The Katie Chronicles: Motivating Mom Edition

While watching college football on Saturday, Katie and I were snuggling on the couch. With her signature sweetness, she put her hand on my cheek and rubbed it back and forth with a thoughtful look. Then she informed me that she thinks growing a beard and mustache is just a matter of effort. My darling daughter told me that the only reason I don't have a beard is I'm just not trying hard enough and I could do it if I really wanted to. I don't know if I should be humbled by her estimation of my potential, perturbed at the implication that I'm lazy, or just planning another discussion of secondary sex characteristics. #slacker

On Stumbling Blocks and Epic Takedowns

This morning’s Gospel reading and sermon were about stumbling blocks. The Bible mentions this concept several times and, if memory serves, stumbling block stories are mostly about not causing other people to stumble or sin through your own actions.  The reading meshed with something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, specifically the stumbling blocks I put in front of myself. 

My thoughts about this started a few months ago when I began to notice the number of links in my Facebook newsfeed that invited me to click and watch someone get told off, or to see someone doing something stupid or otherwise regrettable.  One day, it struck me how often I was invited by my newsfeed to watch someone at their worst, to not only watch but to revel it in it and I began to wonder about the intent of these links. The stated purpose seemed to imply it was just entertainment, but it was always at someone else’s expense.  It seemed pretty clear that I was supposed to watch and feel superior to the person who was featured in the link, whether it was someone doing or wearing something crazy in Walmart, or dealing with a situation differently than I would, or someone who I disagree with politically.  I used to click on a few of those things – the political ones are particularly tempting -- but once it became clearer to me about what was going on, I began to question my own participation in it.  My clicks felt OK because I wasn't sharing them.  I was just looking in private and the illusion was that viewing and feeling the emotions they were designed to elicit had no effect on how I treated others.  But those clicks were feeding something and I didn’t like what it was when I looked closer at it.  These weren’t news links that provided me with information about world events or funny links where everyone was in on the joke. These were links that only showed someone at their worst, with no context or additional information.  I realized that, by laughing at or judging someone’s embarrassment, or their ignorance, or their brokenness, I wasn’t living in the way I’m called to do.  I wasn’t treating people – yes, even people I’ve never met or who I highly disagree with -- in the way I wanted to be treated.  I wasn’t building a longer table to include them, I was building a fence to exclude them. 

But what about justice, my head said. If someone is doing something hateful and another person tells them off, isn’t that justice in action?  If a politician is ranting about the ethics of poor people while ignoring his own complicity in their poverty, isn’t it justifiable (not to mention satisfying) to see him confronted with this in a mic drop moment?  Yes, it is satisfying on some level, but it’s not justice.  Justice often requires speaking truth to power, but in a way that engages them in the solution.  Justice involves action that actually helps the victims. Telling someone off doesn’t do that.  It could even hurt because it can cause the recipient of the “takedown” to harden his position.    Being angry at injustice is understandable and can be beneficial if it motivates someone to take action to correct that injustice.  Telling off the prejudiced doesn’t do that. And watching this happen on Facebook links didn’t make me a better advocate for any victimized group.  It only made me feel superior to the person on the receiving end of the takedown and I decided it was morally corrosive for me.

So, I decided to do a little editing.  I stopped following pages that put out a lot of this kind of content and I unfollowed a couple of people who do the same.  I still see these links occasionally, and I am still not perfect in how well I resist the temptation.  The invitation to feel superior to others is powerful but it’s dangerous and I’m doing my best to change this, to be repelled by it instead of tempted by it.

The Katie Chronicles: Cake Rules Edition

Like all families, we have to negotiate the tsunami of junk food that swamps our kids daily. We have food rules but we are an "everything in moderation" family. Right now, we have leftover (homemade) chocolate cake at home and we were out at an event tonight where Katie was offered cake. She apparently accepted and enjoyed her cake. Later in the evening, when she told us about the small piece she had, I told her that she'd reached her limit and she couldn't have a piece of chocolate cake when we got home later. She protested this and told me that this wasn't fair because she was just following the rules. "When you are a kid and someone offers you cake, you *have* to take it, Mommy. You adults can say no because you can just go out and get your own cake anytime you want, but kids can't do that. We depend on cake being offered to us. So we have to take it when someone offers it. HAVE to."

