There is nothing I loathe more than being lied to. Nothing. I am an honest person. Lying isn't a part of my life. That doesn't mean I walk around saying every thought that comes to my head or that I don't have secrets. I do manage to keep some things to myself. But, should you ask, I will tell you the truth. I will not hold back in order to protect your feelings. I will trust you to decide for yourself whether it is worth being upset over.
I expect the same.
Why do people lie? How has it become a part of our nature?
My 7 year old daughter is struggling with telling the truth. She lies all the time. If I ask if she's practiced violin or piano, she always says, "yes" even when I know she hasn't. She makes up stories about other people who've hurt her feelings. She's even broken things and blamed her brothers.
I understand this is typical kid behavior, but I have no patience for it. I absolutely will not tolerate lying. She loses television time when she's caught in a lie. I wonder what more I can do to prevent the behavior. I'm thinking about adding chores, but she hasn't really started doing them yet.
What chores do your 7 year old children do? What punishments do you implement for lying? Keep in mind, I intend to punish my child. I do not want to hear about your ridiculous, misguided, raising-an-asshole, redirection principles. I'm specifically inquiring about punishment.
Shit, I just called kids "assholes" again. I'll drop another 17 Facebook friends after this post, I'm sure. That's ok. I'll shake it off.
Sunday, January 11, 2015
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
We Don't Deserve a Single Damn Thing
Parents, we are failing our children. When did we become so stupid? Yes, stupid!
Why is it intolerable for a child to experience unfairness, adversity or
pain? Why? Are adults so irreparably damaged that we need
to completely shelter our young from the harsh realities of the world?
When trying to protect our kids, we do so without recognizing
we’re raising a generation of assholes. I
realize that at least one of you will take offense, “Stop calling our children
assholes! They’re children!” Hey, you, overly-sensitive parent, your child
is likely an asshole.
If you’re wondering why I’m incensed, blame this.
Informal poll: hands
up – how many of your parents explained to you why Billy got better stuff than you
for Christmas? Or why your Santa
appeared to be more generous than Suzie’s Santa? I wonder how many of our grandparents coddled
our parents this way. Or our
great-grandparents.
No, I imagine conversations were more like this:
Child: Waaaaahhh….All my
friends got (insert ridiculously overpriced fad-toy of the era here) and I
didn’t. It’s so unfair!!!! Why didn’t Santa bring me what they got??!!! *ugly cry*
Parent: Shut your
mouth and be thankful for what you have.
There are starving children in the world and some kids get nothing for
Christmas. If you don’t knock it off, we’ll
give all your presents to those kids.
And you know what? That
is the right answer. If you choose to
share the Santa myth with your kids, do not feel you have to take away from it,
or justify it, because other kids are less/more fortunate than yours. That is life.
Allow your children to EXPERIENCE life.
We live in a Capitalist nation. In such an economic circumstance, there will
always be grave disparities between those with much and those with
nothing. Some kids will always have more than others, no matter how many social welfare programs we create or impossible education standards we attempt. Children are remarkably bright,
intuitive and resilient. They know, no
matter how you try to shelter them, people are not economically equal in the United
States. By parading this false equality,
you are not convincing them to change the system or to see others
differently. You’re convincing them that
they are entitled. You are raising an
asshole.
My suggestion, if you’re still reading, is to reflect on what the hell is wrong with you. Discover what is lacking in your life that makes you unwilling to allow your children to live in reality. Then, talk to your
children about economic differences throughout the year, not just at Christmas
when they’re whining about unfairness. If you don't know what to say, here's something to get you started: People with more money have more buying power. They have nicer things. Some people earn their money. Some people inherit it. Some have lots and lots and lots of
wealth. Some are homeless. Some children have more affluent Santas. If you find that intolerable, be active. Be loud.
Demand change. Live your life
doing good things. Help others when they’re
down. Give without expecting anything in
return.
And finish the conversation with
assigning a chore. “Take out the trash,
Joey, or you don’t eat today.” Enough with this generation of Entitlement.
Sunday, September 14, 2014
Weep Not For the Memories
Saying goodbye is so hard. Knowing someone you love is dying and there is nothing anyone can do about it is excruciating. Watching your husband, a strong man, feel pain - intense, gut-wrenching pain - because his friend will soon be gone cuts to the core.
