Counting To 100
My son is hilarious. He is incredibly bright, empathetic and sensitive. He sings like an angel.
He also has severe ADHD. As in off-the-charts, in-your-face, impact-every-facet-of-your-life ADHD.
When he was little we knew he was impulsive and energetic. We spent a lot of time chatting with caregivers and teachers about the fact that he had trouble keeping his hands to himself, that he had a tough time “coming down” from activities that got him riled up. Whatever other kids did, M took to a higher level. He was an expert button-pusher and seemed to seek out a reaction from us even if it was a negative one.
Several years passed, some better than others (when he had a teacher who “got” him), some nearly unbearable. He struggled at school, he struggled at home, he struggled with peers…it was heartbreaking to watch. We tried counseling, we read books, we talked to his doctor. And in the back of our minds, we knew.
I will never forget the appointment when his doctor suggested we get him tested. We were simultaneously relieved that someone else had said it out loud and fearful of what a diagnosis would mean. We couldn’t possibly put our child on medication…could we?
The results were impossible to dispute. He was textbook, black and white, no question about it ADHD. On the one hand there was a feeling of vindication. It wasn’t that we were horrible parents; there was a biological reason for his behavior. On the other hand, there was an entirely new set of questions and concerns.
At first we were averse to using drug therapy. We tried behavioral therapy and counseling instead, hoping it would be enough. It wasn’t. After many tears and discussions and sleepless nights, we finally relented and agreed to try medication. And it was a game-changer.
Within a matter of weeks, M was in control. He was able to fight many of those impulses that led to problematic behavior. He could sit still and concentrate in class. Our worries about him becoming a “zombie” were unfounded. Instead, we saw a kind of peace settle over him as he stopped feeling powerless and started gaining some confidence.
It wasn’t a cure. There were still moments when the ADHD was stronger than the meds. He had to learn new skills now that he had the ability to do so. He had to earn back the trust of his teachers and peers. Our family had to adjust to the changes in his behavior. It was a process, and it’s one we’re still going through.
To complicate matters, along the way we’ve had to make many changes to his course of treatment. Something that was working well suddenly stops working. External changes, like starting middle school, challenge his ability to stay organized and on task. As his body changes, his medications must be adjusted. It’s not an exact science, and we’re all just doing our best.
There are high points when things seem to be going smoothly, when he’s making straight A’s and getting along with his peers. And there are low points, when he’s struggling academically and socially. Like now.
Whatever the reason (impending puberty, increased work load at school, or something completely random), M has had a tough week. And when M has a tough week, we all have a tough week. The family dynamics involved with ADHD are complicated and challenging and far too much to get into in a blog post. Suffice to say that no one is left unscathed when ADHD rears its head.
What is it like to parent a child with ADHD? It’s difficult to put into words but I’ll try. It means being amazed when your child’s mind processes things in a unique way. It means being frustrated when he acts without thinking and has to face the consequences. It means feeling guilty because there are times when you just plain don’t like him, when his behavior is annoying and he’s pushing your buttons and you just want to scream. It means being there to comfort him when he’s sobbing and telling you how excluded he feels. It means advocating for him and helping him stay organized. It means taking lots of deep breathes and counting to 100 instead of 10. It means desperately trying to build up his self esteem when it’s once again been shattered. It means watching him deal with social anxiety and sabotaging his own efforts to fit in. It means worrying about him surviving his teen years when ADHD makes him more prone to alcohol and drug abuse, depression, anxiety, even car wrecks. It means being awed by his capacity to love and to create. It means being proud one moment and angry the next.
I am raising a child who befriends children with special needs and who worries constantly about his sister’s safety and well being. A boy who makes me belly laugh on a daily basis. A boy who wants nothing more than to be accepted and loved.
I am also raising a child who is prone to bursts of anger, who can be so hyperactive it causes people to avoid him. A boy who struggles to stay focused and organized. A boy who finds each and every day challenging because he is in a constant battle with his own mind.
Last night I showed him a list of famous people with ADHD. The list was long and impressive. There were successful business owners, athletes, singers, actors, comedians, scientists and politicians. The article introducing the list stated that people with ADHD are 300 times as likely to start their own businesses. Those on the list talked about their early struggles, socially and academically, and how they overcame those struggles and achieved their dreams.
