might be. Plan for the future, but live in the moment. And let go what is past: you can't change what happened.
18. Time speeds up as you get older. Do things you really want to do sooner than later. Listen to that little voice way deep inside you: it will steer you where you need to go even if others are telling you differently.
19. Be patient. Wait for what is right. This will be a lesson that keeps coming back to you, one day at a time.
20. Do. Not. Settle. Not for a relationship, not for a job, not for a dream. Get clear about what you want, and then make it happen. You have tremendous power within yourself.
What would you tell your 17-year-old self?
So on the eve of my 64th birthday -- how did I get to be this old so fast! -- here are some things that I would tell my teenage self. I'm not putting photos here, but picture your own self as you were when you were a high school senior with all those dreams and desires and plans.
I probably wouldn't have listened carefully enough back then to have understood some of the ramifications of my actions and non-actions. And I probably wouldn't have believed some of the stories that I now tell about my life. But for what it's worth, here is what I would say now to my teenage self:
1. You are pretty, although I know you don't think so now. You're taller than average, yes, and you desperately envy the girls with the great hair and bubbly personalities who are "average" height and weight and build. But one day a man is going to fall head-over-heels in love with you and your long legs, your green eyes, your straight, fine hair, and your what-you-see-is-what-you-get personality, and he's going to tell you every day how loved you are, how pretty you are, and how lucky he is. You will feel like you won the lottery with him. Promise.
2. Your big voice that carries so far and that you try so hard to control will serve you well one day. People will want to hear your words.
3. Your mother and father love you more than you will understand for many years. Cherish the family times; listen to their stories; hug them every time you get the chance, and listen to their advice, even when it irritates the living crap out of you. One day you will miss hearing their voices so much that it makes you cry.
4. Not everyone is going to like you, and you aren't going to like some of them either, and that's okay. You don't have to be a people-pleaser; in fact, you'll be better off if you just be who you are instead of who you think they want you to be.
5. Listen more than you talk: you'll learn more that way. Everyone has a story that they want to tell someone.
6. And think before you speak: be sure the brain is engaged before the mouth opens. Your words carry a lot of weight: be sure your message is clear. You are very good at the quick, sarcastic comeback, but it can hurt others, and you really do not want to do that.
7. Take care of your body: parts wear out faster than you'd think.
8. Moisturize your neck. Really.
9. Write. Keep a journal. Remember stories and practice writing them down. You'll make money from writing, and you're good at it, better than you think you are. You will want to write a book.
10. Be easier on yourself. Disbar that critical judge that lives in your head who tells you all the shoulda-coulda-woulda stuff. Be who you really are, and love yourself.
11. Be kind, even when you do not feel kindly. There is not enough kindness, ever. Thumper had it right: "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all."
12. Be careful with the alcohol, the chocolate, the rich, fried, buttery foods. It is all about portion control. And you'll never not love sweets, but you'll eat more veggies than you could ever think.
13. Practice gratitude every day. Even on the worst days you can find something to be grateful for -- a hot shower, a cup of Earl Grey tea in your grandmother's china teacup, clean sheets. It makes things easier.
14. Ask for help. You do not have to do it all yourself. You CANNOT do it all yourself, although you'll try and suffer for it until you learn better.
15. Cherish your friends, but be sure you know who they are. Not everyone is trustworthy: guard your confidences.
16. Children are a mixed blessing. You will love your children more than you could imagine, but you will also suffer great pain when things happen to them that a kiss and a hug can't make better. This will always be true.
17. Live each day as though it were the only one you have, because you never know if it might be. Plan for the future, but live in the moment. And let go what is past: you can't change what happened.
18. Time speeds up as you get older. Do things you really want to do sooner than later. Listen to that little voice way deep inside you: it will steer you where you need to go even if others are telling you differently.
19. Be patient. Wait for what is right. This will be a lesson that keeps coming back to you, one day at a time.
20. Do. Not. Settle. Not for a relationship, not for a job, not for a dream. Get clear about what you want, and then make it happen. You have tremendous power within yourself.
