Tag Self Esteem

Baseball, Hotdogs, Apple Pie, and “Aren’t they cute?”

Michael Leave a comment

Summer is a great time to be thinking about how the country is doing.  We’re getting close to the 240th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence and we should be checking up on how we’re doing keeping a country free and a government of, by, and for the people.  (For anybody checking, that anniversary isn’t coming up this July.  It’s still 4 years away but thinking stuff like this can take a while.)  Those few weeks between Flag Day and Independence Day are good days to look about at what’s good, what’s bad, and what’s uniquely American.

Last week we got to see the best and worst of Americans all wrapped up in one convenient incident.  Although it happened earlier, by mid-week it hit the national news.  Four middle schoolers, 11 and12 year olds, decided it was going to be not only a good day to taunt their bus monitor but to record and post it to the Internet for all the world to see.   So they hurled insult after insult, poked and pointed, swore at and about a 68 year old grandmother, former bus driver, and guardian of the good children on the bus.  It wasn’t the first time that they aimed their low sights at her, and it wasn’t the first time that she sat stoically taking it.  It was a horrible example of how miserably some American youth are raised and how much of their disgusting behavior is tolerated.

And then in an amazingly disgusting example of wretched behavior, one of the feeble four decided they should share their offensive conduct with the rest of the world and thus the recording was posted to the Web.   But instead of thousands of viewers sending them accolades for a bullying job well done, hundreds of thousands instead sent sympathy to the abused woman.  Tangible sympathy.  Five hundred thousand dollars worth of sympathy.  A half million ways to say we’re sorry for the incredibly stupid behavior of incredibly stupid children.

Perhaps it was the world’s way of providing one of those auto corrections that our planet does without our knowledge to keep us from hurling into space away from the safety of our solar orbit.  Maybe it’s the first step in the world’s recognition that not all children are cute and impulsive and they don’t mean anything by it.  Maybe somebody is finally realizing that if the parent’s aren’t going to handle their children, if the schools aren’t going to discipline the children, and if the police aren’t going to punish the children, that at least someone is going to see that the victims will be compensated for being a bully’s target.

Maybe the most disturbing part of the week’s news was that now that the children have been exposed and have even attempted too little too late apologies there are some who are upset that others are expressing their dismay at the miscreants’ behavior.  Again, in a remarkable worldly auto correction, the bullies have become the targets.  Even targets of death threats.  Don’t worry kids.  Those old people saying you should be expelled, fined, imprisoned, or maybe even executed are just so cute, but a little impulsive, and they don’t really mean it.  Maybe.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

No, They Aren’t People Too

Michael Leave a comment

“We love our pets too,” the sign began.  After that there were a half-dozen examples of how much the authors of the sign loved their and others’ pets.  It finished with, “so please understand us when we say, no pets allowed.”  It was, and presumably still is a fair warning.  That sign is sharing space with the doorway to a used construction emporium.  An indoor junkyard if you will.

All throughout the building are stacks of windows, doors slid into stands, boxes of hinges and door pulls and faucet handles, rows of bath tubs, racks of counter tops, mountains of marble slabs, and hangers of hanging lamps.  Everywhere there are things made of wood, metal, glass, and porcelain.  All covered in the same dust the previous owners left and many with rusty connectors, sharp corners, and other things that hurt.  And right over there picking his way through the used kitchen counter tops on his way to the door frames is a middle-aged man attached by a leash to a forbidden dog.

He had to have seen the sign.  You couldn’t get in without seeing it.  And a sign that large means that something once happened and there should be no chance of letting it happen again.  He had to have seen it.  But he probably said to himself as his breezed on by, that was meant for people with animals.  His dog is a people.  His buddy.  His pal.  He wasn’t going to leave his best friend in a car while he perused the once heat producing radiators.  And he certainly wasn’t going to leave his only friend at home while he enjoyed his day of exploration among the once water-filled toilets.  Nope, he didn’t get to be his age and survive all alone without the help of his furry friend.  He certainly wasn’t going to turn his back on him on his only day away from the office just because he couldn’t find the right color lavatory sink at the home remodeling center.