As M read through the list, his entire demeanor changed. It was as if a light came on in his eyes. I could literally see the hope entering his heart. He wasn’t alone. There were others like him. They had ADHD but it didn’t have them.
As a mom, I want nothing more than for my children to be safe, healthy and happy. ADHD might be a threat to all those things when it comes to M, but I’m not about to give up on him. And it’s my job to make sure he doesn’t, either.
Letter To My Younger Self
Dear Younger Me,
Hello, love. I wanted to take a moment to give you a bit of advice. You probably won’t take it as you’re quite stubborn, but here goes. Oh and by the way, you look fabulous. Go put on a bikini.
Care less. About what other people think. About what’s expected. About boys (except for that Brian kid, he’s worth a second look), about fitting in, about looking cool. There will come a day when you realize your opinion of yourself is what matters. You will gradually become less interested in how others perceive you and more interested in being yourself. It’s quite freeing, actually. A head start on this one would be pretty awesome.
Care more. About being kind, especially to the people who love you most. About applying yourself in school and really learning instead of just racing towards graduation. About sunscreen. About your girlfriends, the ones who you know will be there for you years from now. (And they are, by the way. They really are.)
Be true. To yourself. To the way you were raised. The people who matter will love you for it. Be authentically you, not in some Oprah-life-coach-gratitude-journal kind of way, but in a way that leaves your soul settled and peaceful. No matter what face you put on for the outside world, you always know whether you’re being real. And when the public you matches the private you, that’s when the real living begins.
Slow down. You are not, by nature, a patient individual. You want what you want and you want it yesterday. Take some time to enjoy the moment you’re in. There are some pretty amazing moments in there. It would be a shame to rush through them.
Love your body. Not in a boastful way, in an appreciative way. You are strong and healthy and you should move your body every day and realize what a blessing it is to be able to do so. Your body will change over the years. It will do incredible things: you will grow people. You will not always like how it looks. You will not always treat it with respect. But it is the only one you’ll get and hopefully it will carry you around for many years.
There are some habits you have now that you should hang onto. Keep reading. Keep spending time with your family. Keep praying. Keep laughing. You have an awful lot to be thankful for, and it’s just going to get better. So relax. Enjoy the ride. Life is very, very good.
Kisses,
Ash
Resolution Revolution
2014. A new year has begun and hope springs eternal. We start off with the best intentions and talk of fresh starts and blank slates. We make promises, we commit.
Occasionally we effect real change. A resolution sticks. But most of the time we find ourselves starting a new year with the same resolutions we made the prior year and were unable to maintain. We all know it, yet we all swear this year will be different.
Well this year I’m making different resolutions, ones that don’t have to do with fitting into my skinny jeans. This year I’m going to focus on what’s truly important.
The past year brought with it some pretty major milestones. There were weddings and funerals and babies. There were joyful reunions and tearful goodbyes. As I reflect on the last 365 days, there’s one thing that becomes abundantly clear: people are what matter.
So this year my resolutions will be as follows:
More hugs. I need ’em, other people need ’em. Everybody wins.
More photos. Sure, of the kids, natch. But also of the grown-ups, the ones who won’t always be around.
Less technology, more human interaction. Screen time shouldn’t just be limited for the littles. Face-to-face time trumps Face Time.
Less junk and alcohol, more real food and water. Because I want to be around for a really long time and see all the adventures my kiddos get into. Plus I’m a role model. In this house? I’m kind of a big deal.
More deep breaths. Less reactivity. More patience. Less yelling.
More expressions of love and appreciation. Less expressions of frustration and disappointment. I want the people in my life to know how much they mean to me and to feel loved and valued.
More gratitude. In the strictest sense, our lives are made up of moments strung together in time. What makes our lives worth living are the moments that make us feel something, a connection to another being or to something bigger than us. Those moments of shimmering clarity when we say to ourselves, “Aha. That is what it’s all about.” Perhaps it’s something momentous like the birth of a child, or perhaps it’s something seemingly inconsequential that causes us to pause in our daily grind and marvel at the wonder of a spectacular sunset or at the heavy warmth of a sleeping puppy in our lap. Whatever the moment may be, I hope that I can take a moment to be grateful for it. I hope that I will slow down long enough to soak it in.
