Saturday, March 12, 2011
my mother is intoxicating...
...said one freshman, trying to explain her cloying over-involvement in his life. What to do but grin without laughing and say the obvious? It's because she cares, my dear.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
conviction
"The real calling was not the drama of being stabbed and surviving. The real drama is what you do when the drama is over and the reactions are all settled," says the Reverend Al Sharpton in this week's "The Moth" Podcast. He tells a compelling story about conviction, which is hard to retell with the justice it is due. It deserves to be heard in Sharpton's own words.
Sharpton asked a judge to release the man who had stabbed him and though the man was not released, Sharpton felt satisfied with having tried. Prompted by his mother to follow the example of his hero, Martin Luther King, Jr., he had forgiven his attempted murderer. But he was further challenged when the young man wrote to him and thanked him for being the only person who had ever "spoke for him" in his life and encouraged Sharpton to always speak up for those who others would not speak for. The men began to correspond and eventually Sharpton knew he had to meet the man and talk to him. He found it to be the most difficult thing he had ever done. "I trembled a little," said Sharpton, as he sat at the table about to meet the man who had tried to kill him.
The young man thanked him for his forgiveness and told him that it was what he needed to pick up and carry on with his life when he was eventually released from jail.
"I really didn't come for you," said Sharpton. "I came for me. I had to find whether I was convicted, or just talented.
"I told him, 'I learned a lesson because of you.' You can't pass a test you never take and sometimes those that bring you to the point of death will help you discover the point of life....
"I shook his hand. I walked away, convicted. He was the last person that it mattered to me what he thought of me. I knew now what I thought of myself. And the remaining days, I've tried to know that conviction and speaking for those that had noone to speak for, even if it's those that try to harm you, is the reason I was here and I wanted to help others find out the reason they were here."
I once heard "This American Life" cover the story of a sixteen year old driver who hit and killed a biker, a classmate. There was no possible way for the driver to have avoided the accident, but as he was interviewed over twenty years latere, he still struggled daily with the part he played in the young girl's death. He spoke of how it changed his romantic relationships when he told girls he dated, how at every major life event he celebrated, he thought that she and her family would not be celebrating such an event, how he often wondered at the randomness of her death and why it could not have been him that died that day and not her. The program ended with Ira Glass telling the listener this: research shows that drivers in accidents causing death because of driver error are better able to grieve and move on with their lives than drivers like the one in the story, who are involved in accidents causing death through no fault of their own. The theory behind this phenomenon is that drivers who were involved in an accidental death have a sense of randomness related to suffering and death, while drivers who cause accidents, though they have a negative experience, made choices--had control--leading to the experience.
These two stories intersected in my thoughts about the nature of suffering, perception, reaction, creation. It seems that every negative thing that happens to a person could be classified into "an accident created and thus controlled" or "a random accident and thus controlling" with all the reverberations that each would effect. I was left a little breathless by the appropriateness of the metaphor and how I could apply it to so much pain I see in so many different students, co-workers, friends, family members, myself. Does the pain happen to you and control you? Do you cause the pain and control it?
What Sharpton did was extraordinary because the pain was literal, and though he could not control the situation he decided to control his response to it. "You never will know until you are faced with something that you don't control and that is not scripted," he said. I love this story and I want to remember his words and his example. Tomorrow is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.
Sharpton asked a judge to release the man who had stabbed him and though the man was not released, Sharpton felt satisfied with having tried. Prompted by his mother to follow the example of his hero, Martin Luther King, Jr., he had forgiven his attempted murderer. But he was further challenged when the young man wrote to him and thanked him for being the only person who had ever "spoke for him" in his life and encouraged Sharpton to always speak up for those who others would not speak for. The men began to correspond and eventually Sharpton knew he had to meet the man and talk to him. He found it to be the most difficult thing he had ever done. "I trembled a little," said Sharpton, as he sat at the table about to meet the man who had tried to kill him.
The young man thanked him for his forgiveness and told him that it was what he needed to pick up and carry on with his life when he was eventually released from jail.
"I really didn't come for you," said Sharpton. "I came for me. I had to find whether I was convicted, or just talented.
