Grace is Alive and Well in this World...I just Met Her

I have been visiting my mother and her husband in North Carolina since Wednesday.  Theirs is an unconventional household.  It is composed of my mother who is 78, and her husband of almost 30 years who is 15 years younger.  Additionally, there is a couple comprised of the wife, who is my age and her husband who is 38 years old.  This couple had lived around the block from my mother's previous household.   They lost their jobs and place to live and had to move in with the husband, Bruce's family, giving up their 9 cats in the process.  When things became untenable, and the wife, Susan was physically pushed into a stove by Bruce's relative, she showed up on my Mother's doorstep and was immediately taken in.  Thus, through God's Grace, a beautifully symbiotic relationship was born.  Susan and Bruce both help the household.  Susan helps my mother with bathing, and other self-care activities, and both Bruce and Susan take care of the house.  Doing things for my mother and her husband, gives Susan, who is unable to work due to Fibromyalgia and struggles with depression, a sense of purpose and life.   Furthermore the love and caring that both couples have for each other fills the gaps that need and poor health have imposed.  They are surrogate families for each other and a physical symbol of God's Love.  An embodiment of grace between two couples with very different needs, which each are filled by the still very present strengths of the others.

During this Easter weekend, the Episcopal church which my mother and her husband attend, holds four Services; Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, The Great Vigil of Easter, and Easter Service.  Susan, myself, my mother and her husband attended Good Friday service together.  The passion play is enacted at the Good Friday service; the Betrayal in the Garden, the trial with Pontius Pilate, the setting free of Barabas instead of Christ, the 30 Lashes, and ultimately, the pre-ordained crucifixion of Christ.  The altar is stripped bare, the cross draped in the black cloth of mourning.  We exited the church following the service; myself a bit more quickly than my mother who has a cane because of balance problems, but had both Susan and the cane to assist her as usual.  I observed a very striking, elegant slim lady.  She was very fashionably dressed, with graying long hair, twisted in a very elegant do.  She was paused at the end of the pew with her eyes on my mother, obviously awaiting my mother's approach while my mother visited her way towards the rear of the church.  When Susan and my mother came abreast of this lady, she spoke and they spent some short minutes in verbal exchange.  As my mother negotiated the steps on the egress from the church, this woman, though obviously elderly herself, stepped forward with physical assistance of a hand on my mother's arm.  Intrigued by these two demonstrations of compassion, I moved forward to introduce myself.  "Hi, I'm Kismet, Lori's daughter, I'm here visiting from Montana."  She opened her mouth, and unexpectedly,  the most lovely British accent came out, "I'm Grace."  she said.  We moved forward and apart as we each moved toward our respective vehicles for departure.

On Saturday evening, it was a much diminished party of just myself, and my mother's husband, Eric, who attended the Great Easter Vigil.  My mother and Susan both, were too fatigued and feeling too poorly to attend.  I love this service, (despite my status as a questioning Christian).  The congregation, celebrants and choir gather outside in the darkening gloom, to signify the darkness of the world without Christ.  I noticed Grace in a beautiful Olive Kameez (traditional Indian  long  Tunic) and Salwar (Loose pants).  I also was wearing a turquoise blue Kameez, but over leggings.  I hurried over to greet her, and compliment her on her outfit.  It was absolutely perfect on her and so very striking.  She said, "As soon as it gets hot, this is all I wear, because nothing else is comfortable."  

At the initiation of the Great Vigil, the Paschal Candle is lit, and the flame is passed from person to person, lighting the individual candles, that we each had obtained prior to the service.  As we process into the church, the priest sings, "The Light of Life", to which the congregation responds, "Thanks be to God."  This exchange is intoned until we are entirely within the church.  Once we have reached our places within the church, we continue singing psalms and listening to readings from the Gospel, with our candles being the only light.  The story is told of the Discovery of the Empty Tomb by the women, and the subsequent announcement by the Angels that Jesus has risen.  At this point, all the lights in the church are turned on in joy and celebration.  Songs of great rejoicing are sung.  Though dramatic and joyful, the service seemed interminable.  We struggled with our candles to light the hymnals so we could sing.  Hot wax was spilled.  I started becoming goofy with fatigue, and giggling was barely contained with each spillage of wax on our person or hymnal.  At the end of the service, Eric asked that we remain seated in order to listen to the entirety of the organist's voluntary.  As we sat listening to the accomplished tones of the organist, I sensed two women behind us.  Grace and another woman, introduced to us earlier as Elizabeth greeted us.  Grace asked me if I would be at Sunday's Easter Service, to which I answered, "No."  She says, "I have something for you, I should I have brought it to you today, but I didn't."  Startled, and warmed, I sat silent a moment thinking, then, "I can give you my cell phone Number."  To which she agreed.  I wrote my number on a piece of paper she dug from her purse.  We visited as we exited the church.  "Wow!"  I said.  "I'm going to be wondering all night what you have for me!"  She smiles with elegant dimples and delight.   There is a slight pause in conversation.  I say, "I'm trying to look forward to each day with anticipation, instead of with dread."  Grace, nods in agreement.  "I believe the same thing."  she says.  We visit a few more minutes. She says, "I believe we are given life to make as many friends in strange places as we can."  I concur with, "Life is a journey."  I watch as she walks away.  I look at her thinking that if I look half as good as her at her age, I will be damn lucky.  She's like an elegantly age and graceful Grace Kelly.  Classic beauty at all ages.

The next day, I slept late because of a tough night sleeping.  Grace  called on her way home from Easter Service and asked if she could meet me out front or somewhere so she can give me my present.  I give the phone to Eric so he can give her directions to the house.  I hurriedly change clothes so I don't look quite so scary.  It's hard to compete with Royalty when you are sporting bed head...I gave up on the bed head, but did change clothes.  I spy her vehicle at the bottom of the hill, sprinting, to make it to her.  My cell phone rings with her number as I open her car door.  She is absolutely resplendent in an off-white Kameez and Salwar embroidered with tiny green and yellow flowers.  We give each other a half hug.  She gives me this very large bag full of tissue paper and fabric.  I look at her with excitement (I'm still a little kid when it comes to presents) and ask her, "Do you want me to open it now?"  "Yes."  she replies.  I reach past the tissue, and pull out a long black tunic with brilliant gold embroidery and bead work on the yoke and cuffs.  It is breathtaking.  Out come the scarf and pant.  I tear up, on the verge of crying.  I don't know this women.  Just met her two days ago.  She says, "I heard a voice telling me I should give you that....I've learned to listen to the voice."  She tells me the Indian name for each part of the costume.  It is obvious she's spent time in India.  Quickly, I write down my blog and e-mail addresses.  She responds in kind with her home and cell numbers.  I ask her not to be shocked about what's on the blog.  That I feel that God or the powers that be have/has given me a voice so that I can share my trials and triumphs with others, so that they know that they aren't alone.  She says, "I believe everything is for a purpose."  She hands me her phone numbers and tells me that, "although God is with us, sometimes we need friends in the flesh.  Call me at any time at home or on my cell phone."  I tell her the story I heard told by a priest, "There's a terrible thunder storm and the little boy is crying because he is scared and he is trying to go to sleep.  From the bedroom the parents yell, "You're okay.  God's there."  "I know,"  the little boy replies.  "But I need someone with SKIN on!"  She laughs her tinkling laugh and thanks me for sharing that story with her.  She then asks permission to pray with me.  How could I say no?  "Of course," I say."  She prays for me with grace and sincerity, and then she anoints me with Chrism (oils that are consecrated and blessed by the priest.)  She makes a cross on my forehead with the oils.  I give her another hug and back away.  My soul has a feeling of having been in the presence of someone with great spiritual presence and power.  I have rarely felt so immediately pulled to someone I just met, much less been met with an equally strong response.