What would you tell your 17-year-old self?
Monday, April 11, 2011
"The Kennedys" reminds us that all things change
We watched "The Kennedys" yesterday, a mini-series that originally was supposed to be on the History Channel but ended up on Reelz because it was, I guess, considered too controversial.
The primary characters, especially Greg Kinnear as JFK and Barry Pepper as Bobby, had mannerisms and even the physical attributes of their characters down pat. Katie Holmes as Jackie was maybe a bit too cute. Tom Wilkinson as Joe Kennedy Sr. was magnificent as the king-maker.
It showed some of the unhappier sides of the Kennedys, the closest thing to royalty that the US has had, including drug use and abuse, infidelity, and a great deal of wheeling and dealing.
It was a part of history that we remember quite well, and we were almost shocked to realize that it's been nearly 48 years since JFK was assassinated -- a day that is forever burned into the memory of those who lived through it.
But what it also did was remind us how quickly things change and time passes. Those tragic and frightening memories happened a long, long time ago, and yet we can both remember our feelings and the circumstances of where we were and what we were doing like it happened last week. We remember the 'Camelot' atmosphere, we remember the Civil Rights marches and demonstrations, we remember the Bay of Pigs, and they greatly influenced who we were and how we lived.
It's another wakeup call to treasure this moment, this day, the people with whom we interact and love, because in an instant it's over and part of what was once. It's a reminder that everything changes, and that how we act and what we say can influence another person beyond anything we could imagine at the time. It's a lesson in making each day count, in remembering to tell your friends and family how much you treasure them and love them, and to say thank you, thank you, thank you.
The primary characters, especially Greg Kinnear as JFK and Barry Pepper as Bobby, had mannerisms and even the physical attributes of their characters down pat. Katie Holmes as Jackie was maybe a bit too cute. Tom Wilkinson as Joe Kennedy Sr. was magnificent as the king-maker.
It showed some of the unhappier sides of the Kennedys, the closest thing to royalty that the US has had, including drug use and abuse, infidelity, and a great deal of wheeling and dealing.
It was a part of history that we remember quite well, and we were almost shocked to realize that it's been nearly 48 years since JFK was assassinated -- a day that is forever burned into the memory of those who lived through it.
But what it also did was remind us how quickly things change and time passes. Those tragic and frightening memories happened a long, long time ago, and yet we can both remember our feelings and the circumstances of where we were and what we were doing like it happened last week. We remember the 'Camelot' atmosphere, we remember the Civil Rights marches and demonstrations, we remember the Bay of Pigs, and they greatly influenced who we were and how we lived.
It's another wakeup call to treasure this moment, this day, the people with whom we interact and love, because in an instant it's over and part of what was once. It's a reminder that everything changes, and that how we act and what we say can influence another person beyond anything we could imagine at the time. It's a lesson in making each day count, in remembering to tell your friends and family how much you treasure them and love them, and to say thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Books, Day 13 -- childhood reading
Day 13 – Favorite childhood book OR current favorite YA book (or both!)
Hands down my current favorite is the Harry Potter series, although I think it is a little too dark for many children (and that includes the movies -- some of the visuals would give a younger child nightmares, I think). While Rowling may have started the series as YA (young adult) one, it evolved into a series for all of us.
Despite its critics, the series is engaging, imaginative, and clearly is a metaphorical tale of good versus evil, even possibly a Christian allegory, at least in the views of some reviewers, and that despite the early boycotting of the books by the fundamentalist types because of the wizard/witch emphasis.
I love it because I want to believe in magic, I want to believe that bad people eventually get their just rewards (karma!), and I want to believe that ultimately good prevails over bad. And it does, although not without pain and loss.
Just like life. At least I hope that, although when I read the news and contemplate the actions of financiers, most Republicans and far too many Democrats, and leaders on every level in every part of business, I wonder where the magic is, where the good is, that will triumph over the self-serving, inhumane, greedy, judgmental actions that seem to be their creeds.
