My mother has been gone for almost four years now, but on occasion she still finds ways to haunt me.  Last night it was through my dreams.  It was one of those dreams where you wake up feeling the anger and sadness as though it was actually happening.  And unfortunately, it led to some lovely (sarcastic) flashbacks which just intensified the feelings. I have told very few people this story, but I believe it was a pivotal event in my life, a time when my life could have gone in a completely different direction.

I have to tell this from my point of view because I really never understood exactly where she was coming from or what would set her off.  So she may have thought she had very valid reasons for what she did that night, I don’t know.  Something else may have happened that evening that wasn’t even related to me and I was just available to take it out on.  It happened very late one night when I came in a little late from a date.  I was 19 years old and in college but still living at home because I wasn’t allowed to move out.   There were other dates where I had arrived home much later and there was no reaction,  so I had no way to prepare for what was to come.

I walked through the front door into the living room and it was like she was from the couch to the door in an instant.  I don’t know if she heard me coming and was waiting or if she just moved that fast, but the next thing I know is that she’s beating me on the head with her fists.  Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever been hit in the head before, but each hit vibrates through the bones in your face and through your teeth.  It’s percussive and all you can hear is this deep pounding in your ears and you feel like your face is going to fall apart.   I’m really not sure how long she did it, but the longer she did, the angrier I became.  And the anger became a rage that I had never exhibited in front of her.  She could obviously see it on my face and in my body language because she took one step back, looked me in the eye and said “Go ahead.  Hit me.”

It was a dare and she said it with a sneer on her face.  And I wanted to.  I can’t tell you how much I wanted to.  In that split second I could picture myself shoving her against the wall like she had done to me and just hitting her until the sneer disappeared.  But I couldn’t.  I don’t know if it was fear, conditioning brought on from a lifetime of this or if something or Someone stopped me.  I wanted to kill her.  I wanted her to go away and leave me alone.  Looking back on it, I know my dad was asleep in the very next room from where this was happening.  Where was he?  Why didn’t he come out and stop this?  I’ll never know that either.  I left the room, going down the hall to my room and used pillows as punching bags until the rage left and the tears began.

I’ve often wondered about that night.  What if I had hit her?.  Would she have hit me back?  Would it have been the excuse she needed to really unleash on me?  Would I have hurt her enough to stop her from hurting me again?  Could it have stopped the mental and emotional abuse that continued for the next thirty years?  I don’t know.  I do know that I carried that rage with me, inside of me, for many, many years.  Self destructive rage that would raise its ugly head in reaction sometimes to the most ridiculous things.  Always a “controlled” rage, however.  I tore up paper, threw things that wouldn’t break, punched pillows until I would cry again, then stuff it down until the next crazy thing would set it off.

When you are hurt, physically, mentally, and emotionally by the person who is supposed to love you most, it messes you up.  You end up not trusting anyone.  I guess she loved me in her own way, maybe the only way she knew how.  The things she told me about being raised by her mother made it sound like she toned things down for me.  Is that a reason to forgive?  Maybe, but never forget.  Especially when she keeps appearing in your dreams.

The last five years of her life, I made no contact and it was the healthiest thing I had ever done.  People who have never been through this kind of thing have a hard time understanding it, but I have friends who know exactly what I’m talking about.  When she requested to see us before she died, I did it out of respect for the fact that she was my Mother.  Not mom or mommy, but Mother.  There was some hope of forgiveness and reconciliation on my part.  Silly me.  On the last night we were there, with crazy eyes and that same ugly sneer I remembered from so long ago, she lit into me like when I was a kid.  You could tell she didn’t like that she wasn’t getting a reaction, so she ramped it up a bit.  Told me that my dad loved his granddaughters more than he ever loved me and that I was a disappointment.  I knew then that the hope was gone.  She still wanted to hurt me, for whatever reason. I told her goodbye, told her I loved her and called the nurse in to take care of her pain meds.  And that was it.

Until the very end of her life, I managed not to ever tell her what I really thought, never really stood up for myself.  And you know, in a way, I’m glad because I can now live guilt free.  I tried my best.  And I never hit her.