I ponder her.  As I walk up the hill to the house, I think about the posting on Living with Grace that I wrote the night before.  I think about the voices I hear, nudging me to do things, and my resolution, to not just THINK about doing things, but to ACT on them.  I realize that I have received the gift of grace, and wonder about God's timing.

Living with Grace

Growing up, I always had a sense of being "outside", more observer than participant.  In thinking back on my childhood, I get a feeling of floating through life, not really being connected to the earth, maybe more ephemeral, than real.  I had an invisible friend, "Mr. Nobody", whom I spoke to quite often and who lived down the bathroom drain at least until fifth grade and perhaps beyond.  I believed in Fairies.  When I was four or five?, I was in the bedroom of a farm house along the Chesapeake Canal that had been in the Price family for generations.  Across the road was a cemetery.  I was alone on the bed watching TV.  It was dark out and I saw something like a pink rag pushed up against the window.  Scared witless, I ran down the stairs to people.  My mother relates that at this age, I was more comfortable among adults than kids my age.  For my sixth birthday celebrated in Georgetown, I invited only adults.  Savant or greedy?  Adults bring presents that kids can't buy.

From fifth grade on, I lived in a town where most everybody had lived from at least kindergarten, if not birth.  Though I graduated from High School there, having lived  a total of 7 years, I was always non-native, other.  My Daddy didn't wear cowboy boots like most other Dads.  In High School, I usually had someone to sit with at lunch.  We were the artists, the musicians.  Many of us wore glasses, and were "smart".  Perhaps I was a geek, a nerd, a dork.  I yearned to belong.  It was an Epiphany to spend 10th grade in a larger college town in Colorado.  People talked to me, invited me places.  I guess the lines between groups there were not as long-lasting or rigid because of the numbers of people that came and went from that town.

But throughout my life, the most uncomfortable feeling I ever had was the one of being in a crowd of people, not knowing anyone, and remaining apart/alone.  When I joined the Peace Corps, though we all were strangers to each other, I remember attempting to start conversations, but not being able to sustain them.  Others seemed to become best of buddies within minutes.  I think there is nothing like the feeling of being alone in a crowd when you don't want to be.

So, later as a 29 yr. old, my husband and I came in late to a Harvest Dinner at the church we had just started attending.  This was in the town in which we planned to raise a family.  Most of the tables were taken, but there were some seats left.  The ones next to a family of large people, which we had discovered when we sat next to them during worship smelled.  I hesitated to sit next to them.  In High School, that would have been Social Death.  Once associated with the Large, Stinky people, always associated with the Large Stinky People, and then you might as well be one yourself.  I couldn't tell you whether we sat there or not.  But I saw an amazing thing.   One of the regular members of church, on the vestry, came forward, sat and visited with her.  As, I discovered, others did, regularly on other occasions.  In this downtown church, we often had "street people" come in and share worship with us.  During one of the services, one of the more notorious street people whose name everybody knew as "Annie" started on an anti-war rant during the sermon at the top of her lungs.  One of the very gracious, and elegant members immediately went over to her and calmed her down.  These people did not worry about status, or being thought odd.  They acted immediately with grace and compassion.  It was an Epiphany for me.  Could I step out of my comfort zone and act completely out of selflessness in compassion, without a thought or regard of what others thought of me?

 So, I began to watch, to see if there were opportunities of grace, that asked me to step out of my comfort zone, be aware of others and act to the good of others.  This requires a number of things within a very short time, especially in this fast moving world.  First you have to be aware.  Watching the world as it goes rapidly by.  The automobile with a flat tire.  The woman struggling with her cane and too many packages, the scruffy student feeding the same rumpled dollar bill to be rejected again in the auto check-out lane.  The sidewalk of the elderly woman next door that needs shoveling.Then you have to recognize the need for help, but you must not only think, "They need Help."  Then you have to act on it.  We don't get a lot of "panhandlers" in the snowy climes where I live, but I have stopped worrying about what they will spend it on, and help them out with a dollar or two.  I figure the powers that be will either step in to assist, or they will not, but I choose to give them something to work with.  I have started doing these things with a request for them to "pay it forward".  I recently had a very interesting ride with a group of very high young male native Americans who claimed to be stranded.  It was broad daylight, and for some reason, I never felt threatened.  They insisted that I must get high too, but they were a hoot.  Stupid?  Maybe.  Adventure?  Definitely.

Moments of Grace abound in different ways, through different acts, sometime just in the observance and giving thanks for a moment of special beauty and silence in nature.  Grace as defined by Merriam Webster has 8 different definitions, including:  "virtue from God, special favor or privilege, an act of kindness, courtesy, clemency, prayer or blessing at a meal, the 3 Greek sister Goddesses, givers of charm and beauty."  
In theology, Grace is a blessing from above bestowed regardless of merit.  Wikipedia states that James Ryle suggests, "Grace is the Empowering Presence of God enabling you to be who he created you to be, and to do what He has called you to do."  Bill Gothard says, "Grace gives the desire and the power that God gives us to do his will."  It is translated from the Greek word charis, "Grace, the state of kindness and favor towards someone, often with a focus on a benefit given to the object."  Charis is related to charisma which means gracious gift.  Charis originates from the word Chairo (to rejoice, be glad, delighted).  In Hebrew, the word is chen for "favor, grace or charm; grace is the moral quality of kindness; displaying a favorable disposition."  The Hindu word for grace is Kripa.  They consider it the ultimate key required for spiritual self-realization.  The Hindu Sage Vasistha considered it to be the only way to transcend the bondage of many lifetimes of Karma.

Perhaps, in this day and time, Grace is the only way to escape bondage to ourselves and to the daily grind that can be our day to day existence.  In watching for moments of Grace, might we develop a special awareness not only of the difficulties of the life of others, but also those moments of wonder and delight when we can help others transcend those little tragedies.  But might we also be made aware of the larger joy which is the miracle of life.  The miracle that the sun comes up every morning, and we are given another chance to start anew.  To begin again, to reboot, to rediscover.  To see what has always been before us, but to which we have been blind.  There is a harshness, a sorrow, a destitution to life, but always on the flip side, is the ability to overcome the ugliness.  To find the beauty, to look with new eyes, from which the scales are removed, to see anew.  What could we see, if we refuse to accept old ways of seeing and thinking?  To look at sorrow as opportunity.

What is it that we can do, to make of life a dance, a celebration of joy?  How can we live life with grace?  What does it take from inside of us, to sit "sad in the mad" but to do it with such grace and resolve, that we look like the Queen of England at tea?  When I think of people that must embody living with grace, I think of Mahatma Gandhi, envisioning a different way of life and inspiring the Indian Cotton Farmers to strike so that their goods were used to weave the clothing in the British Empire.  Or Mother Teresa, working in the most poverty-stricken, filthy slums of Calcutta, or the war torn areas of East and West Beirut, Lebanon during the 70's.

What can we do to be the largest people that we can be in our lives.   Do we sit at the "stinky table", do we open ourselves up to ostracization?  I don't know that this is absolutely necessary to live with Grace.  But I think we have to think beyond that, and entertain the idea that it doesn't matter.  The anti-war Activist Harold Zin said that in order to bring about a world without war,  we have to "live the way we want the world to be."  Imagine, if we all decided to live as if we lived in a world where all lived with grace, acted with compassion, generosity and outside of ourselves.  Where even 1 in 20 of us acted that way.  What would we look like then.  If we were all obligated to "pay it forward"...such possibilities...such worldwide Grace...such Wonder.

In Peace and Grace,
From the Stinky Table
Kismet

Planes, Trains, Automobiles and Dump Trucks?