"I told him, 'I learned a lesson because of you.' You can't pass a test you never take and sometimes those that bring you to the point of death will help you discover the point of life....
"I shook his hand. I walked away, convicted. He was the last person that it mattered to me what he thought of me. I knew now what I thought of myself. And the remaining days, I've tried to know that conviction and speaking for those that had noone to speak for, even if it's those that try to harm you, is the reason I was here and I wanted to help others find out the reason they were here."
I once heard "This American Life" cover the story of a sixteen year old driver who hit and killed a biker, a classmate. There was no possible way for the driver to have avoided the accident, but as he was interviewed over twenty years latere, he still struggled daily with the part he played in the young girl's death. He spoke of how it changed his romantic relationships when he told girls he dated, how at every major life event he celebrated, he thought that she and her family would not be celebrating such an event, how he often wondered at the randomness of her death and why it could not have been him that died that day and not her. The program ended with Ira Glass telling the listener this: research shows that drivers in accidents causing death because of driver error are better able to grieve and move on with their lives than drivers like the one in the story, who are involved in accidents causing death through no fault of their own. The theory behind this phenomenon is that drivers who were involved in an accidental death have a sense of randomness related to suffering and death, while drivers who cause accidents, though they have a negative experience, made choices--had control--leading to the experience.
These two stories intersected in my thoughts about the nature of suffering, perception, reaction, creation. It seems that every negative thing that happens to a person could be classified into "an accident created and thus controlled" or "a random accident and thus controlling" with all the reverberations that each would effect. I was left a little breathless by the appropriateness of the metaphor and how I could apply it to so much pain I see in so many different students, co-workers, friends, family members, myself. Does the pain happen to you and control you? Do you cause the pain and control it?
What Sharpton did was extraordinary because the pain was literal, and though he could not control the situation he decided to control his response to it. "You never will know until you are faced with something that you don't control and that is not scripted," he said. I love this story and I want to remember his words and his example. Tomorrow is Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
saving grace
No plateaus. That's what Temple Grandin's parents accepted for her progress. The severely autistic child grew into more than a functioning adult; she brought her uniquely uneven sensory experience of life to science and the animal world, and by doing so, she has improved the lives of animals in a vast variety of settings in countries far and wide. Temple Grandin's parents, it seems, were less afraid of wild success for their daughter than many of us our for our own children or ourselves. It causes me to wonder, as a parent and educator, when to stop pushing them. Balance is important, but we suffer from such a lack of expectations, don't we? When was the last time I felt really very excited about my own goals and expectations? These things are not just for the very young, for milestones, for ceremonies. Routine and fatigue dulls our intensity, but we ought to revisit the Grandin philosophy, not just for our children, but also for ourselves. Let's not fester and mold on some flat, flaky surface, lulled by comparitive success or security. Let us not go gently into that good night.
Let's make a difference. If you are an educator, you've had this feeling before. Taylor Mali reminds you why chose this. Remind yourself again and again. Save this link for rough days, and if you are not a teacher, enjoy the performance while remembering someone who changed your life. Check out Taylor Mali's reflections on more than just teaching at http://www.taylormali.com/. I love his real world commitment to honesty at this page under the subheading "Who was Jim Flora?" In fact, when I read it, I think I fell a little bit (more) in love with Mr. Mali.
Speaking of painful honesty, I reflect often on how much I am defined by my work and how much my work is me. A friend reflected once on the influence of the work environment, proposing that we are molded by it, and our colleagues. Is that why I know a teacher in a band called "Staff Infection"? Does one grow in the direction of those we work with, so that if one works with a bunch of adolescents, eventually one is bound to act like a twelve year old girl? I happen to think a twelve year old girl is a beautiful thing, but not in such a way that being one would indicate growth on my part. I do see a lot of drama, not more in girls than boys necessarily, and not more in youth than adults either. It is a different type of drama though, fair to say. Do some teachers grow over time to act like they are back in high school? I don't even want to touch that.
I recently discussed this with my cousin, a prison guard. I haven't spent much time with him since we were children. He was one of my best friends and I remember him fondly as incredibly gentle and fun-loving. In fact, I believe during the few years of our pre-adolescent lives we spent together, he imprinted into my mind as something of a symbol of everything that is home and good about family. He was an island of warmth in a sea of confusion because he was funny, tranquil and always had a smile for me. His eyes were brown pools of kindness that I swam around in.
