I need help with the N-word.

I really need help putting the n-word into the right context.

Let me begin with what I know.  It's a bad word.  It's derogatory.  It's mean.  It's incendiary. It's a word that I have never used as an insult to someone of any color.  I heard my grandma say it once when I was very small, sometime in the 70s, and it surprises me that I still remember it clearly. In her defense, she never said it again and I heard her, through her words and actions, wrestle with her feelings about those with dark skin after having grown up in a very white and fairly uneducated place.  I don't blame her or hold that over her; she recognized her own bigotry and worked through her feelings to overcome it.  It's a word that people use to put dark-skinned people in a subjugated place. I know what it feels like; I remember the first time I heard someone say they wanted to "Jew down" a price for something.  It gives you an ugly empty feeling in the pit of your stomach and then anger wells up after the initial emotional hit.

I also know that dark-skinned people use the n-word.  I am conflicted about using the term "black people" because they are not black just as I am not white. To me it's like using "darn" instead of "damn" -we all know what you meant to say.  I digress.....

Dark-skinned people use the n-word to address each other and I get it. For blacks, it's an identity or cultural term. It's still ugly, though. I don't call my white friends "crackers" or "Betty Crocker".  Why would dark-skinned people call each other that awful word?  And it's common. I heard it in my elementary and middle school.  Little kids called each other that ALL. THE. TIME.  I heard it in a rap this morning during my workout. How is this okay?  I don't care if it means something different from black to black or not; it's not right.  I told my black students that it is confusing for everyone if they use a disparaging term for each other but then get offended if a white student would use the same word to the same group of students. I told them they have to model respect for their own culture if they wanted others to respect them. Is this wrong?

As a teacher, both in my own home with my own children and with the kids at my school, that we need to model the kind of behavior and language we want children to emulate.  I don't use derogatory terms with children or in front of children.  I just don't (I do catch myself, however, sometimes using derogatory words for bad drivers-oops).  If dark-skinned people do not want anyone else to use "their terms", it can not be a double standard.  It's still an insult to use "Penny Chaser" to a fellow Jew -it's not an appropriate cultural term. It's mean to call a Mexican a "Border Bandit" when said to a friend or in jest. Why do blacks think it's okay to call each other "the n-word" (I didn't even want to type it)? 

Help me understand this.  If you don't want people to use a word, don't use it for yourself. And, call out those who do. That's my opinion and it seems simple to me, so clearly I'm missing something. Sure, my pink-ness is showing, but I think it reflects a larger issue of use of this word in the greater environment.  How can you teach people to respect you and your culture if you yourself use potentially derogatory terms that only you get to interpret?  It is confusing and makes the term ripe for misuse.  We all know that "Penny Chaser" and "Border Bandit" are derogatory and members of those cultures do not use them as a cultural term (I can't vouch for insults), so, we do not use those terms.  At all.  It seems to solve a larger problem if the same guidelines are used for the n-word. Additionally, if you do work to model and teach respect for your own culture, it becomes easy to identify those who are truly racist when they do not respect you or yours.  Words matter.

Editing to add:

After I published this, I decided to clarify that I am NOT blaming dark-skinned people for the cultural mis-appropriation of the n-word.  That is not my intent and I do not blame black culture for this. I want to make that very clear. I am simply trying to understand how to deal with this word and what an appropriate action/reaction should be on my part.

Letha's Story, by Letha Dill. She passed away in 2010.

Compiled and only slightly edited by Letha’s granddaughter in 2020

July 1987

    I was born in Harlem Township, Delaware County, Ohio on December 15, 1922 to Paul and Mae Garrabrant. I’m the first girl in a family of eleven children: 6 boys and five girls. Five boys and five girls are still living; one boy died at the age of 8 month old. My father and mother lived on a farm. My father was a farmer and my mother was a school teacher until she had a classroom of her own children. We were all borned at home. We lived in a large two-story home but we had no modern conveniences such as central heat, electricity or running water. Oh yes we did have running water. We would grab a bucket and run out to the well, fill the bucket and run back. How about that! I’ll never forget one cold day my sister went out to get some water and decided to put her tongue on the pump handle. Well you can guess what happened. It froze fast and she lost a layer of skin which she will never forget. But when you are kids a lot of funny things happen all the time. We had a large turtle given to us and several of us were watching my mother cut it’s head off to dress it. She said “now don’t pick up this head as its teeth will come down and bite you.” Guess what –one curious sister put her finger in its mouth and got bitten as the muscles react for quite a while afterwards. Oh, but the meat was so good being fried and crisp.