I arrived at my mother's home in North Carolina late last night.  It took 2 days, 3 planes and a 10 hour train ride that was supposed to be 8 hours to get here with a sleep-over at a friends house in Washington, D.C.  As I await brain cells to catch up with my body in order to deal with meatier subjects, I have been reminiscing about all the ways I have traveled in my life.  Oftentimes, even when you're only going from Point A to Point B without intending to go on a "trip", the journey can be as adventurous and memorable as the destination.  As they say, "Half the adventure is getting there."

My first memories of an unusual mode of transportation was when I was five.  We were on a ferry to the Outer Banks in North Carolina (interesting full circle, that in light of where I am now sitting typing this.)  I remember bright blue, sunny skies.  And there's a tinge of horror/fascination.  On this ferry was a sun-grizzled fisherman (and why does my memory want to put a pipe in his mouth a la Popeye?).  The tinge of horror,  accompanies this memory because he had a very large Horseshoe Crab shell.  If you've never seen a Horseshoe Crab, it is like a step back into time.  They have existed since the Ordovician Era, over 450 million years ago, and pre-date Dinosaurs.  There's definitely something very primeval about them, and such a dramatic visual memory for a five year old.

In those days, my family got around in a Red Volkswagen with a Black rag top convertible roof.  There are two memories associated with that Red VW.  The first is the can of Van Camp's Pork & Beans with a can opener and spoon that was kept in a glove box.  Not sure if it was kept there for fuel or monetary emergencies, but I do remember eating from a can at least one or two times.  Because of this, I have a fond attachment and preference for Van Camps Pork & Beans.  The second memory was of myself and my sister in the bathtub counting the 1000's of mosquito bites following a trip through Canada.  Two little divas in Calamine pink!  My mother recalls that there was some trepidation about taking two mosquito-bitten girls through the border when there had been small pox scares in the north of the Province.  We had cleared the border and were driving away as my 3-yr. old sister piped up loudly, "Hey man, look at my spots."  Despite this moment of anxiety, we were all able to make a clean break into the U.S.

When I was six, I flew by myself from cold, snowy Washington, D.C. to sunny, steamy Mississippi.  I got the royalty treatment, and remember being greeted by the whole crew.  I still stand by my story that it was the Pilot who came running down the stairs carrying the snow boots I left on the plane.

And then there were the wonderful trips by train from Mississippi to Maryland in the sleepers.  There is nothing more fascinating then the travel sized lavatories, and bathroom and the foldaway beds.  What a sleeping adventure!  So many switches and gadgets to try.  And of course, we as the kids got to sleep in the top bunks, wondering all the while if we would awaken folded up in the bed.  Piglets in the blankets.  Perhaps part of the thrill was not knowing how or if you would wake up in the morning.

In 1966, there was the cross-country trek in a black 1958 Volvo with my Mom.  We traveled with our new Dad to Denver where he was put on the airplane.  There was major drama going over the Rockies, the radiator of the Volvo spewing and steaming like a steam engine on every up-climb.  We whiled away the long trip to Athens, Ohio scratching our names and designs in the white foam ice chest that was our companion in the back seat.  I'll never forget my astonishment at the freezing cold and the snow in the high Nevada desert.  How could that be a desert?

My Senior year in High School, I worked in a Kindergarten class at a local grade school.  Transportation was a 1970 red Honda 65, which I rode wearing a Woodstock (from Peanuts) yellow helmet.  The school newspaper ran an article on me as Motorcycle Mama.  Oh yeah!  Such a hell raiser.

When I was a Sophomore in college,  compassion from my grandparents took the form of funding for a metallic green 1970 Duster.  It had the shape of a muscle car, if only a 6-cylinder engine.  I purchased it from a Speech Professor who hailed from the state of New York.  Unable to get the Teacher's Credit Union to take the Lien off the title in the timely manner he desired, this model of gentlemanly conduct stood beside me in the crowded lobby as we were leaving and aimed a parting shot at the personnel, but showered everybody with the proclamation at the top of his lungs that, "You all are a bunch of Ozark Mountain Cock Suckers!"  Vocabulary expansion and mortification in one fell swoop from a College Speech Professor.

My time in the Peace Corps was a string of traveling adventures.  Our first experience with the vagaries of travel in Africa was experienced before we even reached our country of destination, Lesotho in Southern Africa.  We had flown from Johannesburg to Bloemfontein, where we boarded a bus with our allotment of two bags apiece.  We were bound for the capitol of Lesotho, Maseru.  The bus broke down just short of the border.  Our grand entry into that country was a straggling line of Peace Corps volunteers in all combinations of anticipation, excitement, apprehension and disgust.   I'm not sure what the armed guards at the manned entrance station into Lesotho, thought looking at the motley parade of mostly white, but definitely NOT South Africans wending their way toward their country.  

My next  experience with African Mass Transit, was a large, old diesel bus.  On market days, it would start at the farthest outlying village, picking up Mom's children swaddled in heavy wool blankets pinned in the front to the backs of their Moms, children, chickens, Dads, inside the bus.  The outside was reserved for large parcels, suitcases, and goats which were strapped to the top.  By the time it reached the village at which I was staying, the the last one before the destination of Mafeking, the bus was already full to the sidewalls.  This was where the young man with the big stick came in.  He would walk on the tops of the bus seats all the way to the back (couldn't use the aisles) and working his way forward, would prod and push people from the aisles into the spaces between the seats and the aisles.  Then he would use the stick and turn everybody the same direction, so that, miraculously there was room for another entire village.  Water being a sought-after commodity, hauled long distances in buckets carried on the tops of the heads, baths were valuable and rare.  The air was ripe with the smells of babies, chickens, cow patty smoke and body odor.  A multi-sensory experience never to be forgotten.  I wondered how the babies snuggled between blanket and body survived the ordeal.

After this, I preferred hitchhiking to the paid transit.  The buses weren't so bad in the lowlands, but  the mountains were served by VW minivans, packed with people hurtling at high speeds on dangerously narrow single lane winding dirt roads.  Terrifying!  Mini-vans would go hurtling off curves, launched into the air, to crash ignominiously in ravines with the life crushed within  its metallic confines.  Alternately, they would crash head-on into vehicles traveling the opposite direction.  Give me the uncertainty of travel at slower speeds with the adventure of never knowing what kind of vehicle would transport you to your destination.   

In this way, I traveled in the bed of a monster size dump truck.  Consider the challenge of clambering up the sides and over the top of the dump bed...in a skirt.  Or the time, a friend of mine and I sat in the front cab of the Isuzu Pick-up while our suitcases and duffel bags got intimately acquainted with the sow being transported in the bed of the truck.  I don't think we EVER got the pig snorffel off the baggage.  

A winter vacation trek with a friend from Swaziland, to the Republic of South Africa, to Botswana and back revealed that Africa had not yet tired in giving us travel variety.   The piece de resistan'ce was the ride in the Lotus in the Republic of South Africa.  The thrill was slightly diminished as my travel mate and I were crammed into one seat surrounded by our two backpacks.

The strangest vehicular encounter was the traveling salesman driving from Swaziland to Johannesburg.  He was absolutely thrilled to be transporting two American girls.  He treated us to fresh Guava, and would not deliver us to our Hostel in Johannesburg until he had photographic proof of our existence as his passengers.  This proof was provided by a photo booth in the Johannesburg Train Station.  I often wondered if he carried this in his wallet, perhaps framed it and kept it on his office desk.  Or maybe it was ensconced on the refrigerator among a plethora of photographs of his children, blithely accepted and applauded by his wife.

 We hooked up with two Peace Corps volunteers in Gaberone, the capitol of Botswana.  They were picking up and transporting a new jeep deep into the Kalahari desert through the Animal Reserves and skirting the Okavango Swamp.  Traveling at  first daylight was a veritable cornucopia of hunting animals, hyenas, panthers, foxes; and prey, zebras, Springboks, twirly horned Greater Kudu, elephants and the scary Cape Buffalo.