I want good, decent, kind people to prevail, the ones with ethics that are not compromised by the promise of a dollar, the ones who do not believe in trampling the rights of others in order to get rich or famous. Rowling delivers that.
*******************
The book(s) I remember best from my own childhood do too.
The first book I remember being read is "Wynken, Blynken and Nod," a story poem by Eugene Field. It was a tall, beautifully illustrated book with a red cover, and I gave it some years ago to my daughter, after I'd read it to her throughout her childhood. When my mother was in her last days, I remember reading it to her over the telephone. I still love the calming words, the rocking of the ocean, the rhyme and rhythm of the words lulling me to sleep.
I read constantly, always, as a child. I preferred the company of books and a story to playing outside or anything athletic (that's not changed). I remember hiding books behind my textbooks in class and more than once getting caught by a teacher, especially once in fourth grade when I giggled out loud at a passage during a history lesson. Busted.
I loved anything in a series: Nancy Drew, Trixie Beldon, the Bobbsey Twins, the Little House books. I loved Louisa May Alcott, especially Eight Cousins, and often wished I had such wonderful brothers/cousins instead of the bratty little brother that I was stuck with (and who I love dearly, you understand).
I read my way through the Brothers Grimm and every other fairy or folk tale collection in the Greene County (Missouri) Public Library Children's Section -- I love stories about magic, legend and myth, which also may account somewhat for my enthusiasm for Harry Potter, I suppose.
In fact, I read my way pretty much through the whole section, and by the time I was in fifth or sixth grade had permission from both my parents and the children's librarian to read anything I wanted from the adult section too. Fortunately they never believed in restricting access to anything -- a belief which I carried forward and ultimately became actively involved in protecting the right to read.
Books have shaped who I am, beginning with the books my parents read to me every day, books I remember still after going on 63 years. I am grateful.
Hands down my current favorite is the Harry Potter series, although I think it is a little too dark for many children (and that includes the movies -- some of the visuals would give a younger child nightmares, I think). While Rowling may have started the series as YA (young adult) one, it evolved into a series for all of us.
Despite its critics, the series is engaging, imaginative, and clearly is a metaphorical tale of good versus evil, even possibly a Christian allegory, at least in the views of some reviewers, and that despite the early boycotting of the books by the fundamentalist types because of the wizard/witch emphasis.
I love it because I want to believe in magic, I want to believe that bad people eventually get their just rewards (karma!), and I want to believe that ultimately good prevails over bad. And it does, although not without pain and loss.
Just like life. At least I hope that, although when I read the news and contemplate the actions of financiers, most Republicans and far too many Democrats, and leaders on every level in every part of business, I wonder where the magic is, where the good is, that will triumph over the self-serving, inhumane, greedy, judgmental actions that seem to be their creeds.
I want good, decent, kind people to prevail, the ones with ethics that are not compromised by the promise of a dollar, the ones who do not believe in trampling the rights of others in order to get rich or famous. Rowling delivers that.
*******************
The book(s) I remember best from my own childhood do too.
The first book I remember being read is "Wynken, Blynken and Nod," a story poem by Eugene Field. It was a tall, beautifully illustrated book with a red cover, and I gave it some years ago to my daughter, after I'd read it to her throughout her childhood. When my mother was in her last days, I remember reading it to her over the telephone. I still love the calming words, the rocking of the ocean, the rhyme and rhythm of the words lulling me to sleep.
I read constantly, always, as a child. I preferred the company of books and a story to playing outside or anything athletic (that's not changed). I remember hiding books behind my textbooks in class and more than once getting caught by a teacher, especially once in fourth grade when I giggled out loud at a passage during a history lesson. Busted.
I loved anything in a series: Nancy Drew, Trixie Beldon, the Bobbsey Twins, the Little House books. I loved Louisa May Alcott, especially Eight Cousins, and often wished I had such wonderful brothers/cousins instead of the bratty little brother that I was stuck with (and who I love dearly, you understand).