    Being on a farm, we had two large work horses which did all the plowing and working the soil as there weren’t any tractors then. We named them Snowball and Nigger (we wouldn’t dare name them that now). I spend a lot of time out in the fields with my dad. In the fall he would cut and shock the corn. I would get tired and sit back against the fodder shock and take a nap. Later in the winter we would hitch the horses up to a mud sled and haul the fodder in to feed the livestock. We had our own milk, butter, buttermilk, and eggs. We had hogs, chickens, geese and horses. I very well remember the gander as I got pinched on you-know-where. We butchered our own meat. We had a big shed insulated with saw dust where we would cut up our own meat. We would can meat, fry sausages, and put in a crock and cover it with fat to preserve. We cured the hams, bacon, make our own sausage and made our own lard. To make lard you diced up the back fat and cook it until it’s brown and then put it through a lard press and the end result is lard and cracklings. This by product is called “open kettled lard.” Oh those cracklings were so good fresh and the rest we would make soap outdoors in a large iron kettle. We would go out and pick blackberries and eat all we wanted first on the bushes. Lord only knows how many bugs we ate but I guess it didn’t hurt anybody as we’re all pretty healthy. Then we filled the kettles to take home to can and make a large cobbler. It takes a lot of food for 10 children and 2 adults. About the same time of year the field corn was tender and sweet and we ate and ate boiled corn, fried corn and corn pancakes and fritters. Of course this was open pollinated corn. We relished it as good ole sweet corn. So you see we lived off he good ole earth a lot of the times.

    We always had a lot of hay to cut and put up in a barn. I used to ride the horse hitched to a rope on the opposite side of the barn that would pull the full hay fork into the hay mow to store it. Of course I like my horses even though I had to stand on the side of the manger to put collar on these large horses when my dad wasn’t there. Of course you have a collar on the horses neck before you put the harness on. It was hard for me because I was small for my age. At that time you have to have the harness on right you can’t hitch them to a singletree to pull your equipment.

    Well it finally came time for me to graduate from high school at the age of 17 on May 19th, 1940. In order to get a job at 17, you had to get a working permit. I got a job at Kilgore’s making war materials here in Westerville. I made gasoline war bombs and hand grenades in the first state and then they were shipped to New Jersey and put the pineapple on (the highly explosive part). They were made at Kilgore’s and later shipped overseas which was the ones they dropped on Hiroshima to help end World War II. We were so proud to think we won the Army & Navy Award for Excellence. The company gave each of us a $50 war bond. Well I met my husband to be in 1940 not long before he got his “greetings” form Uncle Sam to report to Camp Shelby. In 1942 he got discharged and we were married on September 7, 1942. We both worked at Kilgore’s making war material. After 4 years I quit and had my three children. Number 1 son, Lisle Jr, is an agricultural teacher at Jackson, Ohio and married with twin daughters now 17 years old. Our only daughter, Beverly, who has an assistant medical certificate was born 1 ½ years later, then number 3 child, 2nd son, Tom, has an associate degree in accounting. They all graduated from Westerville High School. Well since I was home taking care of my children my niece needed a home so we took her and sent her through school. She is a real estate salesman. Well a few years went by and my oldest granddaughter needed a home so we kept and raise her. She is now past 19 years old and a sophomore at Ohio State. They all graduated from Westerville City Schools.

    So you see, I have had kids around me all my life. We always lived where we had a garden and plenty of space for the children to play and work. We always have a freezer full of food and I still can fruits and vegetables and meat. We have 6 grandchildren: 3 boys and 3 girls ages 19 down to 12 years. They grow up so fast. Well on June 10, 1982 everything came to a standstill when my husband Lisle had cardiac arrest and passed away very suddenly coming from across our drive to the house. We had been married nearly 40 years and had worked, planned, and had a lot of good happy times together. I had planned to retire but those plans changed and I am still working. I have now completed 26 years as a food service worker and trying to plan my retirement. I hope I keep my health and find someone I can share the rest of my life with and enjoy my senior years.

Trying my best

Tired of “alternative” anything…facts, stories, deflections, blame…I am not going to normalize wrong things, no matter who/where they come from. I know that some government employees are trying to do good things, and I know that some government employees have slipped and have been influenced by greed and selfishness. We can look for the good people and encourage them.

Call out lying by being brave enough to observe and say the truth, even if it doesn’t benefit you.
Call out bigotry by gently but firmly explain what bigotry really looks like in practice.
Call out bullying by standing with the person whose rights are being trampled.
Call out gaslighting by telling the victim/s that it’s not imagined.
Call out greed with phone calls, letters, and shine a light on it.

Stand with our law enforcers (all levels, not just police), most of them are working so hard to do the right thing and understand that it doesn’t always work. And for those who have slipped because he/she is tired, scared, overwhelmed, insecure, let’s find a way to get them help before a bigger problem happens.
Stand with those in government who are trying to do right by the people but are getting pressure from the greedy to give in and become part of corruptness.
Stand with those say the truth, even though they are getting bombarded with insults and lies.
Stand with everyone, don’t immediately assume you are being attacked if you are not. Give others the benefit of the doubt before passing opinion.