We learned through experience on the train trip from Francistown to Gaberone, that two single white girls will have far fewer marriage proposals if they travelled First instead of Third Class.  We missed most of the fun of the night trip, sleeping in the fold-down beds.  But found evidence on the floor of the nighttime celebration in the chicken bones and beer cans scattered in among our shoes on the floor the next morning.  Breakfast was spent huddled at a guard station at a Bantu stand, drinking tea provided by the guards while we awaited our next ride back to South Africa.

Hitchhiking late into the cold winter night, we were relieved beyond measure to be offered a warm bed in a warmer home, despite the sleeping bags and tent which we carried.  Homesickness was either alleviated or triggered by watching the movie the Red Shoes on their television. We basked in the memory of home, swaddled on their couch in afghans, drinking hot tea with milk and sugar accompanied by Eet Sum More Shortbread Cookies (the best cookie/biscuit in the world, just the sweet, fattening basics).

Though I have never hitchhiked through the U.S., that mode of transportation afforded me adventures and stories aplenty in Southern Africa.  I got to ride in vehicles I would never have considered passenger vehicles, and luxury cars I could only dream about.  Though I am much more mundane, I still enjoy the adventure.  I am not shackled to the constraints of time, and thus can enjoy the variety of adventures that traveling on train can afford.  Or the discovery of what awaits on the road less traveled.

Peace in your travels.

Kismet
 

It is Time to Speak about Rape

It is time.  I have always meant to share this, because it needs to be talked about.  How it can happen.  What it feels like.  Because I Am a Woman received almost as many page views as the posting about Adam Lanza.  Though I think the Page View counting is probably imprecise, the postings about the incest in my family only received 3 viewings each.  Ironically, those were the two postings that were the most difficult for me to write.  It's uncomfortable, it's dirty, it hurts.  It exists.  It happened to me.  It happened to both my sisters.  It has been attempted or completed with one out of every 6 American Women.

Rape.  In light of the highly publicized, highly discussed and emotionally charged rape of a 16 y.o. in Steubenville, Ohio, I have decided to share my story.

It was 1979.  I was 20, a virgin and a Senior in College.  I was attending College in a Border town and my best friend was a teacher in the Rio Grande Valley and lived in El Paso, TX.  Her boyfriend lived in Juarez, and she and I and friends would often cross the border to go drink in the bars and dance in the clubs.  Because her boyfriend lived in Juarez, we were often across the border, off the beaten path, not only at night, but in the day.  Visiting, shopping, picnicking.  Her boyfriend was a big, sweet, gallant, handsome man.

It was spring.  We were all restless.  So close to Graduation.  Terminally shy, I avoided dancing in public, until my Senior Year in High School when my May Pole Escort talked me onto the dance floor during my Senior Prom.  I had always loved music, and as a child LOVED to dance, until I was laughed at by my friends in Second Grade.  I never danced in public after that.  But once I discovered what it felt like to move, set myself free, become other than myself and outside of my skin with the music, you couldn't keep me off the dance floor.

That warm, spring evening, there was myself, my roommate who was  a Psychology Major and Leader/Choreographer for the College Marching Band Dance Troupe, and another good friend who was an Education Major with me.  We all were escorted across the border to a Discotheque by my best friend, the teacher, and her handsome boyfriend.   We danced, with partners, with each other.  I don't think any of us were uninhibited enough to brave the dance floor by ourselves.  It was a different scene in 1979, at least in Texas.

Meeting us at the Disco were a couple of friends/acquaintances of my best friend's boyfriend, Jorge.  Arturo, a friend of Jorge's  and my roommate Selene, had met, danced and hooked up before.  In the area of men, my roommate was experienced and uninhibited.  Arturo had a friend, Javier (his real name was Jesus, pronounced hay-zoos, but I shall call him Javier, so people don't get caught up in the name)  Javier and I danced a couple of times, but he was too pushy, too fresh.  He touched me in places I didn't want to be touched, held too tight, kissed too hard.  After those two dances with Javier, I turned down his offers to dance.  I avoided him.  I made sure I went with friends to the bathroom.  I moved if he sat down beside me.  Because, he wouldn't listen when I told him to back off.  He couldn't just enjoy the dance.  He made me supremely uncomfortable.  Not that it should matter, but Javier was quite handsome.  But his manner was creepy.

We danced.  We drank.  We got tipsy.  The evening progressed.  Selene wanted to "hook up" with Arturo.  She wanted to go with him to his place, further into Juarez.  That was fine with me.  But for some reason, she wanted me to come along too.  I didn't want to.  What would I do?  I wanted to dance.  She begged, and begged and guilt-tripped me.  She assures me that everything will be fine, I will be safe.  Nothing is going to happen.  I am a good friend.  I reluctantly went.  Selene, Arturo and I got into a Taxi?  his car?  I can't remember.  I turn, Jesus is getting into the back seat with me.  Too late.  The door is shut.  The car is moving.  Selene and Arturo are oblivious.  They are necking.  I take deep breaths.  I scoot away from Javier.  My Heart is beating fast.

We arrive at our destination.  My head is spinning with scenarios, possibilities.  What now?  What's going to happen?  Unfortunately, I know EXACTLY what Arturo and Selena are going to do.  They disembark from the vehicle and quickly vanish into a bedroom.  No good-byes, no last-minute reassurances, no visual nods.  I am alone with Jesus in the barely lit Living Room.  My stomach has a hole the size of Texas in it.  I try to remain calm.  I will be okay, I reassure myself.  I am strong, I am intelligent, well-spoken.  I'm 20, almost a college graduate, I have fought off unwanted advances before....this very evening in fact, with this very person.

But somehow, we are in the bedroom.  I am forced to the bed.  I start talking.  I know how to use my words, my voice.  I try to physically resist him.  He pushes me down.  I try to push him away, pull out of his grasp, twist, turn.  He is too strong.  I talk more.  Faster, more graphically.  I call him bad hurtful names.   I tell him I don't want this.  My painter pants are forced down.  Though I am talking, I can't yell or scream.  I am utterly ashamed that I am in this situation.  I feel so stupid, so weak, so helpless.  Even though I have a leotard on, he forces himself inside me.  I'm fighting harder, I'm crying.  I'm telling him he is raping me....but I still can't raise my voice.   can't I speak, why can't I scream?  My roommate is only doors away.  Why can't she hear me?  I'm sobbing.  You can't knee somebody in the balls when they are fucking you.

He stops.  He clothes himself.  He's done.  I'm crying.  Lying on the bed.  I slowly get up.  Pull up my painter pants.  Maybe I'm crying, I don't know.  Maybe he leaves the room.  I don't know.  I am no longer a virgin.  I don't know what I am.  I leave the room. My eyes lowered.  I bump into my roommate.  She's happy, oblivious.  She kisses Arturo good-bye.  She gets into the taxi.  I slide onto the seat beside her.  I say nothing.  It is too late to say anything meaningful.  I am empty.  I am ashamed.  I am gone.

The taxi deposits us on the sidewalk.  My good friend is outside anxiously waiting for us with her boyfriend.  She knows immediately something is wrong.  She sends her boyfriend inside to get our other friend.  I stay outside on the sidewalk, my face turned to the wall.  I'm leaking tears.  I must have told my good friend.  I don't know the words I use.  But she knows...that I have been raped.  We go back into our country.  I think, but cannot tell you with any certainty, that I told my roommate sometime later.  I was angry, felt betrayed into that situation.  I had avoided a dangerous person.  But in the end, friendship had betrayed me

I was ashamed.  How had this happened?  I'm not stupid.  I really thought I could talk myself out of anything.  But I couldn't yell.  I couldn't fight him and I couldn't save myself.  Why couldn't I use my voice? 

