Difficult Conversations 101

Just imagine how much easier this life thing would be.... if it just came with a manual.  

Just imagine how much easier this life thing would be....if that manual included a chapter on how to communicate with each other.

Just imagine how much easier this life thing would be....if that chapter included a few paragraphs that instructed on how to respectfully disagree with each other.

Just imagine how much easier this life thing would be....if we all managed (more often than not, anyway), to honor a person with a conflicting thought while harboring a different viewpoint.

Don't worry.  I'm done with my John Lennon impersonations for the day---but I am being serious, or at least as serious as I know how to be.    We spent a lot of time in school learning things that are forgotten after the next chapter test (hello, geometry, biggest time suck waste that I ever encountered), vocabulary words that remain unused, foreign languages that most of us don't speak.

Side note on the foreign language : I actually won an award in high school for my outstanding grades in French (I tied with my friend with the initials "MGK")-- and while I can recite the "Hail Mary" and "Our Father" in French- backward, forward, sober and drunk- I managed to eek out about 20 useful words, combined, in the time I spent in France.  AWESOME.


What we're not taught, and it's something we all need to learn, is how to communicate with each other--particularly when we hold differing opinions.  And don't say that skill is learned at home- most adults, myself certainly included, don't know how to do it either.  If anything, I think communication skills deteriorate with age rather than improve.

Then, throw social media into the mix, and....PRESTO!  There's a big ol' mess on your hands.   I'd say a whole new set of rules with respect to social graces on things like Facebook, but I don't think that's a fair assessment.  I'm starting to believe it's more like anarchy.  I'm stunned at the types of venom that people are willing to spew--at friends, at family members, at COMPLETE STRANGERS, though I freely acknowledge that it's much easier to strap on a set when behind a keyboard than when looking someone directly in the eye.   Fret not- the irony of my mentioning this sentiment in my blog isn't lost on me.  I know better than anyone that it's much easier to share my thoughts in a medium that I control, in a pace that I control, and as a soliloquy rather than an actual conversation.

People have their deep-rooted beliefs and sometimes those beliefs are controversial.  I'm certainly no different than anyone else in this regard.   In this world, there are some people who would engage in debate about these beliefs-- vehemently, and in real life, and face-to-face.  This tendency doesn't scare or otherwise alarm me.  I generally either respect those people, or think that they're bullies depending on the mechanisms that these people employ to make their points---but either way, I generally know what I'm dealing with.  What does alarm me is the tendency of otherwise mild-mannered people to acquire some misguided sense of cyber-courage and (for lack of a better phrase) go off on those with whom they disagree.  There's philosophical debate, there's disagreement and then there's antagonism...and that's a tricky course to successfully navigate without going completely off the rails.

On the opposite side of the spectrum (and more often than not, I fall into this category, though I've certainly run my mouth in an ugly fashion when I shouldn't have), there are people who cower down and swallow their differing viewpoints when they might otherwise want to speak up--partially out of fear, and partially out of a desire to keep the peace.  While this course of action is certainly easier to digest, it again speaks to a general inability to productively and respectfully disagree with someone else.

(Yet another sidebar to avoid having unintended holes shot in my arguments:  The group of people who I reference above do not include those who hold a differing opinion but choose not to share it.  Choosing to hold beliefs private is one thing, and comes from both a decision and a position of strength.  Clamming up when you'd like to engage in a debate because you don't know how to or are afraid to navigate the minefield is not derived from a position of strength.  To the outside world, both courses of action may look the same, but they couldn't be any more different.  One is electing an option.  The other is opting out for lack of any other known alternatives).

Further compounding the problem in my mind is the growing tendency toward polarization, especially when the broader media has largely segmented into two camps--- the left and the right.   Like I said, I certainly have my own beliefs, and I hold them dear and I won't go into much specific detail in this forum other than to say "to the left"---but I refuse to subscribe to the "all or nothing" partisan philosophy that seems to have become a prerequisite for life in this country, in this time.  Saying "take it or leave it" to me, or "you're either with me 100% or not with me at all" just isn't going to work.  I'm fine with saying that I'm more closely aligned to certain political and religious beliefs than others, but I'm not fine with saying that I'm wholeheartedly and unequivocally behind anything.  To me, it's more a sentiment that indicates....upon careful consideration, I have decided that in most material respects, I am more closely aligned with XYZ than anything else, even though I am aware that XYZ is not without its problems."