Human connections matter. Relationships matter. Kindness matters. And this year? I want my resolutions to reflect that.
2014. It’s gonna be a good one.
Happy New Year and hugs for all!
Ash
Smoke and Mirrors
I recently had someone comment on my Facebook posts and note how happy I seem and how my relationship with my husband and kids seems so ideal. I had to agree that yes, I am happy with my life, and yes, I am blessed with a strong, loving marriage and two healthy, incredible kiddos. But does that tell the whole story? Not by a long shot.
What we all need to remember is that Facebook, Christmas cards, annual family letters…they’re the highlight reels. They show what people want us to see, the side of themselves and their families they deem fit for public consumption. No one uses an awful candid shot of herself without makeup as her Facebook profile pic. No one posts a play-by-play of her most recent spat with her husband over who was supposed to take the trash out (okay, maybe someone does but we’ve probably all hidden her posts by now). Those adorable pics of a friend’s baby? Took seventeen takes.
Don’t get me wrong. Social media can be wonderful. It allows us to share photos and updates with family and friends halfway around the world. We can catch a glimpse into our friends’ worlds and learn a bit more about their lives and their families.
But let’s be real. It’s like Photoshop for life. On Facebook or Instagram we can pixilate and edit our lives until they look or sound exactly like we want them to before we make them public. We can carefully choose what side of ourselves and our families we want to make known and conceal the parts we would rather keep hidden. The posts and pics that show up in your feed? They are only a small representation of what really goes on.
Take a look at my Facebook feed. My hair is styled, my marriage is rock solid, my children are smiling and entertaining. Those moments when I’m sporting a messy ponytail, yelling at my kids and feeling annoyed with my spouse? Sorry, not Facebook-worthy.
Does that make me a fraud? I don’t think so. It does, however, make me human. I’m ultimately insecure. I worry that I’m not attractive enough, not a good enough mom or wife. But wait! This photo shows my good side! And this post tells the world that I’m witty and worthy and wise! I can sleep well tonight knowing I’ve put my best self on display.
And ultimately, what I’ve gained from doing so is this: I’ve bragged on my hubby and kids because they deserve it. They are amazing! And I’ve posted that pic of myself with my friends because I love the way I am when I’m with them. The hair is just a bonus. I hate 99.9% of photos with me in them. When I share one it’s because I want to capture a moment of happiness or a memory on film. I DO love my life and the people in it.
Is it all sunshine and unicorns jumping over rainbows? Not so much. But dammit, it’s pretty freaking awesome. And I’m gonna keep sharing the love.
Just remember: an Instagram filter is worth a thousand words.
Duck Lips,
Ash
No Words
Today marks a black anniversary. A day when evil walked into a school and 26 innocent people never walked out again. One year later the shock and horror are still fresh. To know of that tragedy is to be irrevocably changed.
For the loved ones of those lost that day, for the children and educators who survived the massacre, life will never be the same. Every day will be a struggle to cope with their loss, to deal with their trauma. Parents will wake up every morning and realize anew that their babies are gone. Children will hear the screams of their classmates in their dreams. There are no words for that kind of devastation.
Honestly, I have nothing to say that is of any real consequence. Writing about it won’t heal any broken hearts or bring back any loved ones. A blog post certainly isn’t going to change the world. And yet I feel compelled to post.
What strikes me about this tragedy is how deeply it affected so many people. Last night a group of us were talking about the anniversary and several people who are not even parents said they had been completely distraught at the news, sobbing at the thought of those children trapped and hunted down in cold blood in a place where they should have felt safe. Random violence is always horrific, and there are tragedies that happen every day to children all over the world, so what was it about Sandy Hook that impacted us all so much?
First and foremost, I think we often think of bad things happening elsewhere, to people in other countries and in different situations. Sandy Hook was a grim reminder that we are vulnerable. It could happen to us. We could wake up one morning, hit the snooze button one too many times, snap at our children to HURRY UP, nag them to brush their teeth, and blow them a harried kiss as we drop them off at school.
