The Daisy Petal Deception
Even though people tell me I have a very good memory, I’m not so sure. For every story or incident I remember, I am constantly reminded of all those times about which I have no recollection. And I have no clue who taught me that plucking petals off a daisy is a reliable method of determining whether someone cares about me.
Pluck a petal – he loves me. Pluck another petal – he loves me not. Pluck another – he loves me. And the last petal will supposedly reveal the true nature of his feelings.
A rational person would recognize that the practice is not only ridiculous but that it also promotes the deliberate torture of innocent daisies. Apparently, I haven’t always been particularly rational.
I’m ashamed to admit that, thanks to a long-forgotten tutor, I’ve tortured a lot of daisies in my life.
Most were destroyed in the name of boys and men who never even knew that I cared. (I can only credit myself for the self-taught skill of acting disinterested when I was actually quite interested.) I even began plucking daisy petals for answers to questions that had nothing to do with relationships.
Pluck a petal – I will get what I want. Pluck another petal – I will be disappointed. Pluck a petal – I will get what I want.
Every time I got the answer I wanted, my appreciation for the practice grew. Not because the answer proved to be valid, but because it was an easy way to avoid the ambiguities of life and love.
Unfortunately, a lot of people like avoiding ambiguities. They like simplicity. They crave only two choices, so they can make a quick decision rather than think about alternatives and possibilities:
– They want one religion to be right and any other to be wrong.
– They want one political party to have all the answers and the other to only represent miscreants.
– They want people with a good-paying jobs to represent moral superiority and poverty to represent laziness.
Pluck a petal – you’re good. Pluck a petal – you’re bad.
The problem with plucking daisy petals is there is never a need for a real solution and there’s no call for action. If you don’t get the answer you want, you pick another daisy and try again. Either that, or you accept the answer but sulk and complain.
Sulking and complaining has never made anyone happy. Changing circumstances does, but that usually requires compromise and working with others. It requires putting down the daisies in our own hands, so we can join hands with others.
When we do that, the options grow, and opportunities really start to blossom.
You Can Learn a lot of Interesting Things in 46 Years
I’m doing things differently for my birthday this year.
When I turned to 29, I was so busy comparing myself to others I thought I hadn’t achieved much. When I turned 35, I wondered why I hadn’t lived up to my potential. And when I turned 40, life got in the way of celebrating.
But I’m turning 46 this week, and instead of worrying about what I may or may not have achieved, I’m embracing everything I’ve learned.
I’m not talking about facts or skills. I’m talking about all the things I’ve learned by really living life. Those lessons that came from experience. Those lessons that have shaped who I am.
Five Facts Before Age Five
1. Screaming, whining and complaining often get you attention, sometimes get you what you want but never make anyone feel good. Smiling always makes people feel good.
2. Dry dog food does NOT taste just like cereal. Don’t believe anyone who tells you that it does.
3. Accidents happen when you are laughing uncontrollably with friends.
4. Never trust five year-old boys with scissors, especially when they have little sisters with pony tails.
5. Fashion isn’t everything. Attitude IS everything.
Ten Tenets By Age Ten
1. You can keep a caterpillar, but you can’t keep the butterfly it becomes.
2. Boy germs are really quite harmless.
3. You will always regret being too afraid to slide down the fire pole.
4. You will never regret staying in at recess to finish the tissue paper corsage for your mom for Mother’s Day.
5. Sometimes people cry when they are happy. But even if they are happy, they probably still need a hug.
6. Your world can change every time you open a book and read.
7. You have the potential to change someone else’s world every time you pick up a pencil (or a crayon) and write a letter or a story.
8. A dog will always keep your secrets. Always.
9. When you get a present you don’t like, you have to smile and pretend it’s exactly what you wanted. This most likely means you will get more presents you don’t like.
10. Using your imagination is much more entertaining than watching television.
Eight Adages of Adolescence
1. Being true to yourself can be very, very difficult. But pretending to be someone you’re not is even more difficult.
2. Boy germs may be harmless, but they are also very interesting.
3. Don’t try to grow up too fast. Acting like a kid is actually more fun than acting like an adult.
4. Life is all about change. If you resist it, you’ll just be angry and disappointed. You might as well embrace change and adapt.
5. There is nothing like going through a hard test together to unite people who have absolutely nothing else in common.
6. There will always be people who think they know who you are. All that counts is that you know who you are.
7. Creativity is a necessity if you’re going to break the rules.
8. If you listen to what other people say about you rather than to your inner voice, you’ll never be happy.
A Collection of Collegiate Lessons
1. There is absolutely nothing better than finally discovering people who think like you think.
2. There is absolutely nothing more educational than living with people who are completely unlike you.
3. First impressions shouldn’t count for much at all. You can never predict the people who will support you when your world is crumbling.
4. At some point, you just have to stop worrying about people who don’t like you and simply surround yourself with those who do.