This has become the Katie Mandatory Cake Acceptance rule. As the Chief Justice in the Court of Mom Law, I thought she presented a good case, so I must admit, I almost gave her the second piece of cake. Almost.

The Katie Chronicles: More Love Lessons Edition

Last evening involved multiple conversations about romance and relationships. Katie discovered earlier that day that a boy at her camp likes her. He LIKES her likes her. We talked about how she found out -- it was a Truth or Dare situation -- and how she feels about him. It turns out that she likes him only as a friend, even though he's a gymnast like her and he can do a roundoff with double back handspring, which is impressive. We talked about how much courage it takes to tell someone you like them, especially in front of others. (I think her introvert daddy would need therapy afterwards if he had to do that at 11...or 48). We also talked about how you should handle a situation in which someone likes you more than you like them, that is, very gently and kindly, but not in a way that sends mixed messages about whether you like them romantically.

Later, while we were loading the dishwasher, Katie asked me what that lady meant in the song about scrubs. I admit, I was momentarily distracted by the symmetry of being asked *about* scrubs *while* scrubbing. The question was, nonetheless, a little unexpected, as "scrubs" didn't figure in our earlier talk and she only hears the song during some Saturday morning chore sessions. After I told her the whole song is about the answer to her question, I described it in non-musical terms: It's a boy who has responsibilities like a baby he doesn't take care of and who talks big but doesn't work toward the goal. I ended with giving her the Oklahoma version: "He's all hat and no cattle, baby."

I would never have guessed that I'd be teaching my kiddo love lessons from awesome 90s R & B, but so be it. Take 'em as they come, I guess. At least she has good taste. #TeachUsTLC

City on a Hill: Some Thoughts on Immigration

I came of age politically in the late Reagan era and, even though I came to differ from him politically, he gave a speech in 1980, part of which has resounded in my heart ever since: "I know I have told before of the moment in 1630 when the tiny ship Arabella bearing settlers to the New World lay off the Massachusetts coast. To the little bank of settlers gathered on the deck John Winthrop said: 'we shall be a city upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us, so that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken and so cause him to withdraw his present help from us, we shall be made a story and a byword through the world.' Well, America became more than 'a story,' or a 'byword'—more than a sterile footnote in history....I believe that Americans in 1980 are every bit as committed to that vision of a shining 'city on a hill,' as were those long ago settlers."

That part of the speech imbued me with a sense of what it means to be an American and set my expectation that my government would stand for what is right and good in the world.  I've found this speech echoing louder recently as I watch the news about our immigration policies being played out on the families coming here and I've been thinking about it a lot.  As I see and hear reports about kids being taken away from their parents not because the parents were abusive, but because they came here seeking something better, I keep wondering how that city on a hill, that beacon of hope for the world has turned into a jail cell.  This just doesn't seem like us.    


Recently, I was alone with my thoughts for a few minutes and I was trying to get beyond our response to illegal immigration and think more about the causes of it.  From what I understand, the majority of people immigrating illegally to the US are fleeing something.  They come from countries where there are violence and corruption, where education and healthcare are vastly inadequate, there are few jobs, and no opportunity to have a peaceful, normal existence.  They come to America because they want better for themselves and their families. Coming here takes enormous bravery, strength, and resilience because the journey is often harrowing.  They are often the victims of criminals on the way and they risk their lives in the arduous physical journey.  I understand that crossing a border without permission constitutes a crime and I'm not advocating for open borders.  But, if we are truly a "city on a hill," an example of standing for what is right in the world, how does that mesh with breaking up families, who must be terrified and who are completely at our mercy? People who immigrate illegally do so out of desperation and would probably prefer to stay in their home countries.  So if we can't agree about what to do about these issues, why aren't we trying to do something about the cause of illegal immigration, instead of just the effects?  Why are we not using foreign aid to help the home countries fix their problems instead of spending it here on treating people like animals?  


Because I'm no foreign policy expert, I assumed someone else had already thought of this idea, so I  googled it and, sure enough, we've done this before with success.  We used foreign aid and expertise to work with Colombia in the 1990s, starting under President Clinton with bipartisan support (remember that?) and continuing under President Bush.  We helped Colombian officials counteract illegal drug production and rebuild their social infrastructure that made the quality of life much better for Colombians.  And guess what?  Colombia is no longer a source of a great deal of illegal immigration.