I read my way through the Brothers Grimm and every other fairy or folk tale collection in the Greene County (Missouri) Public Library Children's Section -- I love stories about magic, legend and myth, which also may account somewhat for my enthusiasm for Harry Potter, I suppose.
In fact, I read my way pretty much through the whole section, and by the time I was in fifth or sixth grade had permission from both my parents and the children's librarian to read anything I wanted from the adult section too. Fortunately they never believed in restricting access to anything -- a belief which I carried forward and ultimately became actively involved in protecting the right to read.
Books have shaped who I am, beginning with the books my parents read to me every day, books I remember still after going on 63 years. I am grateful.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
What are we doing to our country?
Members of the Westboro Baptist Church have waved their horrible picket signs at military funerals as well as other funerals for some time, trying, they say, to send the message that God is angry with the United States because of increasing acceptance of homosexuality.
Their Web page is filled with vile language and hatred: not the God in whom I was raised to believe.
And next fall the Supreme Court is actually going to consider a case about their rights to picket military funerals.
Where is compassion? Empathy? Respect for a soldier serving our country?
**********
Conservatives are rallying en masse against the healthcare reform bill, calling it full of socialism, communism, and insisting the President and supporters are 'ramming' it down the throats of the people. ( Never mind that BOTH houses of Congress have already passed a healthcare reform bill. They're now voting on the compromise.)
What do they think Medicare is? Social Security? Who do they think REALLY controls healthcare in the US? We sure don't control what kind of care we get, nor what we pay for that insurance -- that is, if we can get it at all.
In California, more than 8 million people are without insurance. Know what happens when they finally have to visit the emergency room because they are too sick not to? We insured pay in increased insurance premiums as well as through increased hospital and physician costs.
Congress doesn't care, folks. They get great insurance, guaranteed, no waiting period or pesky pre-existing condition requirements, and we're paying for most of it. See what they get? And they're also getting some great perks and job offers from the health insurance companies who are lobbying so heavily against healthcare reform.
Where is compassion? Where is empathy? How can this happen in our country -- people dying because they can't afford healthcare? Isn't that what happens in third-world countries? Surely not in the United States! (think again)
***********
Education budget cuts across the country are causing thousands of teacher layoffs and program cuts. There are many schools who have few or no arts programs because they can't afford it and haven't been able to for years. Sports programs -- at least in sports other than football -- have been cut. Diversity in education is waning. In my town, our adult education program is being eliminated -- no more computer classes or GED classes.
So we have another group unemployed and searching for non-existent jobs.
But who suffers? Our kids. Our future. Their future.
And history is being rewritten anyway, at least in Texas, and because they are the country's largest purchaser of textbooks, their decisions will eventually affect the rest of our country's curriculum.
In 50 years, we may not even acknowledge that the Holocaust happened, if the conservatives have their way, not to mention evolution. If it even takes THAT long.
What is happening to our country?
It scares me. And my only consolation, honestly, is that I am 62, and likely will not live long enough to see the full effects of the hatred, twisted unethical actions, and poor, inadequate and misleading education. Unfortunately my daughters probably will.
I am also beginning to understand why I've always seen so many grey heads among the politically active. Mine may soon be one of them.
Their Web page is filled with vile language and hatred: not the God in whom I was raised to believe.
And next fall the Supreme Court is actually going to consider a case about their rights to picket military funerals.
Where is compassion? Empathy? Respect for a soldier serving our country?
**********
Conservatives are rallying en masse against the healthcare reform bill, calling it full of socialism, communism, and insisting the President and supporters are 'ramming' it down the throats of the people. ( Never mind that BOTH houses of Congress have already passed a healthcare reform bill. They're now voting on the compromise.)
What do they think Medicare is? Social Security? Who do they think REALLY controls healthcare in the US? We sure don't control what kind of care we get, nor what we pay for that insurance -- that is, if we can get it at all.