 

The days melt one into another, the alarm goes off at the same time every morning and the head hits the pillow about the same time every night.  The classes are in the same order every day, interrupted only by those times when there’s planning instead of a class.  I leave the apartment every day with purse across the body, the same backpack slung over my right shoulder carrying my laptop and the day planner I’ve used for over 20 years, and the purple lunch bag with my cold pack and diet coke.

While I do have occasional adventures, the truth is that day in and day out looks pretty much the same.  Granted, sometimes the kids do or say something funny, like my Kindergartner looking for her lost “glub” today or the 1st grader who insists on eating his blueberries at lunch straight out of little cup so that he has stains in a circle from his nose to his chin.  It goes with the territory.  It’s the same for a lot of us though, isn’t it?  We get home, throw some laundry in the wash, defrost something for dinner, sit at a tray in front of the TV on the couch and eat.  Those necessary things we all have to do.  When your life is such a predictable routine, where do you find the material to write about?

Maybe the problem is that writing has become part of the routine.  I still look forward to it but my ideas for topics aren’t very earth shattering.  How could they be when I do the same thing over and over.  There’s something inside of me that wants to really change things up but knowing just how to do this is tough.  And scary.  I’ve talked about this before – but when and HOW do I stop talking about it and start doing something so that I can write about it?  It always sounds much easier than it is, at least for me.

So, in the middle of writing this, my better half walks in, says he’s throwing on a hoodie and we’re going out for a goodie.  I throw on a coat and we grab the keys and walk down the hall to the elevator, the usual routine interrupted by a mini-date.  As we walk from the elevator in the parking garage to the car, we fall into our usual routine of walking in tempo, on the same foot, going to our appointed places in the car.  Still routine within the improvisation.  He makes the same silly jokes that I still laugh at, even through I have either heard them or a variation thereof for close to 40 years, and suddenly routine isn’t mediocrity, it’s comforting.  And the frustration I felt earlier begins to fade away and appreciation for those expected things takes its place.

This is not to say that I won’t always want more adventures.  I blame my military upbringing where we moved every 2 1/2 to 3 years and I continue to feel that restlessness.  The need for change, the need to see and learn something new.  And maybe I need to work on stepping out of the comfort zone again to create adventures rather than waiting for them to happen to me.  Maybe the well isn’t as dry as I sometimes think and maybe I need to step out to fill the well myself instead of waiting for it to rain.

 

 

There are many little buttons in my cute little yellow beetle, but the best button of all, besides the one that takes the top down, is the butt warmer….uh, I mean seat warmer.  Twenty years ago, I would never have thought this would be the most wonderful invention ever and that I would actually have a car with butt warmers, but I do. On those cold, below zero windchill Nebraska mornings, I pull out of the garage and my bottom is already feeling the love.  I feel completely spoiled and absolutely grateful.

It takes experiencing being without to be really grateful.  Before I bought the beetle I had a 13 year old Pontiac with the basics and definitely no seat warmers.  On cold days I hoped the heat kicked on before I got home from school.  The first time I turned on the seat warmers in the beetle I just smiled and I’ve been grateful for them each and every cold day since.

Doug and I have practice in being without.  For example, when we decided to get married, that’s about all we decided.  We pulled together enough money for rings and the wedding itself, and knew we were going to live in married housing which was a lovely efficiency with a pullout bed in a bright orange vinyl couch.  We didn’t think ahead to actually needing furniture when he graduated.  We made just enough money to eat, pay rent and put gas in the car.  I can remember taking five dollars to the grocery store and it was a game to see how much I could buy with that.  We were young and in love and we made it work.  Every time I go the grocery store today I am grateful that I can pretty much buy what I want because we’re in a much better position obviously.  It is a luxury I don’t take for granted because not so long ago we had to scrimp and count pennies to get what we needed.

