I've written before about the difficulties of raising teens. One day your kids think you walk on water, the next they think you're the anchor of death, threatening with your mere presence to drag them to the sea-floor of all that is uncool and embarrassing.
I started this blog right on the cusp of this teen adventure, when Gareth (now almost 17) and Olivia (now 13) were 14 and 10 respectively. Although Gareth was already a teenager, he'd slipped into that rather quietly, and it hadn't yet sunk in for me. I still imagined my kids were kids: attached to me, influenced by me, mine.
The transition to "anchor of death" has taken some doing (in my mind, not theirs). And one place where I've felt awkward about my new role has been on this blog.
When I started writing here, the name "small house, big picture" referred to how the activities of one household connect to the world outside of it. An easy example of this would be how our consumption and disposal habits contribute to the pile at the dump. But I also thought of this connection in terms of parenthood: our household would teach by example that each of us is more than an important individual; we are all members of a string of communities: from family, to school, to town, to nation, to planet. I wanted to raise children who were not just loving and caring individuals, but active citizens of the nation and responsible stewards of the planet.
It all sounds so lofty now. And it was great for a while. It was easy to feed my toddlers local organic snacks and say we were a green household. But when the toddlers grow up, they eat industrial snacks like Ramen noodles and drink sugary food-dye laden beverages like Gatorade out of, it's true: plastic bottles. If that's not enough for my faint green mother's heart, they throw those bottles in their bedroom trash cans instead of the recycle bin! Egad. When you ask why they didn't adhere to this most basic of green household activities, they'll say, "Oh, sorry. I forgot--" as if you haven't been teaching this practice since they were old enough to walk. They'll promise to rectify the matter later, but they won't.
A good parent knows to stand back during this time, to trust in what you've taught and let your teen experiment with his or her autonomy. Teens need to make mistakes and try things their own way so they can decide for themselves if they agree with their parents' way of thinking, right? I know I need to pick my battles and keep my mouth shut. But it's so hard!
To be fair, my kids are great. As far as I know, nobody's on drugs, or bullying their classmates, or shoplifting cigarettes from the corner market. They're just typical teens in an our-mother-is-a-hippie-freak kind of way: they're lazy about recycling, never turn off the lights, and take showers that far exceed the recommended 5 minutes touted by many water conservationists. (Although I have to give them a break because I do this too!) And they roll their eyes at me a lot.
The point of all this is that I began to feel uncomfortable about how to write about "our" environmentally conscientious household. Are we really all small-house-big-picture around here if my kids think I'm a kook? I hadn't forgotten the rule about how teens will reject everything I've taught them until they hit their twenties. It's just that I discovered how hard it is to wait that long to see the fruits of my labor.
So this is yet another reason why I haven't been writing as much.
With time, however, I'm getting used to being the anchor of death. It's not so bad, really. I've also figured out this is still small-house around here, even if I'm the only one who turns off all the lights, loves the compost heap like it's an old friend, or is willing to try brushing my teeth with a piece of bark (I haven't actually tried it yet - will let you know how that goes if I do!). Part of this transition into parenting teens is remembering that you live your life the way you do because it's what you want, not just because you hope your kids will want it too.
That's what I should be writing about.
Just as I'm figuring this out and feeling good about it, Olivia comes home from school and says, "Hey mom, it turns out my English teacher is a 'crazy hippie' like you!" Then she shows me this "totally cool" video she's been "waiting all day" to share with me because she knows how much I'll LOVE it.
So I watch it, not sure what to expect, and it's a Chipotle ad. Perhaps you've seen it:
I do love it. And what a bonus to discover she's been listening all along.
Showing posts with label teens. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teens. Show all posts
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Sunday, October 20, 2013
shout-out for family dinner
When the kids were toddlers, sitting at the table together felt like a circus. I remember mushy food thrown on the floor, shared and slobbery silverware clattering on the table, halted conversation that competed with one child who banged their sippy cup on the high chair and another who whined about eating peas. Amid the fussing and the mayhem, it's easy to wonder: What's the point? In fact, while Steve and I always sat down to eat as a family when the kids were young, it was a civilized dinner by ourselves that I really craved. THAT sounded like real quality time!
Back in those baby/toddler years, we ate together because that's how Steve and I were raised. It just felt normal. I didn't know that during those nights spent wiping sticky fingers while trying to eat our black beans and rice, we were instilling a routine into all of us that would pay off down the road.
We all know that dinner time is social---even if some nights devolve into things less civilized. But in our digital age, meal time can provide respite from phones, ipods, and other hand-held electronics. When I was a kid, the rule was, "no books at the table"--I clearly grew up in a different century-- but the idea is the same: we should talk to each other.
I've also discovered that mealtime can teach respect for food. Sitting together gives me a chance to brag about my cooking, which of course, I take full advantage of, but it isn't just self-serving. Talking about cooking can reveal its artfulness while reminding the kids that food preparation takes effort, heart and soul.
I also talk about where the food came from: how's that chicken? you know it came from Polyface Farm; or eat up your arugula - it's fresh from our co-op today; or you know that farmer with the big melons (ha!), he said these beets would be like candy. And my favorite: "how 'bout them tomatoes? You know I grew those!" --Except that latter thing happens so seldom with me being a plant killer and all.
Of course, sometimes dinner offers a chance to disrespect the food. No matter how many delicious meals I've prepared over the years, the one that lives in infamy? eggplant custard. I had high hopes when I set out to make it, but it proved a gray and slightly slimy casserole for which superior flavor could not overcome the shortcomings of color and texture. Alas.
Despite such misguided concoctions, mealtime teaches respect for the cook. The rules around our table are far more lax than the ones I grew up with (sit up straight, napkin on your lap, no elbows on the table). I can't be bothered to police the dinner table so closely, but there is one rule I especially treasure: you NEVER eat before the person who prepared your food has sat down to the table. After all the work of making a meal, this one gesture of respect and thanks goes a long way to acknowledging the effort.
This is especially fun when the kids did the work. We can honor them and also shower them with praise: Wow, look how well the vegetables were chopped; this pasta is a perfect al dente; who peeled that garlic?
If you respect the endeavors of the cook, then you are also more likely to eat the food he or she prepared for you.
Then there's respect for each other: it's boring, but it's true that you learn manners when you eat in a group. I never tell Olivia to chew with her mouth closed because her brother does it for me. Better she learn it from him than on a date with a cute guy who doesn't like the looks of her fish and broccoli in partial breakdown.
If you don't want to get kicked by a sibling, you also learn to pass food around the table after you've served yourself, to use your napkin when there's spaghetti sauce on your face, and wait your turn to tell that hilarious story from the lunch room at school.