I am trying to remember that most of us want the best for our country, our society, our way of life. I am trying to remember that we can’t all have what we want all the time. I’m trying to remember that eventually, everyone should get a turn. I’m trying to be strong enough to stand up for ‘right’ when no one else is standing.

________________________________________________

On a side note, I find the fear of lots of the white population an interesting phenomenon. I sense many are afraid they've "lot their rank". And I turn west and look at the native American population and I secretly wish a ghostly echo would spread over the whites and whisper something about karma. If the natives were oppressed, pushed, trampled, driven back, and killed, then I wonder if it's possible that now it's their turn to watch as whites become a minority, and oppressed and pushed out. I don't know -it's just a thought. I am working hard on not becoming a bitter old lady as I soak up my middle-age.

Cut the Cord, as they say....

I'm going to apologize up front for the length of this meandering essay. I assure you, it could have been much worse. And it goes without saying, it is just my opinion. If you don't like it, well, whatever......

Summer is really coming to a close. The days are getting shorter, the nights a little cooler, but only a little since it’s been so hot lately. And, more significantly, the smell of football is in the air. For people like me, it’s the smell of marching band that is in the air. Thirty years ago (eek!) was the first time I tried out for the Ohio State University Marching Band. The ‘The’ hadn’t been added to the name yet, it was only the 3rd year of Dr. Jon Woods’ tenure as its director, the percussion section used duos, and marching was still the most important part of the band.

I made it my first time trying-out and I participated for five seasons, which included time as a squad leader and as one of students who led music rehearsals during the summer sessions that preceded tryouts. If I recall, trios were introduced during my time there, and a ‘new’ uniform that added a red stripe on the sleeves and the hat; a move that started the break away from our military roots. We were not happy about the red stripe, but we were tickled to have new uniforms that weren’t all military wool and patched together and still falling apart. A local car dealership funded the deal and we stood on the field for a picture with the dealership name spelled on the field. The boom of college football on TV began while I was a student, too. In my first year, in 1986, all the games began at 1:00pm, with, possibly, the exception of the televised Michigan game. By my last year in 1990, all the games were televised with a myriad of starting times. Watching for the TV time-out guy was still a thing, and we learned how to do that.

This history is important because it is somewhat of an explanation as to how the OSUMB and THE university arrived where it is now. And it’s about money, “streamlining”, publicity…in short, the corporate machine that it is now. Unfortunately, the OSUMB has been dragged along with that machine.

The relationship with OSUMB’s alumni has changed over the years, too, and really, I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately. Recently, TBDBITL Alumni Club (which may or may not exist anymore, I’m not sure) signed a deal with tOSU to agree to move under the umbrella of The Ohio State University Alumni Association. The OSUAA used to be its own entity, separate from tOSU, but a few years ago, was absorbed by tOSU as a means to “manage” it more completely. I use quotes because no one really wants to give an honest answer as to why that happened. Slowly, the OSUAA has been gathering all its alumni club eggs to keep them securely under the OSUAA hen that is really The Ohio State University (remember, they are one now) and each group must sign an agreement that they will use the sterilized logos agreed-upon (read: provided) and agree not to criticize the university, among other stipulations. To summarize: be under the thumb of the university. Many OSUMB alumni were quite unhappy about it, but I’m sure TBDBITL (the organization that was founded 50 years ago) felt like they didn’t have a choice. The TBDBITL Alumni Band has been putting on reunions since 1966. It has raised tons of awareness of the quality and traditions of the OSUMB, let alone the millions of dollars for the OSUMB that includes many sets of new instruments (and I’m talking for EVERYONE, not just tubas or percussion), new berets for new members, dinners and lunches, countless other items that I’m probably unaware of, but most importantly, scholarships.

The relationship of the OSUMB alumni and the “regular band”, or as the older alumni like to call them, the “Junior Band”, just to piss them off, is off-and-on tenuous. The college students don’t like having “big brother” looking over their shoulder to keep them in check or to criticize their quality or methods and as far as I know, there is no other college band that has this looming giant watching them at all times. What we didn’t , and now they don’t, realize is that is what keeps them always the best. It keeps the quality and the traditions and the renewal that other bands don’t get.

Sometimes.