We could get a voice mail from our school district headquarters telling us there has been an incident. We could call our spouse, fear beginning its cold slide up our spine. We could text our friends in a panic, asking if they know anything as we drop everything and race to our children’s school.
We could arrive to find chaos, emergency vehicles and terrified parents crowding the school grounds. We could fall from our cars in shock, the reality of the situation beginning to sink in as we desperately search for our children. We could be the “lucky” ones and feel our hearts swell in relief as we find them physically unharmed but permanently scarred.
Or we could be the ones clinging to one another, sobbing and trying to quell the rising terror, waiting for the news that will destroy us.
We could be the spouses who rush past each other on our way out the door to work, never imagining we would end the day widowed, our spouses deemed heroes and our children left behind.
We could be the educators who walk into school thinking of holiday parties and who end up shielding screaming children from a madman, our last thoughts of our own families and of the children we couldn’t save.
We could be the first responders, the professionals whose job it is to step into the fray, seeing images that will haunt us for the rest of our days.
It could have been us. It could be us. Innocence was lost that day in more ways than one.
The impact of the Sandy Hook massacre is profound and long reaching. It’s ripples can be felt halfway across the world. The people of Newtown are forever changed, and we all find ourselves holding our children a little tighter today as we reflect.
So what can we do with the knowledge that evil and violence can find us anywhere? That we can’t protect our children? That the world is full of examples of man’s inhumanity towards man? We can become paralyzed and bitter, or we can shine our own light even brighter. We can become beacons of love and kindness, fighting back the darkness.
Nothing can bring back those lost that day. But we can all recognize the fragility of life and of human connections and treasure them. Today we can choose love.
Giving Thanks
Thanksgiving may have passed, but tonight is my first night home from a family getaway and I wanted to take a moment and share what I was thankful for during this trip. Here goes:
1. Safe travels. Enough said. We passed the aftermath of a serious accident today and I’m grateful that our family made it to our destination and back in one piece. The worst part of our car ride was hearing our youngest ask, “Are we there yet?” approximately every 2.5 seconds.
2. Being pleasantly surprised by our lodging. My husband had warned me not to expect much as he didn’t have a ton of info to go on when he booked our place. When we walked into our beautifully appointed, brand spankin’ new condo with two decks, two bathrooms with jacuzzi tubs, and a view of the lake, we were very thankful. As a homebody I especially appreciated the lovely surroundings. And as a germ-phobe my husband especially appreciated not feeling the need to use a black light upon arrival.
3. Family time away from distractions and obligations. This. Was. HUGE. We were lazy. We played cards. We cooked. We lounged around in our jammies. We explored. But most of all? We were together. Completely, wholeheartedly together. Life slowed down and we all found ourselves being kinder, more patient, more relaxed with each other. It was magical. And I will forever be thankful for the time we spent as a family in that condo by the lake.
4. Nature. Being outside with the woods and water all around was exactly what this mama needed. I grew up in the country and I’ll always be happiest when I’m outdoors with nothing but the sights and sounds of nature surrounding me. Sharing that with my family makes me even happier. You can have your church. My pew is a rock on the edge of a lake, and my sermon is the sunrise.
5. Temporary emergencies. On our second night of vacation, our five-year old daughter fell out of bed in her sleep and managed to fight a losing battle with a nightstand that left her with a deep gash on her chin and abrasions on her throat. A 2am visit to the local ER and three stitches later, we were headed back to the condo with no major damage to speak of. The very next evening we visited a local amusement park with a fantastic holiday light display. An hour into our visit the same daughter spilled hot chocolate down her shirt and ended up in the First Aid tent getting burn ointment applied. Once again, no lasting damage. As we left the park, we passed a couple pushing their paraplegic child in a wheelchair and I realized just how lucky we were to only have stitches and minor burns to worry about. We had to see our child in pain and that’s never easy, but we also get to see her heal.