While I saw over the years that family dinner could do all these great things: teach community, nutrition, manners, and respect, I didn't understand the value of family dinner as a sustained ritual until this summer when suddenly, Gareth had somewhere else to be every night: at Chipotle, playing soccer at the school, at the pool, spending the night at a friend's. He could easily leave in the morning and not return for days--and all that time wearing the same pair of underwear!
I was at first baffled about how to get him back. If he's welcome at the friend's house, or has already eaten out, then why should he come home? Then it hit me: family dinner! After years of eating together, it made perfect sense to him when I said, "have fun, but you have to be home for dinner." We had taught him, perhaps inadvertently, that food is more than a convenience or a pleasure. It is part of the social fabric of our family.
Looking back, I can see the seeds of that idea in bloom. Before we eat, we usually wait for everyone to be seated, but it's not always easy to get everyone to the table. Have you ever called a child to dinner forty-eleven times and gotten no response? When one of our darlings just cannot tear themselves away from Breaking Bad, or Switched at Birth, or whatever other internet/cable sensation has captivated them, we begin our meal without them.
With the other child sitting gleefully at the table with us, we chew quietly and smirk at each other while we wait for the offending family member to notice the silence in the house: the lack of clattering pans in the kitchen, the absence of a bouncing soccer ball in the dining room (no balls at dinner unless they're collard balls!), the long period of time since anyone yelled, "Dinner!" He or she will inevitably come bolting into the dining room: "You ate without me!"
Yes we did.
It surprised me the first time this happened to see how much it mattered to the kids. I suppose no child (or parent for that matter) wants to be cast out of a family ritual.
Rituals bring families together--something about the obligation to one another, the predictability of repetition, the knowledge that we can count on each other to show up, and for dinner: the responsibility of getting the food on the table together (who's turn to set the table? who's getting drinks? someone get those potatoes out of the oven please).
Good or bad, there are things we can count on about dinner: Olivia will never stop talking, then will complain that we never let her talk. Steve will ask us to comment repeatedly on the part of the meal he prepared, regardless if it only accounts for 10% of what's on the plate; Gareth will put ice cubes in his soup even if I tried to let it cool; I will huff when people use salt.
None of that is to say we haven't had some bad times around the table. Who could forget the animal-shaped napkin rings we couldn't use because the kids nearly tore each others' eyes out fighting over the rocking horse?
And that doesn't rival the night when a cabbage roll inspired the debate: is 'frickin' a cuss word.
To make it work, family dinner doesn't always have to be pleasant (but I can say we've definitely laughed more than we've fought); it doesn't have to be fancy (eat cereal together if you have to), it doesn't have to be every night (we have dinner some nights at 9pm and others not at all because of soccer and swim schedules), it just has to be.
As we transition through these teen years and the kids become more independent, I hope that our determination to eat with the kids while they were young will perhaps inspire our kids to eat with us when we're old.
I know I wouldn't mind the company.
Back in those baby/toddler years, we ate together because that's how Steve and I were raised. It just felt normal. I didn't know that during those nights spent wiping sticky fingers while trying to eat our black beans and rice, we were instilling a routine into all of us that would pay off down the road.
We all know that dinner time is social---even if some nights devolve into things less civilized. But in our digital age, meal time can provide respite from phones, ipods, and other hand-held electronics. When I was a kid, the rule was, "no books at the table"--I clearly grew up in a different century-- but the idea is the same: we should talk to each other.
I've also discovered that mealtime can teach respect for food. Sitting together gives me a chance to brag about my cooking, which of course, I take full advantage of, but it isn't just self-serving. Talking about cooking can reveal its artfulness while reminding the kids that food preparation takes effort, heart and soul.
I also talk about where the food came from: how's that chicken? you know it came from Polyface Farm; or eat up your arugula - it's fresh from our co-op today; or you know that farmer with the big melons (ha!), he said these beets would be like candy. And my favorite: "how 'bout them tomatoes? You know I grew those!" --Except that latter thing happens so seldom with me being a plant killer and all.
Of course, sometimes dinner offers a chance to disrespect the food. No matter how many delicious meals I've prepared over the years, the one that lives in infamy? eggplant custard. I had high hopes when I set out to make it, but it proved a gray and slightly slimy casserole for which superior flavor could not overcome the shortcomings of color and texture. Alas.
Despite such misguided concoctions, mealtime teaches respect for the cook. The rules around our table are far more lax than the ones I grew up with (sit up straight, napkin on your lap, no elbows on the table). I can't be bothered to police the dinner table so closely, but there is one rule I especially treasure: you NEVER eat before the person who prepared your food has sat down to the table. After all the work of making a meal, this one gesture of respect and thanks goes a long way to acknowledging the effort.
This is especially fun when the kids did the work. We can honor them and also shower them with praise: Wow, look how well the vegetables were chopped; this pasta is a perfect al dente; who peeled that garlic?
If you respect the endeavors of the cook, then you are also more likely to eat the food he or she prepared for you.
Then there's respect for each other: it's boring, but it's true that you learn manners when you eat in a group. I never tell Olivia to chew with her mouth closed because her brother does it for me. Better she learn it from him than on a date with a cute guy who doesn't like the looks of her fish and broccoli in partial breakdown.
If you don't want to get kicked by a sibling, you also learn to pass food around the table after you've served yourself, to use your napkin when there's spaghetti sauce on your face, and wait your turn to tell that hilarious story from the lunch room at school.
While I saw over the years that family dinner could do all these great things: teach community, nutrition, manners, and respect, I didn't understand the value of family dinner as a sustained ritual until this summer when suddenly, Gareth had somewhere else to be every night: at Chipotle, playing soccer at the school, at the pool, spending the night at a friend's. He could easily leave in the morning and not return for days--and all that time wearing the same pair of underwear!
I was at first baffled about how to get him back. If he's welcome at the friend's house, or has already eaten out, then why should he come home? Then it hit me: family dinner! After years of eating together, it made perfect sense to him when I said, "have fun, but you have to be home for dinner." We had taught him, perhaps inadvertently, that food is more than a convenience or a pleasure. It is part of the social fabric of our family.
Looking back, I can see the seeds of that idea in bloom. Before we eat, we usually wait for everyone to be seated, but it's not always easy to get everyone to the table. Have you ever called a child to dinner forty-eleven times and gotten no response? When one of our darlings just cannot tear themselves away from Breaking Bad, or Switched at Birth, or whatever other internet/cable sensation has captivated them, we begin our meal without them.
With the other child sitting gleefully at the table with us, we chew quietly and smirk at each other while we wait for the offending family member to notice the silence in the house: the lack of clattering pans in the kitchen, the absence of a bouncing soccer ball in the dining room (no balls at dinner unless they're collard balls!), the long period of time since anyone yelled, "Dinner!" He or she will inevitably come bolting into the dining room: "You ate without me!"