Another tangent.  Sorry.   I have no clue what to do either.  So, to summarize, what I've done over the span of a few hundred words is identify what I believe is a problem and offer virtually no solutions to solve it.  Good job, champ.

I like debates.  I like playing devil's advocate.  I love asking questions.  I love finding new ways to look at things. What I'd like to do, and so far I've failed miserably, is find a way to debate and find an outcome whereby I can (a) disagree with someone without caving; (b) learn something from their differing viewpoint, even if I don't necessarily agree; and (c) find some way to honor the person while not-always-necessarily agreeing with their point of view.

Easier said than done...easier said than done.  This would have been so much easier if I was taught this skill in school as opposed to waste-of-time geometry.

One Million Morons

I don't shop at JC Penney.....but I just might start.  


I realize that I am more than a little delayed in responding to this news story.  It's stuck with me for the better part of a week---and, if I'm being honest--I've been unable to shake it.  This is possibly because this story is so off-the-chain outlandish that I initially hard a hard time believing it to be true.


The synopsis:

1. JC Penney recently appointed Ellen DeGeneres as their spokesmodel.
2. In response, One Million Moms, a "traditional values" group,  campaigned against JC Penney and Ellen.  Why?  Because Ellen is gay. Because Ellen's sexual orientation defied their definition of "traditional values."
3. JC Penney sticks by Ellen (yay, JC Penney!)

Following is the post that appeared on the One Million Moms website:


By jumping on the pro-gay bandwagon, JC Penney is attempting to gain a new target market and in the process will lose customers with traditional values that have been faithful to them over all these years. The majority of JC Penney shoppers will be offended and choose to no longer shop there.


Are these people FOR REAL?  


And to think that all this time, I thought that JC Penney was where my mom bought her curtains.  I didn't realize that some misguided portion of the American populace thought that it was a storefront for hatred.


People have values.  People steadfastly stand behind their values.  This is all fine, good, and to be expected.  Values are deeply personal.  This, too, is fine, good, and to be expected.  I just looked it up, and value is defined as "relative worth, merit, or importance."  There is virtually nothing in the words of the One Million Morons   Moms that can construed as having any worth, any merit, or any importance.  It's not value.  It's just hate.  Stupid, ugly, unnecessary, pointless hate.


And then there's the word that's so frequently paired with "values".  Traditional.   Don't get me wrong--many traditions are wonderful.  Maybe even most traditions are wonderful.  Some traditions, however, are not wonderful.  Slavery was once a tradition in this country.  State mandated racial segregation was once a tradition in this country.  Women not having the right to vote was once a tradition in this country. And to me, it's goddamned scary when someone confuses the concept of institutionalized disenfranchisement of groups of people with the concept of "traditional values"--and it's even more scary when groups of these like-yet-small-minded bozos join forces to bring back the "good old days." WTF.


Again, they don't stand for values.  They stand for ignorance.  They stand for hate.


Ellen, though?  She seems to have the concept of "values" down pat, as evidenced in her response:


Here are the values I stand for. I stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you’d want to be treated and helping those in need. To me, those are traditional values. That’s what I stand for … I also believe in dance.


Me too, Ellen.  Me, too.....(and bravo, JC Penney)


Hate is not a family value,

Love, hate and Philly Mag

I have a love-hate relationship with Philly magazine.  Each month when it arrives, I devour it--I get excited to vicariously participate in the adventures of the locally fabulous, and then, just as quickly, become kind of disgusted with myself for buying into the hype.   Call it the locally fabulous hangover, if you will.

I'm starting to believe that I prefer my hangovers to originate from beer and wine, or, at a minimum, from a party to which I was actually invited.  I mean, seriously.  If I'm going to have the hangover, I'd like to have had the fun first.