In California, more than 8 million people are without insurance. Know what happens when they finally have to visit the emergency room because they are too sick not to? We insured pay in increased insurance premiums as well as through increased hospital and physician costs.
Congress doesn't care, folks. They get great insurance, guaranteed, no waiting period or pesky pre-existing condition requirements, and we're paying for most of it. See what they get? And they're also getting some great perks and job offers from the health insurance companies who are lobbying so heavily against healthcare reform.
Where is compassion? Where is empathy? How can this happen in our country -- people dying because they can't afford healthcare? Isn't that what happens in third-world countries? Surely not in the United States! (think again)
***********
Education budget cuts across the country are causing thousands of teacher layoffs and program cuts. There are many schools who have few or no arts programs because they can't afford it and haven't been able to for years. Sports programs -- at least in sports other than football -- have been cut. Diversity in education is waning. In my town, our adult education program is being eliminated -- no more computer classes or GED classes.
So we have another group unemployed and searching for non-existent jobs.
But who suffers? Our kids. Our future. Their future.
And history is being rewritten anyway, at least in Texas, and because they are the country's largest purchaser of textbooks, their decisions will eventually affect the rest of our country's curriculum.
In 50 years, we may not even acknowledge that the Holocaust happened, if the conservatives have their way, not to mention evolution. If it even takes THAT long.
What is happening to our country?
It scares me. And my only consolation, honestly, is that I am 62, and likely will not live long enough to see the full effects of the hatred, twisted unethical actions, and poor, inadequate and misleading education. Unfortunately my daughters probably will.
I am also beginning to understand why I've always seen so many grey heads among the politically active. Mine may soon be one of them.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A trip back in time -- Homecoming in a small Missouri town
It's hard to believe that this week is the last one in October, and that our trip to little Fayette was nearly a month ago already.
As I'd mentioned before, we traveled back to this little central Missouri town, home of Central Methodist University, to attend my 40th year class reunion. Tony had never been there although he's met some of the folks from the college, and has read the Fayette newspapers for years, which my ex owns and edits.
So it was a long trip -- two hours by car to Sacramento, two hours by air to Denver and another two to St. Louis where we rented a car and drove another couple plus to Fayette. And then did it again two days later.
It was interesting to walk the campus and see how things have changed. For one, the old Eyrie (Eagle's Nest) student center that was once a WWII barracks has been demolished and an incredible four-story student center stands in its place, with the cafeteria, study rooms, pool tables, television, and much more. Another big change was in the athletic facility. Not only do they now have the EE Rich Memorial Swimming Pool (for some years now) that prospective students (including me) were promised for years before it was finally built, they officially opened a new athletic training center adjacent to the field house. It has state-of-the-art equipment and is a real boon for the campus.
The trees in Stedman Gulch -- a wide ravine in front of the science building which was almost new when I went there 40 years ago and had had little trees planted then -- have grown up, and the campus is the forest-y, shady, lovely traditional college campus that I remembered. Established in 1856 or so, there are many historic buildings, old traditional stone and turreted classroom buildings that have been renovated, and the improvements continue -- the old Classic Hall where I spent many hours in English, language and speech/drama classes but which has not been in use for some years is undergoing a capital campaign to renovate it into a music center.
The college has long been known for its music program and has turned out some of the finest band directors in Missouri. When you walk on campus in the afternoon, you usually can hear both instrumental and vocal students practicing, their voices and instrument tones floating on the Missouri breezes. Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia pledges still sing "Hail Sinfonia" as they pass under the old clock tower which dominates the main campus.
So I saw people I hadn't seen in 40 years, most of them gray and with faces full of character (nicer way of saying wrinkles). One woman asked why I'd come all the way from California to attend, and I told her it was important to honor what I was and had become on that campus, and the memory of the excellent teachers (not a lot, but a truly great handful) who taught me. It was such an historic time in our history -- 1965-69! And while our campus, numbering around 1,000 students in my last year there, was fairly isolated from the race riots, the demonstrations and the summer of love mentality (much of that hit in the next several years, after I had graduated), it was still an important factor in shaping who I am.