I was beyond perplexed when I received a message from him years later that said, "It just worked out for me to be a prison guard." I tried to picture those eyes connected to a uniform and handcuffs. Gee, I wondered, didn't Dad tell me that the prison guards often grow to act like the prisoners after a while, sort of brittle and controlling? "Yeah, that happens," he responded. He told me about how he makes an effort to separate himself from the worst of it, taking shifts that have the least exposure to the most inmate activity, and volunteering to tutor them in off-hours so that he can build positive relationships with some of the men, the suggestion being that the benefits are as much or more for him than for them, although an observer might not realize it at first. My cousin very much shapes his work, it becomes obvious, and in doing so, he positively shapes his work environment for others, in some small way. Of course he hasn't changed the fact that it's a prison and it still maintains the nature of a prison. But he has made his difference, for himself and for some other human beings. I think that this is very Christ-like. What he is doing is very intentional. To shape our work and to be shaped by it in a way that is meaningful requires intention. One must seek, reflect and direct one's energies with the utmost care.
This is easier said than done. When it doesn't work out--when our best efforts become misdirected or fail--we've got to forgive ourselves. I can't say it better than this brilliant art and essay that I discovered in the latest issue of "Good" Magazine: Let's Make Better Mistakes Tomorrow .
Let's make a difference. If you are an educator, you've had this feeling before. Taylor Mali reminds you why chose this. Remind yourself again and again. Save this link for rough days, and if you are not a teacher, enjoy the performance while remembering someone who changed your life. Check out Taylor Mali's reflections on more than just teaching at http://www.taylormali.com/. I love his real world commitment to honesty at this page under the subheading "Who was Jim Flora?" In fact, when I read it, I think I fell a little bit (more) in love with Mr. Mali.
Speaking of painful honesty, I reflect often on how much I am defined by my work and how much my work is me. A friend reflected once on the influence of the work environment, proposing that we are molded by it, and our colleagues. Is that why I know a teacher in a band called "Staff Infection"? Does one grow in the direction of those we work with, so that if one works with a bunch of adolescents, eventually one is bound to act like a twelve year old girl? I happen to think a twelve year old girl is a beautiful thing, but not in such a way that being one would indicate growth on my part. I do see a lot of drama, not more in girls than boys necessarily, and not more in youth than adults either. It is a different type of drama though, fair to say. Do some teachers grow over time to act like they are back in high school? I don't even want to touch that.
I recently discussed this with my cousin, a prison guard. I haven't spent much time with him since we were children. He was one of my best friends and I remember him fondly as incredibly gentle and fun-loving. In fact, I believe during the few years of our pre-adolescent lives we spent together, he imprinted into my mind as something of a symbol of everything that is home and good about family. He was an island of warmth in a sea of confusion because he was funny, tranquil and always had a smile for me. His eyes were brown pools of kindness that I swam around in.
I was beyond perplexed when I received a message from him years later that said, "It just worked out for me to be a prison guard." I tried to picture those eyes connected to a uniform and handcuffs. Gee, I wondered, didn't Dad tell me that the prison guards often grow to act like the prisoners after a while, sort of brittle and controlling? "Yeah, that happens," he responded. He told me about how he makes an effort to separate himself from the worst of it, taking shifts that have the least exposure to the most inmate activity, and volunteering to tutor them in off-hours so that he can build positive relationships with some of the men, the suggestion being that the benefits are as much or more for him than for them, although an observer might not realize it at first. My cousin very much shapes his work, it becomes obvious, and in doing so, he positively shapes his work environment for others, in some small way. Of course he hasn't changed the fact that it's a prison and it still maintains the nature of a prison. But he has made his difference, for himself and for some other human beings. I think that this is very Christ-like. What he is doing is very intentional. To shape our work and to be shaped by it in a way that is meaningful requires intention. One must seek, reflect and direct one's energies with the utmost care.
This is easier said than done. When it doesn't work out--when our best efforts become misdirected or fail--we've got to forgive ourselves. I can't say it better than this brilliant art and essay that I discovered in the latest issue of "Good" Magazine: Let's Make Better Mistakes Tomorrow .