Our first real apartment after Doug got his first job, had no furniture and well, we didn’t either.  For the first month we lived there our bed consisted of all of the blankets and quilts we owned on the floor with our pillows.  Our dining room table was an old coffee table given to us and we sat on the floor.  The most important piece was a wood plank and cement block shelving unit that housed Doug’s turntable and and our records.  Our new neighbor felt sorry for us and loaned us an air mattress and we thought we had died and gone to heaven.  Today, when I have to crawl up into our beautiful four poster canopy bed under the soft sheets I am grateful because I know what it feels like, even for a short time to be without it.

While I will never really understand what it is like to live in poverty, I do understand what is like to be the working poor.  Those times when you have to decide what you can pay for and what can wait, doing without so your kids can have what they need, taking the bus instead of driving, searching every pocket and seat cushion to see if you can find enough change to take the kids to get ice cream.  It makes me so very grateful for all of the little luxuries we have now, and I try to always take a few minutes each day to say thank you for those.

I’m not sharing this so someone can feel sorry for me, I’m actually grateful for those experiences.  Some of them were really hard and made us work together as a couple or family.  While sometimes I wish I had been a better planner (I blame it on being really young), these experiences taught me to be creative, resourceful and GRATEFUL for when things became easier later.  I’m not sure I would have felt the same if I had had those material things early on.

So now I begin every day being thankful for a warm bed, food for breakfast, a car to drive to school in, a job to drive to and warm clothes to wear.  I am grateful for silly little things like getting my hair colored or getting pedicures.  I am grateful for family and friends and I am so grateful for my butt warmers.  Because they remind me of how lucky I am.

 

 

I am a grammar freak.  I admit it freely, just like I admit that I’m a control freak.  But that was a few blogs ago.  Sure it’s nerdy, but I had a father who insisted that I use correct grammar, his reasoning being that an intelligent, educated person should be able to speak well.   I also had a high school teacher, Mrs. Voss, who got me excited about diagramming sentences.  I’m not kidding.  I loved breaking the English language apart and figuring out how words worked.  Since then, I’ve had a couple of great professors who taught me how to use the language in my writing and now I love to write.  So you can imagine my slight frustration when I see words that are used incorrectly (notice the “ly”, because it’s an adverb, people!), or are misspelled, articles that go unedited or sentences ending in a preposition.  Not that I don’t slip once in a while, but if you’re going to communicate, especially about something important, it should be done correctly so that you are understood the way you want to be understood.

Nowadays, I hear a lot of people on social media and elsewhere say that it doesn’t matter how you say or spell something as long as the other person understands the meaning.  Well, if that was true, then Bill Clinton wouldn’t have spent so much time on what the definition of “is” is.  Just sayin’.  People in the upper echelons of education, law and other professions spend a lot of time wordsmithing because they understand that if they want to write a position statement or interpret the law, you must understand how to use words effectively.  In some cases it could be the difference between life and death.

As a society, we tend to be pretty hypocritical about this as well.  It’s okay for me to not say or spell things correctly, but anyone in a leadership role is raked over the coals for misspelling something or writing something less than Shakespearean.  It’s okay for us to spout whatever comes into our heads but we and the media take apart every word of what someone else says and analyze every little nuance or lack thereof.  Either writing and speaking correctly is important for everyone or it isn’t.  To separate people based on use of language is – well – a bit bigoted.

Now, I’m not saying that when you’re with your BFF that you need to include all of your thees and thous in the conversation, because I’m sure it will be full of colloquialisms instead.  It should be when you’re in a comfortable, casual situation.  But if you’re going to write or speak about a current event or a political figure, something academic or technical, and be taken seriously, you need to be using the correct words, phrases, spelling, punctuation and editing.  It is the difference between being taken seriously or being dismissed.

But you say, you knew what I meant.  Do I?  Assuming I know what you meant, despite your lack of caring, is well – you know what they say about assuming.  Anything can be interpreted in a number of ways and with less and less face to face conversations, it is more important than ever to get things right in an email or text because at the very least it could be misinterpreted and it’s a permanent record of the things you say.  A permanent record that could come back to haunt you later if someone misinterprets something you’ve said without thinking it through.  Clarity comes through doing our best to use the correct words to get our meaning across and now it needs to convey our emotions as well.