6. Extended family. After our mini-vacation we headed an hour away to visit my husband’s extended family with whom we’ve made a tradition of spending Thanksgiving with. Though we only see them once a year, their warmth and welcoming nature always makes us feel right at home. While I missed spending time with my own immediate family back home, I can’t imagine a second family I’d rather spend Thanksgiving with. On the surface we have nothing in common. They’re Bible-quoting, gun-toting, right-wing conservatives who raise cows and think owning less than six guns is downright un-American. I’m a pro-gun control liberal feminist who finds organized religion questionable and could easily go vegan. Yet we love each other unconditionally. I would do anything for them and know they would do the same. And really, isn’t that what family’s all about?
7. Home. Getting away is always wonderful, but so is coming home. I love that we’ve made a home that we feel comfortable in and want to spend time in. And there’s nothing like sleeping in your own bed after a few nights away. In fact, I think my bed is calling, y’all. Happy belated Thanksgiving and goodnight.
Gratefully yours,
Ash
No Greater Shame
There have always been tales of evil masquerading as good. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. The kindly old lady bearing the poison apple. The witch disguised as a beautiful young woman.
History has also shown us numerous examples of horrific acts predicated on perverted interpretations of morality and religion, of inhuman acts done in the name of God or the greater good. Somehow these insidious, veiled acts of evil seem that much more heinous than their straightforward counterparts.
Sadly, today’s news presents an example of how this kind of twisted philosophy can result in tragedy. A beautiful young girl name Hana was beaten and starved to death by her adoptive parents, the people charged with caring for and protecting her. They have since received the maximum prison sentences allowable under the law after being found guilty in her death, but no time spent in a cell will bring back this child.
Her parents were the latest proponents of abusive parenting techniques to be charged with killing their child while following the parenting advice doled out by Michael and Debi Pearl in their book “To Train Up a Child”, part of their No Greater Joy ministry. The Pearls have no background in child development and encourage parents to physically and emotionally abuse and torture their children in order to make them obedient. They claim their way is God’s way and that their methods are Christian. And children continue to die.
Devout followers praise the Pearls as good Christian parents who tout sound Biblical child rearing principles. Detractors such as Theologica blogger Rey Reynoso express equally passionate views on the Pearl’s doctrine:
“The method that the Pearl’s prescribe is not only excessive, it is done without emotion, without a conscience, and sheer cerebral resolve. This allows for people to be abusive because they consider themselves not being abusive because they’re not doing it in anger. This is not only wrong, it’s evil. The parent calmly and consistently continues to strike the child, who doesn’t seem to capitulate, until the child’s will breaks: that’s the rule. And then the news reports parents who have beaten their child nearly to death and everyone is surprised because they’re so calm, nice and respectful. The Pearl’s weapon is fully loaded and pointed at the children of those parents.”
Disturbingly, the Pearls profit handsomely from their book sales, suggesting a significant following. Hana is the just the latest victim of this movement, at least the third adopted child to be murdered by parents adhering to the Pearl’s philosophy.
Edicts of their child rearing approach include:
- Using plastic tubing to beat children, since it causes significant pain but leaves fewer marks to alert authorities
- “Swatting” babies as young as six months old with instruments such as “a 12-inch willowy branch,” thinner plastic tubing or a wooden spoon
- “Blanket training” babies by hitting them with an instrument if they try to crawl off a blanket on the floor
- “Training” children with pain before they even disobey, in order to teach total obedience
- Giving cold water baths, putting children outside in cold weather and withholding meals as discipline
- Hosing off children who have potty training accidents
- Inflicting punishment until a child is “without breath to complain.”
And yet they use semantics to remove themselves from the results of their preaching, denying that hitting a six-month old baby with a switch for “acting out” is “punishment” but is, rather, “training.” By removing emotion from the equation and by not only giving parents permission to use corporal punishment but calling it by a softer, holier name, they essentially empower parents to abuse in the name of God.
This philosophy creates a climate of control in which parents become convinced that it is their Christian duty to physically and emotionally abuse their children in order to be good parents. The Pearls may denounce parents such as Hana’s on their website, removing themselves from these horrific situations through word choice and Bible verses, but they are complicit in her death and the deaths of other children whose parents follow their teachings.
Of course these parents are ultimately responsible. They somehow convinced an adoption agency that they were fit parents who could care for Hana (and her brother) but instead enfolded them in their dark, twisted world of pseudo-religion and abuse. They are ultimately the ones who doled out this sick brand of child rearing that resulted in Hana’s death.