I remember when I was in High School.  We were talking about rape.  Would we tell? I remember thinking that I wouldn't tell, because then EVERYONE would know that I was no longer a virgin.  That  I had had sex.  I didn't think at all about the rapist.  I thought only of the shame of the victim....who was me.

Why was it so important that I remain a virgin, sex-free, that I couldn't let someone who knew me, know what was happening?  Why are we taught that it is the burden of the woman?  I absolutely blame religion.  I went to church with friends during those tumultuous college years when I was dating, and saying no and kissing, and saying no.  But, for even kissing, we were shamed and chastised.  How much more sinful is the sex act?  How much more of a burden?  I never liked those churches that made me feel unclean, dirty, sinful.  They were not my churches, not my God.  My God was a forgiving God of love, of light, who could hold me tight, make me strong, save me.  Why then, did somebody else's God get into my head and whisper of shame and sin.  Be quiet.  Don't let them know.

I never even thought about pressing charges.  We were in Mexico for God's sake.  Get out. Go home.  Forget.

But you never forget.  You are ashamed.  Ashamed of the rape, ashamed of the shame, ashamed of your silence.

But I can speak now.  I can say.  WE ALL MUST SPEAK.  WE ALL MUST TELL OUR STORIES!  PUT THE SHAME WHERE IT BELONGS.  PUT IT ON THE PEOPLE WHO MAKE SEX MORE UGLY THAN IT SHOULD BE.  WHO MAKE VIRGINITY SOMETHING THAT IS HELD ONLY BY THE FEMALES.  SO THAT LOSING THEIR VIRGINITY IS SO SHAMEFUL THAT YOU ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE RAPED.
  
Shame on us as a culture.  Shame on the parents who raise their boys that sex is their right.  Shame on the pastors who make something that is a gift from God into something ugly and shameful and feeds right into the Rape Culture.

Speak Now!  Please share this.  With your daughters, sisters, brothers, sons.  Speak for them, to them.  Tell them to trust their instincts.  They should never assume that their friends have their back, especially when alcohol is involved.  So they will either never have to speak, or when it is time; that they can raise their voice to High Heaven and say, "NO! GET OFF OF ME!  HELP!"   I have said my piece.  It is time for crying.

Kismet

No More Steubenvilles: How to Raise Boys to Be Kind Men


The Day I Taught How Not to Rape

Smackdown from the Principal

Hello Germany!!  17 Page views today, 25 yesterday  JUST from GERMANY!!  Holy Mackerel and greetings!!

Today I'm back in school, in the Kindergarten Hallway.  The crocuses and I woke up to an unexpected (by me) light blanket of snow, with flurries of melting snow all day long.  On the way into school at lunch time, I noticed a small cluster of adults at the entrance to the gym, where the kids were playing inside. An aide is standing by the wall, her face flushed, shiny from dried tears.  Faces are turned toward her with concern.  She is talking to the big black guy, who I had previously seen working with Mauricio when Mauricio ran from the room in tears after being called "stupid".  I later learned this nice man is Mr. L. Mr. L works with the  Therapist who is contracted from the Mental Health Center.  He implements the behavioral programs which the Therapist designs.  I hear just snatches of the conversation as I walk by, "screamed", "crying", "he's in the classroom now".  Mr. L. walks into Mrs. D's Kindergarten room as I walk into the Office to sign in.

The office is full of students when I walk in.  One waiting to go home, two eating lunch in the office (punishment?).  There is a folded up army cot with blankets and a pillow stashed by the filing cabinets.  The Secretary, W, is a traffic cop, a nurse, a screener of all calls for the principal, a mother and a disciplinarian.  She is also the only one available for volunteers, like me, to get assistance from.  I vaguely look around for a number dispenser like at Target.  After she points out the clock so I can sign in the time (of course it was DIRECTLY behind me, must have lost my Mommy eyes in the Back of my Head), I trundle myself to the classroom.

The kids are already in the classroom because they played inside today.  Mrs. D is wrangling them without a rope.  She greets me with a smile and directs me to the pile of Brown Bear, Brown Bear Booklets.  I ask if she wants me to come get the students, or to send them in.  She responds non-committally.  I resolve to be as unnoticeable and as self-sufficient as possible today.

I move through the kids more quickly today.  They're training me better.  I fire off short bursts of instructions.  "Pick a chair."  "Find the last page you worked on."  just before they get to each task.  All of the kids are responding to the cues to "hold with your helping hand", "start at the top".  I am instructing them on this now before they even pick up the pencil.  This works much better.  I am even able to slow some of them down and demonstrate correct letter formation.  I discover that NONE of them fit the chairs.  They ALL have to scoot to the very edges of the chairs for their feet to reach the floor.  Most of them can read the words.  Today I have Jason, whom we previously met being punished by sitting in his chair, for not being able to sit in his chair.   He stays in his chair, though he does wiggle a lot.  Jason has big ears, turning his head to catch every voice that comes out into the hall, to watch every person. I don't need big ears to hear Mauricio screaming and crying again.  I don't know how either he or Mrs. D survives. When cued to write smaller so "the words will all fit on the page", he write so microscopically, Mrs. D will need a magnifying glass to read the word.  I cross my eyes when I look at the word.  "Write the next one bigger", I say.  "You're making my eyes cross!"  He giggles.  "It's easy to cross your eyes", he boasts.  "All you have to do is look at your nose!"  I murmur admiringly, and we finish the writing.  He is a very meticulous and exacting colorer, carefully outlining the whole figure of the duck before filling it in.  I compliment him.  "My Mom told me to color good," he says proudly.  "Well, you're doing a very good job of listening to your Mom."  I reassure him.  

The last little girl, Madison, is as adorable as all the rest.  Her bright blond hair stands out from all the dark heads in the class.  She also stands out, because she, literally, stands out.  Madison does not even try to stay in her seat, and it instantly becomes clear that she does better if I don't ask her to.  She stands up, kneels, leans on the table, but she never once stops coloring or writing.  As long as she's working as hard as she can, far be it from me to ask her to sit in a chair that doesn't fit her.

So, today, I cruised through 4 more kids on their very own take-home books.  I might actually have made some improvement on their handwriting skills today, but I doubt that they'll be maintained, unless Mrs. D uses the same verbal cues, which I will give her in the e-mail when I get home.  I quietly clean up, while Mrs. D reads to the class.  Mauricio is sitting on the floor in the corner by the door, body facing the corner, head slightly cocked so he can peek at the story without getting caught.  My heart lurches as I spy him.

On the way out, I resolve to introduce myself to Mr. L, where I find out his position.  I peek into the office around the door.  A 5th grade sized kid is at the table with his head down.  Mr. L. is typing on the computer and looks up, nodding his head for me to come in.   I introduce myself, my background, and try to give a short, quick sketch of how I used activity and multi-sensory structure to influence behavior.  I ask him if he would like to hear what I have to offer.  He notes that they DO have a lot of behavioral issues at this school. (Color me surprised!)  He immediately declines the offer, as he notes that the therapist draws up all the behavioral plans.  He instructs me to phone the therapist, Mrs. S.  He gives me her direct phone number.

I sign out in the office and ask the Secretary, W, for a school calendar.  "I didn't give you one?"  she asks absently.  I shake my head no, wondering when during her traffic directing this would have happened.  I ask her when would be a good time to introduce myself to the Principal.  Her eyes grow wide, "You haven't met him yet?"  Another negative head shake from me.  I think absently about the fingerprints I think I was supposed to give to the School District Office.  She pops her head into his office, which looks more to me like a conference room.  I am instructed to sit a minute, and he'll be available.