I realize that the term "locally fabulous", especially as applied to the Philadelphia metro area, is kind of an oxymoron.   It's Philadelphia, for crying out loud, where "fabulous" is often synonymous with "wearing clean sweatpants to the Outback".  Okay, that was mean.  If I'm being slightly more charitable, I'd describe it as a city with a massive runner-up complex, the Jan Brady to New York/LA's Marcia Brady.  I'm speaking on no authority whatsoever, but I'm fairly confident that fabulous in Philly is roughly equivalent to C-list in New York and LA. I'm thinking Kathy Griffin territory, here (who, incidentally, I do think is kind of fabulous)

Before I get lynched by the Philadelphia faithful- I am one of you.  I was born in this area.  I've lived here my entire life- initially by birth, and then consistently reinforced by a series of (some good, some questionable) choices.  I've spent my entire life trying to get out of here, but yet, I've never pulled the trigger.   My relationship with this area is probably the single best illustrative example of a love-hate relationship in my life.  I love the grittiness of this area.  I love the work-a-day, blue collar ethic.  I love the passion.  I love the historical significance.  I love the fact that it's completely okay to throw shit at Santa Claus.  I don't understand cities that don't have such ingrained passion.  There's plenty that I'm not so fond of, too- but I'm afraid of getting my ass kicked, so I'll refrain.  I don't hold up so well in street fights.  My jacked-up nose is evidence of that.

Side note: that statement made me sound much cooler/tougher than I actually am.  I broke my nose in the karate class that my mom made me take for self-defense purposes before heading off to the rough streets of Villanova.  I couldn't block for crap, and, for that matter, couldn't punch either.  After my nose cast was removed (yes, I really had a nose cast, and yes, it was as psychologically damaging to a 17 year old girl as you'd reasonably expect) Mom bought me some pepper spray instead and wished me the best.

Shockingly, I digress.

The point of this rambling is that I take umbrage to the glorification of "fabulousness"-- even if it is graded on a curve for the Philadelphia market.

That sounds harsh.  I know a good number of truly fabulous people in the real world, and these people should be glorified--because their fabulousness is based on actual substance and not relational bullshit.  These people should be considered out of scope from the full scale rant on which I am about to embark.

Who exactly decided that these people were better than anyone else?  Who exactly decided that these were the people who get to choose who is worth knowing and who should be relegated to the sidelines? Who exactly decided that these were the people who would ultimately decide if I'm worth knowing or not?

WTF.  Repeat after me.  WTF.

I read an article in this month's issue that profiled a woman who is apparently the person to know on the Main Line social scene.  I'll admit that I'd love to have a drink with her- she sounds totally amusing--but I surely would not pass muster.  Not the point.   What annoys   enrages me are the methods by which  "fabulous" women earn their titles, and the methods by which this "fabulousness" is repeatedly reinforced---all while reinforcing social stratification.  Awesome.

Apparently, what it takes to be a fabulous woman worth knowing is the following:  Be born white, at least moderately well-connected, and pretty.  Get enough of an education to look good on paper.  Get boob job and whatever other cosmetic procedures are required.   Absolutely, be blonde or get blonde.  Become the second or third wife or a wealthy man considerably older than yourself.  Have at least 2 children, a nutritionist and a personal trainer.  Work the social circuit.  Develop your "brand". Divorce.  Re-brand.  Become queen of a kingdom where who you know is more important than what you are.

And then get usurped by the next big thing in two years.

I have a little girl.   I worry about what she sees.  I worry about she reacts to what she sees.  I worry about how she uses this information to  frame her own definition of a woman of character.  This is not what I want her to see.

Allow me to be a bit more blunt.  I'd rather set fire to my own house while I sit in it than raise a daughter who thinks it's fabulous to be a queen bee (or queen bee lady-in-waiting) in a shallow kingdom that creates and perpetuates its own bullshit-- and expects others to bow to the throne.  I'd also like her to actually ACCOMPLISH something meaningful before she becomes supremely proud of herself.  Maybe that's just me.