Monday, January 3, 2011
begin again again
Upon returning from the holiday vacation, it took a mere six hours for a student to break down into a tantrum, kicking his project across the room, spewing expletives (including one specifically meant for me) while he stomped out the door. I could hear him kicking and punching lockers as he made his way down the hall. I had done my best to remain calm during this display and told my students as it happened not to worry, but I was worried and a little broken-hearted to have the fresh start so quickly kicked to shit, to put it bluntly. Fortunately, I have the kind of administration who won't automatically blame me and agree with the young man in his assessment, and for that I am extremely grateful. I have heard enough horror stories from colleagues in other schools to know the variety of other possibilities.
The authentically difficult part of the new year came in the form an email I received this morning.
There is an obvious response, a collective gasp. Twice in one family? What cruelty of fate or destiny is this? I realize Tantrum Boy can't really ruin any day in my small life. Then there is really nothing fresh to be said about suicide. It's a dark, ugly thing that doesn't deserve sentimentality. My first experience with it as a teacher came eight weeks into student teaching with a freshman who also hung himself. He went home one day after a fight at school and quit living. He was tall, lanky, a little abnormal, with a loose smile and a big head. He had longish chocolate hair and an uneven gait. He had been an odd kid and he had no doubt lived a difficult life, but he was sweet and the classmates I had taught found themselves equally struggling in the Land of Misfits. They seemed to appreciate him. I remember him clearly, and his mother too, and I feel as bewildered for him now as I did then. The class was mystified, silent, stymied. They were clumsy with it, as we all are.
I heard a radio personality the night Kurt Cobain died announce, "Welcome to the Stupid Club." It surely is tempting to dismiss such a needless act as so much selfishness. I look at Stella and feel angry for her (and who am I to feel it?) Yet the compassionate response to suicide (beyond the obvious comforting of survivors) is to recognize the pain that drives a being to destroy itself. It is an unnatural act that goes against the laws of nature. Those who have not struggled with serious mental health issues have only to thank God that they can not understand such a pain, that it does in fact seem stupid. The compassionate response is to ask oneself, "Am I listening?" Am I really listening to the people who are really talking to me today? Is there someone in my life who has been trying to tell me something? If one of my friends said he was dealing with depression, how would I respond? Do I allow others near me to experience and express emotional pain? These are questions more worthy of our reflection than all the second-guessing to which we are bound.
*Names and details in the bloggety blog are always changed to protect the identity of others.
The authentically difficult part of the new year came in the form an email I received this morning.
As most of you heard, Stella's father passed away over the holiday break. Services were held December 22.Stella's father committed suicide - hanging himself at home the week before Christmas. Stella's uncle (her dad's brother) committed suicide in 2006.Please use this info to best handle any interaction. We will be setting up counseling sessions through the office.Thank you.
There is an obvious response, a collective gasp. Twice in one family? What cruelty of fate or destiny is this? I realize Tantrum Boy can't really ruin any day in my small life. Then there is really nothing fresh to be said about suicide. It's a dark, ugly thing that doesn't deserve sentimentality. My first experience with it as a teacher came eight weeks into student teaching with a freshman who also hung himself. He went home one day after a fight at school and quit living. He was tall, lanky, a little abnormal, with a loose smile and a big head. He had longish chocolate hair and an uneven gait. He had been an odd kid and he had no doubt lived a difficult life, but he was sweet and the classmates I had taught found themselves equally struggling in the Land of Misfits. They seemed to appreciate him. I remember him clearly, and his mother too, and I feel as bewildered for him now as I did then. The class was mystified, silent, stymied. They were clumsy with it, as we all are.
I heard a radio personality the night Kurt Cobain died announce, "Welcome to the Stupid Club." It surely is tempting to dismiss such a needless act as so much selfishness. I look at Stella and feel angry for her (and who am I to feel it?) Yet the compassionate response to suicide (beyond the obvious comforting of survivors) is to recognize the pain that drives a being to destroy itself. It is an unnatural act that goes against the laws of nature. Those who have not struggled with serious mental health issues have only to thank God that they can not understand such a pain, that it does in fact seem stupid. The compassionate response is to ask oneself, "Am I listening?" Am I really listening to the people who are really talking to me today? Is there someone in my life who has been trying to tell me something? If one of my friends said he was dealing with depression, how would I respond? Do I allow others near me to experience and express emotional pain? These are questions more worthy of our reflection than all the second-guessing to which we are bound.