Both of We love animals.  Together we span over 100 pet years.  At some point our houses have been home to dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits, fish, crabs, and for a very brief time even a snake although technically he was a runaway.  Our pets have always held that special place in our hearts and our homes that are special to our pets also.  They’ve shared our spaces and our affections.  Our pet affections.  And pet spaces.  They didn’t go on vacations with us, and they don’t go to work with us.  When we see a sign that says “no dogs allowed” we don’t take that to mean no regular, aka other people’s dogs allowed.

Pets are pets.  They aren’t surrogate children.  They aren’t surrogate spouses.  They aren’t the exception to the rule.  If a tower of ceramic tiles is going to fall and the “special” dog happens to be standing there when they do, they aren’t going to stop in midair and wait for “special” to make his way clear of the danger aisle.

We don’t feel sorry for the person who can’t manage long term human relationships and has to settle for the four legged variety.   We feel sorry for the four legged variety stuck with the human who thinks “living a dog’s life” is a bad thing.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

There Is No Crying

Michael 1 Comment

“There’s no crying in baseball,” was Jimmy Dugan’s guidance in A league of Their Own.  Advice that Both of We have given to many in many fields.  There’s no crying in yardwork.  There’s no crying in meatloaf.  There’s no crying in plumbing.  There’s no crying in college acceptance celebrations.  Hold on!  That last one isn’t one of ours.  Oh but it is one of the New York City school district.

Yes, in the highly competitive world of college admissions, New Yorkers (New Yorkers!?!) want to be certain that the egos of students not accepted into their first choice institutions are not unduly bruised.   Teachers are told not to congratulate students in public and if they should see someone crying to “be sensitive” and to refer them to the college advisory office (guidance counselor?) immediately.  Perhaps it’s the school advisors who should be considering select institutions.

But how could you blame the city schools for prohibiting public displays of best wishes?  They are just following the lead of several famous (or so we’re told) prep schools that have banned wearing college sweatshirts bearing the crests of the universities that have accepted their students or posting their good news on Facebook.

In January we asked in a post “How long has it been since we started instilling in our young people that there are no losers?” (Your Turn to Keep Score from Life, Jan 16, 2012).  We proposed then that it has been long enough that someday those young people will be running for “Congress, President, and your local school board.”  Seems like they might have already made it to the school boards.

We can poke fun at the bizarrely ridiculous notion that some adult somewhere really thinks that not going “Woohoo!” when a kid opens that long awaited letter from school will make life better for some other student who had a hard time spelling woohoo in Social Media 101.  The truth is that we have already seen how “everyone’s a winner” is destroying American life.  For example:   there’s no crying in bank failures; there’s no crying in corporate bankruptcies; there’s no crying in union negotiations; there’s no crying in lying in political ads; there’s no crying in government bail outs; there’s no crying in $5.00/gallon gasoline.

There used to be a lot of losing in life.  And those losses led to some of the biggest successes the world has seen.  Today we can say that life isn’t all winning and be absolutely accurate.  It isn’t.  There just isn’t any losing either.

Hey, there’s no crying in responsible adulthood.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

That Play’s The Thing, That Thing They Do

Michael Leave a comment

Have you ever been to a local community theater production of … anything? 

Those of you who answered yes are excused from the remainder of this missive.  You’re welcome to stay but you probably won’t read anything you don’t already know.  Then again, maybe you better stick around.  You never know what’s going to march across this screen.

Those of you who answered no are hereby put on double secret probation and you can’t get off of it until you go.  For Heaven’s sake, go!

Really, we are that taken by the power of the local community theater, from the over-acting to the kitschy program books, to the recorded music, to the cramped theaters.  This is entertainment.

Ok, this is also a little weird.  Grown people reliving their high school spring musical days?  Actually, it’s not so weird.  Grown people honing the talents they discovered in one of the “youth is wasted on the young” activities we’ve all been a part of but few keep alive.