And, despite what degree or degrees you may earn, when it comes time to get a job, your writing is going to be the first impression you give.  If you are going to represent a business or a school, your boss/supervisor wants to know that you won’t embarrass them.  How you present yourself through your speech and writing is important.  And you never know how your lack of attention to this may affect someone.

My youngest son, a highly intelligent young man, was also a very picky young man.  If he thought he knew more than you, he would dismiss you.  He’s calmed down a bit since then. In one of his English classes in high school, the teacher mispronounced the word “epitome”.  He immediately dismissed her because here she was, teaching the very language she was mispronouncing.  Too rough?  Maybe, but that is an example of what can happen when you communicate incorrectly and you may never know it.

When I began this blogging experiment, I knew there would be those days when I would just vent a bit about my pet peeves.  This is one of them.  I blame my dad.  But I’ve also found out through personal experience, that when I speak and/or write correctly, I am taken more seriously within my profession.  And to help my students, I will continue to drive them crazy, just like my dad to make sure they do the same to help them in whatever profession they choose.  Because it matters.

 

It’s tense in my house right now.  Kentucky is playing South Carolina in basketball.  My son has a band director clap just like his father, one clap when something bad happens and two when something good happens and I jump just about every time he does it.  Again, it’s highly entertaining.  But while the two men in my house are completely locked into this game, I find myself looking at the crowd and I notice a boy about 10 waving at the camera.  Then my next thought is, it’s 10:20 ET where this game is being played.  Doesn’t this kid have school tomorrow?

I see this all the time though.  Kids going to sporting and other events that end late and then so many of these kids end up having to go to before school daycare at a really early hour and then attend school for the next seven hours.  No wonder these kids can’t focus for an entire day.  But it’s not just family events. It seems coaches and dance teachers are scheduling games, practices and rehearsals until 8:00 or 9:00 in the evening.  Assuming it takes a while to get home, relax and get ready for bed, we’re talking less hours than any child should have to function in a healthy way.

The National Sleep Foundation says children aged 6-13 should get 9-11 hours of sleep per night.  So, let’s talk about this kid in the crowd.  The game should be finished about 11:00 p.m. their time, then they have to get home and into bed.  We’re probably talking about midnight.  Even if the kid doesn’t have to get up until 7:00 or 8:00 a.m. you can see where the sleep deprivation can happen.  I don’t know about you, but when I’m sleep deprived, I don’t think as well, I’m short-tempered and, if this pattern continues, I end up getting sick.  And we wonder why kids aren’t doing well in school.

The pressure to have our kids involved in every activity possible isn’t helping and the fact that parents are allowing coaches and instructors to set such late hours for kids isn’t helping either.  Whatever happened to just saying no to things that aren’t good for our kids?  They have enough to do with homework and needing free time to unwind.  Maybe one activity at a time would be better than something every night.  The every night thing usually turns into running through a drive-thru somewhere, so now we have sleep deprivation AND poor eating habits.  Wonderful things to teach children as they grow up and continue these habits as adults.

So, let’s call out the adults in these situations.  There is selfishness on the part of these adults who I’m sure think they have the best of intentions.  They want their kids to socialize, to be a part of organized sports, to have fun experiences outside of school, to spend time with them at special events.   Coaches and other instructors are competing for hours and spaces and they feel like they have no choice but to schedule things later and later. But when it becomes a daily or even an every other day occurrence, we’re now looking at what is not in the best interest of the child.

So, as I finish this blog and get ready to go to bed myself,  I know I’ll be going to bed sooner than some of my students.  And those students will come into my room in the morning with dark circles under their eyes and a lack of focus.  And as the afternoon comes along, I’ll have my younger students who will get angry and frustrated about things and little ones who will cry at the drop of a hat.  We don’t give them time to rest anymore during the school day.  The are thrown immediately into learning the minute they walk into school and it’s a hurry up schedule for the rest of the day.  It’s not healthy.

There is a lot of discussion today about a higher incidence of mental illness with younger and younger kids.  I wonder if it’s because we’re not providing the very basic of care for them, especially in terms of sleep.  Research says that sleep deprivation in children can cause depression, cause them to get hurt and sick more easily,  suffer academically and perform poorly athletically.  It’s a simple fix and can be reversed.  More sleep.  So, I’m going to get my 8 hours now so that I can function tomorrow.  Hopefully this will encourage parents and other important adults in my students’ lives to look at what they’re doing and work together to make things better for all of our kids.

