I may have called someone a “crunchy tyrant” today. You see, one of my facebook friends posted about the state of New York considering legislation that would limit the size of soda (for all ya’ll who don’t call it “pop” like we do here) its residents can purchase at one time. Apparently, the “Big Gulp” in the “Big Apple” will be a thing of the past if this legislation becomes the law of New York. This got me fired up a bit... just really get sick and tired of the government sticking its nose where it doesn’t belong (which is most places, if you ask me). For example: seat belt legislation... safe? YES. Good for me? YES. Do I abide by it? YES. Do I agree it should be a law. NO. If I don’t wear my seat belt, I’m not hurting anyone else. Freedom should take precedence. Another example: (and this one got people a bit annoyed, but that’s fine) Smoking... Unhealthy? YES. Dangerous to others? WITHIN CERTAIN PROXIMITIES, YES. A disgusting habit that should be wiped off the face of the planet with extreme prejudice and without regard to personal choice? NO. I believe business establishments should have every right to determine whether or not their business is a smoking or non-smoking (or both) business. I don’t think that’s the government’s job. Public buildings - absolutely should be non-smoking, because those are places most people MUST go. Restaurants and bars? Nobody HAS to go to these places. It should be left to the proprietor’s discretion whether to allow smoking - just like it’s the individual’s choice whether or not to patronize said business. Curly light bulbs: Good for the environment? QUESTIONABLE. Good for health? NO. Annoying as all get out? ABSOLUTELY. So why must I buy and use only those types of bulbs? Because it’s so being unfairly legislated. Having mentioned these things, I came to the conclusion that a governing body that can ban my ability to buy a Big Gulp or a Big Mac and at the same time feed public school children lunches that are heavy on chicken patties, “cheese food product”, and chocolate milk is completely hypocritical and “goin’ off the rails on a crazy train”.
I can’t tell you how much I HATE facebook comment battles. They have the unique ability to make me feel dirty - even if I have no part of them. People get all “I’m’a snatch that horse-hair weave off your ugly head” Jerry Springerish and then they start to talk all crazy and can’t spell right anymore, and... you know what I’m talking about. Despite the hypocrisy of this next statement, I’m going to say it anyway - sometimes I just can’t resist them. Some lady below me went all 5 paragraphs comment crazy, and - if I can reduce it to a nutshell - said that it should be illegal for the government to “sell” (she seemed unaware that McDonald’s and Marlboro aren’t actual government agencies) ANYTHING less that organic, non-GMO, healthy, whole foods. (She seemed confident that the government conspires to make us stuff our gullets with gummy bears - which are “addictive”, diet pop - which “makes us feel hungry so we eat more”, and cigarettes “all of which” - she claimed - “the government” hoped to use to kill “the uneducated”). Then she referred to me and told me that I had said that schools should have Big Macs on the menu. This is one reason that I hate the comment wars. I had said nothing of the sort. She, however, was convinced I had single-handedly invited McDonald’s into the public school system. In my short retort (which is what it was), I told her that I agreed with the virtues of whole foods and I do my best to feed such to my family, but that if my neighbors want to smoke cigars and feed their kids ho-hos for breakfast, I will defend - with all that’s in me - their right to do it. I told her that forcing your views - however “good and virtuous in your mind” - on another human being or group of human beings was tyranny and that she was being a “crunchy tyrant”.