After church today, our choir visited a friend who is nearing the end of his life. We gathered in his room at the nursing home and sang two songs for him. He was aware that we were there and we could see him mouthing some of the words along with us.
I'm a Christian. I believe that life begins at death. I know my friend will receive his reward. So why does knowing he will soon be gone hurt so badly?
Maybe it's because he's been through so much and fought for so long. Operations. Medications. He was always so positive even when we knew it was taking a toll on him.
Maybe it's because he's a good man. One of the best. Generous. Kind. Just the perfect mix of serious and ornery.
Or maybe it's much more personal than that. Our friend and his wife have always been kind to me. Welcoming. I met them when John and I were dating. I knew right away how important John was to them. It was obvious. They looked at him with such love and were genuinely interested in his life. I'd never known that kind of love existed between unrelated people. They've taught me the importance of a chosen family.
When I became a part of John's life, they became a part of mine. To this day, they are one of the biggest blessings I've received. When I feel I'm at the end of my rope, it seems like one of them is always there to tell me that children are small for a short time and whatever they're doing to make me crazy will pass. They've been a major support source for me, offering praise and acknowledgment of my parenting. They even lent us a crib when we realized I was having twins.
It's often said that things will never be the same without certain people. It's an overused phrase that's often meaningless. However, I can tell you, with 100% accuracy, that things will never be the same without our friend, Dave. Who will heckle the presidents or the music chair at Community Choir? Who will stop us during rehearsal to ensure that we sound like a polished group of professionals? Who will make us laugh at every single rehearsal?
Dave makes me want to be more like him...the kind of person deserving the eternal reward. One, whom for decades, will be remembered with fondness. One whom will missed, so terribly missed.
When you know someone's life is limited, you become flooded with memories. It's not often that I can say every memory I've made with someone is positive. Dave is so good. Gracious. Kind-hearted. Warm.
You're unforgettable, Dave. No matter how much time passes between your exit and mine, I Will Remember You.
After church today, our choir visited a friend who is nearing the end of his life. We gathered in his room at the nursing home and sang two songs for him. He was aware that we were there and we could see him mouthing some of the words along with us.
I'm a Christian. I believe that life begins at death. I know my friend will receive his reward. So why does knowing he will soon be gone hurt so badly?
Maybe it's because he's been through so much and fought for so long. Operations. Medications. He was always so positive even when we knew it was taking a toll on him.
Maybe it's because he's a good man. One of the best. Generous. Kind. Just the perfect mix of serious and ornery.
Or maybe it's much more personal than that. Our friend and his wife have always been kind to me. Welcoming. I met them when John and I were dating. I knew right away how important John was to them. It was obvious. They looked at him with such love and were genuinely interested in his life. I'd never known that kind of love existed between unrelated people. They've taught me the importance of a chosen family.
When I became a part of John's life, they became a part of mine. To this day, they are one of the biggest blessings I've received. When I feel I'm at the end of my rope, it seems like one of them is always there to tell me that children are small for a short time and whatever they're doing to make me crazy will pass. They've been a major support source for me, offering praise and acknowledgment of my parenting. They even lent us a crib when we realized I was having twins.
It's often said that things will never be the same without certain people. It's an overused phrase that's often meaningless. However, I can tell you, with 100% accuracy, that things will never be the same without our friend, Dave. Who will heckle the presidents or the music chair at Community Choir? Who will stop us during rehearsal to ensure that we sound like a polished group of professionals? Who will make us laugh at every single rehearsal?
Dave makes me want to be more like him...the kind of person deserving the eternal reward. One, whom for decades, will be remembered with fondness. One whom will missed, so terribly missed.
When you know someone's life is limited, you become flooded with memories. It's not often that I can say every memory I've made with someone is positive. Dave is so good. Gracious. Kind-hearted. Warm.
You're unforgettable, Dave. No matter how much time passes between your exit and mine, I Will Remember You.
Monday, September 1, 2014
And You Spend Your Life Putting Money in His Wallet
For 120 years, Americans have celebrated the first Monday in September by taking the day off. We enjoy the long weekend. We host barbecues and make a family day out of it. But, do we really know what Labor Day is or how it came to be a national holiday? Is it something we cover in detail in our history classes? Would we remember if it had been?