*Names and details in the bloggety blog are always changed to protect the identity of others.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
resolutely begin again
John Dickerson* of the podcast "Slate's Culture Gabfest" has a sexy voice and even more attractive thoughts. I never want to see a picture of him because as it stands now, I have a tall, dark and Kennedy-esque vision in my mind and if he turns out to look more like one of those guys from "Car Talk," I just don't want to know. This week, John Dickerson described New Year's Resolutions as unfortunately optimistic and even though he's right, I also believe taking time to set goals and allowing our uncertain selves a fresh start in unforgiving times is important. It's a brutal world and we are no less hard on ourselves than the world we face each day. John didn't want to declare resolutions, but said that if he had to do so, his resolution would be to "spread good kharma." I'm trying to do that right now as my dog licks himself next to me, slobbering, aggravating and distracting me from my zen thoughts.
Next year I'll have a list of books to share, but this year I only have some favorite music that I've been using recently when I'm cleaning or doing other mindless but necessary tasks which require energy. All forms of art are for sharing.
Next year I'll have a list of books to share, but this year I only have some favorite music that I've been using recently when I'm cleaning or doing other mindless but necessary tasks which require energy. All forms of art are for sharing.
This Month's Playlist of Music for Cleaning
and other Mindless Behaviors
Hey World (Remote Control Version)
Michael Franti & Spearhead
Bette Davis Eyes
Kim Carnes
The Big Bang
Rock Mafia
Radio Gaga
Queen
Badfish
Sublime
Will The Circle Be Unbroken
The Staple Singers
Rise
Flobots
Father's Son
Fistful of Mercy
Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World
Harold Arlen/George Weiss & Bob Thiele
American Boy
Estelle featuring Kanye West
Sometimes I Rhyme Slow
Nice & Smooth
Hallelujah
Justin Timerberlake featuring Charlie Sexton
In My Life
Judy Collins
Rise
Flobots
Father's Son
Fistful of Mercy
Over the Rainbow/Wonderful World
Harold Arlen/George Weiss & Bob Thiele
American Boy
Estelle featuring Kanye West
Sometimes I Rhyme Slow
Nice & Smooth
Hallelujah
Justin Timerberlake featuring Charlie Sexton
In My Life
Judy Collins
*It turns out that John Dickerson wasn't quite who I had in mind when I wrote this blog entry. Please see comments section.
Monday, December 27, 2010
make me feel like a new kid, santa
If you believe(d) in Santa, what would you ask him? Here are a few excerpts (unedited) from high school students at Ridgemont High.
Dear Santa,
For Christmas, I would like to get all my piercings and tattoos done....I would like a huge trail of stars leading into a flower on my back and two doves on my chest. And with all of that I would also like some numbing cream so I don't feel the needles jabbing into me. That would be an amazing gift!
I've got a few questions fer "Mr. Claus." Why haven't you died yet? I mean hey, your like a bejilling years old now. How do you know if I've been a good girl or a naughty girl? Are you stalking me? Are you Jesus? Why are your elfs so small? Are they legal midgets? Why are you only white and not black or Mexican? Why do you give people naughty gifts when they are suppose to be good? Are you sure your not a poser?
--Amanda (signed with a heart)
Dear Santa,
If you are real, I have a few questions for you. If you have magic how come all the problems (such as war) aren't fixed? Do you even care? Why did you limit yourself to only nine reindeer? I would have at least 21 of them. Why don't you get stuck in the chimney? Magic isn't real so there has to be a logical reason. Do you ever get sad? If you don't, you're very weird....How did you find Mrs. Claus? Did the elves set you up? Why are elves so short? Do they have an issue? How does Global Warming affect you? You house has to be on fire or something!
If I may, I would like to tell you what I want for Christmas. all I want is for my family to all get along and be happy. I know that's pretty much impossible but that's all I truely want.