Yes we did.
It surprised me the first time this happened to see how much it mattered to the kids. I suppose no child (or parent for that matter) wants to be cast out of a family ritual.
Rituals bring families together--something about the obligation to one another, the predictability of repetition, the knowledge that we can count on each other to show up, and for dinner: the responsibility of getting the food on the table together (who's turn to set the table? who's getting drinks? someone get those potatoes out of the oven please).
Good or bad, there are things we can count on about dinner: Olivia will never stop talking, then will complain that we never let her talk. Steve will ask us to comment repeatedly on the part of the meal he prepared, regardless if it only accounts for 10% of what's on the plate; Gareth will put ice cubes in his soup even if I tried to let it cool; I will huff when people use salt.
None of that is to say we haven't had some bad times around the table. Who could forget the animal-shaped napkin rings we couldn't use because the kids nearly tore each others' eyes out fighting over the rocking horse?
the unwitting source of so much familial strife!
And that doesn't rival the night when a cabbage roll inspired the debate: is 'frickin' a cuss word.
To make it work, family dinner doesn't always have to be pleasant (but I can say we've definitely laughed more than we've fought); it doesn't have to be fancy (eat cereal together if you have to), it doesn't have to be every night (we have dinner some nights at 9pm and others not at all because of soccer and swim schedules), it just has to be.
As we transition through these teen years and the kids become more independent, I hope that our determination to eat with the kids while they were young will perhaps inspire our kids to eat with us when we're old.
I know I wouldn't mind the company.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
itouch? more like i-out-of-touch
A year and a half ago, we bought each of the kids an itouch for Christmas.
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!
For Gareth, he'd reached the age (14 at the time) where it gets hard to buy gifts. He needed a new ipod, so why not buy the newest one? Technology has a sort of inevitability about it, doesn't it? At some point, you feel like you have to upgrade. Disappointingly, we fell into that trap.
As for Olivia - well, I knew she was too young for such a "toy" (11 at the time), but it was a sympathy buy. She had some things going on in her life that made her days extra difficult. Among those things: food allergies and sensitivities meant she couldn't eat most of what other kids ate. Her days were filled with denial: No, you can't have that donut for swim team donut Friday. Sorry, can't have a cupcake at lunch, even if it is your best friend's birthday. No sandwiches, no pizza, no mac & cheese, no ice cream or candy. The list goes on.
For once, I wanted to say YES!
So I did. I said "Yes! You can have that itouch that you NEVER thought I would buy for you! Aren't I the best mom ever!?!?
The giving part of parenting is so easy: the faces that light up, the leaps for joy, the thank you!thank yous! That's why this job is so hard, right?--it's usually much better for them if you have the guts to say, "no."
It all seems like common knowledge now, but at the time, I really had no idea what we were buying. (Really, you have to watch the latest gadgets like they're pine nuts under the broiler. Blink and you find yourself with a disaster.).
I regretted my decision immediately, when on Christmas day, I heard Olivia asking Gareth to help her get started texting.
Texting!? I thought it was just an ipod with games!?
It got worse a few days later when we drove to Florida for a soccer tournament. We'd borrowed The Hobbit on CD to help us pass the time together, but the dynamics of that changed when the team's goalie needed a last-minute ride. Lengthy dwarven folk songs, sung in the narrator's sonorous baritone (and my harmony), didn't strike the same mood of secret family absurdity with a high school aged friend in the car.
When, on top of that, Olivia decided Tolkien had solidified her distaste for works of fantasy, we gave up on The Hobbit.
Which opened the door for those two boys to sit in the back seat, hooked up to their respective devices, in complete silence for the entire trip. I could have interrupted them and forced them to unplug, but I have to admit, I was fascinated. How long would it last? Surely they would get bored!? No. They played games or listened to music all the way to Florida.
Since then, the list of things I don't like about the itouch has only grown.
I used to think that, compared to my mother's parenting years, I had it hard managing screen time for my young children. Things have changed so much just since my kids were little, however, I've changed my tune. In those archaic days, our biggest concern was 24-hour cable TV. To my chagrin, you could get Barney or Teletubbies at any ungodly hour. To combat that, I limited "screens" to 1 hour a day. In retrospect, we stuck to that easily. When various gaming devices came into play, time for those counted toward the same hour of screen time. Even so, it was a long time before that happened. I didn't buy Gareth a Gameboy until he was in 2nd grade, and I still considered that an outrageously young age to introduce such technology. Now, with baby/toddler apps and smart phones so commonplace, I wonder if it's not a rarity for a child to live seven whole years without engaging with an interactive computer device.
While limiting time, we also limited space with ease, insisting on no TVs in the bedrooms and having just one computer in a public place for all to share. How lucky that those bulky appliances couldn't come in the car with us, or on a camping trip, or to grandma's house!
I changed all that ease of parenting when I gave my kids an itouch. Sure, they can listen to music (the original reason for buying this regrettable piece of technology). But they can also play video games, message, engage in social media like Facebook and Instagram, download and watch movies, or watch shorter video on YouTube or Hulu, all while they're sitting on the toilet if they want to. (I would institute a no itouch in the bathroom rule, but quite frankly, I just might be hoping they would drop the wretched things in the toilet by accident. That would solve all my problems, wouldn't it!? (Way to go me--great parenting advice here!).
I try not to be resistant to new technology. I can see many benefits, but I also see little moderation. Gaming, texting and other social media can be addicting, even for adults (thinking of my own twitter haze). Many kids don't have the discipline to engage with balance, which gives us parents one more thing to police--and that at an age when we're trying to impart the twin pillars of responsibility and freedom.
I tried to give my kids autonomy, but instead, I'm realizing they've gradually lost their ability to enjoy downtime without technological assistance. How is that possible after all the effort I put in during their elementary years!?
Disney used to have a public service add that asked kids to go outside and play for "one hour" a day. Our family used to laugh at how turned around that was. How about the opposite, we'd say: "let's go outside and play all day, and only come in for "one hour" of screens!" They'd melt my unconventional mother's heart by saying "stupid Disney" under their breath while chuckling and shaking their heads.
Now, I would love to get my teens one full undirected hour every day. I would love for them to feel real boredom. I remember driving for hours in the car with my family with nothing to do but stare out the window...bored to tears. But boredom is just another word for the space needed for self-reflection and creativity. Boredom prompts us to come up with new (and very individual) ideas about how/what to play, how/what to be, and how/what to think. Our true selves sit quietly, waiting to be discovered, in boredom.
The portability of this technology really blindsided me, but even though Gareth is on the verge of sixteen, I'm not giving up on boredom. I need to regroup and figure out how to expose my kids to technology and quiet, new apps and their own new ideas, shares/likes/friends and solitude.
