Blame Me! Blame Me!

I have been thinking alot about parenting lately.  I was having a discussion with a friend about another friend and some choices they had made as a parent.  The first friend kept saying things like "Well, they tried everything!  They asked for advice, prayed, tried spankings, tried time-outs, tried this, tried that, and nothing worked."  And the tone of these statements implied that the friend was without fault because they had tried everything.  Regardless of the effectiveness of the methods tried, they at least tried everything. 

I was thinking more about how the situation all affected the child.  I apologize for using such vague terms and roundabout explanations, but as it turns out, parenting is touchy and it wouldn't serve well to be talking in the open about all this.  But yes, I was more concerned about how it affected the child; the child wouldn't grow up thinking "Well, mommy tried everything", the child would grow up thinking based off of emotions that were felt in response to the way the parent handled things.

I know that as I grew up, situations and conditions that weren't favorable contributed to the way I was raised.  My mom often used to have a short temper about some things, and I now know that this had to do with alot of things beyond her control that stressed her out.  But even though I can acknowledge it now, I can't go back and un-feel the way I felt growing up, scared and often resentful towards her because of the angry bursts she would have.  Sure, my mom tried all she could, but I know how it made me feel then and how that has affected me as I've grown up.

Many people raise children based off of how they were raised.  This is pretty logical, as it is something imprinted in us and regardless of if it was good or bad, the most we've ever learned about parenting was from our parents, so we tend to go that way about raising children.  But why do so few people ask the next question, "And how did the way I was raised make me feel and affect me and my family's relationship?"  I think the lack of this question being asked is partially responsible for people abused as children to abuse their kids.  They learned, painfully, how their mom or dad responded to certain things, and because the imprinting was so strong, they seem powerless to change.  In a similar fashion, we've all heard someone explain their negative behavior with the statement "It's just how I was brought up."  I agree that this is a real reason for behavior, but too often people say it and think they now have some free pass to avoid changing because they were raised that way, and that's how they'll always be.

To momentarily diverge more than I already have, let's talk about the idea that you can't change how you were raised.  I think it's total bullcrap.  If I was like the rest of one side of my family, I would go around looking for fights and arguments, I would be enamored with the life of alcohol and drugs, I would blame everyone else for problems I caused, and I would mindlessly follow that which the most authoritative source at the present instance was saying.  I did in fact used to be like that.  I still have a hard time with keeping cool in an argument or discussion when the other person says something that I interpret as an attack.  But I'm consciously working on it, and over time, I've progressed to the point where I can stay calm with someone screaming at me, if the situation is right.  So the whole, I was raised this way, so it's just how I am and I can't change...that whole deal is garbage. 

So, back to the situation which spawned all of this.  I've heard it multiple times, the whole "They tried everything" as if it excused the bad direction they took when they were frustrated to find that none of the 'everything' amounted to anything effective.  A few questions beg to be asked when it comes to parenting.  Are we just supposed to cover all our bases and hope the job was done right? And if it ever seems the job wasn't done right, do we really want to sit back and say "I tried everything", content to know that we have covered our own butts?  Or do we want to stand up to the inevitable frustrations and not just cover our bases, but raise our children the way we would have liked to be raised, feeling loved constantly but also taught what we need to know about right and wrong?

Parenting is a frustrating thing and it is going to be stressful.  There's no way around that.  But I do not at all think that being stressed out will be a good excuse for me to become one of those parents you see in public who shout and yell at their kids, desperately trying to pretend they actually lovingly disciplined their children back when it counted.  I can't say I won't slip and sometimes yell at one of my children or be less than patient, but some people just make it a habit.  Sure, they once upon a time tried advice they heard from a pastor's wife, and they also tried that new parenting fad about how to discipline.  They tried everything and just couldn't find a way to do it.  They are considered to be without fault by most people, but it still stands that their child is affected by it all. 