Your pal,
Marie
(but you probably already knew that)
Dear Santa,
Right now, I can't tell if you're actually reading this letter, skimming through it, or not even reading it at all. Last year, it seems as though you didn't read it at all, again. I don't think that it's the letters getting lost in the mail; I've been sending 28 copies of the letters in the mail for the last four years. I think you're intentionally ignoring my letters asking what I want and then give me what you see fit. I've been asking for an AK-47 for three years, and yet you think I should have a pair of socks with reindeers on them. I don't like reindeers, I just eat them. Knowing this, I've decided to ask for money so I can buy the gifts myself, and so you don't mess it up like last year.
Sincerely,
Tom
Dear Santa,
Hello, 'Santa'. Tell me, what is your secrete to immortality? Who old are you dude? Would my theory be correct? Are you a very old vampire? That would work because you only show up after dark for one night and you have live for a VERY long time....
...Talk to you later,
Macy
Dear Santa,
Now that you are real I have a few questions for you. I've been waiting my whole life for this moment so I hope you reply to this message. This is my 14th year on this planet and I believe its the year that my wishywishes are heard. This year I want world peace more than anything. That why I like Christmas so much . It feels like my stress level is reduced, I feel more peaceful, and best of all I'm spending the whole time with my family. I just want all of the violence, drama and fighting to end. Yes, I understand that I am on the "naughty list", but I promise if my wish comes true I will try my best to never, ever be on the naught list again! And if you can't do that this year then my second choice would be for me or my grandmother to win the lottery. She has pretty much dedicated her whole life to trying to win the lottery. We have both promised to donate some of it to St. Judes research hospital and the ASPCA center.
Thank you,
Julie
Dear Santa,
I have been great this year. I would really appreciate it if you would bring me something that I would really love to have. I heard that you can make anything happen with your magic make anything possibility for sad and kids in need. So I was wondering if you could make my family happier. Make them stop smoking make it so we become closer than that. If not that could you please let me be able to see my dad more than I do now? I miss him a lot. My mom says he is a lousy dad. But I really don't think so. I also heard you can see everybody all around the world young kid's teenagers and adults. So you probably would think that. I would also like for you to convince my mom to trust me more and let me have more freedome than I do now. But I don't think you can convince her to do that so you don't have to bother with that if you don't want to. And the finally thing I would like for you to do is for me to erase most of my past make everyone forget about a lot of stuff about me. Make me feel like a new kid, so I could make new friends. I would love for you to convince my mom to get my belly pierced. I would love you for that to.
Sincerely,
Courtney
Dear Santa,
I have many questions for you. For one, how is it possible for you to go around the world for everyone's Christmas in one night? How do you fit down the chimney? Many people think this is magic. But magic isn't real. How long have you been doing this? If you've been doing this for hundreds of years, how haven't you died of old age yet? If you're supposed to bring peace, why is there war? Shouldn't you be controlling and stopping this? Since you have special powers or "magic", why can't you stop all the worlds issues like global warming? Global warming kills tons of animals. Don't you love animals? Maybe you just love reindeers, since they're you're only transportation. That's not very nice, Santa. Since you live in the North Pole, what's your address. Maybe I can come visit you sometime.
Now for my Christmas, I only want....
Love,
Melissa
Well, Santa? Don't you love animals? Do ya or don'tcha?
Dear Santa,
For Christmas, I would like to get all my piercings and tattoos done....I would like a huge trail of stars leading into a flower on my back and two doves on my chest. And with all of that I would also like some numbing cream so I don't feel the needles jabbing into me. That would be an amazing gift!
I've got a few questions fer "Mr. Claus." Why haven't you died yet? I mean hey, your like a bejilling years old now. How do you know if I've been a good girl or a naughty girl? Are you stalking me? Are you Jesus? Why are your elfs so small? Are they legal midgets? Why are you only white and not black or Mexican? Why do you give people naughty gifts when they are suppose to be good? Are you sure your not a poser?