I have some thoughts on how to get started (including digging out the old ipods so we can detach music from screens), but I'd love to hear how others manage these insidious little boxes of distraction. And don't tell me if your kids don't have one--I'll just melt into a pathetic green puddle of envy!
WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!
For Gareth, he'd reached the age (14 at the time) where it gets hard to buy gifts. He needed a new ipod, so why not buy the newest one? Technology has a sort of inevitability about it, doesn't it? At some point, you feel like you have to upgrade. Disappointingly, we fell into that trap.
As for Olivia - well, I knew she was too young for such a "toy" (11 at the time), but it was a sympathy buy. She had some things going on in her life that made her days extra difficult. Among those things: food allergies and sensitivities meant she couldn't eat most of what other kids ate. Her days were filled with denial: No, you can't have that donut for swim team donut Friday. Sorry, can't have a cupcake at lunch, even if it is your best friend's birthday. No sandwiches, no pizza, no mac & cheese, no ice cream or candy. The list goes on.
For once, I wanted to say YES!
So I did. I said "Yes! You can have that itouch that you NEVER thought I would buy for you! Aren't I the best mom ever!?!?
The giving part of parenting is so easy: the faces that light up, the leaps for joy, the thank you!thank yous! That's why this job is so hard, right?--it's usually much better for them if you have the guts to say, "no."
It all seems like common knowledge now, but at the time, I really had no idea what we were buying. (Really, you have to watch the latest gadgets like they're pine nuts under the broiler. Blink and you find yourself with a disaster.).
I regretted my decision immediately, when on Christmas day, I heard Olivia asking Gareth to help her get started texting.
Texting!? I thought it was just an ipod with games!?
It got worse a few days later when we drove to Florida for a soccer tournament. We'd borrowed The Hobbit on CD to help us pass the time together, but the dynamics of that changed when the team's goalie needed a last-minute ride. Lengthy dwarven folk songs, sung in the narrator's sonorous baritone (and my harmony), didn't strike the same mood of secret family absurdity with a high school aged friend in the car.
When, on top of that, Olivia decided Tolkien had solidified her distaste for works of fantasy, we gave up on The Hobbit.
Which opened the door for those two boys to sit in the back seat, hooked up to their respective devices, in complete silence for the entire trip. I could have interrupted them and forced them to unplug, but I have to admit, I was fascinated. How long would it last? Surely they would get bored!? No. They played games or listened to music all the way to Florida.
Since then, the list of things I don't like about the itouch has only grown.
I used to think that, compared to my mother's parenting years, I had it hard managing screen time for my young children. Things have changed so much just since my kids were little, however, I've changed my tune. In those archaic days, our biggest concern was 24-hour cable TV. To my chagrin, you could get Barney or Teletubbies at any ungodly hour. To combat that, I limited "screens" to 1 hour a day. In retrospect, we stuck to that easily. When various gaming devices came into play, time for those counted toward the same hour of screen time. Even so, it was a long time before that happened. I didn't buy Gareth a Gameboy until he was in 2nd grade, and I still considered that an outrageously young age to introduce such technology. Now, with baby/toddler apps and smart phones so commonplace, I wonder if it's not a rarity for a child to live seven whole years without engaging with an interactive computer device.
While limiting time, we also limited space with ease, insisting on no TVs in the bedrooms and having just one computer in a public place for all to share. How lucky that those bulky appliances couldn't come in the car with us, or on a camping trip, or to grandma's house!
I changed all that ease of parenting when I gave my kids an itouch. Sure, they can listen to music (the original reason for buying this regrettable piece of technology). But they can also play video games, message, engage in social media like Facebook and Instagram, download and watch movies, or watch shorter video on YouTube or Hulu, all while they're sitting on the toilet if they want to. (I would institute a no itouch in the bathroom rule, but quite frankly, I just might be hoping they would drop the wretched things in the toilet by accident. That would solve all my problems, wouldn't it!? (Way to go me--great parenting advice here!).
I try not to be resistant to new technology. I can see many benefits, but I also see little moderation. Gaming, texting and other social media can be addicting, even for adults (thinking of my own twitter haze). Many kids don't have the discipline to engage with balance, which gives us parents one more thing to police--and that at an age when we're trying to impart the twin pillars of responsibility and freedom.
I tried to give my kids autonomy, but instead, I'm realizing they've gradually lost their ability to enjoy downtime without technological assistance. How is that possible after all the effort I put in during their elementary years!?
Disney used to have a public service add that asked kids to go outside and play for "one hour" a day. Our family used to laugh at how turned around that was. How about the opposite, we'd say: "let's go outside and play all day, and only come in for "one hour" of screens!" They'd melt my unconventional mother's heart by saying "stupid Disney" under their breath while chuckling and shaking their heads.
Now, I would love to get my teens one full undirected hour every day. I would love for them to feel real boredom. I remember driving for hours in the car with my family with nothing to do but stare out the window...bored to tears. But boredom is just another word for the space needed for self-reflection and creativity. Boredom prompts us to come up with new (and very individual) ideas about how/what to play, how/what to be, and how/what to think. Our true selves sit quietly, waiting to be discovered, in boredom.
The portability of this technology really blindsided me, but even though Gareth is on the verge of sixteen, I'm not giving up on boredom. I need to regroup and figure out how to expose my kids to technology and quiet, new apps and their own new ideas, shares/likes/friends and solitude.
I have some thoughts on how to get started (including digging out the old ipods so we can detach music from screens), but I'd love to hear how others manage these insidious little boxes of distraction. And don't tell me if your kids don't have one--I'll just melt into a pathetic green puddle of envy!
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
about “coming out” – can’t we talk sexuality sooner?
Have you seen this beautiful letter from a Dad to his gay son? It went viral on Facebook earlier this week.
It's an expression of unconditional love, no doubt, and I commend the family for sharing their example so that others might see what it looks like.
If your gay child is a teen who has yet to come out, then I believe this is a great way to handle that--to help them along by removing the burden of telling with compassion and love.
I have to ask, however, if we couldn't improve this model for raising our kids. I ask because the idea of coming out during late teens/early adulthood seems belated and traumatic to me.
Our society forces heterosexuality upon our children by assuming that everyone is straight unless otherwise specified. We accept that straight is the "normal" and expected way to be. By doing this, we ignore the needs of youngsters who don't identify as straight, leaving them out in the cold, struggling to understand and accept their sexual identity without guidance or support. Worse, after they've worked through all this on their own, we then ask them to face their fears of rejection and make the big reveal.
It's not a great plan.
I'm so glad this particular instance played out well, but these stories don't always have happy endings. Teens face so many difficult challenges as it is. Many LGBT young people crumble under the added pressures of sexual difference.
I think we can make it easier. Couldn't we raise our kids so that "coming out" is something that everyone does--and at a much younger age?