Given this track record of success, why, WHY would we not want to take this option today?  Why wouldn't we want to be part of a solution that actually stood for something good, for helping our neighbors who need us and helping people have thriving lives at home, where most prefer to be anyway? 


Regardless of what you think of illegal immigration, the facts are that we pay here or we pay there.  Paying there by helping countries make themselves safer and more economically viable for their citizens is a thousand times better -- "better" meaning morally right *and* more effective -- than taking kids away from loving parents and putting people in jail.  I want my country, my city on a hill,  to help other countries manage their problems better and to treat people who do come here with compassion.


Project Colombia: http://www.latimes.com/nation/la-oe-0806-moreno-central-america-immigration-20140806-story.html

The Katie Chronicles, Real Life Romance Edition

Me: Katie, what are you doing?

Katie: Writing.

M: Writing what?

K: A story. I thought I'd write a romance story.

M: But you've never had a romance.

K: Yeah. I thought I'd just write what you and Daddy do.

So why am I picturing a romance story that goes like this?

Teresa texted her beloved, Jerome, breathless with anticipation. She typed out the message with trembling fingers, her thoughts wandering to later that evening. She typed, "What do you want for dinner? I forgot to put out the chicken to thaw." As she was biting her scarlet lips -- they were a little chapped from the aggressive work air conditioning -- she typed, "Are you taking Katie to gymnastics or am I? Also, can you check the cat's eye to see if it's goopy? I think it's infected again."

Look for that on Amazon soon.

The Katie Chronicles: Boyfriends (with Extra Awww) Edition

I can't remember specifically when Katie started showing an interest in boys. I know when she was a baby, there was a little boy named Owen in her daycare room and they were pretty tight. Every day, Owen would crawl over to where she was and they'd hang out. Somewhere I have a picture of them together. They both look so serious, like those pictures of old couples from a hundred years ago who got married at 16 and then held hands on their porch every night for 70 years while they talked about this year's corn crop.

I remember her first-grade boyfriend but I can't remember his name. He was too cute, with huge black eyes. He had an easily given, million-watt smile and you could just see the mischief radiating off of him in waves. Charm for days, that kid. He told me that he and Katie were going to get married someday, but alas, it wasn't to be. He moved.

Then there was Zach in third grade. He had funky, cool glasses and was a little fella. I've always eaten lunch with Katie once per week at her school and he would come over to join us occasionally. He was very serious and so polite when he was around me. I can picture him grown up, with a goatee and a blazer with leather patches on the elbows, thinking deep thoughts; a future philosopher, clearly. Katie asked if they could attend the school's end of year bash together so we took her (as we normally do). They said hi to each other and then went their own ways for the entire time, each jumping on the huge inflatable bouncy of their choice. Modern love, third-grade style, I guess.

On spring break this year, Katie went to a drama camp and she met a boy there, Wesley. She only talked about him as a friend but at the end of the camp, he gave her his phone number. (I'm still not used to kids having their own phone numbers.) They began an intense, emoji-filled correspondence that included him telling her that he "liked LIKED" her, and happily she felt the same. Oh, the euphoria that was in our house for a few hours!

Young Wesley is, in fact, young: about 7 months younger than Katie and he goes to a different school. This last Saturday was beautiful weather, so Wesley's mom and I met at a park so the kids could play together. Unlike the third-grade "Hi, I'll be over there" episode with Zach, they played together for a while, while I chatted with his mom. His mom told me that Wesley talked about Katie constantly during the camp week and had told his friends at school about her when spring break was over. When we were on our way home, I told Katie that Wesley reminded me of Jerome. He's tall and looks somewhat like Rome, has glasses like her daddy's, and has that same sweet, quiet-but-intense vibe. Katie agreed that Wesley and Rome are similar and then said, "Good! I want a boy who's just like Daddy." When it comes to her taste in boys, so far at least, I'm a fan.

(Side note to Jennifer: The arranged marriage between our kids is still on, as far as I'm concerned. These are just practice boys.)