As we ate dinner with some friends of ours a few nights ago, we got on the subject of pet mortality, and our friend relayed an incident his brother, a veterinarian who has had to work hard to develop some compassion, had recently experienced. He said that his brother had to put a dog to sleep for a client, and that he offered to carry the dog out to the her car for her. As the client wept, she agreed that'd be the best thing for him to do. So my friend's brother decided to put the dog in a cardboard box he found there in the office and carry it out to her car. As he made his way across the parking lot, the bottom of the cardboard box dropped out, and the dog landed on the pavement - right in front of some neighborhood kids. As our friend told the story, he laughed so hard and said he'd have loved to have been there and seen it happen. (It's a brother thing.) He then traded stories with Mark (they both grew up in Dutch farming families) about life and death on the farm. He said that they often had small pets or livestock mortally ill or wounded, and that his dad, not wanting the animal to suffer, would swing the animal against a fence post or wall and kill it. He said he still couldn't really believe his dad had done that. I was momentarily mortified. I recounted a memory of when I was a single mom. We'd had to give away our Boston Terrier, because we weren't home often enough for him to be happy, as I was working. The girls and I adopted a cat from the vet office. The cat developed some kind of sickness about 5 months into being at our house, and it died. I felt awful, because Sadie said to me, "Well, dad left, our dog left, and now the cat's gone. When are you going to leave?" I hated that she thought I would abandon her and Claire. I also felt pretty sorry for myself that it was February, and I was going to have to try to dig a hole in the cold, winter ground to bury a good-sized cat. When the cat died, I scooped her up and into a cardboard cat carrier. Her paw started to rigor grotesquely out of one of the air holes in the side of the box. We put her in our van to take her out to my parents' country home to bury her. As I explained to someone in front of the girls later that morning, "Our kitty went to heaven this morning," Sadie (3) piped up with, "No she didn't. She's in a box in the back of our van." I worried she was scarred for life. I've been thinking about these things this week. My friend is a paramedic. His brother is a vet. Had they not grown up with the dad they had (however insensitive his actions might seem to some), they would likely not be as well-suited to their current vocations. Sadie still doesn't shed a tear. She still takes the deaths of pets in stride. I figure she might end up being a nurse or a mortician.
Another friend of mine is a local teacher's aide. As she told a story about some local 1st-2nd graders who'd vandalized a series of houses locally this past week, she said, "When we called the mother to tell her the kids were still missing, her only response was, 'Well, we need to wrap all this up by 1, because that's when my soaps come on.'" When people argue about parenting or about food choices or about politics... we are showing how out-of-touch with reality we are. Parenting styles don't matter as much as just simple parenting matters. If you love your kids enough to be present with them, you are parenting them. That's what matters, because it's overwhelming how many parents don't even give their children that much. Feeding your family strictly organic food doesn't matter as much as being able and willing to put food on their table. It's sad how many are unable to do even that. Politics... well, I can't even begin to imagine just how corrupt the government is, and I live in Illinois - where politicians go to lie. So discussing issues doesn't make an ounce of difference in light of the depth of corruption we'll never overcome.
Levi is mine, and I think that is so that I am constantly reminded that there is no cookie-cutter approach to parenting. What worked with my girls doesn't work with Levi. What works with him doesn't work with Violet. I don't want other people to parent like I do. I just hope they parent. I don't want to parent like anyone else. I just get through each day by God's good grace. God is the same yesterday, today, and forever... dependable in His responses and true in His character, but He is also most personal. The relationship that I share with Him is one I hope no one else shares. How He parents, chastens, and handles me is as unique to that relationship as the union I have with Him is unique and completely set apart from all of my other relationships. I think this is because of all the many ugly things He needs to change and fix in me - those things are, at the same time, unique to me and universal to all humanity. I like to communicate, but I am constantly met with the frustration that no matter how thoroughly I use my words I will be misunderstood. There is only one place I'm truly understood... in the privacy of deep relationship with the One who imagined my person and created it with the greatest of care. The same is true of you.
I can’t tell you how much I HATE facebook comment battles. They have the unique ability to make me feel dirty - even if I have no part of them. People get all “I’m’a snatch that horse-hair weave off your ugly head” Jerry Springerish and then they start to talk all crazy and can’t spell right anymore, and... you know what I’m talking about. Despite the hypocrisy of this next statement, I’m going to say it anyway - sometimes I just can’t resist them. Some lady below me went all 5 paragraphs comment crazy, and - if I can reduce it to a nutshell - said that it should be illegal for the government to “sell” (she seemed unaware that McDonald’s and Marlboro aren’t actual government agencies) ANYTHING less that organic, non-GMO, healthy, whole foods. (She seemed confident that the government conspires to make us stuff our gullets with gummy bears - which are “addictive”, diet pop - which “makes us feel hungry so we eat more”, and cigarettes “all of which” - she claimed - “the government” hoped to use to kill “the uneducated”). Then she referred to me and told me that I had said that schools should have Big Macs on the menu. This is one reason that I hate the comment wars. I had said nothing of the sort. She, however, was convinced I had single-handedly invited McDonald’s into the public school system. In my short retort (which is what it was), I told her that I agreed with the virtues of whole foods and I do my best to feed such to my family, but that if my neighbors want to smoke cigars and feed their kids ho-hos for breakfast, I will defend - with all that’s in me - their right to do it. I told her that forcing your views - however “good and virtuous in your mind” - on another human being or group of human beings was tyranny and that she was being a “crunchy tyrant”.