 

 

“The eyes are the window to your soul” is a quote attributed to William Shakespeare.  And the bible.  And several others throughout history.  When was the last time you really looked into someone’s eyes?  What did you see?

My thoughts come from the oddest of places – Star Wars.  I went to see the latest installment for the second time, and while I enjoyed it as much as the first, I began to notice something.  Princess Leia’s eyes.  There were a couple of times,  within that aged face, that I saw the eyes of her youth.  Just as bright and energetic as they had been the first time I saw her in that role forty years ago.  There was also the calm wisdom of someone who had learned a lot from the hard knocks of life and who knew she didn’t have to prove herself.  I felt like I could see her through her eyes.  It was as though she talked to me through her eyes.

Eyes are definitely the giveaway to someone’s thoughts and feelings.  A great actor or actress can make you believe anything if they can bring the character they’re playing to their eyes. Someone can smile at you and say they’re fine, but if you look right into their eyes, you may see something different.  They can’t lie.  That’s why we look away when we don’t want people to know what we’re really feeling or thinking.  It’s why kids look down when they know they’re not telling the truth.  There are those who try to lie and will look straight at you while they’re doing it, but there’s something behind the eyes that will let you know something is up.  After all, these are the windows to our soul.  Good vs Evil.  Love vs Hate.  We can see these things if we just bother to look.  But are we even looking at people anymore?

Screens have taken over where we used to look at people.  Instead of looking at children to see what they need (often it’s attention), we hand them a screen.  When we need to escape and not talk to anyone, we look at a screen.  When we need to communicate, we do it through a device.  I know people who have offices right next to each other who communicate through email.  Sure, it’s nice to have the documentation there, but perhaps it should start with a face to face.  Virtual meetings where you just hear people talking miss the point of meeting.  While it may save time and money, are you really getting what people are thinking?  I always insisted on having face to face meetings because I needed to see people’s body language, faces and eyes.  It was always easier to get a clear vibe as to what they were really saying (or not saying) if I could just look at them.  And it made it easier if I could see their faces so I could tell if they wanted to say something but were either afraid or just couldn’t get past those who tended to take over the conversation.

But that’s the problem isn’t it?  It’s easier to do life if we don’t really have to see into  someone’s eyes or know what they’re thinking or feeling.  I admit that I’m just as guilty as anyone else here. If someone is grieving or going through a hard time, I can say all the right words on Facebook or Twitter but I don’t really have to get emotionally involved. It’s not that I don’t care, sometimes it’s just too overwhelming. Selfish, I know. Or, I can say whatever harsh things I want through a screen and I never have to see the eyes of the people I’m talking to or about.  Perhaps if I actually saw them, if I actually had to look them in the eye and see how the words affected them, it might make me think about what I’m saying or how I’m saying it.  When I don’t have to look someone in the eyes, I can just think about me.

I think that’s why teachers get so involved with their students.  We look into their eyes every day.  We see when they come in tired or sad or happy or angry.  Because we’re not seeing them through a screen, we become emotionally involved.  It’s one reason why teachers keep doing what they do because we can see in their eyes when we make a difference.  As a music teacher, I can see in their eyes when a piece of music touches them in some way.  I can see when it gets them excited or brings back a memory, sometimes good, sometimes not so good. All through their eyes.  And so many of these kids want to be seen. They want us to look at their eyes and read what they may not be able to say.  They don’t want to be a piece of data to be interpreted through a pie chart, they want to be looked at as a person with issues and feelings and stories and strengths.

I want you to see me through my eyes.  Not through my accomplishments or failures, not through my Facebook posts, not through my blog.  I need you to see me.  Just like you need me to see you.  Can you imagine a world where we really begin to see our shared humanity through the windows to our souls?

