My New Year’s Wish: Grow Up, America!

December 28, 2011

There’s a trend going around the interwebs, at least around Facebook and Twitter, where people like to create and share images of political candidates (or Ryan Gosling – still at a loss to figure that one out) with quotes about this, that or the other thing attributed to them. They come from the extremes, both right and left, and seem little more to me than cheap name calling. The latest I saw was one that a friend, who I agree with on probably 98.9% of things in life, posted to her FB page. To be fair, I saw it elsewhere too, but hers was the first sighting.

It comes from the author of the blog The Stumbling Block, a site that no doubt get a gazillion hits a day compared to my average of, oh, maybe 3. It’s obvious that this fellow’s ideas are more popular than anything I might venture to state, a fact that in and of itself sort of makes my point (that I’m about to make). First, the image:

Admittedly, Ron Paul says some fairly dangerous, if not downright absurd, things. Whether or not he truly believes the things he says, who knows? But like political candidates of EVERY stripe nowadays, he spouts off some lulus. But here’s the thing about this particular image and the message it carries; a message that I’ve seen fired from both sides at all kinds of candidates, i.e. it is WRONG to change your mind.

Mitt Romney (god help us) has been labeled a flip-flopper for what seems like the past decade. It’s the reason no one is to trust him – because he changes his mind. Same is being said of Ron Paul in this ad (or whatever you call these things). He once said and/or held some totally ludicrous ideas about gay men. Completely unfounded, hateful and inane. Today, he says he holds different thoughts. By this picture though, I’m not supposed to believe that such a change is possible OR, and this is the part that bothers me so much, that if it is possible and he does feel differently, this is a bad thing.

Well hold the phone folks, because I need an explanation for that logic. If people are to never change their minds about something, then why do we have groups with a mission to help people change their minds?! What’s the point of PFLAG or GLAD or the Human Rights Campaign? What’s the point of any civil rights movement if it’s such a bad thing for people to change?

I posed this question on my own FB page and friends shared that it’s the political climate and the candidates themselves. None of these people are to be trusted. No one running for national office says anything out of their own conviction anymore, but simply to appease a particular voting block. Well if this is so, then let’s all simply cut out the whole finger-pointing charade and ginormous money-suck of campaigning and simply turn it all off until that Tuesday in November when we go to the polls. If anyone and everyone lies, then what’s the point of yammering on and on and on?

The other piece of this particular Ron Paul image that tipped the scales for me is this: It’s a quote from a 1994 newsletter. 1994. Seventeen years ago.

In 1994, seventeen years ago, my then new partner and I traveled together to Virginia to visit my (side note: libertarian) brother, sister-in-law and their kids for the first time. Long story short, it was a pretty unfriendly visit and resulted in more than a decade of little to no communication between us. When we did talk or write letters, we all shared things that, I like to think, we all feel pretty ashamed of now. But over those 17 years, we’ve all grown up a bit. Thankfully. We hardly see eye-to-eye on everything, but I don’t believe that today any of us would say and/or feel some of the same things we said and/or felt all of those years ago. We changed. All of us. And it’s a very good thing.

Last week I was also asked if I’d share with a colleague a book that I wrote probably 15 or so years ago. I wrote it when I was an associate minister in a congregational church. I wrote thoughts that I believed, born of experiences that I knew. There is nothing staunchly religious in those words, but I don’t believe the same things the same way today. I’ve lived longer, I’ve experienced more, I was open to change.

That’s hope, if you ask me. We can all change. Granted, not everyone is always going to change the way I wish for them to. Not everyone is going to change in ways I understand. But there’s one thing I’m fairly certain of and that’s that the people who never change in life are those who take us nowhere but down. They ruin relationships, friendships, work environments AND our government. These are exactly the people we do NOT need in charge.

As a lesbian, I don’t know if Ron Paul sticks up for me today. Quite honestly, I don’t care. I live in Massachusetts where we passed same-sex marriage and a state-wide health insurance mandate under Mitt Romney’s watch. Does any of that make any sense? I wonder. But it shows that change can still happen, both to individuals and a greater society, if we just keep open to it. We are collectively bigger than any individual candidate and the myriad of far-wing organizations putting this crap out.

So my New Year’s wish is this… let’s do better, America. Let’s change.


The Giving of Gifts

December 23, 2011

A friend of mine recently lost a parent. Another is going through a divorce. One I know is spending the holidays alone. Another is working to avoid such a fate. I know some who struggle with depression during seasons that scream, “BE HAPPY!” I know others who close their eyes, hold their breath, and wait for it all to be over.