Labor Day is the result of the 19th century labor movement. In the midst of the Industrial Revolution, the average American man worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week. Children as young as 5 years old were forced into horrific working conditions. Mothers in textile sweatshops brought their toddlers to work because, even at age 2, little ones were capable of earning a living by picking up buttons and sewing scraps from the floors.
In the late 1800s, as industry replaced agriculture as the main American employment, labor unions gained strength and became more vocal. Demands for better working conditions and pay, as well as strike threats (and follow-though,) became more common. People grew tired of working their lives away for very little pay. Workers were robbed of dignity and humanity. It was a new breed of slavery.
On September 5, 1882, more than 10,000 laborers took unpaid time off to walk from City Hall to Union Square in New York City. It was the very first Labor Day parade. When news of this parade traveled, the idea of a 'workman's holiday' caught on. Many states passed legislation dedicating the first Monday in September to the workers.
Congress, however, did not pass legislation to recognize the holiday until 12 years later when employer practices could no longer be ignored. On May 11, 1894, workers at the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest the firing of union employees and wage cuts. On June 26, 1894, the American Railroad Union called for a boycott of all Pullman railway cars to show support for the Pullman workers. The boycott immobilized railroad traffic across the nation.
In order to break the strike, the feds sent troops to Chicago resulting in a wave of riots. More than a dozen American workers were killed. In an attempt to appease and heal the American workforce, Congress passed an act declaring Labor Day an official holiday.
Many would argue that not a lot has changed. Workers in industry and service still sweat to put money in the rich man's wallet. However, conditions for today's worker are much, much better than those found 120 years ago. If you're lucky enough to earn a livable wage and work a 9 to 5 job OR if you're enjoying this day off OR earning holiday pay/double time at your work, thank those hard workers whose blood, sweat and tears inspired this day. Happy Labor Day.
Labor Day is the result of the 19th century labor movement. In the midst of the Industrial Revolution, the average American man worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week. Children as young as 5 years old were forced into horrific working conditions. Mothers in textile sweatshops brought their toddlers to work because, even at age 2, little ones were capable of earning a living by picking up buttons and sewing scraps from the floors.
In the late 1800s, as industry replaced agriculture as the main American employment, labor unions gained strength and became more vocal. Demands for better working conditions and pay, as well as strike threats (and follow-though,) became more common. People grew tired of working their lives away for very little pay. Workers were robbed of dignity and humanity. It was a new breed of slavery.
On September 5, 1882, more than 10,000 laborers took unpaid time off to walk from City Hall to Union Square in New York City. It was the very first Labor Day parade. When news of this parade traveled, the idea of a 'workman's holiday' caught on. Many states passed legislation dedicating the first Monday in September to the workers.
Congress, however, did not pass legislation to recognize the holiday until 12 years later when employer practices could no longer be ignored. On May 11, 1894, workers at the Pullman Palace Car Company in Chicago went on strike to protest the firing of union employees and wage cuts. On June 26, 1894, the American Railroad Union called for a boycott of all Pullman railway cars to show support for the Pullman workers. The boycott immobilized railroad traffic across the nation.
In order to break the strike, the feds sent troops to Chicago resulting in a wave of riots. More than a dozen American workers were killed. In an attempt to appease and heal the American workforce, Congress passed an act declaring Labor Day an official holiday.
Many would argue that not a lot has changed. Workers in industry and service still sweat to put money in the rich man's wallet. However, conditions for today's worker are much, much better than those found 120 years ago. If you're lucky enough to earn a livable wage and work a 9 to 5 job OR if you're enjoying this day off OR earning holiday pay/double time at your work, thank those hard workers whose blood, sweat and tears inspired this day. Happy Labor Day.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
As Real as it May Seem
Dreams. The mind's representation of our deepest wants. In dreams, we're given precious moments with those taken from us. Or, we live our fantasies. And sometimes, we have crazy, wackadoo, off-the-wall dreams we wish we could understand.
Like this one.
The other night, I dreamed John and I were no longer together. (This could be fantasy or nightmare depending on how much he's pissed me off lately.) He wasn't even a part of the dream. No mention of John. Perhaps I had never met him.
I believe I was 34, as in current time. However, I was dating a college boy. And he was a FRESHMAN. (WTF?) His name was Bryan and we were in love. I moved into his dorm room so that we could spend all our time together. Ah, true love.