For one thing, it is a liberal arts college. That means, basically, that I know a little about a lot of things. I had a good grounding in the arts especially, and opportunities that a larger campus would not have given me, although I might have had some coursework that would have helped me more in a larger university. I was involved with the college radio station and learned news writing there -- a skill that I have used throughout my working life. I had the opportunity to know many people from many disciplines rather than only those in my major field.
I also got to see some folks who graduated after I did, but who I knew because my husband and I had moved back there just a year after I graduated (he is five years older than me, also an alumnus) and he began working for the college in public relations. I also worked there eventually and started the seeds for a career development center which now has a featured place in the new student center and lots of programs to help kids decide how to choose a career and how to figure out what they might be happiest doing. But I knew a lot of students in later classes because of that, and also a lot of faculty and staff members, a few of whom I also got to see again this trip.
It stirred up emotions I hadn't been prepared for. I remembered my 17-year-old self as a freshman, the 21-year-old graduate. I remembered some heartbreaking moments as well as some warm fuzzy ones. I missed some of the women, especially, who I knew so well -- at that point, we all lived in the dorm for all four years, although only a few years later, women were allowed to move off campus. I remembered sitting in the library -- a wonderful stone building that has a big four-story addition now in back of it -- when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. I remembered watching streakers at some of the pep rallies!
At a couple of different receptions and parties, I got to watch professors I knew or had in class talk about the old times, listen to them discuss current books or plays, hear some sad stories about others who have died. I hugged a close friend from 40 years ago and exchanged e-mail addresses with her, although neither of us have written at this point. I listened to the huge pipe organ in the church fill the traditional gothic sanctuary with power and awe as an alumnus practiced for Sunday's church service (which I didn't attend as we were on our way back to the airport -- not that I probably would have anyway).
We enjoyed a hint of fall color as we drove around town, which reminded Tony of the little Tennessee town he grew up in. The traditional courthouse sits in a traditional square, which sadly has many empty storefronts now, but also has a really good restaurant -- Emmet's Kitchen -- along with the Dollar Store and various antique and craft stores, and the old Peacock Beauty Salon where I used to get my hair cut. Sadly, almost none of the long-time stores have survived: the town, like so many, is losing population to larger areas like nearby Columbia or Boonville.
I'll likely not go back until my 50th. The 50th reunion class of 1959 showed up en masse this year, but they were a close-knit group from the beginning. Ours is not that way, but it was still good to see people with whom I shared such a formative time, to honor that time and who we were then, to remember.
The best times of my life were not then. The best time is now. But I'm glad to have had those years there, to be influenced and challenged and encouraged by so many good people and teachers and counselors and peers. It was good to be there.
As I'd mentioned before, we traveled back to this little central Missouri town, home of Central Methodist University, to attend my 40th year class reunion. Tony had never been there although he's met some of the folks from the college, and has read the Fayette newspapers for years, which my ex owns and edits.
So it was a long trip -- two hours by car to Sacramento, two hours by air to Denver and another two to St. Louis where we rented a car and drove another couple plus to Fayette. And then did it again two days later.
It was interesting to walk the campus and see how things have changed. For one, the old Eyrie (Eagle's Nest) student center that was once a WWII barracks has been demolished and an incredible four-story student center stands in its place, with the cafeteria, study rooms, pool tables, television, and much more. Another big change was in the athletic facility. Not only do they now have the EE Rich Memorial Swimming Pool (for some years now) that prospective students (including me) were promised for years before it was finally built, they officially opened a new athletic training center adjacent to the field house. It has state-of-the-art equipment and is a real boon for the campus.