During my recollection of the 80s (which I’m sure is limited), my impression of the alumni band was that they just wanted to come back and keep marching in the band ( the five year limit was instituted in the 70s) and show us they could do it better than us. Those 70s guys were still craaaaazy in the 80s, and a lot of them disliked the “new” director Woods. At the time, the reunion in the stadium and a few concerts is all that existed of the Alumi Club. I remember current members yelling “cut the cord” to the old guys (they were younger then than I am now!). But that has changed over the years. The relationship has changed to one that has an undertone of disdain and disrespect. Certainly, not all the current members feel that way, but the group mentality sometimes rules out the words that individually come from the mouths of the babes. And I observe that it is more a Jekyll and Hyde kind of relationship. When I hear “cut the cord” now from the current members, it sounds like they are saying ‘butt out of our business’. I say this because much of the current staff is OSUMB alumni. No one tells Dr. Chris Hoch to cut the cord. No one tells Ed & Karen Crockett or Wes Clark to cut the cord, and no one says to cut the cord when they are receiving a meal or a gift in person, but I know what the mumblings are when in the group. Those great staff members are even more attached than a majority of the alumni. That sentiment is stronger of the recent OSUMB alumni to the older members, those that have been out just a few years and have no desire to participate in TBDBITL Alumni Club, except to maybe march ONE MORE TIME! for the reunion in Ohio Stadium and the chance for a free ticket into the game and a moment of notoriety on the field. Those younger alums have little desire to help with the concerts and fundraising activities of TBDBITL.

My guess is that those members, the current band and the younger alumni, have no idea what challenges the band had before the mid-90s, and therefore have no appreciation for what the TBDBITL Alumni Club became in the 90s and what they have provided in the 15 years since. I’m sure they have been told, and I’m not here to preach to them, mother-like, to thank and appreciate their elders and all that. I’m not their mother. But I wonder if they really want the alumni to truly cut the cord. The University Board has just chopped and chopped the reputations of the college band and the alumni band. tOSU has damaged its relationship between the bands and themselves and now, with this latest extortion, many alumni, including myself, are getting the message that we are unwanted with the exception of our “charity” dollars. The university allows the OSUMB to play less and less at games favoring pre-recorded crap that discourages school spirit and collegiate atmosphere, demands they play “required” pep bands forgetting that they are still college students who take classes and have other demands (not unlike the football team-remember the history that I outlined above?), and expect a new and perfect show every new home game. The OSUMB staff has taken on the ‘innovation’ philosophy to keep the organization always on the leading edge, forgetting, IN MY OPINION, that the amazing simplicity the OSUMB always had was its innovation. Having kids carry around a bizillion toms and bass drums is NOT innovation. Having three trombone parts, added with bass trombones, is not improving the OSUMB sound. The innovation was the arrangers’ ability to write music for the OSUMB that was clear, quality, AND entertaining, instead of complex and muddy. With appropriate music, the drill could be learned and executed in a week’s time and look great without the struggle and stress that the students must now endure. There was always struggle and stress to learn a show in a week, but it is inconceivable now. Add to that the staff’s challenge of creating a quality product with students who come from high schools whose programs only consisted of students learning one show in three months. (This is a big part of the addition of mellophones instead of Eb alto horns, that almost no one now uses, which I totally get.) Those students don’t have the musical experience to do what the OSUMB does, but thanks to the created reputation of the Ohio State corporation and demands for a winning football team, the internet, AND the TBDBITL Alumi Band putting bands in the public and playing volunteered gigs all over central Ohio and beyond, kids still seek out the OSUMB, and thankfully so.

Of course there is no one occurrence that has contributed to this tough place the OSUMB now has to live. And the current students don’t know it as anything else; for them it’s always been that way. But, students, think before you say “cut the cord” now.

When I was in the band (HA!), there were no new instruments except to replace broken horns and drums that could no longer be patched. Our horns were so green and black in some places that they just couldn’t be shined any longer. The only practice instruments at the time were some extra percussion. Script Ohio Club didn’t yet exist and it has since raised so much money that band can now afford multiple sets of instruments for practice and games. My husband said his uniform had at least 13 patches holding it together and the OSUMB had true seamstresses on staff to keep the uniforms wearable. And we had to have them cleaned ourselves. If it was really soiled, we’d have to get it to the cleaners by Monday so it would be back in time to wear for the next game. We bought all our own acccessories: new shoes, socks, gloves, shirts, tie, beret, plumes…and I don’t remember what else. And of course, it all had to be spotless for tough inspections. I was fortunate to receive a scholarship during my first two years in band as a music education major in the marching band. I believe it totaled to $1000. The HyperActive Band group of alumni hadn’t raised many thousands of dollars yet, for continued scholarships yet for students. I worked a part time job when I could (as most of us did) but not at all during football season. Between school and band, none of us had any money to buy food, let alone feed ourselves on football Saturday because we weren’t provided food at all. We’d bring snacks for the coolers that we took out to the stadium before the game, and hopefully had a few bucks for the hot dog before skull session. We were on a quarterly schedule, so tryouts were about 10 days before school started in September, and we were learning the first show for the second football game. The first game was frequently courtesy the previous years’ band, known as the volunteer game. An OSUMB alumni thought it would be a nice idea to give band members some opportunities for meals since tryouts meant kids had to be at the university before food service began before school started. I’m amazed that some alumni have been treated off-handedly by rude college students who expect this without appreciation, kind of a “give me my food and get out of here” attitude.