Here's where it really gets weird. Bryan was an Animagus. He preferred to be a dog. Most people were unaware that he was human, as they had only met him as a dog. He brought dog friends to the dorm room where I fed them raw steaks on China. The only time he kissed me in the dream was a big, sloppy dog kiss.
What could this possibly mean? Other than the obvious...that I'm slightly nutso. I kissed a dog. Thank God it was only in my dreams.
Like this one.
The other night, I dreamed John and I were no longer together. (This could be fantasy or nightmare depending on how much he's pissed me off lately.) He wasn't even a part of the dream. No mention of John. Perhaps I had never met him.
I believe I was 34, as in current time. However, I was dating a college boy. And he was a FRESHMAN. (WTF?) His name was Bryan and we were in love. I moved into his dorm room so that we could spend all our time together. Ah, true love.
Here's where it really gets weird. Bryan was an Animagus. He preferred to be a dog. Most people were unaware that he was human, as they had only met him as a dog. He brought dog friends to the dorm room where I fed them raw steaks on China. The only time he kissed me in the dream was a big, sloppy dog kiss.
What could this possibly mean? Other than the obvious...that I'm slightly nutso. I kissed a dog. Thank God it was only in my dreams.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
Exactly How it's Supposed to Be
A teacher once told me that God had a plan for me. That was about 20 years ago, when a small town teacher could make a religious comment and not lose her job. The nation still respected your freedom of religion and didn't constantly beat you with a freedom from religion. (That's a conversation for another day.)
I liked knowing God had a plan for me. I kept my eyes open, waiting for that grand plan to be revealed. I'm still waiting. I once really loved "God has a plan." But now, I think it's, well, stupid.
Have you noticed when people use this old adage it's usually to justify some terrible decision they've made? Or when an unfortunate or untimely death occurs? Or to give reason to the unreasonable?
Listen, people, sometimes shitty things happen for no reason at all. Or for humanly reasons, completely unconnected with the Lord. Or, my favorite reason, because God stands back and allows us to make our own decisions and feel pain.
Yes, God has plans for each of us. We don't know these plans. However, we can keep our eyes open, listen with our hearts, and look for signs of what He wants from/for us.
But how many of us do that? Don't we typically get in the way? We do what we want without thought of the consequences. We become obsessed with what feels good in the present and give little thought to our futures. We ignore our limitations.
Grown adults make incredibly childish, selfish, stupid decisions. We say it was an accident and throw out "God's plan" to justify what was really a natural consequence of poor judgment. God will let you fail and give you space to find Him, to hear Him, to succeed. Don't get in the way of that. Don't miss your chance to be new again.
(*Warning: the video link features footage from The Passion of the Christ. It is graphic and may not be suitable for children.)
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Made of Scars and Filled with My Old Wounds
It's been more than 10 years since I graduated from law school. More than 13 years since I made the worst decision of my life and applied for admission. What in Hell was I thinking? Why didn't someone warn me: Miss April, don't go. You'll take on $100K+ loan debt and you won't do a damn thing with your education. In 10 years, all you'll have is an overpriced piece of paper sitting in your attic closet and a collection of scars.
I hate myself for having been so stupid. Why did I go, you ask? Honestly? Because Dr. Stacia Straley told me to and (and this is a really big AND) my mother said I couldn't. Her words when I told her I was applying were "Yeah, right." She didn't believe in me and I was determined to throw that in her face.
Maybe she was right? What good is graduating from an intense, expensive, law program if you piss it away?
I knew the first semester I did not want to be a lawyer. I found it difficult to make friends with other law students. It was clear that most of them grew up much differently than I did. In 3 years, only 1 professor learned my name. (Section 1 friends: it wasn't Sahl! Ha!)
I was never impressed with the corporate world. I took an internship in a public defender office longing to find something to help me love the profession. I left it feeling even more jaded. It truly was a revolving door: the same clients over and over and over. While I was mentored by 4 very fine attorneys, I identified more with the office staff. The same is true of my first real job post law school. I befriended the office secretary and felt "out of place" with the attorneys. I DID NOT FIT IN. You can't expect a gold fish to thrive in the ocean.
I was so busy running from my roots. I wanted to be as detached from "po-dunk" as possible. I wanted to show "them" I was more valuable than they ever gave me credit for being. All those smug, "I'm better than you" teens that made fun of me because they saw my mom use food stamps or noticed my free lunch. (I stopped eating school lunch in 11th grade because I was teased so badly. It was humiliating.)