All These Places Have Their Moments, With Lovers and Friends

A preface written after I wrote the post:  I had the darndest time coming up with a title that fit my sometimes-adhered-to rule about song lyrics!

Short of having a better sleep schedule already in place, I did everything I could to get a solid night of sleep.  I took melatonin supplements, I double-dosed Sleepytime Tea, stretched out before bed, and allowed myself to slowly fade to fatigue while watching an episode of Swamp People on netflix, in the dark but for the laptop screen.  10:30 rolls around, I'm tired.  So I go to sleep.  And I'll be several monkeys' uncle if I wasn't awake at 2:26 this morning.  Awake, alert, and rolling around in bed like an angry gator trying to escape the clutching hook I had swallowed that is known as "not tired anymore", I was hopelessly unable to sleep.  You'll notice that my analogies and writing devices are directly affected by shows and movies I watch, books I read, and music I listen to.  Hence, I watched Swamp People and am comparing my sleepless self to an alligator.

I gave up trying to fall back asleep around 3:30, and then surfed Netflix on my laptop for something to watch.  I found Titan A.E., an animated movie from the early 2000's I'd say.  It was a sci-fi flick, decent enough, but it all felt very rushed and underdeveloped.  The twists veered too quickly to let any of the shock sink in.  The main conflict, searching for a spaceship the protagonist's father hid, which can create a new planet for the dying human race to call home, seemed stretched too thin for lack of other interesting sub-conflicts.  In addition, the creator(s) was/were ambitious enough to have a collection of different species and galaxies, but none of the cultural information is explored, leaving me feeling like someone at a zoo who didn't know the names of the animals and discovered in frustration that no signs were posted.

So, this very decent movie took me up to around 5 a.m.  I was considering grabbing some McDonald's breakfast and coffee and driving to the lake to watch the sunrise, but decided I'd be too rushed to make sunrise if that was my plan.  I remember last minute the small establishment that has been the subject or setting of some previous posts, Northside Diner.  I pulled in to the parking lot, and headed into the restaurant with the only book that both interested me and was in my car, The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis.  An interesting side-point:  Many students can attest to this phenomenon, but it is odd that an otherwise excellent book can be made dreadful simply because someone is telling you to read it.  It doesn't have anything to do with rebellion or defiance. Rather, I think that something about art demands you seek it on your own to get anything out of it.  You can lead a horse to outstanding philosophical allegory, but if you try to make him read it, he'll just look at you like "What the hell, I can't even read, and it's not any easier with you setting up periodic evaluations and reading quizzes."

Well, now that my saddle was off and the crop no longer threatening, I discovered that the story is awesome.  I found nearly every page to contain a line that made me chuckle with discovery, pleased with the thoughts applicable to life that I was reading.  I wished I had a highlighter so as to call to attention some really great sentences for my next read-through, or to build a small almanac of relevant thoughts and brain-teasers for future moments I might feel I was getting dumb.  My favorite of the lines I read was "Good, as it ripens, becomes continually more different not only from evil but from other good."  And that was from the introduction, not even the story.  It is still a thought I am very much pondering, and I hope I am not falling victim to the common syndrome where students of great authors and thinkers see a thought that challenges normal thought, and adopt it as genius solely because it is different.  I don't think I'm doing that though, because the idea feels very relevant to my thoughts that there are mulitple ways to do good...becoming a protegee of one method of doing good may have you looking very different from a protegee of another form of benevolence.  The clearest example I can come up with is the difference between a Christian humanitarian and an atheist humanitarian.

While I waited for my food at Northside Diner, I moved through chapters pretty quickly but decided to stop moving onward because I want to chew the material over slowly.  Whenever I go to George's Gyros, a hometown eatery, I eat too fast because it is so good that I get that pain just below my chest while my stomach tries to keep cadence with my mouth and fails.  I didn't want to turn Lewis into lamb on a pita, and have decided to do a few chapters at a time, and then wait some time.  Anyhow, my meal was delicious and filling, and I must have drank a good 6 or 7 cups of coffee because it's one of those places where the waitress fills your cup up every 3 or 4 minutes, regardless of how much progress you've made on that cup.