Seriously, I could go on and on, but I’m beating a dead horse. If OSUMB wants us to cut the cord, I’m all for it now. I never wanted to hang on simply because I wanted to march again and again, (though I know I could out-march half those young whipper-snappers, bwahahaha) but because I learned that it’s our job to hold on to and teach what traditions are and how they can be preserved for true innovation. Keep paying it forward, so to speak. No one else is doing that. THAT is what innovation is! Surely some improvements are better than not, but not all changes are better. When the product and process truly is better and made easier for the students, then it is better and keeping OSUMB as a unit, as a family, and not divided up to be conquered is better than the ‘me is most special’ philosophy found in the ‘butt out of my band’ attitude. If it is divided and conquered, then it will be just another college band. Not the special place I grew up. Not a place that is safe, and learning was for learning’s sake, and kids are taught about being good people. I learned about the giving required to be on a team. I learned that the self is not always as important as the group. Everyone in the band was ONE unit, one group, one united front of music and entertainment. I went in to the group as a teenager, and came out as an adult who learned a lot about work, ethics, music, health, and responsibility. It’s a long complicated story, clearly, but I’m just about done caring because I’m being told to butt out. Cut the cord.

I don't want this to be volatile.

Naturally anything transgender has the potential to be volatile, but that is not the point of this.

I've been thinking about this subject off and on for a while. My 16 year old and 14 year old daughters each have a friend who is transgender. They sometimes seem to be asking me what I think, or they will (unknowingly, I think) phrase their comments in a way that they are looking for answers about *what* to think about it. I offer my own opinion but I really don't know a lot about it. I don't have any friends or associates that fall into that description. I only relate my own personal identity journey as a reference.

I don't have time to do a lot of research but what little I've done is not helping my search for a good response to my children. I hope I'm saying something that gives them a frame on which to hang their own opinions. My problem is, what if I'm just so wrong that I should just keep my mouth shut? I step very lightly with what I say here. They seem to like their transgender acquaintances and I don't want to change that. I don't agree with the path that their parents are taking with actively allowing their child to change their gender at such an early age and I doubt that is a popular thought.

Let me clarify.

My own journey was confusing to me as what my gender should be. When I was an elementary aged person, I desperately wanted to be a boy. I felt like a boy, I wore boy clothes, I had a boy-like hair cut, I did boy-like things, I had male friends (and not bestie girl friends). For all intents and purposes, I led a boy life, and I wanted more than anything to physically be what I felt. My grandmother, who was my adopted mother, let me be who I was. When I was very small, she put girl things on me but I changed that as soon as I could and I was uncomfortable in the girl role. As I grew up and faced that fact that I had girl parts (and that was an ugly realization!), I did my best to be satisfied with what I was given. I made my way through puberty and adolescence and I worked hard to like who I was, what I was made to be. BUT, it took a very long time. It wasn't until I was a teenager that I could develop friendships with girls. I can't help but think that if I grew up with a modern family in modern times, they would have put me on hormones and strapped a breast reducing device around me. I believe that most kids have to make that journey to decide who they really are, and that includes gender. I am NOT saying that people are not transgender, but I am saying to let them get to know themselves and their identities before it gets changed.

Here is what I tell my kids: It's okay to like who you like, as long as they are a good person and treat you well. I don't care if they are male, female, or in-between. I don't agree with their parents making an active change in their physical identities until they figure out their mental identities, but their choices are none of my business. It seems to me that, if a truly transgender person gets through adolescence and decides they need to make their physical self align with their mental self, then that is totally appropriate. More importantly, my children, is don't let perceived roles decide your gender. I'm a woman but I like building things, using power tools, working out & weight lifting, not wearing much (if any) makeup, male friends or girl friends without drama, and many other "male-like" activities. It's just who I am. And, I birthed & nursed children, learned to cook (which I still dislike), grew my hair in a more feminine style, and learned to accept my role. Not everyone will have such an easy journey, and that's okay, too. Just be who you are regardless of what other people do.

I'm sure I'll tick off someone, but just let it go. I'm doing the best I can.

On being an un-single mom....

Let me start off by saying, I realize, very clearly, that I live a blessed and fortunate life. I and my three children are lucky to have a husband and father who cares and takes care of us. He busts his butt to provide for us and be a well-rounded person and supportive as much as possible. He had to take a job out of state in 2014, and before that, his local job often took him out of state and out of the country-sometimes for up to 1 to 2 weeks at a time. It’s part of the corporate and manufacturing world. Even when he was home, he worked long hours.