Parents who treat their children like sub-human beings, who use fear and pain to maintain control, and who physically and emotionally harm their children under the guise of good parenting…I have no words. As a mom, as an early childhood educator, as a child development expert, I am sick. Sick that these people exist. Even more sick that books like “To Train Up a Child” remain in publication and available for purchase on Amazon.
We as a society have to raise our voices and let it be known that we will not stand by as these people wage war against children. For Hana, and for all children, please sign this petition and give these silent victims a voice:
http://www.change.org/petitions/amazon-refuse-to-carry-books-which-advocate-the-physical-abuse-of-children
Now excuse me but I need to go hug my children.
#tbh
Clearly our children are growing up in the age of technology. Also, the age of selfies and duck lips. As far as I’m concerned there should be a class offered on social media and screens in middle school. Unfortunately I don’t think public school could teach kids what they really need to know. Namely, the following:
1. You will regret that haircut/outfit/pose. Witness those of us who lived in the Jurassic age, when dinosaurs roamed freely and senior pictures involved enough hairspray to explain the melting of polar icecaps and, inexplicably, bales of hay.
2. Your “friends” are not your FRIENDS. “Friends” are just a number. FRIENDS are real people, the kind who save you a spot at the lunch table, who don’t mind spending lame Friday nights together watching movies and consuming Type-2 diabetes levels of sugar while the rest of your “friends” are posting group selfies at a party you weren’t invited to.
3. Cyberspace is vast. That trying-too-hard-to-be-sexy pic you texted to your boyfriend of five-minutes (who’s going to dump you for a “friend” within a week, BTW) is getting shared in the locker room, posted on Tumblr, and ogled by a 45-year old who still lives with his mother. Also? It’s never going away. Cyberspace is also forever.
4. That offhand comment you left on a girl’s Instagram? Sent her spiraling into depression. She only posted that pic because she’s incredibly insecure, and when she asked for ratings she was really begging for acceptance. Words are powerful. Just because you don’t have to look her in the eye when you say it doesn’t make it any less hurtful.
5. Your parents are watching. And so are your friends’ parents. And your parents’ friends. And your future employers. And…well, you get the picture. We may be old but we’re tech savvy, too. And we saw what you did there.
6. There’s this really cool thing called The World. It doesn’t involve pixels or graphics. You should check it out.
7. Despite what Angelina Jolie may have been paid millions to suggest, video games aren’t sexy. Books are sexy. Nature is sexy. Creativity is sexy. Staring at a screen for hours in your parents’ basement? Not so much.
8. Finally, your parents may be nerdy but they love you. They want to spend time with you. They want eye contact. Humor them. They’re the only people on earth who think you’re awesome 24/7. Put down the iPhone and have a conversation with them. You might be surprised. There’s more to them than what they post on Instagram.
Mommy Down
I’m officially on overload tonight. I have a son entering seventh grade who has been taking a temporary break from his much-needed ADHD meds. I have a daughter who starts kindergarten in a few days after being home with me for her first three years and across the hall from my office for the past two-and-a-half years. I have a job that I’ve been attempting to place on hold so I could spend time with my family. And it’s all catching up to me.
The thought of work sends my blood pressure skyrocketing, the thought of C starting kindergarten causes me to burst into tears, and the challenge of parenting and loving M while he struggles with un-medicated ADHD makes me feel as if my head might pop off. Did I also mention the fact that despite a grueling workout regimen I’ve gained six pounds in the past month? To put it mildly, I feel like I’m failing at life.
I know I have it pretty good. I have so much to be thankful for, and I’m normally a fairly positive person. But every now and then I fall apart. See? I’m quoting Bonnie Tyler. Clearly I’m a mess.
Am I the only mom who sometimes feels like I’m only able to give about 40% to any given facet of my life? Am I the only one who feels like I’m half-assing EVERYTHING?? I know I’m not. So why do I look around and feel like everyone else has their shit together but me?
Perhaps I’m to blame. I clean house like Sisyphus, pushing my Swiffer Wet Jet up that hill even as my family trashes the ground I’ve just covered. So why don’t I give them more chores?