The trees in Stedman Gulch -- a wide ravine in front of the science building which was almost new when I went there 40 years ago and had had little trees planted then -- have grown up, and the campus is the forest-y, shady, lovely traditional college campus that I remembered. Established in 1856 or so, there are many historic buildings, old traditional stone and turreted classroom buildings that have been renovated, and the improvements continue -- the old Classic Hall where I spent many hours in English, language and speech/drama classes but which has not been in use for some years is undergoing a capital campaign to renovate it into a music center.
The college has long been known for its music program and has turned out some of the finest band directors in Missouri. When you walk on campus in the afternoon, you usually can hear both instrumental and vocal students practicing, their voices and instrument tones floating on the Missouri breezes. Phi Mu Alpha Sinfonia pledges still sing "Hail Sinfonia" as they pass under the old clock tower which dominates the main campus.
So I saw people I hadn't seen in 40 years, most of them gray and with faces full of character (nicer way of saying wrinkles). One woman asked why I'd come all the way from California to attend, and I told her it was important to honor what I was and had become on that campus, and the memory of the excellent teachers (not a lot, but a truly great handful) who taught me. It was such an historic time in our history -- 1965-69! And while our campus, numbering around 1,000 students in my last year there, was fairly isolated from the race riots, the demonstrations and the summer of love mentality (much of that hit in the next several years, after I had graduated), it was still an important factor in shaping who I am.
For one thing, it is a liberal arts college. That means, basically, that I know a little about a lot of things. I had a good grounding in the arts especially, and opportunities that a larger campus would not have given me, although I might have had some coursework that would have helped me more in a larger university. I was involved with the college radio station and learned news writing there -- a skill that I have used throughout my working life. I had the opportunity to know many people from many disciplines rather than only those in my major field.
I also got to see some folks who graduated after I did, but who I knew because my husband and I had moved back there just a year after I graduated (he is five years older than me, also an alumnus) and he began working for the college in public relations. I also worked there eventually and started the seeds for a career development center which now has a featured place in the new student center and lots of programs to help kids decide how to choose a career and how to figure out what they might be happiest doing. But I knew a lot of students in later classes because of that, and also a lot of faculty and staff members, a few of whom I also got to see again this trip.
It stirred up emotions I hadn't been prepared for. I remembered my 17-year-old self as a freshman, the 21-year-old graduate. I remembered some heartbreaking moments as well as some warm fuzzy ones. I missed some of the women, especially, who I knew so well -- at that point, we all lived in the dorm for all four years, although only a few years later, women were allowed to move off campus. I remembered sitting in the library -- a wonderful stone building that has a big four-story addition now in back of it -- when Martin Luther King Jr. was shot. I remembered watching streakers at some of the pep rallies!
At a couple of different receptions and parties, I got to watch professors I knew or had in class talk about the old times, listen to them discuss current books or plays, hear some sad stories about others who have died. I hugged a close friend from 40 years ago and exchanged e-mail addresses with her, although neither of us have written at this point. I listened to the huge pipe organ in the church fill the traditional gothic sanctuary with power and awe as an alumnus practiced for Sunday's church service (which I didn't attend as we were on our way back to the airport -- not that I probably would have anyway).
We enjoyed a hint of fall color as we drove around town, which reminded Tony of the little Tennessee town he grew up in. The traditional courthouse sits in a traditional square, which sadly has many empty storefronts now, but also has a really good restaurant -- Emmet's Kitchen -- along with the Dollar Store and various antique and craft stores, and the old Peacock Beauty Salon where I used to get my hair cut. Sadly, almost none of the long-time stores have survived: the town, like so many, is losing population to larger areas like nearby Columbia or Boonville.
I'll likely not go back until my 50th. The 50th reunion class of 1959 showed up en masse this year, but they were a close-knit group from the beginning. Ours is not that way, but it was still good to see people with whom I shared such a formative time, to honor that time and who we were then, to remember.
The best times of my life were not then. The best time is now. But I'm glad to have had those years there, to be influenced and challenged and encouraged by so many good people and teachers and counselors and peers. It was good to be there.