Think of the other activities that made up your younger days and how you felt about them then.  Swimming every weekend at the local pool, knowing for sure that Greg Louganis was no match for your diving skills.  Confidently matching across the football field stepping two, turning left, stepping eight, twice in place, turn right, all while playing the flight song on your clarinet.  Even Benny Goodman couldn’t match your style.  Speeding along on the Schwinn, Day 4 of the Tour de France and your fourth day in the yellow shirt.  Taking the layup to the hoop, your hands above the rim, your signature shoes shimmering in the light of the studio lamps filming the commercial that used to feature that has been, Michael Somebodyorother.  Healthy activities every one.  Healthy imaginations to go with them.  Imagination.  A commodity many fear will never again reach the peak when we were young now that computer games have overtaken recreation as the child’s national pastime.

Now wait a minute, who is to say it has.  Don’t kids still ride bikes, and swim on weekends, and play high school sports, and march in bands?  Maybe we’re being a bit unfair.  Their imagination is still working.  It’s just taking a different turn.  And there are still high school musicals every spring.  (You knew eventually we’d get back to that, didn’t you?)

Those high school musicals.  Who didn’t walk out on to the stage knowing his or her next entrance would be at the Tony Awards?  But while the swimmer and the musician and the sports figure in us have stepped aside so we can fit into our adult life, the actor has found the community theater.  The actor, the director, the stage hand, the producer, the set decorator, the wardrobe and make-up artists all still have a home, a legitimate home where imagination still features raising the silver medallion of the masks comedy and tragedy.  So we applaud the actor, the director, the stage hand, and the others for sharing their imagination and presenting some of the most energetic live theater you’ll ever experience.

Paul Newman said, “To be an actor you have to be a child.”  We agree.  You have to have the wonder that children know and adults crave.  While the professional gets the great opportunity to live that wonder throughout a lifetime most of us only get fleeting moments of it as adults.  Throughout those little theaters tucked away in every neighborhood where lines are tortuously rehearsed, directions are painstakingly prepared, and stages are carefully dressed, the wonder of youth bathes everyone who enters.  Even the audience.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Your Turn to Keep Score

Michael 3 Comments

This morning there was a story on the morning TV news about a shooting that killed a teenager, put his aunt in the hospital, and superficially wounded his grandmother.  Truly tragic and something that happens far too frequently.   Later in the afternoon She of We called to He of We and asked if he heard the story about the shooting last night.  Who got shot?  In the morning paper the teen had still been killed but now the grandmother was in the hospital and the aunt was treated and released.

One of the first printed reports of Friday’s cruise ship accident off the Italian coast said the ship was “three quarters underwater and sinking fast.”  Four sentences later a statement attributed to Coast Guard officials said “the liner was listing at 20 degrees but was not in danger of sinking.”

Death always surpasses imprecisions on the accuracy meter, and our sympathies to those who lost loved ones in urban violence and vacations gone very badly.  This is not a rant about who spelled what wrong or which homonym was misused today.

But we have to admit our first question to ourselves was, what is more important, getting it right, or getting a headline?  While we were batting that one about we think we may have come across the bigger problem.  It’s not an issue with incorrect reporting.  It’s not an issue with inaccurate editing.  It’s much more pervasive.  It goes back to “everyone’s a hero.”

Let us explain.  How long has it been since the fashion became that little leagues no longer keep score?  That everybody bats every inning?  That every youth gymnastic tournament participant goes home with a trophy? How long has it been since we started instilling in our young people that there are no losers?  Long enough that those children are now young adults writing for our newspapers and web-sites and anchor people.  Long enough that they are also our young firemen, and nurses, and building inspectors.  Long enough that they will soon be our doctors and lawyers.  Long enough that someday they will be running for Congress, President, and your local school board.

Are you young enough, and were you naïve enough to allow your children to believe that there is no winning or losing?  If so, what did you tell your son at his first major league baseball game when the home team lost and the beer soaked fan in the row behind you expressed his displeasure?  What did you tell your daughter when she watched the Olympics for the first time and asked why the gymnasts were crying?  Petty issues?  Perhaps.  But life isn’t all winning.  Once a child is old enough to stand he’s old enough to fall down.  Doesn’t he deserve the courtesy of being told he might?

What do you tell yourself when a group of teens knocks on a door and shoots a child of 16 and a firefighter at the scene is quoted “There’s been a lot of stupid stuff going on?”  How do you reconcile the captain going down with the ship in the movie but going to safe harbor in a life boat in real life?  Once a child is old enough to stand he’s old enough to be pushed over.  Doesn’t he deserve the guidance of being told how to avoid it?