Often, since 2006, I have had to be the only ‘available’ parent to our three creative and busy children. The three of them came to us in just under 4 years. (yes, I know what causes that, despite my attempts to plan their arrivals!) It’s hard. It’s a lot of work. It’s tough to try to raise them to be well-adjusted smart kids. And it’s tough to do it alone at times. Don’t blame my husband! He has worked hard to get where he’s at and he has taken a lot of compromises to be here as much as possible, even when it meant he couldn’t advance in his career. I don’t blame him and I want him to be satisfied with his work. G-d knows he has to keep doing it. Despite all that, we still live paycheck-to-paycheck, mostly because we live in a community that was greatly affected by the housing bubble and the economic troubles in the last 8 years, but also because of his career sacrifices to be with us.

Why am I telling you this? Because I get stressed out sometimes. Because I worry about a lot. Because I’m frequently alone and sometimes I just need to get it out. I’ll survive but sometimes I could just use an ear, ya’ know? My main contact with most adults is via Facebook (not a great place for that) and it’s so easy for “friends” to be critical there.

A few years back, I was complaining about being “a single mom” and one of my FB “friends” decided to (not directly to me, of course) go on a rant about how those of us that aren’t actually single should shut up about it and that, because she was truly a single parent to a child, we couldn’t really understand what that was like. That we (the un-single) had no room to complain. That our worries and stress were somehow less than hers, and that she was sick of un-single women complaining about parenting by themselves. I was quite hurt by all that.

You know what, FB friends, parenting alone regardless of one’s marital status is hard. And instead of tearing each other down as moms, why can’t we just find helpful supportive words instead? And of course, it’s not limited to moms; there are plenty of men in the same position. I just happen to not know many, but they are an unsung minority. Anyway...

I could have used a tip or a comment of hope or something that truly single parents do to muddle through. But, no. I could have used an “I hear ya”, but , no.

I make most of the decisions myself. I run our house by myself (except when my husband is occasionally home and even then mostly), I pay our bills by myself, I am the errand do-er, chore person, activity runner, laundry washer, dish loader, pet feeder, bill payer, first aid administrator, sex-ed teacher, long range planner, teeth brushing monitor…everything, by myself. Yes, my husband works and the money goes into a bank account and I send it all out on bills, like anyone else. Yes, I am not going to work 9-5 and then coming home to take care of myself and one child, but when my three children come home from school and all weekend, until they go to bed, it’s all me. Sometimes in the middle of the night, too. I do it all. I am not taking care of only myself and a kid. I’m taking care of myself, my husband when he’s here and my three children. I exercise A LOT to stay fit enough to keep up, which is getting very hard as I age, and I try to maintain my musicianship as much as possible – I try to maintain my sense of self as well as nurture everyone else’s senses of self. (is that even grammatically correct??) It’s hard.

Mothers need each other. We need to help each other, even if it means that someone is complaining and you know their life isn’t nearly as hard as yours. We can’t tear each other down just because we are feeling down, the world is too harsh as it is. Mostly we just need a listening ear since we are all too often islands in this world. We need someone to say “keep going, it’ll get better” instead of snarky vague aimless rants. And mostly, I would have wanted support from someone I thought was in my community, in my corner, instead of what I did get. It hurt. I didn’t tell her –it wouldn’t have done anything but created even more hard feelings and I wasn’t looking to do that. I just want people to help each other. I would want her to know but I'm sure I'm hidden so she doesn't have to see me.

We just need each other.

The most holy place on earth.