--Amanda (signed with a heart)
Dear Santa,
If you are real, I have a few questions for you. If you have magic how come all the problems (such as war) aren't fixed? Do you even care? Why did you limit yourself to only nine reindeer? I would have at least 21 of them. Why don't you get stuck in the chimney? Magic isn't real so there has to be a logical reason. Do you ever get sad? If you don't, you're very weird....How did you find Mrs. Claus? Did the elves set you up? Why are elves so short? Do they have an issue? How does Global Warming affect you? You house has to be on fire or something!
If I may, I would like to tell you what I want for Christmas. all I want is for my family to all get along and be happy. I know that's pretty much impossible but that's all I truely want.
Your pal,
Marie
(but you probably already knew that)
Dear Santa,
Right now, I can't tell if you're actually reading this letter, skimming through it, or not even reading it at all. Last year, it seems as though you didn't read it at all, again. I don't think that it's the letters getting lost in the mail; I've been sending 28 copies of the letters in the mail for the last four years. I think you're intentionally ignoring my letters asking what I want and then give me what you see fit. I've been asking for an AK-47 for three years, and yet you think I should have a pair of socks with reindeers on them. I don't like reindeers, I just eat them. Knowing this, I've decided to ask for money so I can buy the gifts myself, and so you don't mess it up like last year.
Sincerely,
Tom
Dear Santa,
Hello, 'Santa'. Tell me, what is your secrete to immortality? Who old are you dude? Would my theory be correct? Are you a very old vampire? That would work because you only show up after dark for one night and you have live for a VERY long time....
...Talk to you later,
Macy
Dear Santa,
Now that you are real I have a few questions for you. I've been waiting my whole life for this moment so I hope you reply to this message. This is my 14th year on this planet and I believe its the year that my wishywishes are heard. This year I want world peace more than anything. That why I like Christmas so much . It feels like my stress level is reduced, I feel more peaceful, and best of all I'm spending the whole time with my family. I just want all of the violence, drama and fighting to end. Yes, I understand that I am on the "naughty list", but I promise if my wish comes true I will try my best to never, ever be on the naught list again! And if you can't do that this year then my second choice would be for me or my grandmother to win the lottery. She has pretty much dedicated her whole life to trying to win the lottery. We have both promised to donate some of it to St. Judes research hospital and the ASPCA center.
Thank you,
Julie
Dear Santa,
I have been great this year. I would really appreciate it if you would bring me something that I would really love to have. I heard that you can make anything happen with your magic make anything possibility for sad and kids in need. So I was wondering if you could make my family happier. Make them stop smoking make it so we become closer than that. If not that could you please let me be able to see my dad more than I do now? I miss him a lot. My mom says he is a lousy dad. But I really don't think so. I also heard you can see everybody all around the world young kid's teenagers and adults. So you probably would think that. I would also like for you to convince my mom to trust me more and let me have more freedome than I do now. But I don't think you can convince her to do that so you don't have to bother with that if you don't want to. And the finally thing I would like for you to do is for me to erase most of my past make everyone forget about a lot of stuff about me. Make me feel like a new kid, so I could make new friends. I would love for you to convince my mom to get my belly pierced. I would love you for that to.
Sincerely,
Courtney
Dear Santa,
I have many questions for you. For one, how is it possible for you to go around the world for everyone's Christmas in one night? How do you fit down the chimney? Many people think this is magic. But magic isn't real. How long have you been doing this? If you've been doing this for hundreds of years, how haven't you died of old age yet? If you're supposed to bring peace, why is there war? Shouldn't you be controlling and stopping this? Since you have special powers or "magic", why can't you stop all the worlds issues like global warming? Global warming kills tons of animals. Don't you love animals? Maybe you just love reindeers, since they're you're only transportation. That's not very nice, Santa. Since you live in the North Pole, what's your address. Maybe I can come visit you sometime.
Now for my Christmas, I only want....
Love,
Melissa
Well, Santa? Don't you love animals? Do ya or don'tcha?
Monday, December 20, 2010
today in self-pity
I've read a lot about narcissism lately.
As it turns out, narcissism is trendy:
Well, whatever. This post is going to be all about me and I'm going to skip flogging myself. If that makes you a little bilious already, better to head on over to etsy for some pouncing instead.