 

 

 

 

The concept is actually very simple, in theory.  Acting upon truth immediately when you KNOW it’s truth is the answer to everything.  So there, I’ve fixed all the problems of the world, right?  We all know it.  We have those moments in our lives when the truth about something or a situation smacks us in the face and we have two choices – we either act upon the truth or we ignore it and keep the status quo.  And as simple as this sounds, research tell us that most of us do not act on truth.  And if we do not act upon it right away, chances are we won’t.

Most of us have been taught to take our time and think about things, to make sure that we have all of our ducks in a row before doing anything, but especially something major.  It’s logical, it’s safe, but most of all, it’s easy.  But real change, change brought about by reacting to truth is not all ways safe and it’s certainly not easy.  How many times has this great idea or inspiration hit you and you know in your gut that this is truth – that this is what you’re supposed to do or were meant to do?  And almost immediately you start making the pros and cons list in your head.  Mostly cons.  And then the moment passes, you sigh and think, well, it probably wouldn’t have worked anyway.

I think what is most ironic about all of this is that we live in a culture where we want everything NOW.  We expect things to happen instantaneously.  But if you think about it, in this culture, most of those things we want to happen right now are done for us by others or other things.  The computer needs to move faster or the food needs to come to our table faster.  And then we’re disappointed when the quality isn’t any better than it is. Nothing great in this world comes instantaneously.  Real change does not happen overnight. Great things take time but the decision to do them must come quickly.  It’s an oxymoron.  And this oxymoron is what I believe keeps us from pursuing those truths when they hit.

So, why can’t we just recreate that moment of truth?  Because apparently what happens is that we fall back into habits, despite how hard life may be, or how unsatisfied we might be with where we are in our lives or the situations we find ourselves in, for some reason it’s easier than acting upon the truth in the moment.  We have to wait until it hits again later, either the same truth or perhaps a slightly adjusted version.  And then we get the same choice – act upon it or start the cycle all over again.

I believe this is where regrets come in.  As a person gets older and believes that now they’re too old to act upon the truths, they begin reflecting on the other opportunities that popped up in their lives that they let go.  Why didn’t I take advantage of that opportunity?  Why didn’t I try that new activity?  Why didn’t I learn that new skill?  Perhaps it kept you from finding a new job, or going back to school or meeting a new person.  Life changing opportunities because we didn’t act when truth smacked us.

And here I am, writing about something that happens to me all the time.  Times in my life when dissatisfaction with the status quo causes a truth to pop up and I drift back into old habits because it’s easier.  Those times when I DID act upon them, I can document the massive changes that occurred because I did.  When I made the choice to go back to school at age 28.  When I chose to go to a new school when I was happy with the people at my old school.  When I ran for office in my professional organization a second time  even though I had lost the first time.

There have been times when I’ve acted upon things I was just sure about and the door closed.  And yes, there was disappointment, but later I usually find out why the door closed and it was really for the better.  But even in this instance, if I hadn’t tried to act upon it I would have then found myself in that position where I never would have known otherwise.  I would always wonder “what if?”  And sometimes, this door closing opens up another opportunity somewhere else that I can act upon.  Maybe all it took was someone else seeing you go for it to offer you something else.

As I write this, several truths have smacked me hard recently and although intellectually I know what I must do, there is fear and uncertainty involved here and I find myself seeking out old habits.  Can I act upon these truths before it’s too late or will I have to begin the cycle again?

Recently I’ve read posts on social media saying things like “I am embarrassed by America” or “I’m ashamed of America”, sentiments expressed over the craziness that is our country at this time in history.  Whether you agree or disagree with who is in office or what is happening within our government, I think we’re forgetting one important thing.  The person in office is NOT America and the government is NOT America.  I am America.  Are you ashamed of me?

Yes, I am America, as are my friends, family and neighbors.  Most Americans I know are hard working, kind, trustworthy people who get up every day, do their jobs, contribute to their communities and love their families.  To say I am ashamed of America would be an insult to these great people.  And these people come from all sides of the political spectrum, all of them trying to do what they believe is right, with no ulterior motive other than to make a life for themselves and their families. Like me.  Are you ashamed of me?