A couple of years ago, we went to Israel for my daughter's Bat Mitzvah. For me, the most exciting part of planning for this trip was taking my children to this historical, important place and hoping they felt a connection to this amazing part of the world. I wanted them to feel more Jewish and connected by doing this thing, visiting this place. And I hoped to feel the same way too. We took a two week trip with a great tour guide. We visited many 'touristy' places: the Old City, some other parts of Jerusalem, the Knesset, Masada, the Dead Sea, Kinneret Sea, the Golan area, grottos by the Lebanan border, Greek ruins, Tel Aviv, etc. A whirlwind of a trip for sure. We couldn't go south because of the danger there at the time. After the trip was over, ha, 2 years ago now, I still reflect back on the experience. The most important thing I did there, for myself, was visit the Temple Mount. I feel like that was a monumental accomplishment for the latter half of my life. It's such an important, meaningful, pivotal place on earth, and I got to go there. Do you realize how many people in the world NEVER make it there? How many people have no idea of the true scale of the place? There are Jews all over the world who have never been there, aren't ALLOWED there. They don't know but I was there. My mother-in-law, my 13 year old daughter, and I dressed (what we thought!) conservatively and made sure we had nothing on us that would cause us to be noticed in a suspicious way. We stood in line for quite a while during the narrow window of opportunity. I had my Travelon purse, which would identify me as a tourist, and my American look about me. I turned my Star of David necklace backwards around to the back of my neck, and put on a black shaw. My daughter had on long shorts, longer than many others, but as we got to the top of the line, the Muslim decision-maker guy made us buy a shaw to wrap around her legs. It was ridiculous and an excuse to soak us out of some money. Whatever, we did it anyway. (we still have the cheap, crappy, nearly translucent shaw) The three of us felt the tension between us and the Muslim guy and we really thought he wasn't going to let us visit. I think they just wanted to cover a young pretty girl any way they could and make some cash. We finally entered the lower level plaza after some time. It seemed a lot like an American park near a library or something, covered in tan Jerusalem stone, but with non-working fountains intended for feet washing. I was dismayed that the Muslims that were there were having a picnic, and playing soccer. I thought this was a holy place and I thought they would be acting 'holy'...or, reverent...or something. I guess I didn't know what to expect. The al-Aqsa was off to our left but there was nothing going on during this 90 minute visiting window. I don't know, it all seemed very informal. I remember thinking "look around, take it all in". I would inhale deeply, taking in the hot dry air. I wanted to remember it forever, that I was finally here. And more importantly, I wanted to feel like G-d was somewhere around. I wanted to feel the weight of holy energy there. I kept looking for it, listening, breathing, hearing, waiting, but it never happened for me. I did, however, feel very nervous and self-conscious. I know the Muslim watch-guy was keeping an eye on us and our behavior. We walked around the plaza and I thought that is the only area we'd be allowed to tour but we saw people up on the plaza around the dome, and near 'the place'. We decided to climb the stairs and we crossed over the old rock that was part of the wall of the first Temple. I was hoping for G-d's presence to somehow reach us. Instead, I was startled by a group of about 8 or 10 obnoxious European men in shorts and t-shirts (with cheap shaws blowing in the breeze around their legs) yipping it up, taking selfies, and being loud. They looked like they had been drinking but I have no proof. I did, however, feel like smacking them across the head and explaining where exactly they were! And there were other people walking around the dome and looking like they knew what they were doing. I, on the other hand, felt like I was being watched and kept my distance away from the dome and the three of us skirted the edges of the Mount area. I instructed us to be respectful and quiet so as not to draw attention, and I was still hoping for that amazing connection to happen. I never did get close to the building there. I was nervous and afraid of doing the wrong thing. And I wanted to be reverent and humble in that place. I was afraid of being offensive to G-d and His holy place. I did squeeze in a selfie at the edge of the Temple plaza, at the top of the stairs leading away from the domed building, to prove I was actually there. Before we left, I took another long look around and tried to imagine all the people that had been there before me. The people coming with their sacrifices, their offerings for a better life, their troubles and their celebrations, the priests coming and going with their duties. I imagined what it might look like if a cloud did hover over the area while the Ark was stationed there. That my footsteps would mingle with everyone else's footsteps. In the end, my experience on the Temple Mount, while amazing, inspiring, and life-changing, was like it was for all my visit to Israel. I felt no special connection. I felt no draw to be there, no kinship with the people there. I wonder what is wrong with me? Why NOT me?? I think my at-the-time 13 year old daughter felt it. She seemed comfortable there. All the kids were more comfortable than I -they spoke Hebrew to varying degrees of success and just seemed to "fit in". Sadly, it is not my homeland. My ancestors weren't there. My past lives didn't happen there. The desert was not a place I could be. Over the years, I have considered what and how to make aliyah and whether I could or wanted to, but I think it's just not my place. I feel like I have been running the hills and forests of Appalachia for thousands of years. I have deja vu sometimes here. And while I wanted that in Israel, I am disappointed that it didn't happen. I think my daughter might have, and I guess I could visit her on occasion.

Sunday school, same as usual.