Steve DePung, and I'm still unsure about the last name's spelling, was there again.  He's the guy I talked to outside of the diner in my first post about the diner and its underworld status.  I heard his signature cackling laugh, jolly like Santa Claus but with a tobacco-worn growl, only once or twice because I was earlier and he later this visit.  I left about an hour after arriving, and decided to head to Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve, a 10,000 acre wilderness gem popping up at the edges of an otherwise suburban area.  I pull into the streetside parking, noticing that only me and two other cars have come so early to enjoy the sounds and sights of nature, a nature which was awake before any human there had hit the snooze button.

I walk uphill to a small spot overlooking the large pond that is the face of Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve.  It has a pretty honking big nose, a 30-foot high pillar of water which flows when the season is warm enough and hypnotizes me any time I watch it.  This particular overlook used to be very special to me.  The hill, as I remember it, was emerald green, with a few trees near its top.  Under the tree that sits most central on the brim, I once upon a time spent hours with a girlfriend.  I sat down on the bench that didn't used to be there, just opposite the side of the tree we used to lay.  And I looked out, back and forth, from the pond fountain to the hazy blue and purple-ish clouds in the sky, or perhaps it was more grey in color.  If it was grey, it was a comforting grey, not really a morbid one.

I stood up, and turned around, moving to the spot where I used to lay out a sleeping bag, unzipped, and look back and forth from the night sky and the face of someone I cared about, finding both equally expanisve and wonderful.  It felt really weird, because if I was standing there perhaps 3 years ago to the day, I might have been standing on top of the blanket, looking down at a younger and in-love me.  I moved on, noting not for the first time how the hill was covered in comforting yellow wildflowers, hugely more abundant than they were those three years ago.  I move around a small portion of the preserve, sticking to the trails and boardwalks very near the street.  I saw the spot where I first told that person that I loved them, and a spot where we walked, and I could see through a break in the woods a spot where we lay one time, late at night, sitting up to discover we were surrounded by a herd of deer that sensed us to be no harm.  On another occasion, at that same spot, I pretended I wasn't scared at seeing two dogs stalk us from a distance, so that I could walk her and I back to the car without scaring her any more.

Mid-reverie, I stopped by a stream to temporarily be a tributary to the creek, for which the park is named, while I went pee.  And after the barrage of memories, now more sweet than bitter, I thought to myself that it was a shame I had purposely gone so long without visiting because of the loaded past.  And I got to thinking that I needed to keep myself from bringing future romances to places I found to be fantastic because if anything went south, I'd be waiting a long time to let the place separate itself from the memories.  Then I had another thought, and changed my tune.  It did stink that the wilderness preserve was off-limits for awhile because of what I had come to associate it with, but then I thought about it some more.  Places can be special in appearance and such, but the majority of what makes a place special is the memories made there.  If I were to guard Coffee Creek Watershed Preserve and never let memories be made there that might one day be bittersweet, I would just be wasting the place.

Plus, I thought about how much of a bummer I would be as a boyfriend if I shyed away from nice places because I wanted to keep them clean of emotions and experiences for the future.  "Oh, let's not go to the beach to see the sunset, I may regret it if we break up" just doesn't seem like something that make a girlfriend feel very special.  At the core of my philosophy, I think that Earth is simply a platform upon which we share experiences with other people, learning and teaching as we go.  It isn't here to be sheltered from the sting of stale smiles, it's here to be used.  I'm not an fan of physically polluting the Earth, but I'm an advocate of polluting it with our experiences.  When we make memories somewhere, we leave a mark on it inside our heads and hearts, until a landscape can become akin to a garbage dump with stacks of old times and days gone by.  But rather than this being a junkyard of the past, with unsavory towers of smashed cars and heaps of trash, it's like finding a box with childhood memories, sorting through them one by one and feeling transported back in time.  Some people can become jaded and hesitant to let people into certain parts of their lives for fear of the damage it could do later on.  But I say bring it on, because in my case, had I just let Coffee Creek sit there uselessly so as to not have it marred by a few years of regret, I'd have been wasting an invaluable source of memories rooted in happiness.