I compare this to those who talk negatively about “the church”. Yes, there are issues within organized religion and perhaps within denominations, but the church is not the building and it’s not those who govern, it is the PEOPLE.  And again, most of those people are going to church because they understand they are not perfect, that they need to meet with others to improve themselves, to study words of wisdom from a higher power, and to work together to help others.  Like me.  Are you ashamed of me?

It’s easy for us to blame and be angered by big institutions, maybe because we feel so powerless against them.  People at that level often seem out-of-touch with those of us who have to deal with their decisions and policies on a day to day basis, perhaps never having to deal with the consequences of those decisions themselves.  And so, with this sense of powerlessness comes anger, fear and sadness which causes us to say and do things we might not otherwise.  Saying and doing things that mirror the very institutions that we are ashamed of and embarrassed by.  Things we would never say to the people we work and live and play with every day.  Like me.  Are you ashamed of me?

Like you, I too am discouraged by the behavior of those who are supposed to be representing us, but what I see from America is what I believe America has always tried to be.  There are Americans who are not just complaining about what’s going on but those who are DOING something about it.  Because when adversity rears its ugly head, Americans get to work making things right.  Making things better.  Focusing on those things and issues that we are passionate about and trying to make a difference.  In our homes, in our schools, in our workplaces and in our government.  Sometimes I think it takes something like this to knock us out of our complacency, to make us less apathetic.  To get behind those things we believe in and to push against those things we know are wrong.  This is the America I choose to believe in and why I’m not ashamed of America.

Let us use our words on social media to encourage and motivate our friends, family and neighbors to work to change the status quo, not to anger them or make them more fearful.  I know that if I allow myself to read too much I tend to get overwhelmed and discouraged.  Nobody needs that.  Share instead what you’re doing to make a difference, not to brag about it, but to encourage others to follow your example.

Are you still ashamed of me?  Are you ashamed of my family and friends?  Are you ashamed of yourself?  Because we ALL are America.

After six months of writing, I am coming to the realization that writing is hard.  Not the writing itself – I love putting words to paper – but choosing that subject that speaks to people on a deeply emotional level, whether it be joy or despair.  I believe people can sense the truth in writing and know when you’re just trying to write something you think others will like but is most likely not a real extension of yourself.  I have been struggling with titles of late because I think it’s important to catch the reader’s attention.  But I know what keeps the reader’s attention is the content, the reality they can relate to or perhaps an unreality where people wish they lived.  So tonight as I walk a bit down memory lane, I hope that you’ll take a walk with me.

For the last half hour I’ve been singing with Karen. What a voice.  I remember when I was a teenager that singing with her was such a challenge.  Her range stretched mine and I think I learned to breathe better when I sang phrases with her.  She stretched me emotionally with thoughtful lyrics.  It was like she was speaking directly to me through those lyrics.  Singing with her tonight took me back, only it’s a bit easier to sing in her range now and the phrasing comes naturally.  I remember every word and can actually return to my pink and purple “girly” bedroom where I would sit on the floor with my big fuzzy pillows singing my heart out.  I need Karen because without her and others, I might not have any memories of my past.

Barry is another one I love to sing with.  Not the world’s greatest voice, mind you, but wow could he write a melody, and I’m a sucker for a great melody.  People either loved or hated him, but I couldn’t get enough.  Despite people making fun of his love for modulations and power ballads, I was hooked – a fan.  And I’m grateful to him because without him I might not have some great memories.  One of my best memories was dancing to one of his tunes at a band dance with someone who never asked me out, but for some reason that night asked me to dance to that song.  It still makes me smile.

And so, I’m grateful to Elton, Billy, Barbra, Donna, Donny, and so many others because when I hear their songs or sing their lyrics it brings back memories that might otherwise be lost.  You see, for whatever reason, I have very few memories of my past.  Nothing before age five and very few during my elementary and middle school years.  High school was better, largely due to the fact that I was always immersed in music.  And anytime I hear that music I’m taken back to the local soda fountain at the drug store or laying on the patio sunning while listening to the radio or hanging out at a sleepover or sitting with friends on a band trip.