So, today was a meeting with parents of kids who are "on track" in preparation for their Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. Shirly, the education director, gave long explanations about the qualifications of our teachers, the advanced training of the staff, the newer technology available to the students, the variety of course offerings that the high school kids have to choose from...essentially, all there is to know about how great our Hebrew school is. Now, you have to know, that she has a captive audience. It's required for this age of students to attend Hebrew school so they can have a Shabbat morning Bar or Bat Mizvah at our shul. They need 75% attendance, too. My older two kids had no problem with that. My first kid was a pleaser and she seemed to love synagogue stuff. She picked up Hebrew easily at the Day School, she knew the prayers and seemed comfortable leading services even though inside she was a nervous wreck. She even likes Hebrew high school now, which is not required for anything specific except being connected to Judaism, which is of utmost importance to me and the community. My middle kid is now nine months past her Bat Mitzvah. She hated it. Hated services because they were boring. Hated getting up to go to synagogue. Hated Hebrew. She was, however, good at all of it. She (secretly) knew the prayers and what to do and how to do it and did beautifully leading services. My third kid is in 6th grade. And also hates all of it. Says he's bored. Says he knows everything and that it's a waste of time and doesn't even want a Bar Mitzvah. I've also made him aware that attending and doing it are not a choice. He will go and he will have a Bar Mitzvah, whether he likes it or not. I told him to find some joy in it somewhere, somehow, and that I didn't care how. He just grunted. So, there we were listening to it all: me, for the 3rd time. My mind was wandering even though I tried hard not to let it, and then I see that guy across from me. I squinted hard at him (I hope he didn't see me), because I left my glasses in the car. I recognized him from High Holiday services. He gets an aliyah every year at an "important time" in the service. Now, hold on, I'm not making any judgements here. Don't go assuming anything I'm not saying. I don't go to shul every day or even every week but we go mostly on Saturdays and I only remember him from Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, or maybe both? I can see him well because when I sing in the choir, I get to sit on the bima and I can see everyone who comes up. It's quite entertaining really. So maybe he goes to Shabbat or weekday services and I just didn't see him then. Maybe he comes Friday night and I don't see him because I despise driving down to shul during Friday rush hour from one of busier quadrants of the county. I just don't remember him from Shabbat services I've attended. In my head, I'm trying not to make an assumption about him. I wonder who his wife or the mother of his kid is. Anyway, we come to the end for questions and answers (maybe) and he asks the question that EVERYONE has. All. The Time. And it's volatile. It's raw. And it's a reflection of problems that synagogues all across the country are having. He said something like, "So what do I do when my kid hates coming to Hebrew school and wants to stop as soon as his or her Bar or Bat Mitzvah is over?" (I added the 'or' because I don't even know who his kid is) Everyone shifts in their seats. Poor Shirly has to field this question. All. The. Time. And there is no right answer. Yes, kids today tend not to identify well with living a religiously observant life. We live in a secular society that really is more Christian than anything and I'll admit, I'm always feeling like a salmon swimming upstream when it comes to incorporating Judaism when my oldest plays volleyball and tourneys are on Saturdays. My middle rides horses and shows are always on, you guessed it, Shabbat, and they serve ham and cheese sandwiches and pork rinds at lunch concessions. Obviously, none of that will change because of us and it is our choice to be doing the things we are doing. I'm a musician and when do you think performances are in the United States of America?? It's a case of "we are good at these things, we love them, and we can't change when they happen." Yes, there are many observant Jews who forgo these kinds of activities to properly observe Shabbat and kashrut and all that. We don't eat the ham and cheese, we bring our own food, and if we have a choice, we choose better than when we don't get to choose. It's my/our choice to participate and I am always torn by it. But it's not Shirly's fault. It's not Shirly's fault if a kid doesn't like Hebrew school and doesn't want to go. It seems that many parents think if the curriculum were more like fun camp or constant excitement for the 3 1/2 to 5 1/2 hours they see her A WEEK, that all would be cured. It's just not the case. Sadly, I've decided there just is no one right answer. I firmly believe the teachers make it as fun and creative as possible and some teachers are better than others at it, of course. Sometimes the kid just HAS to go. And the parent HAS to show some interest. If I'm not a firm believer in it, my kid won't be either. If I don't go, the kids won't want to go either. And, here's the real kicker: If we don't do anything "Jewish" at home, then no one will identify with being Jewish. The parents complaining that his or her kid thinks Hebrew school stinks and doesn't want to make him or her go, seems to simply want to send the kid to school and expect the establishment to "make it fun" and fix the problem. Listen, I'm not the pot calling the kettle black here. I struggle with the same things. And when I find us not connecting, I have tried just sucking it up and making sure we do some Jewish stuff. We light candles, which is hard during football season and Friday night band, I mean, football games. We do, as a rule, try to eat together as much as possible, but if I light candles, the children better damn well be at the table. We put up a Sukkah, we go to shul, we have challah and brisket (except for my vegan daughter, just ask her), and the kids go to Hebrew school. Mr. I-might-not-see-you-other-times-but-I-only-know-you-from-the-holidays guy, maybe doing more Jewishly identifying things at home is a place to try. It seems to be that the more involved families have kids that are more involved, make Jewish friends, and want to come to synagogue. So far I've been lucky. Now my middle kid going to Hebrew High School and she's choosing to do it on her own.

Starting Again

Seems like life is full of 'new starts'. We'll see how far I get on this one.