Something else stuck in my mind too: the hill we used to lay on was now covered in many more wildflowers than I can recall.  And I am admittedly over-romanticizing this one, but bear with me.

I looked down at the exact spot the sleeping bag used to call home, and thought that if things hadn't changed, the flowers might not be so prevalent there because they'd always be trampled and pressed down on by us.  And our frequent arrivals and departures might have led to a path to the top of the hill being bare too.  It almost seems like the hill has grown out of something negative to be better as a hill, like I grew out of something I was devastated by to become better as a person.  I also thought of it a bit as how rangers at national parks will do controlled burns of vegetated areas; the burning and destruction of what exists leaves the ground rich and ready to rebuild even stronger vegetation. 

Two years ago I would have lamented that the spot beneath the tree forgot our names and faces, and compared that to how I wished things didn't end between us.  But now, I see that in our absence, the hill has flourished, just as in her absence, I have slowly but surely flourished too.  It has nothing to do with her inhibiting me in particular, but she was simply the one I learned a hard lesson from, that all things must pass. 

I returned to my car, cresting the hill to see that the street was now pretty full of cars and I was outnumbered by joggers.  They gathered at a picnic table by my car, and looked at me as if I was weird for coming out there so early if not to jog.  I got in my car, and drove away.  Not even a full hour had passed, but the thoughts that came in that short amount of time made it feel like I had just made up for the three years I stayed away, matching minute for minute, to be caught back up again with my old friend.

I am aware of the effect waking up early has on my blog, and more basally my thoughts and life.  Not much happened today, I mean actually HAPPENED, yet just going somewhere instead of staying indoors and eating cereal for breakfast leaves me on the receiving end of an outpouring of thoughts and life ponderings.  I'd like to say the strong correlation between having interesting things to say and waking up early will convince me to get up earlier all the time, but I think it is still very much a work in progress.

Here Is The News

Today I undertook the rare ritual of reading my hometown newspaper, The Chesterton Tribune.  I'm not a big devotee of the small town drama that manifests itself in the form of marijuana posession arrests and town board meetings that get heated.  And of course, each of these articles is written in a way that reminds me of an old woman who is so matter-of-fact that it comes across as condescending.  Throughout my life and meeting the many family friends my mom's side of the family has, I've become pretty accustomed to the modes of gossip.  I'm not a big fan of boiling everything down to lists (life isn't that black and white, despite the titles of every self-help book known to man...("5 Steps To Covering Up Your Infidelity"..."7 Qualities Your Future Employer Will Have That You Should Pretend To Like"..."99 Problems But A B**** Ain't One"), but I have a theory anyhow.

Anyhow, the two main types of busybodies I've met through family-friend interaction are: The Young Guns and The Seasoned Veterans.  The Young Guns are hyper, eager to offer whatever they can to the mission, and are adrenalized by developments in the action.  The Seasoned Veterans are calm, collected, trade information like poker chips with an ever-vigilant stone face, and have experience and reputation enough that they no longer have to try hard to get people interested in what they're saying. 

Everyone knows the Young Gun and their tendencies, so I'll spare further development.  The Seasoned Veterans are really interesting however, and require a bit more investigation.  I've noted that many times the Veterans have already established themselves in the world of information brokerage, have seen it all, and so forth.  So when they ante up and toss in their tidbit (something like "Well I heard that she was seeing another man...3 days a week, all under his nose"), they do it all in a very calm demeanor.  It comes across as if they are more mature, less of gossips than they really are, etc.  I'm having trouble really explaining it, so I've devised a scenario.