Christmas Today

I was reminded the other day of a Christmas that brought the deepest kind of sadness to me, something that may have been even harder to take given how much I love the season. The semester was coming to a close. I was finishing up finals and in only a few days would go home; home to a house that I’d grown up in and where I’d spent every Christmas morning of my life that I could remember. I was set to go home to something that I’d always looked forward to; a time and a place where every tradition was expected, followed, and enjoyed. Until now.

I wondered if there would be a tree. I knew that there would be no special presents, the perfect kind bought months before when they’d been spotted at a store and purchased with love. I didn’t know if I’d have any presents, or at least any surprises. I knew there’d be no stockings hung, no candles in the windows, no smells of cider and cinnamon from the kitchen. I imagined there would be church on Christmas Eve, but I didn’t want to go. It wouldn’t be the same. Everyone would notice.

As I went through the motions of studying and finishing papers, I also worked my shifts in the dining hall, assisting the cooks. This was back before feeding people was deemed an appropriate activity to outsource; back when a university hired adults to cook meals and students to help them, to serve others on the lines, to work the dish line, to scrub pots and pans, to swipe IDs. I worked in the dining hall throughout my years in college, finding it both a great source of beer money and one of the most fun jobs I have ever had (still, to this day).

I worked as a Cook’s Aid (a position you had to be promoted to, mind you) alongside a couple of older guys, retired cooks from the Navy; two black women who reminded you of characters out of good Southern writing, strong and opinionated and wise, and who you minded no matter what; several women who had cooked in large quantity for most, if not all, of their working lives; Mary, who ran the ship and served as a surrogate mother to the students who worked for her, always firm and caring; and Robin. Robin was younger than any of the other adults, yet older than any of us students. She was just the right age, compared to us, to be both hip and authoritative.

I’d come to love all of these adults very much, especially over the past year as they each, in their own way, looked after me, making sure I was okay. Rarely did anyone ever ask me outright, “Are you okay?” but I could feel concern in the looks they gave me from time to time, the extra hug I’d receive at the end of a shift. I knew they cared, but it wasn’t until this December came around and the looming sadness prevailed that I learned how much.

I was cleaning up at the end of a dinner shift, wiping out the pass-throughs, the heated sections between the kitchen and each serving line where we placed pans of food to replenish the lines. I was using the Lime-Away to brighten up the stainless steel, the hard brushes to make things shine. I closed the door, like an oven “thwump”, and turned to go towards the bulletin board, to see the schedule and punch out, when I ran into Robin. She had in her hands a small Christmas tree, about 18″ tall, fully decorated with lights and red ball ornaments. She had tears in her eyes as she held it out to me.

“I couldn’t stand the thought that you might not have a tree,” she said.

I had tears in my eyes now, too.

“Take this with you, just in case.”

She gave me a hug and I cried harder than I wanted to. I could see the other cooks and a couple of my fellow student workers out of the corner of my eye. Even the old sailors’ eyes were moist.

I took the tree back to my room in the sorority house. A few days later, I packed my suitcase and went home. There wasn’t yet a tree, but my dad and I did go get one together. He didn’t buy many any surprises, but took me shopping and told me to pick out a few things that I wanted or needed. We ate a Christmas Eve supper of spaghetti at the Sabarro in the mall; a far cry from the dining room table set with candles and the best china and the Waterford crystal glasses that only came out of the hutch this one night each year. We got dressed up and went to church for the candlelight service. People asked about school and gave me hugs. We drove home and then my dad left to go over to a friend’s house, leaving me all alone on the evening Santa comes to town. I’ve long ago forgiven my father for this act, but have to admit I’ve never forgotten.

But I’ve also never forgotten that small tree, that gift given “just in case”. It was maybe the kindest and most thoughtful gift I’ll ever be given. In those times when we’re really sad, when our hearts are broken and hope is gone, what can be better than the gift of thoughtfulness and care, of something to show love just in case we need it? Because we always do.

Thank you, Robin, wherever you are.


Hope in Things Unseen

December 23, 2011

From this bank at this spot in summer I can always see tadpoles, fat-bodied, scraping brown algae from a sort of shallow underwater ledge. Now I couldn’t see the ledge under the ice. Most of the tadpoles were frogs, and the frogs were buried alive in the mud at the bottom of the creek. They went to all that trouble to get out of the water and breathe air, only to hop back in before the first killing frost. The frogs of Tinker Creek are slathered in mud, mud at their eyes and mud at their nostrils; their damp skins absorb a muddy oxygen, and so they pass the dreaming winter.

~ Footfalls in  a Blue Ridge Winter, Sports Illustrated, February 4, 1974

Whenever I falter, when I find myself losing hope in the world, I read Annie Dillard, for surely there exists something bigger and greater than humanity to have created such a voice.