I got this idea from my son. Many years ago, when Gareth was around three, I folded laundry as he played nearby. He had assembled an array of figurines from his Playskool farm, his Winnie the Pooh house, and various other sets of "people." His play took the usual form of high drama and adventure: "Run! the lion is coming! He will eat you! [insert toddler sound effects for terrifying roars, a dramatic escape and perhaps an unexpected explosion here]." After a bit, I heard something that made me tune in more closely: "No, you can't get married. Girls can't marry girls."
Hmmm. What was this? I had intended to raise my kids with openness towards varied sexualities, but with one child still in preschool and another still in the womb, I hadn't yet given much thought to what that would look like.
I listened quietly as I folded his miniature t-shirts and socks, amazed to hear my son give a lecture to poor Winnie and friends about how only a boy and a girl can get married.
I hadn't taught him that, but he'd learned it anyway.
I knew instantly that this was the moment. This is when you start teaching kids that relationships do not always pair up along a tidy boy/girl dichotomy.
I didn't make a big deal. I just corrected him gently, "Y'know honey, girls can marry girls if they want to. And boys can marry boys too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The important thing is that you marry who you love. Boys can love boys, and girls can love girls. When they do, they get married just like a boy and a girl would."
"Oh. Ok," he said. Then he went back to his play.
That was it. Gay marriage wasn't legal anywhere in the states at the time, but I figured I'd deal with that technicality later (and I hoped that maybe it would change (as is happening now) by the time he grew).
I learned from this moment that I could teach tolerance through play. After that, I incorporated gay characters into our play-acting regularly. Other times, I rocked their gender-loyal worlds by choosing to be the boy when we played games like Shoots and Ladders, "because I feel like being a boy today." And during The Game of Life (a game I despise, btw!), I often chose a pink peg to ride in my car as my spouse. The kids would say, "Mom married a girl again!" while rolling their eyes. By that time, they understood I was making a point, but that was OK because they also got the point.
I think many parents have trouble getting their heads around the idea of introducing LGBT topics early because these issues are still overassociated with sex. A child's view of relationships, however, does not revolve around what happens in the bedroom. When we talk to kids about heterosexual marriage, we don't tell them, "marriage is a commitment to a person of the opposite sex with whom you'll have missionary intercourse for the rest of your life." We tell them that marriage is about love and commitment, right? So why not introduce the idea of gay love and gay commitment at the same time?
If we suggest that love instead of gender should determine a person's life partner, then we not only teach tolerance for LGBT people, but we open children up to the idea that their own sexual identity is yet to be determined. This idea came up naturally with both of my kids when they each asked something along the lines of: "If we marry who we love, then who will I love?"
Again, I hadn't planned it ahead of time, but the answer seemed obvious. I told them both that they would figure this out as they grew up--that it was not a question mommy could answer for them. While they both had varying opinions (including their desire to just marry mommy--or daddy) I let them all ride--leaving the ultimate answer open-ended. They both seemed satisfied.
Without the imposition of assumed heterosexuality, I hoped my kids' sexual identities would evolve and become apparent organically during elementary school, before the uncomfortable teen years when kids are so hard pressed to talk about these things. If necessary, I hoped this would eliminate the need for painful soul-searching and awkward "coming out" moments later on.
My kids are teens now, and both appear to be comfortable with themselves and tolerant of others. It seems to me that things went the way I'd hoped. Still, they are too young for me to wax poetic on my amazing parenting successes. Like all things, I suppose time (and my disgruntled adult children) will tell.
In the meantime, I'm glad this father handled his son's coming out with so much care. In his situation, I don't think he could have handled it better. I just wonder if parents of younger children couldn't open the door much earlier, before the combined workings of modesty and stigma have a chance to shroud this very sensitive topic in stress, pressure, and fear.
It's an expression of unconditional love, no doubt, and I commend the family for sharing their example so that others might see what it looks like.
If your gay child is a teen who has yet to come out, then I believe this is a great way to handle that--to help them along by removing the burden of telling with compassion and love.
I have to ask, however, if we couldn't improve this model for raising our kids. I ask because the idea of coming out during late teens/early adulthood seems belated and traumatic to me.
Our society forces heterosexuality upon our children by assuming that everyone is straight unless otherwise specified. We accept that straight is the "normal" and expected way to be. By doing this, we ignore the needs of youngsters who don't identify as straight, leaving them out in the cold, struggling to understand and accept their sexual identity without guidance or support. Worse, after they've worked through all this on their own, we then ask them to face their fears of rejection and make the big reveal.
It's not a great plan.
I'm so glad this particular instance played out well, but these stories don't always have happy endings. Teens face so many difficult challenges as it is. Many LGBT young people crumble under the added pressures of sexual difference.
I think we can make it easier. Couldn't we raise our kids so that "coming out" is something that everyone does--and at a much younger age?
I got this idea from my son. Many years ago, when Gareth was around three, I folded laundry as he played nearby. He had assembled an array of figurines from his Playskool farm, his Winnie the Pooh house, and various other sets of "people." His play took the usual form of high drama and adventure: "Run! the lion is coming! He will eat you! [insert toddler sound effects for terrifying roars, a dramatic escape and perhaps an unexpected explosion here]." After a bit, I heard something that made me tune in more closely: "No, you can't get married. Girls can't marry girls."
Hmmm. What was this? I had intended to raise my kids with openness towards varied sexualities, but with one child still in preschool and another still in the womb, I hadn't yet given much thought to what that would look like.
I listened quietly as I folded his miniature t-shirts and socks, amazed to hear my son give a lecture to poor Winnie and friends about how only a boy and a girl can get married.
I hadn't taught him that, but he'd learned it anyway.
I knew instantly that this was the moment. This is when you start teaching kids that relationships do not always pair up along a tidy boy/girl dichotomy.
I didn't make a big deal. I just corrected him gently, "Y'know honey, girls can marry girls if they want to. And boys can marry boys too."
"Really?"
"Yeah. The important thing is that you marry who you love. Boys can love boys, and girls can love girls. When they do, they get married just like a boy and a girl would."
"Oh. Ok," he said. Then he went back to his play.
That was it. Gay marriage wasn't legal anywhere in the states at the time, but I figured I'd deal with that technicality later (and I hoped that maybe it would change (as is happening now) by the time he grew).
I learned from this moment that I could teach tolerance through play. After that, I incorporated gay characters into our play-acting regularly. Other times, I rocked their gender-loyal worlds by choosing to be the boy when we played games like Shoots and Ladders, "because I feel like being a boy today." And during The Game of Life (a game I despise, btw!), I often chose a pink peg to ride in my car as my spouse. The kids would say, "Mom married a girl again!" while rolling their eyes. By that time, they understood I was making a point, but that was OK because they also got the point.