(Somewhat boring aside: I understand that a large part of the problem we face with regard to legislation is that the US government pays ridiculous amounts of money in health care costs every year for people who have abused their bodies with substances including cigarettes and excessive foods. However, having worked in narcotics enforcement, I am equally aware that making a substance illegal does not make it unavailable. It just makes people sneakier. As long as people are the problem, unless the government outlaws being a person, there will still be a problem. I understand, to a degree, where they’re coming from. They figure - much like my parents when I was living under their roof -, “If you use our money, you abide by our rules.”)
I’m a notorious scrapper. I try to mature past it, but ever since I can remember that I knew there was a way to get letter grades other than S and U, I worked to excess to get the highest ones... and A’s weren’t enough. They had to be better A’s than everyone else’s A’s. I didn’t dislike smart kids - I just wanted to beat them. Sports effected me the same way. I was fiercely competitive. Fortunately (or unfortunately - I can’t decide) for me, I was rarely frustrated. Things just came naturally and easily. Student of the month, student of the year, valedictorian, MVP, all-tournament team, etc. - I collected them all like trading cards.
My freshman year of high school, I was gawky and trying to grow into a head of ridiculously curly hair that I got when my mom cut my hair too short one time. I hated me, and I tried to fix that with blue eyeliner. (Not recommended.) I resembled Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles with black hair. Well, that brought on a series of events that led to an unfortunate incident. I sat in Bible class - of all places - in front of Jake Turner. He was calling me “afro woman” and throwing spit wads in my nest of hair. I told him to knock it off or else... He said, “Or else what? You gonna hurt me? Oooo, I’m so scared.” He continued, undaunted by what he had perceived as a hollow threat to his personal safety, through the whole hour of class. It was test day, and I had finished my test early. I sat quietly as others were finishing tests, but my face burned red, my neck tingled, and adrenaline surged through my whole body. In a blind rage, I stood up, turned around, wound up, and - with an open hand - knocked Jake Turner - not only from his desk chair to the floor but from completely (if not obnoxiously) conscious to completely unconscious. As he lay there, I returned to my seat - shaking from head to toe. The teacher of the class (who could not see through the other students from his seated position at his desk) asked, “Who did that?” I raised my hand, “I did,” I said. He said, “Come here.” I went to the front, and he said, “What did you do? That was the loudest noise I’ve ever heard in a classroom.” I said, “I slapped Jake.” He replied incredulously, “You did what?” “I slapped Jake,” I responded somewhat weakly. He asked, “Is he alright?” I said, “I don’t think so.” After Jake regained consciousness, he bore my right hand print on the side of his face for the entire remainder of the school day. I went to the principal’s office that day. I was required to apologize, and he admitted that he’d deserved it. Jake and I never had another problem after that day.
I think it’s funny that electronic communication makes lions out of mice. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen the mildest mannered persons (when you meet then in person) be obnoxious via electronic communications. People will say things to you in an e-mail you know they’d never say to you in person. I guess, when we “let our fingers do the talking”, we’re more likely to say the awful things that are in our heads. I’d say I’m guilty of this, but I can honestly say I’ve never typed a thing I wouldn’t say in person if the opportunity presented itself. That doesn’t make it right. It just makes it more honest I think. I wouldn’t say it as thoughtfully in person though. After all, I consider myself borderline socially awkward. We all know that there’s ugliness inside of us, and that, if all that enters the mind were to come out the mouth, we’d likely all hate one another.