What do you tell the world when the world extrapolates one with no winners or losers to one with no right or wrong?  Have we created that world of harmony for our now young adults by taking the pressure of winning off them when they were our young children?  Or have we created a world of discord for our now young adults – a world where they are unprepared for conflict, discipline, and getting things right because they never had to as young children?  We can’t be outraged at a teen who takes losing so badly that he has to shoot others when we never taught him how to be a gracious winner.   

If you didn’t keep score then, you can’t be an umpire now.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Star Polisher

Michael 1 Comment

January 5, Twelfth Night, the Eve of the Epiphany, the last evening that precedes the Twelfth Day of Christmas.  Ok, that can be a little confusing but think like most businesses that are open 24 hours think, such as a hospital or a large supermarket.  At most places where a day takes up 24 hours, shifts for any given day don’t begin at midnight.  They start the evening before the following day.  Ok, that’s still confusing.  Trust us, tonight is Twelfth Night, tomorrow is the Twelfth Day of Christmas, aka the Epiphany.  Remember?  Those three kings bearing gifts following yonder star.  Star of wonder.  Star of light.  Ok, now hold that thought.

We were talking the other day about things like New Year’s Resolutions (which if you read our post from January 2 you know we’re holding until March), needy friends, and end of the year burn out.  We don’t have so many friends that we can afford to alienate any of them by not responding to their needs.  On the other hand, we don’t have so many free hours in any day that we can constantly be serving their neediness.  That was when we had our own epiphany.  That’s epiphany with a little “e” – a sudden intuitive leap of understanding.  We have become Star Polishers.

She of We coined the phrase “Star Polisher” to describe those people that one turns to when one needs his or her self-esteem or star, brightened or polished.  Like most couples, we are each other’s star polisher.  It really only takes a little maintenance to keep our stars shiny and bright.  Most of the time we do it without even noticing that we are doing it.  A comment about looking nice today, a thank you for dinner, or an unexpected gift.

The ability to polish somebody’s star is an awesome responsibility. Friends and loved ones seek you out because they know that no matter what, you will make them feel warm and worthwhile and connected to this thing we call life.  Seeing and finding the best part of people when they want to give up or give in is a gift.  It’s the listening, the smile, or even the tears that keep us connected to each other.  And as we begin a new year it’s time to reconnect with each other.

She of We is such a good polisher that many of her stars have found their own twinkle.  A professional in the hard sciences who really would rather be an artist becoming that artist and seeing his work hung in a gallery.  A musician once literally travelling from gig to gig now filling rooms at request with each person called by name, each thanked personally.  A manager once questioning if his ascent was only because he was around the longest now confident that even if a new Day One should ever come he’ll still be “top of the heap.”  They are enough to make a Star Polisher beam.  

But Star Polishers must be wary of the Star who never gets bright enough.  These stars know who they are.  They call or text about every problem in life no matter how inconvenient it may be.  They know exactly when they are becoming tarnished – the bad relationship, the lousy job, nobody understands them.  They claim so many blemishes all at once that even an extra strength polishing isn’t going to satisfy them.  They hover in your doorway at work, they are on your voicemail at home, and they are in your e-mail at both.  They never ask if you have time to spend on them.  It never occurs to them to ask how you are.  They barge right in and are taken aback if you have to delay the polishing until a better time, even if it means only a few minutes delay. 

Star Polishers need to take special care not to have their own stars burned out.  Sometimes the Polishers have to admit that they have given all the shine that they have.  They love you and wish you nothing but the best but it’s time to look inside yourself and shine on your own for a while.  There are times when even She of We uses so much energy polishing other stars that she loses some of her shine.  Your job if you find yourself polished up by one of her kind is to say “thank you” and acknowledge the unexpected gift that you’ve been given.  Take a moment to become the Polisher’s Polisher.  That’s the number one way to make sure your own Star Polisher will always have some sparkle handy for you.

So it’s only one gift.  It was only one star.  And it’s still pretty bright.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?