I work my ass off (literally, I wish) at the gym, but I cancel it out with wine and snacks that temporarily take the edge off my stress level but leave me unhappy with my body. So why can’t I commit and cut out the crap?
Maybe I just need to take a good, hard look in the mirror (good lord, now I’m Michael Jackson??) and realize that I can take some responsibility for my stress. I can take others up on their offers to help. I can take the time to put some new rules in place at home so my family learns more responsibility. I can delegate more at work instead of trying to be all things to all people.
Will it be easy? Nope. But worthwhile changes rarely are.
Will it solve everything? Of course not. But it’s a start.
I’ll still cry when I drop C off at kindergarten. But I know she’s ready and I’m excited to see what the future holds for her. I’ll still have to practice deep breathing and patience when Miles is off his meds. But I’ll be forever grateful to modern medicine for offering up a way to help him be successful in life. I’ll still be a headcase during the first few weeks of a new semester at work. But I love my job and I’m surrounded by capable people who support me in getting things done.
I may have gotten knocked down by a pretty big wave this week, but I’ve been face-down in the sand before and I know I’ll get back on my feet and catch my breath. I love the ocean but it’s a powerful force, just like life. I think some of us are just more affected by the tides…
Being happy is a journey, and sometimes we stumble. I’m just grateful for the beautiful life that’s waiting for me when I get back up.
Injustice For All
I am tired. Tired of hearing of about how those of us who are upset about the Zimmerman verdict are ignorant of the law. Tired of hearing about how we’re jumping on the liberal media’s bandwagon. Tired of hearing that we’re outraged about this one black child but ignorant to the plight of all the other black children who die every day.
Does this mean that our opinions are null and void unless we hold a law degree? Does it mean we can’t express our sadness and frustration with this situation unless we also address every other instance of a black child dying?
Clearly this is a larger issue. We as a society have a much bigger problem on our hands than one lone shooting. But to ignore one instance of injustice is to ignore the bigger picture. One-third of black American children my son’s age can expect to be jailed at some point in their lives. Only half of black children graduate high school compared with over three-quarters of their white counterparts. Black males face a significantly higher probability of being murdered by age 45 than do white males.
By holding the Zimmerman case up as an example of what is wrong with our justice system (and our society), we are not minimizing the countless other instances of injustice. We are highlighting them. Was not Rosa Parks “just one person?” Shining the spotlight on injustice of any kind should only serve to increase awareness of the bigger problem.
For just a moment let’s pretend race didn’t play a part. If this was an armed white adult male with a history of vigilante tendencies who directly disobeyed instructions to remain in his car and instead chose to stalk and intimidate a white teenager he outweighed by 100 pounds, my reaction would be the same. As a mother, I have told my children that if a strange adult ever approaches them and makes them feel unsafe or threatened, they should do everything in their power to get away from the situation, and if they cannot I’ve told them they should fight for their lives. The evidence showed that Trayvon Martin did just that.
Blaming the victim for the clothes he was wearing or for his past (typical teenage) indiscretions is no different than saying a woman wearing a short skirt who has slept with men in the past is deserving of rape in a dark alley. The fact of the matter is that justice was not served for this child. He did not approach George Zimmerman. He did not attack George Zimmerman. He was scared and alone and he reacted in the same way I would have told my own children to react. And now his life is over.
Would he have been targeted by Zimmerman had he been white? Based on Zimmerman’s prior behavior, the answer is likely no. Are we to conclude there is a racial bias against African-Americans when it comes to the law? Witness the case of the black mother in Florida who was sentenced to 20 years in prison for firing a warning shot to scare off her abusive ex in her own home.
Yes, this is just one case. Yes, Trayvon was just one of many black children killed violently in the US. If anything, that should be the reason we cry foul. Something has to change. No child, whether white, black, or purple, deserves to have a bullet put through his heart while walking home. And no man should be allowed to get away with doing so.
As a mother, as a human being, I hurt. I am angry. And I will not be silenced by those who use weapons of bullying, intimidation, and callous condescension. Call it a bandwagon. Call me a puppet of the liberal media. They’re only words, not bullets. I can take it.
notsosupermama 