I think many parents have trouble getting their heads around the idea of introducing LGBT topics early because these issues are still overassociated with sex. A child's view of relationships, however, does not revolve around what happens in the bedroom. When we talk to kids about heterosexual marriage, we don't tell them, "marriage is a commitment to a person of the opposite sex with whom you'll have missionary intercourse for the rest of your life." We tell them that marriage is about love and commitment, right? So why not introduce the idea of gay love and gay commitment at the same time?
If we suggest that love instead of gender should determine a person's life partner, then we not only teach tolerance for LGBT people, but we open children up to the idea that their own sexual identity is yet to be determined. This idea came up naturally with both of my kids when they each asked something along the lines of: "If we marry who we love, then who will I love?"
Again, I hadn't planned it ahead of time, but the answer seemed obvious. I told them both that they would figure this out as they grew up--that it was not a question mommy could answer for them. While they both had varying opinions (including their desire to just marry mommy--or daddy) I let them all ride--leaving the ultimate answer open-ended. They both seemed satisfied.
Without the imposition of assumed heterosexuality, I hoped my kids' sexual identities would evolve and become apparent organically during elementary school, before the uncomfortable teen years when kids are so hard pressed to talk about these things. If necessary, I hoped this would eliminate the need for painful soul-searching and awkward "coming out" moments later on.
My kids are teens now, and both appear to be comfortable with themselves and tolerant of others. It seems to me that things went the way I'd hoped. Still, they are too young for me to wax poetic on my amazing parenting successes. Like all things, I suppose time (and my disgruntled adult children) will tell.
In the meantime, I'm glad this father handled his son's coming out with so much care. In his situation, I don't think he could have handled it better. I just wonder if parents of younger children couldn't open the door much earlier, before the combined workings of modesty and stigma have a chance to shroud this very sensitive topic in stress, pressure, and fear.
Thursday, January 17, 2013
the boys next door
Note: I was so honored to read an abbreviated version of the below essay at this year's Listen to Your Mother DC show!
When my son was born, 15 years ago, I gazed at his angelic little face and anticipated the things I'd teach him: Say please and thank you! Always wash behind your ears. Be sure to share!
And oh, while we're having this little chat, no gang raping, OK?!
No? That last one wasn't on your list?
Mine either.
But, you know what, I think it should be.
You may have heard about the high school boys who were accused of raping a drunk and unconscious sixteen year old girl in Steubenville,OH. Lesser known is the story of another young man, a Steubenville High alumnus, named Michael Nodianos. Nodianos appears in a video making vile jokes about the incident. Giggling, he says things like “she is so raped right now” and she’s “deader than a doornail” (as in, dead drunk).
There are a million directions to go with this horrifying and offensive story, but I want to focus on a statement by Nodianos's lawyer. He said, "[Michael] sincerely regrets his behavior and the effect it has had on all parties involved, especially his family. He was not raised to act in this manner."
I find the last part so interesting: "He was not raised to act in this manner." I imagine he wasn't, but apparently, that wasn't good enough. What exactly does it mean to not raise your son to laugh about rape?
I'm not blaming Nodianos's parents. This question is for everyone, including me. I think it's important to ask because I recognize this whole situation. Do you?
It reminds me of my own college years, where I found myself immersed in a party culture that was downright predatory. Groups of young men who were hyper-focused on sexual bragging rights did insidious things: from groups that created point systems to track their exploits; to young men who agreed to spy on one another’s sexual feats; to boys who would say anything to make a girl feel special; to date rape; to drunken rape; to gang rape. An intoxicated girl at a party was nothing short of prey.
I think this kind of thing is far more common than people think. And the perpetrators aren't necessarily psychopaths. They're the boys next door.
Why?
Our boys grow up in a culture that normalizes violence against women. Our media blames the victim and our lawmakers talk about "legitimate" rape while our video games, television, film, advertisements, music and readily available porn all tell our sons to seek their masculinity through violence and sexual conquest. In a rape culture such as this, women come off as pawns, stepping stools, obstacles, or play things.
Put all these ideas in the boiling pot of a young teen's head, then add alcohol. Fold in a little group psychology and sprinkle with peer pressure. Top it off with a dash of drunken girl. Stir.
We create monsters out of otherwise run-of-the-mill, responsible young men. They don't break other laws; they perform well in school; they treat their friends and family with respect, but they treat women like trash.
How can we stop it?
I think one thing is clear. We won't stop it by simply not raising our boys to tolerate or perpetrate rape. Such a passive approach leaves room for rape culture to teach those things for us. We need to prosecute offenders, of course, but we also need to actively and explicitly push back, to teach our boys to value women as human beings before they have a chance to treat women otherwise.
How do we do that?
We can model positive male/female partnerships at home. We can beef up their media savvy by talking about how certain images objectify women. We can talk about responsible and intimate sex, and finally, we can talk about rape--especially the kind that might not seem like rape to them, the kind that happens between friends or acquaintances, or at parties.
So I told my son about Steubenville and Nodianos's video. I told him how the rules can feel suspended when you're drinking at a party, but that the morning will always bring accountability to the girl, the law and the self. I told him I knew women who were raped in college--that it wasn't uncommon. I told him he should never touch an unconscious or incoherent girl unless he's trying to help her. I told him that one day, he could find himself at a party where friends might suggest he have a go at the “dead” girl in back.
What would he do?
The most obvious answer, "don't rape the girl." But beyond that, beyond what he wouldn't do, what would he do? I realized as I was asking him, that I didn't necessarily know the answer.
These kinds of rapes occur, in part, because bystanders tolerate them, so we agreed he should stop it if he could. Yet, I admitted I could easily imagine a situation where that wouldn't be possible. In that case, I suggested, he should get out of there and call the police. I insisted that whatever he did, he could not be a bystander. I asked him to think of his sister--he would want someone to help her.
I speculated that he would probably need new friends after all that, but who needs those kinds of friends anyway?
Finally, I told him he could always talk to us about anything.
Of course, like Michael Nodianos's parents, I don't think I've raised my son to perpetrate, tolerate, or laugh about rape. But the Steubenville case made me question what I had done to explicitly raise my son not to do those things, especially since he's grown up in a culture that repeatedly tells him it's OK.
I'm glad he and I had this talk. I know I haven't solved the whole problem, but by giving him the gift of a little forethought, I'm doing my best to send this one young man out into the world with the understanding that a woman might be a number of things to him: a friend; a confidant; a partner; a lover, but never a toy.
When my son was born, 15 years ago, I gazed at his angelic little face and anticipated the things I'd teach him: Say please and thank you! Always wash behind your ears. Be sure to share!
And oh, while we're having this little chat, no gang raping, OK?!
No? That last one wasn't on your list?
Mine either.
But, you know what, I think it should be.