Mr. T is the principal.  Big, white guy with a friendly face like Mr. L.  Both are potentially very intimidating in size.  I had seen him roaming the halls.  In his Friday dress-down short sleeved T-shirt, I had wrongly categorized him as the PE teacher.  My bad.  Only takes a half second for me to switch gears while W introduces me.  I ask Mr. T if we can go into his office so that we can talk a little more.  I give him my training and background.  His face is nice and open, until I mention that I may have intimidated Mrs. D. with too much information.  I note all the questions and suggestions that I had regarding behavior, but say that I'm coming every Friday to work with the kids.  I talk about movement, and learning, and behavior.  He says, "Oh, like Brain Gym."  I try not to roll my eyes.  So, I eagerly nod my head in the affirmative. Then he rolls it out...the "L" word.  "Well, you know, even with all your training, since your not an employee, and you don't have any vested interest in the kids, there's a LIABILITY issue with you giving suggestions...."  Pause.  I process this. "I understand that I can't work directly with or treat individual children," I say, "But, I wasn't giving suggestions regarding just one kid," Breathe, "I'm giving suggestions on how to structure the whole class, so they can stay on task, and so there aren't as many behavioral issues."  "Well," he puffs up, "Even so, we can't have parents coming in saying who's this volunteer, and why is she giving suggestions about my kid?"  We talk about withholding recesses.  He says," We don't withhold recess, they have to earn it."  I think my head is spinning, or at least my eyes.  "But,"  I take a deep breath, "there is a possibility that they won't have any or at least have decreased recess, right?"  He nods, "But they get the exercise they need other ways," he defends.  He pauses, thinks, and says, "Besides, we have people in the district who can come in and do this."  I take a deep breath.  I've WORKED in this school district.  For an OT to come into a classroom where they don't have a student they treat is UNHEARD OF, so I know he's not talking about OT's.  Anybody else, is just rolling out the same old Behavior Modification, Time out stuff dressed up to look like positive and negative consequences...heads on the tables, kids in the corner.  I'm trying not to explode...I think I failed, because I say, "Well, it's not working very well from what I've seen."  I take a deep breath.  He says, "We could stay here and discuss this all day."  From which I know, the discussion is over.  Oh, well, in for a penny, in for a pound.  I try to recover.  "I've written about movement and learning on my blog," I note.  "Would you be interested."  "Sure," He says, "Bring it by."  I note he doesn't say he'll read it. The phone rings.  He answers it and shuts the door to the hallway.  I know our time is up.  He hustles me out of the office saying, "I've been waiting all day just for this phone call."

I walk out.  It's snowing again.  I let the crisp air cool me off.  I need it.

Stay cool.  Enjoy Spring.

Kismet

Ah me

 

Celebrating Voices

TODAY WE CELEBRATE ONE MONTH AS A BLOG!

....  and I'm still not exactly sure what I'm doing!  (smile)

But I thought I'd share with you some of the statistics about the viewership of this blog, because, truly... IT STILL BLOWS ME AWAY THAT ANYBODY AT ALL READS THIS!  

I humbly thank you for the opportunity to use my voice, and for it to be "heard" through your eyes.  I thank you for the times you argued with me in your head, possibly even found me wrong.  This is GOOD!  The more we think, ponder, read, the greater is our opportunity for growth, for discovery, not only of ourselves, but our world.

Thank you for sharing this blog.

If I would ask one thing, it would be for you as reader to share your voice.  Tell me your thoughts, use the comment box...I hope it is now easier for you to comment.

Since February 21st, 2013, I have published 28 posts.

There have been 519 page views.

Locations that have viewed my blog, in descending order are:

U.S.
United Kingdom
Germany
South Korea
France
China
Spain
Poland
Sweden

MY VOICE IS TRAVELLING THE WORLD!!!   :)

The following posts appear to be the most popular.  

Posting Title                                                                      Date of Post               Page Views

On Frontline's "Raising Adam Lanza"                               Feb. 21, 2013                 30
Because I am Female                                                       Feb. 26, 2013                  29
About Me and Why I'm Writing                                          Feb. 22, 2013                  25
A Secret Sadness, A Change of Life                                March 12, 2013                24
Unconditional Love & the Things We Have to Earn          March 6, 2013                 14
How We Teach ALL Children Impacts the Entire Nation   March 7, 2013                 14
I Love Kindergarten Installment 2                                       March 2, 2013                13


Continue to read, think, discover, ARGUE, entertain different viewpoints.  Let air into your brain, think differently.  Run, jump, get those neurotransmitters going, lay down neural pathways!!!


BE!!!!

With Respect and Love,

Kismet

Raising Strong, Confident Children

I have worked many jobs in my life.  By far the hardest, most challenging and most fulfilling has been the job of raising children.  Even as a child, I had a fascination with children younger than me.  I loved their imaginations, their joy, and their altered, sometimes wacky view of life.  This fascination fueled both my career choice, and the decision, that when I was ready, I would have children and raise a family.  I think it was a foregone conclusion, that whoever I chose as a lifemate, would also want children and hopefully be a good father.  This was entirely because out of all the potential attributes that a man could demonstrate, that got me all hot and bothered, first and foremost, was how he was around children.  HUGE turn-on...very important.
 
All parents want to raise children that are self-confident, intelligent, independent, joyful, have friends, are respectful and respected.  We want these children to have satisfying hobbies and a healthy world view.  We would like them to be curious and inquiring.  As they stand on the edge of adulthood, we would like them to be aware of their strengths and weaknesses and how to compensate for those weaknesses.  When they graduate from High School if they don't have a career choice, it's okay, but we would like them to have a variety of interests that they would like to explore in hopes of a future career.  We would like them to have healthy friendships and relationships and be able to look forward to being loved by and raising their own family if they so choose in the future.  Most of all, you as a parent, want them be confident of your love for them, and feel confident in themselves as their own person.

I think there are a number of things that are very important to remember when setting about raising strong, confident and respectful children.  First, being human, my husband and I even in the guises of Parents and Role Models are imperfect...yup, human.  We can and DO make mistakes.  I think it is very important that your child see you making mistakes, admitting to your errors and apologizing for them.  This is probably the most important thing to model for your child.  Otherwise, your child will have unrealistic expectations for others, but most importantly, for themselves.  If your child grows up with the mistaken assumption that you, as their parent, are perfect, they will strive to reach for a goal that is unattainable.  In other words, from the get-go, they will be destined for failure.  This will destroy their self-esteem, lead to anxiety behaviors and depression.

The next premise  that is very important when raising children, is that you respect your child as his own person with his own "free will".  Just as our maker allows us to make our own choices about how we will live, make our own mistakes and to learn from these mistakes, so is it important that we allow our children this freedom.  Again, figuring very prominently in this learning strategy is the opportunity to model making mistakes and learning from those mistakes.  This is not the only thing that we model as parents.  Believe me, your child will watch you like a hawk, and emulate you in ALL things.  Nowhere else in life will it be so important to show the children, that though the things you tell them are important, you actually follow through physically on the things that you tell them to do.  In fact they, will be much more inclined to do what you do, rather than what you say, especially when those two things are not compatible.  As a parent, your days of anonymity are over.  Your child will watch and observe your behavior in all arenas, and be taking notes, to boot.  They will watch how you treat your spouse, how you treat their siblings.  They will watch how you interact with other adults in all their capacities, whether they are the Post Man, the waitress, the Pastor, their Teachers, your relatives, your children's friends.  The way you treat others in all their myriad positions will shape them in the respect they give others and their occupations.  Humility or superiority will be modeled in this way.  These interactions will also influence how they see themselves in their "world view", and how they impact others in the world.  The best guideline to adopt when you interact with others in view of your children, is to treat these people, how you would want your child/children to be treated.  The reverse of that coin is to insist/allow others to treat you how you should be treated, with respect.