A person hears about something that a Young Gun would foam at the mouth over.  But this person maintains their composure, for they are a Seasoned Veteran.  As they calmly deliver the goods, they use skeptical tones and looks on their faces that imply connections that they don't verbally make.  They are sure to refrain from making any statements of opinion, allowing the facial expressions to imply things about the straight facts that are supposedly indisputable.  They are like a lawyer who has no real evidence but tons of fishy circumstances, and allows the jury's imagination to fill in the blanks while he prods the dead case with a stick and hints at which parts of it should be twitching.  They are business-like, official, and just imply skeptically, never state.

If this helps, you see the woman on the right.  She has a face that implies importance and severity.  It's a serious matter, akin to a business deal or secret meeting.  Seasoned Veteran.

Then there's this lady on the left, grinning, eyes wide, trading dirt for the enjoyment of feeling superior.  Young Gun.

I realized now that this was not at all the intent of my post.  Anyhow, I hope I have clearly explained the theory of the Young Guns and Seasoned Vets.  If not, leave a comment and I'll try to explain further.  The point of this post wasn't just to bag on old women my grandma and aunts hang out with, but to point out the condescending implying Seasoned Veterans do...and if you have a feel for what this is like, imagine reading EVERY SINGLE article in my home newspaper that was written in-house, written like a Seasoned Veteran: too experienced to not make a statement, but too "mature" to say gossipy things they really think.

Well, as I thumbed through The Chesterton Tribune from July 11, 2011, I see article after article written like an old woman who has gathered her evidence from peering over the fence into her neighbors' domain...and then on the very back page I discover articles like this:  SYRIANS ATTACK US EMBASSY (which is a loaded headline, implying that Syria attacked us, when in reality it was a group of Syrian citizens protesting), TOUGH LINE: US SUSPENDS MILITARY AID TO PAKISTAN (interesting timing, shortly after catching Osama bin Laden we no longer give them 800 Million dollars), and US RECOGNIZES NEW NATION OF SOUTH SUDAN.  These are all dispersed among more state-wide and town drama stories.  But a bigger issue I have about newspapers is the "News at a Glance" section.  It is 2 inches wide, 2 inches of the 13 inch width of printable margins, and runs from top to bottom, the front and back page only.

But the interesting thing is that most every issue of the newspaper features a News at a Glance that really ought to be called "Pending War at a Glance" or "Deaths at a Glance That We Don't Care About Because John Doe, Who Used to Be the Town's Star Pitcher in '87, Has Been Convicted of Statutory Rape".  The strip has headlines from all over the world: London, New York, Beirut, Mexico City, Kabul, Washington, Tokyo, and others.  News pisses me off.  Teens will get busted for pot, and NATO soldiers will be killed.  Guess which one will get attention?

One time I was given a dramatized audio version of The Bible.  I didn't listen to it, but heard from a friend who did that the stories of the battles in the Bible had battle sound effects in the background of the narration...swords clanging, men yelling, etc.  That's what news has become.  You can't just read it, and find out what HAPPENED.  You find out what happened, and what that HAPPENS TO MEAN for the world through the multicolor shade filter of that news source's political affilitation.

We as Americans have created this beast.  I was reminded the other day about our military actions against Libya.  Reminded.  Why in the world would I forget about something that we don't call a war because it's bad press, but was essentially a war?  Maybe because the country has been wrapped up in wanting Casey Anthony dead because of her daughter.  But that's an entirely different blog post about the justice system and how it operates like a debate team and not a counsel, seeking the victory and humiliation of their opponent rather than justice.  And before the Anthony case, any number of dramatized cases, circumstances, celebrity scandals, and so on occupied our view.  So much so that we dutifully remember the identities of Snooky and the cast of Glee, and know all of the drama and who gets along with who on The View, yet forget that the USA stuck its dirty fingers down the throat of another country to assist them in coughing up whatever it is we want or will want in the future.