Christmas vacation started with our usual romp to visit our families of origin in the Clara City area. The holiday always begins this way for my sons, with a weekend trip to exchange gifts and enjoy visits with grandparents and aunts/uncles and cousins. It was a quiet, warm gathering with in-laws but all was not so well with my own family. Without sharing all the gritty details, I can share what everyone shares about these situations: it wasn't my fault.
The specifics don't matter. What matters is that Mom died, and with her was supposed to go all the drama and emotional butchery of decades of alcoholism. And then there was a stepmother and that was something new and dreadful to adjust to, and yet it worked out. This year was supposed to be the year that things would be good again. I missed Dad and anticipated my delightful nieces with feverish anticipation. And yet I found myself, half-jokingly and half-wishfully asking him, "Are you sure they are my brothers? All these years I've wanted that old joke about being adopted to be true but damn it, we all have to look so much alike." I was trying to joke my way into comforting him, but it sounded as sad as we both felt.
Tonight I listened to a podcast of NPR's Fresh Air and heard Terry Gross asking Carlos Eire about his experience as a Cuban-American refugee. Eire was a child and in one foster home he suffered from malnutrition that caused his back to grow askew. He discussed how he never saw himself in a mirror and didn't realize anything was really wrong with his physical form until long after, when his aunt arrived in the states and said almost immediately, "What happened to your back?" He later was shocked to see himself in a picture and only then understood the extent of his physical malformation. He still has the picture, Eire says, and looking at it still upsets him.
Visiting home last weekend and having this typically bellicose experience with my brother and finding myself defending my father and wondering to high heaven if I was doing the right thing and examining and re-examining my actions and motives--all of this left me looking at a picture of us for the first time and realizing (suddenly and too late) that with or without her, we are malformed. Horrified, I realize that we are significantly, at our core, irrevocably and without question, damaged. We will never walk normal. We will never be normal. We are broken, ;ike a back that is bent from malnutrition. It makes it difficult to look at one's self straight on without shuddering.
I'm so done with her. She's the most narcissistic person I know.
Narcissism will be no longer be a disorder as defined by the DSM-IV.
As it turns out, narcissism is trendy:
Well, whatever. This post is going to be all about me and I'm going to skip flogging myself. If that makes you a little bilious already, better to head on over to etsy for some pouncing instead.
Christmas vacation started with our usual romp to visit our families of origin in the Clara City area. The holiday always begins this way for my sons, with a weekend trip to exchange gifts and enjoy visits with grandparents and aunts/uncles and cousins. It was a quiet, warm gathering with in-laws but all was not so well with my own family. Without sharing all the gritty details, I can share what everyone shares about these situations: it wasn't my fault.
The specifics don't matter. What matters is that Mom died, and with her was supposed to go all the drama and emotional butchery of decades of alcoholism. And then there was a stepmother and that was something new and dreadful to adjust to, and yet it worked out. This year was supposed to be the year that things would be good again. I missed Dad and anticipated my delightful nieces with feverish anticipation. And yet I found myself, half-jokingly and half-wishfully asking him, "Are you sure they are my brothers? All these years I've wanted that old joke about being adopted to be true but damn it, we all have to look so much alike." I was trying to joke my way into comforting him, but it sounded as sad as we both felt.
Tonight I listened to a podcast of NPR's Fresh Air and heard Terry Gross asking Carlos Eire about his experience as a Cuban-American refugee. Eire was a child and in one foster home he suffered from malnutrition that caused his back to grow askew. He discussed how he never saw himself in a mirror and didn't realize anything was really wrong with his physical form until long after, when his aunt arrived in the states and said almost immediately, "What happened to your back?" He later was shocked to see himself in a picture and only then understood the extent of his physical malformation. He still has the picture, Eire says, and looking at it still upsets him.
Visiting home last weekend and having this typically bellicose experience with my brother and finding myself defending my father and wondering to high heaven if I was doing the right thing and examining and re-examining my actions and motives--all of this left me looking at a picture of us for the first time and realizing (suddenly and too late) that with or without her, we are malformed. Horrified, I realize that we are significantly, at our core, irrevocably and without question, damaged. We will never walk normal. We will never be normal. We are broken, ;ike a back that is bent from malnutrition. It makes it difficult to look at one's self straight on without shuddering.
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