This, incidentally, is probably precisely why I'm never going to end up on any Most (fill-in-your-obnoxious-adjective-here) List.  I'm okay with that.

It bothers me enough when I see messages like this in the media, but I find it even more troublesome when I see it in the course of everyday life.  Which I do.  More than I should.  I'd run out of fingers and toes to count on if asked to quantify how many times I've been told in the last year that Mr./Ms. XYZ is awesome, and I should really try to make sure they like me.  That my life would be better if I was deemed worthy by the elite Mr./Ms. Fabulous.

Again, WTF.

Shall I bring my best dress to the cleaners?  Get my makeup done?  Be witty and charming and smart (but not too smart) and say the right things, and only the right things, and pray that I make the cut?  Fail.

Life's not sorority rush-- which, incidentally, I survived in the mid 90s by a mutual choice between me and a group of quality girls that shared core beliefs, if not every opinion.  For the record, it's the lack of mutual choice in these types of setups that have me running for the hills.   I'm too old, too tired, and too time constrained to put myself in situations where my role is to pretty myself up and pray to be chosen-- in a relationship that would likely be unilateral.  Let me get this straight- I am supposed to like you, because you're better than me, and I should just reallyreallyreally hope that you like me?

I'm packing up my ball and going home, kids.  I'm not playing....at least not anymore.  I spent too many years trying to be the version of me that I thought was most suitable for mass consumption--only to realize that I no longer consistently realized who I was.  I have a little girl who watches my every move- this crap doesn't fly.  I have a masters degree, a respectable job, and a lot of opinions (!!), but none of this matters if I can't show my daughter that if you don't love and respect yourself, you can't really love or respect anyone else.

I think it was the great poet Jewel (ha!!  please kill me) who said something along the lines of "people living their lives on TV.  They say they're better than you, and you agree."  You may say you're better than me.  I don't agree- at least not until you get to know me, and I get to know you, and we can actually make some sort of informed decision.

Rant over.   Next time, I'll be less serious, i promise.

No silence, no consent,

The Lion Sleeps Tonight

I'd already written the majority of a new entry--one that I liked a good bit, actually--but that entry needs to be relegated to the back burner, at least for the day.  This is a sad day.  This is a heartbreakingly sad ending to a heartbreakingly sad story.

Rest in peace, Joe Paterno.

My heart breaks for him.  I, frankly, cannot think of a worse way to die---and I'm not talking about cancer.  Imagine spending sixty-plus years dedicating your life to something you loved, something you believed in, something with which your identity was completely intertwined-- and losing it, abruptly and in scandal.  Imagine losing your will to live, and dying a broken person, in the public eye.    Imagine, really imagine, dying of a broken heart.  Imagine that happening to your parents, your grandparents, your children, and tell me that doesn't break YOUR heart.

I see some similarities between the death of Joe Paterno and the death of Charles Schulz, the creator of the Peanuts cartoon.   I've carried the Charles Schulz Story for years.  For those who don't know the story, Charles Schulz in his sleep at home February 12, 2000.  His last original Peanuts strip was published the very next day, on Sunday, February 13, 2000, just hours after his death the night before.  His creation could not exist without him, and, as it turns out, he could not exist without it.  

Think about that for a second.  Most of us will end our careers with a retirement party.  Some of us joke about our jobs killing us.  Most of us will retire into the sunset, and will be replaced in the workplace with little fanfare, and will carry on with our second (or third) act. A select few, those whose career accomplishments have  touched the lives of millions, literally cannot live without their work.  Those are the people who are irreplaceable.  

Joe Paterno is irreplaceable. 

Joe Paterno's positive impact is immeasurable.

Joe Paterno's significant positive contributions are his legacy, and should be remembered as such.

This isn't the time or place to discuss the crimes committed by Jerry Sandusky, and it's certainly not the time for armchair philosophers to pontificate on what they would or would not have done if wearing Joe Paterno's shoes.  It's inappropriate, it's callous and it shows a complete lack of sensitivity for a man who most likely died of a broken heart.  Wrap your heads and your hearts around that one.