This has turned into a rather long post, but the media is so large and frustrating that I have to call it quits for right now or I will exhaust myself and ruin my day by being mad at things I can not change.  My ending thought is that citizens who care about the direction of the country and the world would do well to look past the face value scandal and shock factor and peer into the vacant soul of the country's media.  Media is a business, and as such, business decisions are made to earn money, respect, etc.  Basically no media source can be trusted at face value.  You have to compare what you hear to your inner compass, whatever direction that may face.  I feel discouraged that I even have to say something like that...that people need to think for themselves.  Americans only want their freedom of speech and thought when they've been pissed off.  Unless we change that, we'll find ourselves more and more in a position of losing those rights.  Old brooms and magazines that never get used get thrown out.  Microsoft made a little Wizard thing to help you clear unused desktop icons.  Corporations cull out the unneeded and uneffective job positions in the name of efficiency and profits.  Why will it be any different when the powers that be, and even the people themselves, look and see that the ability to think for ourselves hasn't been getting much time off the shelf?

I Swear I Never Meant For This

Lately I've really been wrestling with issues of wrongdoing, forgiveness, and redemption.  Everyone reading this has been on both ends; the injured and the injurer.  Some of us are more familiar with offense than defense.  Others are very familiar with the strategies of preserving themselves against attack but have rarely ventured out to strike another.  I think that no matter what side of the battlefield you sit on, you have options, aces in the hole that can stop the fighting posthaste and result in a treaty.  NOT a cease-fire...that is as genuine as two children act when pulled apart by an adult who now forces them to "shake hands", as if it possess some healing quality.  A treaty repairs, and cease-fire redacts.  There's a big difference.

I don't know how many people feel this way, but I have strong feelings about forgiveness.  Inside, I can't ignore the wrench in the gears of emotions that is bitterness.  Even if I am the one who has been wronged and did nothing wrong (a scenario which rarely happens, really) I feel that my withholding of peace from them when they apologize, and even if they don't apologize, is an act of war as much as being the aggressor is.

I've felt the sweeping warmth of hearing someone tell you they forgive you, after you've studied their eyes and know that they mean it.  And I've felt the stinging cold of knowing that no matter what you do or say, recompense will never be enough, and redemption with them will never come.  All we really have in life comes from connections with other human beings, and we only come into contact with so many people.  Knowing you've burnt a bridge that connects your island to someone else's, with the drop of a match, is a sickening feeling, and as I write this I see the faces of the people I lost because of my own mistakes.

The unfortunate truth about me is that despite my best efforts, I always hurt someone really badly.  I look down at my hand, and for every four straight fingers, there are four people who tell me I help people tremendously, am a great person, all of this and all of that.  And detached from these four is a sore thumb that I regrettably struck with a hammer while trying to hit the nail on the head.  I can put a band-aid on it, neosporin, all the typical cures mommy would administer.  But next time the hammer swings, that thumb remembers how I mis-hit last time and retracts in fear.  I'm tired of having a 20% failure rate when it comes to loving people like I should. 

I am far more familiar with being the invader than the defender, and I know that no one wants to forgive someone who has hurt them.  Perhaps I'm arguing from a viewpoint that not many other people share, but I know that one of the few times I've cried from joy was being told that I was forgiven.  That later proved to be untrue, but at the time, I felt liberated, like I was able to escape my ugly human nature for just a moment.  I know that for that moment when I thought I was truely forgiven, it was one of the best gifts I'd ever received.  So why would I search for anything else to give people?

If you've got people who you're not on good terms with, try to fix it.  You don't have to work miracles, you just have to first come to the point where you stop blmaing them for their part in your pain, and then let them know you've done so.  Maybe they won't respond the way you'd like, but believe me when I say that there is nothing like being free of anger towards other people.  I'm not even close to that, but every time I inch closer, that weird feeling you get in your chest when hope is at it's brightest, that's what I feel.