You may have heard about the high school boys who were accused of raping a drunk and unconscious sixteen year old girl in Steubenville,OH. Lesser known is the story of another young man, a Steubenville High alumnus, named Michael Nodianos. Nodianos appears in a video making vile jokes about the incident. Giggling, he says things like “she is so raped right now” and she’s “deader than a doornail” (as in, dead drunk).
There are a million directions to go with this horrifying and offensive story, but I want to focus on a statement by Nodianos's lawyer. He said, "[Michael] sincerely regrets his behavior and the effect it has had on all parties involved, especially his family. He was not raised to act in this manner."
I find the last part so interesting: "He was not raised to act in this manner." I imagine he wasn't, but apparently, that wasn't good enough. What exactly does it mean to not raise your son to laugh about rape?
I'm not blaming Nodianos's parents. This question is for everyone, including me. I think it's important to ask because I recognize this whole situation. Do you?
It reminds me of my own college years, where I found myself immersed in a party culture that was downright predatory. Groups of young men who were hyper-focused on sexual bragging rights did insidious things: from groups that created point systems to track their exploits; to young men who agreed to spy on one another’s sexual feats; to boys who would say anything to make a girl feel special; to date rape; to drunken rape; to gang rape. An intoxicated girl at a party was nothing short of prey.
Sure, I knew a lot of nice guys who would never engage in such practices,
but that doesn't change that rape happened a lot. The worst incident I knew of
differs little from what occurred in Steubenville. A friend of mine went to a
fraternity party. The last thing she remembers is sitting at a table in the
party room. When she woke in the morning, she found herself in a strange bed,
naked. She could tell from the pain that she had been raped and sodomized. She
found her clothes and shoes in a different room, a horrifying fact that
suggests her naked body had been passed among multiple assailants in multiple
rooms.
I think this kind of thing is far more common than people think. And the perpetrators aren't necessarily psychopaths. They're the boys next door.
Why?
Our boys grow up in a culture that normalizes violence against women. Our media blames the victim and our lawmakers talk about "legitimate" rape while our video games, television, film, advertisements, music and readily available porn all tell our sons to seek their masculinity through violence and sexual conquest. In a rape culture such as this, women come off as pawns, stepping stools, obstacles, or play things.
Put all these ideas in the boiling pot of a young teen's head, then add alcohol. Fold in a little group psychology and sprinkle with peer pressure. Top it off with a dash of drunken girl. Stir.
We create monsters out of otherwise run-of-the-mill, responsible young men. They don't break other laws; they perform well in school; they treat their friends and family with respect, but they treat women like trash.
How can we stop it?
I think one thing is clear. We won't stop it by simply not raising our boys to tolerate or perpetrate rape. Such a passive approach leaves room for rape culture to teach those things for us. We need to prosecute offenders, of course, but we also need to actively and explicitly push back, to teach our boys to value women as human beings before they have a chance to treat women otherwise.
How do we do that?
We can model positive male/female partnerships at home. We can beef up their media savvy by talking about how certain images objectify women. We can talk about responsible and intimate sex, and finally, we can talk about rape--especially the kind that might not seem like rape to them, the kind that happens between friends or acquaintances, or at parties.
So I told my son about Steubenville and Nodianos's video. I told him how the rules can feel suspended when you're drinking at a party, but that the morning will always bring accountability to the girl, the law and the self. I told him I knew women who were raped in college--that it wasn't uncommon. I told him he should never touch an unconscious or incoherent girl unless he's trying to help her. I told him that one day, he could find himself at a party where friends might suggest he have a go at the “dead” girl in back.
What would he do?
The most obvious answer, "don't rape the girl." But beyond that, beyond what he wouldn't do, what would he do? I realized as I was asking him, that I didn't necessarily know the answer.
These kinds of rapes occur, in part, because bystanders tolerate them, so we agreed he should stop it if he could. Yet, I admitted I could easily imagine a situation where that wouldn't be possible. In that case, I suggested, he should get out of there and call the police. I insisted that whatever he did, he could not be a bystander. I asked him to think of his sister--he would want someone to help her.
I speculated that he would probably need new friends after all that, but who needs those kinds of friends anyway?
Finally, I told him he could always talk to us about anything.
Of course, like Michael Nodianos's parents, I don't think I've raised my son to perpetrate, tolerate, or laugh about rape. But the Steubenville case made me question what I had done to explicitly raise my son not to do those things, especially since he's grown up in a culture that repeatedly tells him it's OK.
I'm glad he and I had this talk. I know I haven't solved the whole problem, but by giving him the gift of a little forethought, I'm doing my best to send this one young man out into the world with the understanding that a woman might be a number of things to him: a friend; a confidant; a partner; a lover, but never a toy.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
yet another election post: kids, twitter, and victory!
Did your kids pay attention to the election? We got just
a little fired up around here.
I actually think this is OK. I disagree with the relatively new idea that balanced news should paint every viewpoint in a positive light. I think balanced news should do its best to represent every viewpoint for what it is. If it’s a bad idea, we shouldn’t sugarcoat it in the name of misguided equity.
Meanwhile, election night finally came. I vowed not to watch: too much stress; too much speculation; too much waiting. Steve put on a movie and I…(sigh)...logged on to Twitter…and…you know you can’t properly appreciate Twitter without the news…
The debates came off like Super Bowl parties, with Olivia making
popcorn for the events, Gareth asking to stay up past midnight “to see who
wins,” and me hollering “foul!” at the TV like I’m Steve watching the Maryland Terps
in the final four.
Meanwhile, Twitter stepped victoriously out from under the
shameful mantel of secret-late-night-addiction and took its long-coveted place at
the center of “family time.” Like a
1950s family mesmerized by the antics of Howdy Doody, we gathered around my
computer to snuggle and giggle and gawk at the endless stream of humorous political
tweets that galloped through my account.
Lest you mistake us for a hypnotized
bunch of jelly brains, you should know that Twitter is interactive! Olivia especially thrilled at inventing very
mature less-than-140-character quips for me to tweet like: “My 12 yr old
daughter thinks Mitt looks like a 50 yr old Ken Barbie.”
Oh, we laughed.
During the VP debates, Olivia became a Joe Biden fan. Now she giggles with glee at the idea that
this boisterous, guffawing, laughing-too-loud, tell-it
like-it-is-whether-you-like-it-or-not-guy, whose sometimes indelicate honesty so
resembles hers, will be around for another 4 years. She loves him enough that I’m thinking,
“Hmmm, maybe she’ll slap a poster of him up over that horrible Niall Horan
poster that currently takes up half the wall in her small room.
Then I’m thinking, “Ew. Perhaps we are taking our politics
too far.”