I recently read an article called "Bureaucracy, Loyalty and Truth" that was written by Eric Silver, a sociology professor, in direct response to the Penn State scandal.  I'd implore all of you to read this article--it was eye opening in ways that were uncomfortable, yet realistic.  The article discussed the statistical likelihood of people truly being whistleblowers, and how the concept of loyalty is a subtle underminer of morality.

Following are two quotes from the article that I cannot shake:

1.  "Everyone likes to think that they would be the whistleblower---they are the ones who would risk their job, their likelihood, their future.  Statistically, you're full of crap.  For every 1,000 people, you're lucky if there are two or three whistleblowers."

 2.  "You like to think of loyalty as a good thing.  Loyalty may be one of the most subtle undermining sources of morality there is.  Loyalty predisposes people to collusion. When a family member is in trouble, what's our first reaction?  We all know that family is about protecting its own."

Those quotes certainly make me think twice about self-righteous indignation and casting stones.  God knows that I've certainly played the "family protecting its own" card more than once. It's very easy and very convenient to think the world is black-and-white...at least for everyone other than ourselves. A black and white world makes us sleep better at night, but that's not what we have.  It is a world colored in complicating shades of gray---for all of us.   

And, make no bones about it--- it's a very gray day.

Rest in peace, Joe Paterno.  You, your contributions and your impact will be sorely missed.  Your legacy will live on.

--Little Miss Sunshine

    

Love and Basketball

By now, it should be clearly established that it's Little M's world, and she just lets me live in it.  It's one adventure after the next, and the good news is that she allows me to accompany her on these adventures.  Hell, who am I kidding?  She allows me to play chauffeur and to bankroll the advenutres.  It's all good.

Despite being all of 40.75 inches tall, her new obsession is basketball.  (With genes like hers, those quarter inches count, by the way).  Every Saturday after soccer, she wants to play basketball (with her soccer ball).  It's hilarious.  There are a few good traits that she could have inherited from me, but unfortunately for her, it appears that she might have acquired my hand-eye coordination.  Poor kid.

She did, however, LOVE her first ever Sixers game.  In under a minute, she learned that the "green team" (aka Milwaukee Bucks) needed to go home.  She cheered at the right points, quickly adopted the Philly fan arm gestures (limited to the not-obscene ones, thank you very much), and even learned to make a "T" with her hands after a technical.  Thankfully, she was more interested in the actual basketball than by the dance squad, despite her shimmying in her seat--though, unfortunately, she did learn the term "underboob" after the first dance routine.  Incidentally, that was my bad.

Little M's post-game verdict?  In her words, "I love basketball."  Is it possible that we have Best Dressed Tomboy (Junior) in our midst?  Speaking of the clothes, Junior and I were dressed nearly identically today in black skinny cords, striped shirts and boots.  It was an accident- I'm not a fan of dressing my daughter like a mini-me (though it doesn't bother me when other people do it, strangely enough).   We have very different personal styles-  my outfits are generally coordinated and her outfits reflect a ( shall we say) slightly more eclectic style.

Of course, the only reason that we were able to take her to a basketball game on a Monday afternoon is because we had the day off of work for the Martin Luther King holiday.   In my mind, this isn't a "freebie" day off and I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the holiday here, and more importantly, spend time talking about Dr. King and his legacy to Little M (in 3 year old terms, anyway).

I'm thankful that my daughter is growing up in the aftermath of Dr. King's legacy.  It's a better world than I grew up in, and certainly a better world than my parents and grandparents grew up in.  I'd be completely moronic, however, if I didn't freely and publicly acknowledge that there isn't tons of work still left to be done....tons of behaviors and thought patterns still requiring change.

At this point, I've lived a reasonably long time...and not once, has someone deliberately crossed the street to get away from me.  No one has ever locked their car doors while driving through my neighborhood.  No one has cast a suspicious glance at me in a convenience store late at night.  No one has ever suspiciously looked at me while walking to their seat on a plane.  Until the day arrives where these more subtle instances of racism are eradicated--and these behaviors are, unfortunately, pervasive and engrained--there is still much work left to do.

Love knows no color,

Little Miss Sunshine