Our 5 year old boy has suffered migraines for a few years now. He sees a neurologist a few times a year. At our last appointment, the neurologist appointed Levi to see an occupational therapist for what he believes is a Sensory Processing Disorder. This disorder causes (among so many other things) what Levi likes to call “freaking out” at what would seem minor issues to most people. It also contributes to bouts of extreme social honesty. Most kids tend to be honest, but he does it loudly - which makes it more... how do I say it? Truth minus the love. Well, we're finding out so much about his disorder and how it effects his relationships, and it's truly refreshing to know that it's not just something we've done wrong with him or something that is some kind of permanent personality defect. It's also made me more sure that we are given the children/parents we need to have to contribute to who we will become. He likes to three-way communicate our schedule for the week, and when I told him he'd be seeing the OT for the first time this week, he asked what she would be doing with him. I told him she'd do some tests and exercises... both of which he loves, and he was thrilled to go. He asked, "Is she going to help me not freak out so much?" Bless his heart, he wants to have the self-control he lacks. Don't we all?
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| Levi and me |
As we ate dinner with some friends of ours a few nights ago, we got on the subject of pet mortality, and our friend relayed an incident his brother, a veterinarian who has had to work hard to develop some compassion, had recently experienced. He said that his brother had to put a dog to sleep for a client, and that he offered to carry the dog out to the her car for her. As the client wept, she agreed that'd be the best thing for him to do. So my friend's brother decided to put the dog in a cardboard box he found there in the office and carry it out to her car. As he made his way across the parking lot, the bottom of the cardboard box dropped out, and the dog landed on the pavement - right in front of some neighborhood kids. As our friend told the story, he laughed so hard and said he'd have loved to have been there and seen it happen. (It's a brother thing.) He then traded stories with Mark (they both grew up in Dutch farming families) about life and death on the farm. He said that they often had small pets or livestock mortally ill or wounded, and that his dad, not wanting the animal to suffer, would swing the animal against a fence post or wall and kill it. He said he still couldn't really believe his dad had done that. I was momentarily mortified. I recounted a memory of when I was a single mom. We'd had to give away our Boston Terrier, because we weren't home often enough for him to be happy, as I was working. The girls and I adopted a cat from the vet office. The cat developed some kind of sickness about 5 months into being at our house, and it died. I felt awful, because Sadie said to me, "Well, dad left, our dog left, and now the cat's gone. When are you going to leave?" I hated that she thought I would abandon her and Claire. I also felt pretty sorry for myself that it was February, and I was going to have to try to dig a hole in the cold, winter ground to bury a good-sized cat. When the cat died, I scooped her up and into a cardboard cat carrier. Her paw started to rigor grotesquely out of one of the air holes in the side of the box. We put her in our van to take her out to my parents' country home to bury her. As I explained to someone in front of the girls later that morning, "Our kitty went to heaven this morning," Sadie (3) piped up with, "No she didn't. She's in a box in the back of our van." I worried she was scarred for life. I've been thinking about these things this week. My friend is a paramedic. His brother is a vet. Had they not grown up with the dad they had (however insensitive his actions might seem to some), they would likely not be as well-suited to their current vocations. Sadie still doesn't shed a tear. She still takes the deaths of pets in stride. I figure she might end up being a nurse or a mortician.
Another friend of mine is a local teacher's aide. As she told a story about some local 1st-2nd graders who'd vandalized a series of houses locally this past week, she said, "When we called the mother to tell her the kids were still missing, her only response was, 'Well, we need to wrap all this up by 1, because that's when my soaps come on.'" When people argue about parenting or about food choices or about politics... we are showing how out-of-touch with reality we are. Parenting styles don't matter as much as just simple parenting matters. If you love your kids enough to be present with them, you are parenting them. That's what matters, because it's overwhelming how many parents don't even give their children that much. Feeding your family strictly organic food doesn't matter as much as being able and willing to put food on their table. It's sad how many are unable to do even that. Politics... well, I can't even begin to imagine just how corrupt the government is, and I live in Illinois - where politicians go to lie. So discussing issues doesn't make an ounce of difference in light of the depth of corruption we'll never overcome.
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(When I posted this on facebook about a month ago,
one of the comments was "those signs are just for former governors").
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