Friday, September 25, 2009
Seeing the future
I watched the Miss Tehama County competition last night at the Tehama District Fair. Six young -- young -- women answered questions and demonstrated talent and poise on an outdoor stage right on the fair's midway, supported by friends and family and a host of onlookers.
And I puddled right up as they came out, one by one, escorted by their fathers or family friends.
They are so beautiful, each of them, in their youth, their optimism, their courage, their hopefulness. They are the up-and-comers, the next generation, the ones who, in another couple of decades, will be the lawmakers, the parents, the CEOs, the cornerstones of the business world.
Maybe that makes me officially "old." But I can see this passage of time so clearly, almost physically feel it move from my generation to theirs.
I remember feeling that way when I was young, like there wasn't anything I couldn't do if I wanted to do it. I remember a time when my hair wasn't grey, my face was unlined, nothing hurt, my muscles were stretchable and lithe and strong, when life was full of possibilities, and I could pick from everything.
I don't think I really understood my potential then. And I'm not sure I ever reached it, the highest I might achieve, looking back at my life now.
Maybe that is the source of the tears: both the beauty of youth and the yet untapped potential each holds within herself, and the understanding now that we have all these choices available to us in our youth and that we ourselves are responsible for determining our own destiny as we choose, as we act over the years.
It's not that I don't still have choices and options and potential: I know I do until I take my last breath. But I had no real idea how much power I did have back then; I'm not sure any of us do until much later in life when we have made the choices that have determined our futures.
Perhaps it is always that way: the older generation realizes what a gift the younger generation has in front of them, but young seldom listens with to old with any real comprehension of what we're trying to say. And the curse of the older generation is that we have this knowledge within us, but it is rarely recognized for the insight that it is.
I'm sure I'll continue to puddle up at weddings and graduations as I grow older. And I hope I will gain wisdom and more insight along with the years. And what I truly hope is that somehow I will be able to communicate that through my words so that someone, some time, will understand what a gift youth is, what an incredible opportunity we have in time, what thoughtful care we should take in making our choices and decisions. And how we always have second chances, even when we find them hard to see.
And I puddled right up as they came out, one by one, escorted by their fathers or family friends.
They are so beautiful, each of them, in their youth, their optimism, their courage, their hopefulness. They are the up-and-comers, the next generation, the ones who, in another couple of decades, will be the lawmakers, the parents, the CEOs, the cornerstones of the business world.
Maybe that makes me officially "old." But I can see this passage of time so clearly, almost physically feel it move from my generation to theirs.
I remember feeling that way when I was young, like there wasn't anything I couldn't do if I wanted to do it. I remember a time when my hair wasn't grey, my face was unlined, nothing hurt, my muscles were stretchable and lithe and strong, when life was full of possibilities, and I could pick from everything.
I don't think I really understood my potential then. And I'm not sure I ever reached it, the highest I might achieve, looking back at my life now.
Maybe that is the source of the tears: both the beauty of youth and the yet untapped potential each holds within herself, and the understanding now that we have all these choices available to us in our youth and that we ourselves are responsible for determining our own destiny as we choose, as we act over the years.
It's not that I don't still have choices and options and potential: I know I do until I take my last breath. But I had no real idea how much power I did have back then; I'm not sure any of us do until much later in life when we have made the choices that have determined our futures.
Perhaps it is always that way: the older generation realizes what a gift the younger generation has in front of them, but young seldom listens with to old with any real comprehension of what we're trying to say. And the curse of the older generation is that we have this knowledge within us, but it is rarely recognized for the insight that it is.
I'm sure I'll continue to puddle up at weddings and graduations as I grow older. And I hope I will gain wisdom and more insight along with the years. And what I truly hope is that somehow I will be able to communicate that through my words so that someone, some time, will understand what a gift youth is, what an incredible opportunity we have in time, what thoughtful care we should take in making our choices and decisions. And how we always have second chances, even when we find them hard to see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)