Although I touched on this in the preceding paragraph, I think the single most important thing that you model is how you treat your spouse.  Whether your child is male or female, how you treat your spouse impacts not only how they treat each of you as their mother or father, how they treat their future lovers/spouses, but most importantly how they allow themselves to be treated by their significant others.  I cannot stress this next statement enough: do not allow your spouse to abuse you verbally, physically, or emotionally.  Whatever you allow to become the norm for treatment of you, will become their norm, not only for you but for themselves.  The best way to raise strong, confident children, is for you, yourself to be strong and confident, and not allow yourself to be bullied in any way.  Demonstrate how to defend yourself, verbally and physically.  In households where the spouse is abused, the children are usually themselves abused.  Seek counseling immediately.  If this is not effective, do whatever you need to do to get yourself and your child/children to a place of safety.  It is also very important that you not allow your spouse to abuse your children.  They have no one to protect them from your spouse except you.  Don't allow shaming, inappropriate discipline, verbal, emotional or physical abuse.  And most importantly, if you are EVER uncomfortable with the way your spouse interacts with your child/children through inappropriate physical play or sexual innuendo, be vigilant and get your child out of there.  It is a horrible thing to suspect of your spouse or watch for.  But this is an imperfect world and it happens.   Hopefully, not to you children, but you MUST be aware.

Again, your life will become a litany of what you model.  Pride in your job.  Eating healthy.  Engaging in healthy physical activities. Healthy interactions with mood-altering substances.  Spirituality. Responsible citizenship.  Environmental awareness and stewardship.  Housekeeping skills.  Healthy Friendships.  Healthy Familial Interactions.  Opinions about politics and the state of the nation and world.  

As human beings, we have very different opinions about the world, and our place in it.  We were all raised differently, and successful marriages rely heavily on our child-rearing practices being compatible.  But I have found the following strategies to be important and true.  

1. The more you travel, domestically or abroad, and the greater variety of lifestyles the children are exposed to, the more open-minded your child will be.  The more the children are exposed to different cultures the more educated they will be and the more reality-based will be their world view.  They will also be more likely to tolerate opposing opinions and engage in respectful, intelligent discussion.
2. The more they interact with the outdoors, the more respectful will be their interactions with the environment, and that will in turn make them better stewards of the environment.
3. If your household recycles, they will be more likely to carry out this habit, and to develop a mindset that conserves and protects resources.
4. Starting at an early age, the more choices you allow a child to safely make, the better able they will be able to handle their independence when they broach adolescence, and then when they leave the household.  This can start with choosing what to wear, what to eat, what to listen to, where to eat, what to do for recreation. You don't have to give up ALL your control.  You provide the variety to be chosen from, and your child makes the final decision.  Everybody's need for control is fulfilled.
5. Never shame your child.  This does nothing to teach the child how to make right decisions and breeds poor self-esteem, and resentment towards you.
6. Avoid power struggles.  As the child gets older and bigger, the possibility that you will win decreases.  If you do use physical intimidation to subdue the child, it will rob him of  self-esteem, and decrease his ability to problem solve and come up with solutions that are satisfactory to everyone.
7. Allow your child/children to see you and your spouse disagree and compromise.  No relationship is conflict free.  Allowing your children to see conflicts resolved, gives them realistic expectations for functional relationships and gives them better chances at successful relationships throughout childhood and into adulthood.
8. The more a father engages in friendly, joyful, physical play with their children, the deeper will be the parent/child relationship.  This also gives a better foundation from which the child can jump into the quagmire of dependence/independence once adolescence hits.
9. Resist the temptation to be dictatorial in dealing with your children and adolescents.  Dictating without flexibility will foment resentment.  Allow your child to give input into decisions, especially when they directly impact the activities and well-being of your child.  This leads to better decision-making as an adult, and increases the chances that your child will follow rules that fulfill your expectations.
10.  Do not expect your child to be you.  He has his own abilities, fears, strengths, weaknesses.  If you had hopes and dreams that were not fulfilled, his life is not another chance for you to realize your dreams.  You've had your chance at life.  Give your child his chance.
11. Involve your whole family in a spiritual practice.  Discuss the different ways in which people worship.  When it comes time for your child to pick his own spiritual way, allow this.  Our souls all have their own paths to enlightenment and self-fulfillment.
12. Allow your child to pick his own friends.  If you find that you're not particularly thrilled about their choices in friends, NEVER speak negatively about this friend, or your child will just hold on to this friend more strongly.  Involve this friend in whole family activities, drive them to their engagements, allow your child to discover his own way in how he wants to interact with the world and be treated by friends.  Again, this is where modeling your own interactions and friendships will be most influential.
13. Allow your children to make their own mistakes and learn from them.
14. Remember that the word discipline comes from disciple which means student.  The original definition of discipline means to teach.  Use mistakes and poor decisions as teaching opportunities.  Don't shame and don't get caught up in the trap of punishing each wrong.  This will destroy your parent/child relationship, breed resentment, and will not provide a learning opportunity.  Elaborate punishment/reward systems become confusing, and often end up punishing the enforcers as much as the child.
15. Be frank when discussing sex.  Making crude sexual jokes and references around your son or daughter will teach them that it is acceptable to demean people sexually, and will give your daughter or son the idea that it is acceptable for their girl/boyfriends to make such crude remarks in front of them, and to treat them the way that is embodied in the joke.  I think it is important that adolescents have an awareness of sex, and sexual protections, but how they interact with others sexually will be dictated by how you talk about sex and the other sex.  Be frank about protection and birth control.  Stress with your son OR your daughter that it is THEIR responsibility to handle protection and birth control, no matter their gender.  If they leave that responsibility up to someone else, there is no guarantee to the outcome.The gravity and enormity of the possible outcomes from these choices is too huge to leave up to chance.  If you do not bring up subjects with your children which are uncomfortable, but with which they will be confronted sooner or later, you give up all rights to input, and any control over the information they receive.
16. Families in which alcohol is imbibed openly and in moderation and handled responsibly have a more positive possible handling of drinking.  The allure and glamour of getting drunk is removed if your children see you interacting with alcohol moderately and with maturity.  They will be less likely to engage in binge drinking.  At the age at which partying is expected, make it very clear that their safety and lives are of the utmost importance to you, and that they will not be punished or shamed if they drink and call you for a ride home.  The temptation to punish will be overwhelming, but only by not punishing and giving them a safe way home, can you truly avoid drunk driving and them risking their lives or their driving records.  Everything is relative, and when it comes down to it, you would rather have them alive and drunk, then having avoided punishment and risking life and limb.
17. Don't discipline when angry.  Don't discuss the situation if you can't do it without yelling.  Figure out the lesson or desired outcome of this situation.  Allow a cool-off time and discuss the infraction/situation at that time.
18. Be realistic in setting curfews.  Be aware of your own town's curfew and set accordingly.  We were fairly flexible about curfews, we just insisted that they call us if they realized that they wouldn't be home when they said they would be and called us when they departed for home.
19. Be respectful of your child's room and possessions.  They need to know that what's theirs is theirs and won't be taken away from them as punishment.  It is more effective to limit an activity, or just to discuss better ways of handling poor choices.  Never force your child to share his possessions.  The more in control of his life and his possessions your child feels, the less he will fight against your guidance.
20. Each family member should have roles in keeping the household clean and functioning.  When the child is young, assist the child in cleaning his room.  Don't do it FOR him, but neither should you issue an edict that he keep it clean by himself.  Keeping a bedroom clean is made up of multiple tasks, and too overwhelming to learn without assistance, all at once.  It is age-appropriate, once the child has reached middle school for him to be responsible for its cleanliness, as well as for his laundry.  Let him make the choice of how clean or dirty he wants it.  Though this is hard, unless there are clear hygiene issues, don't make demands that your child clean his room.  How else will he prepare himself for life in college or on his own.  Again, you need to treat your child's room as a sovereign nation.
21. As a spouse, don't make yourself responsible for cleaning up after your spouse, or your children once they reach adolescence.  I would ask my kids twice to take care of their possessions, after that, it went in their room or away, depending on what it was.  They didn't like the outcome either way, but it is your right to have your home the way you want it.