There are times when I really want to know what I’m missing; what are those memories I can’t remember and why can’t I remember them?  Maybe I don’t want to remember them.  And in the meantime, I know I can rely on the music to almost always bring a happy memory to my mind and a smile to my face.

Sometimes, because music is what I do for a living, I’ll tire of the music I use to teach with and I seek solace in silence.  But there is something about the music from my youth that I never get tired of.  And with the melodies and lyrics come the memories of emotions, people, and places that I cherish.  As I finish this blog while listening to some classic Barbra, I hope this encourages you to embrace the music of your youth so you too can take a walk down memory lane – and smile.

 

 

So the other day we saw the movie “Darkest Hour”,  a movie about Winston Churchill that took place during the month of May, 1940 right after he was selected as Prime Minister of England. While my personal impression of Churchill was one of great leadership during a dark time in our world history, I did not know that many of his contemporaries accepted his appointment with some dread because of some bad decisions he had made in the past.  So bad that some considered him crazy.  But Churchill took his responsibility seriously and when it looked like England was going to lose its entire military at Dunkirk, he came up with another crazy idea.  That crazy idea saved thousands of lives.  So was he just lucky that time or was he considered crazy because he thought so differently than others?

History tells us that great leaders take risks, but not without much soul searching and weighing the costs.  Because leaders know that others depend on them, not just for the big things but the little things as well.  Servant leadership we call it.  And serving is the wonderful part of leadership, where you get to do those things for others, helping them with issues, making time for discussions.  The hard part of leadership is having to make decisions, decisions you know may help some, but not all.  Decisions based on written polities that must be upheld.  Decisions that you truly believe will make things better in the long run but must be tested over time.  And you have to deal with the fallout of such decisions, the anger, the distrust, the unbelief.  It either helps you create a thicker skin or discourages you from leading.

I think when we look at those we consider “leaders” today, we judge who they are from what we can see on the outside.  Very few people are privy to what real leaders are thinking and feeling because while I think all great leaders surround themselves with people smarter than they are to consult with, there are usually only a handful of people that leaders share their lives with. There were many times during a rough time in my leadership experience that people said they were impressed by how calm and professional I was.  They had no idea that behind closed doors there were plenty of tears and lots of Pepsid on hand.  I second guessed everything I did, cringed at every email I received and braced myself when the phone rang.  And what I did was not really earth shattering or life changing.  It did affect teachers and students and some of them struggled because of those decisions.  And for a person who only wants to do the right thing for everyone, this is so difficult.

It is no wonder no one wants to serve in a leadership capacity.  There are plenty of ways to serve others without putting yourself in a place where people scrutinize everything little thing you do or say or even wear.  They look up every little skeleton in your background and family tree and can google things to make you look like you’re contradicting yourself on a minute by minute basis.  Why would anyone in their right mind want to lead on a state or national level?  Notice  I said “right mind”.  This is where I believe the crazy comes in.  People who actually end up running for office or other leadership positions must be crazy because no sane person would subject themselves to the insanity that our culture, media and social media has become.

So, going back to Churchill, here’s the interesting part of Churchill’s appointment.  He was asked to be Prime Minister only because the Prime Minister before him had done nothing.  He wouldn’t make decisions.  He was given a vote of no confidence and so another man, a man who was considered slightly “crazy” was appointed because he would DO something.  They were willing to vote for the unknown because the known wasn’t doing anything.  He was being too safe, trying not to rock the boat.  And a great leader is going to rock the boat once in a while.

I’ve heard that if you’re not ruffling any feathers or making anyone mad, you’re not leading – or doing your job.  A leader listens to every side of a situation but ultimately must make decisions and not everyone is going to agree with them.  It’s how you deal with the adversity, with grace and humility, thinking of others and not yourself, that makes someone a great leader.  Great leaders aren’t infallible, they’re human.  But they’re willing to step out of their comfort zone to try to make things better for others because others come first.

So, are real leaders crazy or just considered crazy by those who are afraid or unwilling to serve themselves?  I don’t know the answer to this, but I’m grateful to people who are willing to step up and serve to the best of their ability.  It challenges me to think outside the box and maybe be a little more crazy myself.