As they watched various pundits and
politicians stream across the TV (because, as all good well-rounded families
know, Twitter is so much more fun if you watch the news while you tweet), they’d ask, “Is he/she good or bad?”
How easy for us to order their world: lining people and
opinions up in neat little columns for them to digest and arguably, carry into
adulthood. You see, most kids adopt
their parents’ political views with little consideration for other
perspectives.
Ouch. That’s a lot of
responsibility. It’s also very
tempting. Think of it, the opportunity
to create a gaggle of political little-yous running around voting your way and proving
how right you are for a lifetime!
And for us, this will happen sooner rather than later
because I realized: Gareth will vote in
the next presidential election!
I tried to do the right thing: to represent Mitt Romney with
more nuance, but I may as well be honest.
I failed miserably. Why couldn’t
I have gotten the more moderate Dwight D. Eisenhower, or the benign Gerald Ford
to work with?
Flummoxed, I did the next best thing. I told the kids that I should be more fair and admitted that I just couldn’t dig deep
enough. My aversion for Mitt had
temporarily run the well of fairness dry.
So I told them what I thought Romney would say if he were in the room, then
I told them how I’d squash every one of those pesky arguments with the relentless whap! of my unforgiving fly swatter.
I actually think this is OK. I disagree with the relatively new idea that balanced news should paint every viewpoint in a positive light. I think balanced news should do its best to represent every viewpoint for what it is. If it’s a bad idea, we shouldn’t sugarcoat it in the name of misguided equity.
So I didn’t.
Meanwhile, election night finally came. I vowed not to watch: too much stress; too much speculation; too much waiting. Steve put on a movie and I…(sigh)...logged on to Twitter…and…you know you can’t properly appreciate Twitter without the news…
So we watched and tweeted and laughed and barely
breathed. When it got late, we tried to
make Olivia go to bed, but the beauty of living in a “small house” is that you can
still participate in a family conversation from your bedroom. Hearing the commotion when Ohio fell to Obama,
she reappeared, eager to share in our celebration. And why not?
By late night, only Gareth and I remained. He wanted to see Romney concede, but the guy
took too long. Didn’t he know this was a
family event? All these high school-aged
Democrats who wanted one last glimpse of him had to be up at 6 am!
No matter, we had plenty of HAPPY to carry us through the
next day, and the day after that! I recognize, however, that the
kids’ happiness still derives more from our feelings than it does from their independent
views. We will continue to work on developing
their political literacy, hopefully helping them to see the big picture and to
think for themselves.
In the meantime, I
feel our parenting success lies in having at least shown them that there’s
something even more interactive than Twitter.
It’s called: Democracy!
Friday, October 26, 2012
laughing with the left
Gareth joined us
to watch a recording of Steven Colbert last night. The
show had all of us rolling.
It was the first time we watched with Gareth, and I got to thinking: what a great way to teach kids about politics. I certainly don’t think comedy should be anyone’s only source of news, but it seems comedy could be a good vehicle for engaging youth. You usually have to know something about what’s going on to get the jokes, after all.
And it doesn't hurt that comedy can make even bad news entertaining.
60 second parody of Trump's offer
"Chaos on Bullshit Mountain" - from a month ago
and an unfortunate 10 minutes long, but still has me laughing
And good god, they have Rush Limbaugh. If you dare venture to listen to his red-faced, spittle-laden hate-speech for more than sixty seconds, it will surely leave you feeling that you need a shower. I don't begrudge Rush's right to say what he wishes, but I’d trade his world where hatred rules, for Bill Maher’s “New Rules” any day.
Bill concluding his argument that if we can't manage to tolerate offensive language in others,
we end up with "The Least Interesting Man in the World."
Romney: "Not only do I believe in drones, I am one."#debate
Spoofing the first presidential debate
Everywhere I turn, someone’s making me laugh about an election that otherwise makes me want to cry. That has to be good for my health, right?
With our country so polarized, and our political commentary so full of vitriol, I am grateful that our family can rally together around laughter instead of hate.
And no, it is not lost on me that I just posted a bunch of videos full of crude jokes and profanity and claimed them as something my "family" can rally around. I guess that's the beauty of having a teenager!
Keep smiling! J
It was the first time we watched with Gareth, and I got to thinking: what a great way to teach kids about politics. I certainly don’t think comedy should be anyone’s only source of news, but it seems comedy could be a good vehicle for engaging youth. You usually have to know something about what’s going on to get the jokes, after all.
And it doesn't hurt that comedy can make even bad news entertaining.
For example,
Donald Trumps bizarre pseudo-extortionist offer to pay $5 million for
Obama’s college transcripts struck me as a disturbing. I didn’t think there was anything funny about
this grotesque show of money until Steve Colbert got hold of it.
It’s crude,
yes. But it had a triple positive effect. First, it allowed us to talk to Gareth about
Trump’s stunt with laughter instead of the more bitter or cynical tone
I might have adopted after first hearing the story. Second, it gave us a context for discussing power
and money in an election where their connection has become so exaggerated. Third, and most importantly, it helped us
show Gareth how cool his parents are because we can laugh at a joke
about dipping balls into people's mouths. egad.
So, I'm thinking
about how I might be on to something: I'm thinking we
can exploit comedic news programs to engage Gareth in political discussions! Imagining how that would work, I realized, “Wow. People on the Left are really funny! We
have a ton of material to choose from!”
Win or lose, it
seems like it's a lot more fun to be a Democrat than a Republican.
They have Fox
News with its flashing lights, dramatic music and low-intelligence messages of
fear and doom. We have Steven Colbert
making fun of Fox with his faux-Fox set, his mock
drama, and his clever spoofs on their stories and reporting styles.
They have the
blustering of Bill O’Reilly with his arrogant and oversimplified messages of
outrage through which he hopes to breed indignation and suspicion for all
things Left.
We have the
blustering of Jon Stewart who, rather than instill us with outrage, uses humor
to relieve us of it.
And good god, they have Rush Limbaugh. If you dare venture to listen to his red-faced, spittle-laden hate-speech for more than sixty seconds, it will surely leave you feeling that you need a shower. I don't begrudge Rush's right to say what he wishes, but I’d trade his world where hatred rules, for Bill Maher’s “New Rules” any day.
If all that’s not
enough, we have Andy Borowitz on Twitter:
Romney: "Not only do I believe in drones, I am one."
Sarah Silverman on line:
Sarah: "Let My People Vote!"
Everywhere I turn, someone’s making me laugh about an election that otherwise makes me want to cry. That has to be good for my health, right?
With our country so polarized, and our political commentary so full of vitriol, I am grateful that our family can rally together around laughter instead of hate.
And no, it is not lost on me that I just posted a bunch of videos full of crude jokes and profanity and claimed them as something my "family" can rally around. I guess that's the beauty of having a teenager!
Keep smiling! J
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