  I think the most important thing in raising your child is never to limit the possibilities.  It is only if YOU believe anything is possible that YOUR CHILD will believe that anything is possible in his life.  Teach your child to ALWAYS try.  It's okay, and sometimes almost certain to fail.  But if you don't try, failure is certain.  If they want something, discuss how they could reach their goal.  Who do they need to talk to.  Who can mentor?  What are the obstacles?  How can they be overcome?

ALWAYS be your child's best advocate and biggest cheerleader.  If you sense unfairness in how your child is being treated by others; whether it's other children, teachers, relatives, discuss the situation  with your child.  Give them the option of handling it with/without your support, or letting you handle it.  You always want your child to come from a place of support and safety.

And the hardest thing.  One in four adult women and one in ten adult men have  experienced sexual abuse as a child.  Children are more likely to be abused by an adult they and their parents know rather than strangers.  We need to be aware of this, and teach our children at a young age that NO MATTER HOW WELL THEY  OR WE KNOW THAT PERSON, OR HOW MUCH THEY AND WE TRUST THAT PERSON, IF OUR CHILD DOESN'T FEEL COMFORTABLE WITH THE ACTION OR THE TOUCH, TO LEAVE AND SEEK US OUT.   

 There's probably a myriad of topics I have not brushed on when it comes to parenting.  Remember that these children are the most precious souls you'll ever know.  Remember that you love them no matter the situation they're in.  Treat them as beings that deserve respect and acknowledgement.  If you discipline to teach and not to punish, I think you'll find that all paths are made easier.  When they reach adulthood, you'll find that you have a beautiful, independent, confident son or daughter who has treasured and loyal friends and treats others with the love and respect that they deserve.    

Peace,

Kismet

Press this Link for Additional Info on Raising Strong Children

No More Steubenvilles; How to Raise Boys to Be Kind Men

How to Be an Angel; Random Acts of Wonder You Can Do For a Friend in Need

If you've been reading my postings the last couple of days, you have probably been coming to an understanding of how much ENERGY EVERYTHING takes.  This is the most true when it comes to socializing.  When I am locked in survival mode, I don't even think about calling or visiting with someone.  Thoughts/conversations don't flow.   I'm just trying to put one foot in front of the other, to find the energy to just SURVIVE.  This does not mean that I wouldn't mind contact with the outside world.

I know that if you have a full-time job, are married and/or have kids, you are probably stretched to the limit in your own survival struggle.  I hope that you find helpful, these suggestions of things that you can do for any friend who has a chronic and/or debilitating illness, the housebound or the elderly.

First.  Know your friend.  Planning ahead rarely works for me, because until I get through the night, I do not know how I am going to be doing the next day.  If your friend has been struggling for a while, he/she probably realizes this, and has gained a little flexibility about pop-in visits.  My suggestion would be to show up at the door, and call them to see if this is a good time.  Stress to your friend that you don't care what she or her house, or her kids smell(s) or look(s) like.  This may be a little challenging for your friend to get over, but the more debilitated he/she is, the more easily she will be willing to accept your help and love.
  

• Include your friends needs in your errands, i.e.
• I'm picking up some Taco Johns, you want any.
• Going to the Bank
• Going to the Pharmacy
• Need anything from the grocery store.
• Have anything that needs to go back to the library?
• Mailing packages, need stamps, packages mailed?
• Dry cleaning?

The above suggestions are not meant to be offered in a complete package, but just as you are fulfilling your needs, she may have the same needs.

Most people do not respond to the generic "Call me/let me know if you need anything."  It's too big, too generic. If things are really rough, they need EVERYTHING, but can't think of anything.  I suggest pointed, targeted suggestions by you:

• Arrive, and say I'm doing your laundry.  Bring a movie and nail polish.
• I'm vacuuming/mopping/sweeping.
• Cleaning your bathroom.
• Changing your kitty litter.
• If they are a thwarted gardener, bring your kids over to play (if applicable) or to weed.  Depending on your friend's energy, they can lounge on the patio equipment/yoga mat/pillows while you and your children weed, and you visit.
• When you are cooking your meals, do a double batch to take over to your friend.  Be aware of allergies/dietary needs.
• Make random checks, ask if they have eaten today, be prepared to follow through on feeding them.
• Depending on their energy capacity, invite them and their family/spouse over.   If you know that this will be too much, invite yourself and fam over with pizza and a movie or games.
• I gained up to 60 lbs. when I stopped working and stopped being able to exercise.  Hated looking at myself, stopped buying clothes.  Pop over and do an Internet Shopping Spree.  Soft Surroundings Outlet has forgiving bling/bling tunics and comfy tops that flatter the mature shape.  These are probably most flattering for people with height, but I'm sure with some creative investigative googling, you can find some good, flattering, affordable clothing sources.
• Offer to wash her hair in the sink.
• Pamper, with facial, brush her hair (feels wonderfully relaxing), nail polish.
• Chick flick and popcorn night/day.
• Random commando phone calls of love and caring.
• Invite to lunch/happy hour as their energy level dictates.
• Send random texts.
• When you pick up greeting cards, pick up extras, stamp and drop off.

And the most valuable of all, just come and sit and hold their hand, and listen.  Invite them to share their sorrow or just bitch at the world/howl at the moon.  They are greeted with the lightly tossed off "How are you?" whenever they venture out.  Believe me, this is a LOADED QUESTION and most people with chronic illness can't even begin to answer the truth.  If they did, they would be a puddle of tears in front of gape-mouthed astonished people, who only meant to exchange pleasantries.  The best friend is one who is comfortable with silences, can sit and hold their hand, let them cry, doesn't feel like you need to "fix" them and just listens and lets their friend just "be".

If you bump into your friend out and about doing errands, and she/he looks great, don't assume that she no longer needs help.  You don't know how long it took her to get out the door, how long since the last time she did errands.  And there will be an energy barter/recovery for this jaunt.  It's all about endurance and recovery.  I can do ANYTHING once, it's the over and over stuff (like bathing, cooking, etc.) that I can't do.

Gifts

• If your friend is a reader, new & used paperbacks, e-book gift certificates, book store gift cards
• If your friend has children, be careful that what you give the children doesn't require too much tending by the adults in the house.  My son was given a National Geographic Terrarium with two tadpoles when he was 7.  Guess who got to take care of them.  The first tadpole died at 3 months (may not have helped that the cats knocked the terrarium off of the shelf at least 3 times.  It took a little over a year for the tadpole to turn into a frog...his tale was almost gone, when he flew away to heaven...I just bawled....then the same relative gave my son a terrarium...you guessed it, nothing grew....sigh
• I love plants, but my cats eat them.  Ask your friend before giving plants, if she/he can care for them.  If your friend is going thru chemotherapy, no plants.
• If your friend tolerates it, a massage gift certificate can be a gift sent from heaven.
• If your friend likes to listen to music, CD's given or loaned, or I-Pod Gift Certificates.

With the elderly, there is a generational pride in doing for one's self, and the necessity to maintain a proper facade, especially as it pertains to housekeeping.  I think with care and gentleness, you can work your way into helping your friend when/where she/he needs it most.

Do not burden yourself with guilt in trying to complete all these suggestions.  If you can even embrace one of these suggestions every 6 months, you will have brought your friend back into the human race one more time than without you.

Thank you for your metaphorical ears.

Peace,

Kismet