So I went to law school, completed 3 grueling years, graduated....suck it, naysayers... and then failed myself. I happily accepted my husband's wish to move back to his hometown, a crap town full of crap people who largely remind me of those I ran from. (There are many wonderful exceptions. You know who you are. And I hope to meet many more.) I left a real profession to be a bar manager. I wasted years at home. My post-children brain is not what it once was. I am no longer smart and often wonder if I ever was.
When I figured out what I wanted to be, graduate program admission counselors recommended teaching elementary kids. My response was "No thanks. Little kids give me hives." <---That's true. Instead, I opted to become licensed in grades 7-12 Integrated Social Studies and am apparently unemployable. Why? Because I don't coach football.
School districts invent positions for football coaches. Someone like me, with 2 advanced degrees, can't even land an interview. *Sidenote: I wonder if I could sue all the districts in Ohio that have hired sub-par social studies teachers on behalf of the students they've failed? (Here, failed means 'to let down' rather than 'to flunk.') Of course, if I did, I would never, ever, no-not ever be hired as an educator in any district in the nation.* I now realize admission counselors pushed me toward elementary education because I am a woman and am employable in elementary schools. And now I almost wish I had listened.
So, here I am, nearing 35 years old, watching my teacher friends in the midst of their careers and I haven't started mine. I graduated high school determined to make an impact on the world. To change it. But I've yet to do anything. If life is a mirror, I have no reflection.
I hate myself for having been so stupid. Why did I go, you ask? Honestly? Because Dr. Stacia Straley told me to and (and this is a really big AND) my mother said I couldn't. Her words when I told her I was applying were "Yeah, right." She didn't believe in me and I was determined to throw that in her face.
Maybe she was right? What good is graduating from an intense, expensive, law program if you piss it away?
I knew the first semester I did not want to be a lawyer. I found it difficult to make friends with other law students. It was clear that most of them grew up much differently than I did. In 3 years, only 1 professor learned my name. (Section 1 friends: it wasn't Sahl! Ha!)
I was never impressed with the corporate world. I took an internship in a public defender office longing to find something to help me love the profession. I left it feeling even more jaded. It truly was a revolving door: the same clients over and over and over. While I was mentored by 4 very fine attorneys, I identified more with the office staff. The same is true of my first real job post law school. I befriended the office secretary and felt "out of place" with the attorneys. I DID NOT FIT IN. You can't expect a gold fish to thrive in the ocean.
I was so busy running from my roots. I wanted to be as detached from "po-dunk" as possible. I wanted to show "them" I was more valuable than they ever gave me credit for being. All those smug, "I'm better than you" teens that made fun of me because they saw my mom use food stamps or noticed my free lunch. (I stopped eating school lunch in 11th grade because I was teased so badly. It was humiliating.)
So I went to law school, completed 3 grueling years, graduated....suck it, naysayers... and then failed myself. I happily accepted my husband's wish to move back to his hometown, a crap town full of crap people who largely remind me of those I ran from. (There are many wonderful exceptions. You know who you are. And I hope to meet many more.) I left a real profession to be a bar manager. I wasted years at home. My post-children brain is not what it once was. I am no longer smart and often wonder if I ever was.
When I figured out what I wanted to be, graduate program admission counselors recommended teaching elementary kids. My response was "No thanks. Little kids give me hives." <---That's true. Instead, I opted to become licensed in grades 7-12 Integrated Social Studies and am apparently unemployable. Why? Because I don't coach football.
School districts invent positions for football coaches. Someone like me, with 2 advanced degrees, can't even land an interview. *Sidenote: I wonder if I could sue all the districts in Ohio that have hired sub-par social studies teachers on behalf of the students they've failed? (Here, failed means 'to let down' rather than 'to flunk.') Of course, if I did, I would never, ever, no-not ever be hired as an educator in any district in the nation.* I now realize admission counselors pushed me toward elementary education because I am a woman and am employable in elementary schools. And now I almost wish I had listened.
So, here I am, nearing 35 years old, watching my teacher friends in the midst of their careers and I haven't started mine. I graduated high school determined to make an impact on the world. To change it. But I've yet to do anything. If life is a mirror, I have no reflection.
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