5. There are times when you have to forget about achieving anything meaningful and just embrace the moment. Life is about creating memorable moments.
6. Fashion CAN be an attitude.
Eight Pieces of Wisdom from Adulthood
1. Your past will probably catch up with you, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
2. The most beautiful moments are often the most quiet ones.
3. Acting like a kid is still more fun than acting like an adult. If you forget how to act like a kid, all you need to do is buy some Play-Doh.
4. If you’ve lost contact with someone who meant a lot to you, have faith. People who are really important will probably reenter your life at some point.
5. A lot of really incompetent people achieve positions of power, but that doesn’t mean others don’t recognize their ineptness.
6. Sometimes failure is the best thing that ever happens to you.
7. Never EVER stop dreaming and believing in possibilities. Just because something doesn’t happen when you want it to happen doesn’t mean it will never happen.
8. We often hate how we look in pictures. But, years later when we look back on those pictures, they will definitely make us smile.
Rockefeller’s Reminder
Last week, I had the privilege of attending a community meeting hosted by U.S. Senator Jay Rockefeller about the reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA). Since there was little doubt that our soon-to-retire senator was going to vote for VAWA, the event was really an opportunity to raise awareness about the issue of domestic violence.
Invited guests included survivors, social workers and advocates who work tirelessly to address the issue. A local police officer was the only man selected as a designated speaker for the round table discussion, but he received a great deal of Rockefeller’s attention.
While domestic violence survivors told heart-breaking stories, many of Rockefeller’s questions were directed to the police officer. The Senator seemed absolutely fascinated by the officer’s description of our local police department’s ride-along program, which provides an opportunity for community members to literally ride along with police officers during any shift. Those who participate have the opportunity to really understand what police face and learn about some of the biggest issues facing our community.
At the time, Rockefeller’s intense interest in the program seemed a little off topic. But in retrospect, I think the Senator was demonstrating what true wisdom is.
In a world where people are intentionally inflicting harm on others, where relationships are often about power struggles rather than support and where individuals are suffering on a daily basis, true wisdom is knowing that doing the right thing requires more than simply responding to the needs of others. Maybe because I’ve recently been watching too many people who think doing the right thing means doing things their way without considering all that others have or could contribute, Rockefeller’s reminder has stuck with me:
Doing the right thing means ensuring resources and services are available for those in need, but is also means focusing on what is positive and good.
Doing the right thing means reinforcing and promoting positive and healthy relationships among people and organizations.
And doing the right thing means really listening to others and acknowledging the power of what they are saying and all they are contributing.
That’s the wisdom Senator Rockefeller brought to the table. Unfortunately, he won’t be at the table much longer. Last month, he announced he will not be seeking a sixth term as U.S. Senator after his current term ends in 2014. West Virginia lost Senator Robert Byrd in 2010, and now we are losing Senator Jay Rockefeller. Regardless of political affiliation, all West Virginians should recognize the implications.
The cynical among us might say that caring about the poor was easy for Rockefeller, who was born into one of the richest families in America and never had to worry about money.
But I disagree.
Instead of choosing to live a life devoted to money rather than meaning, he chose to work on behalf of people who live in one of the poorest states in the nation. And even though I live closer to Washington D.C., Baltimore, Philadelphia, Pittsburgh and New York City than I do to our state capitol, I still care about what happens to this state.
And I’m hoping whoever steps into his position is someone who understands the importance of asking a local city police officer to explain a simple program that involves reaching out to others to develop stronger partnerships and healthy relationships.
That’s wisdom and a reminder about how we should all live our lives.
Thank you for your service and your wisdom, Senator Rockefeller.
All Good Superheroes Ask Questions, Don’t They?
According to some people, I suffer from a very bad habit, and, if I knew what was good for me, I’d have given it up for Lent.
But I didn’t and I probably never will, so my friends and family are forced to deal with my habitual need to ask questions. Lots and lots of questions. About anything and everything.
My husband and kids call me “The Interrogator.”
I’d like to think that means they consider me a superhero who unveils misdeeds, liars and unacceptable behavior by eventually asking so many questions the truth is revealed.
Unfortunately, they aren’t paying me a compliment and instead are simply letting me know they find my all questions annoying. I’ve also been told that people who ask a lot of questions are subconsciously trying to take control of a situation.
There’s probably some truth to that, but I’d rather be annoying than to sit back and just allow people and organizations to get away with actions that affect and sometimes hurt others.
(UPI Photo/Roger L. Wollenberg)
I also like to think that, as an inquisitor, I’m in good company.
This week, at her first Banking, Housing and Urban Affairs Committee hearing, Senator Elizabeth Warren questioned bank regulators about why they hadn’t prosecuted a bank since the financial crisis. Her question seemed simple enough, “Tell me,” she requested “about the last few times you’ve taken the biggest financial institutions on Wall Street to trial. Anybody?”
Instead of simply responding “never,” the regulators tried to explain why there was no need to prosecute.
As with anything political, there are those who agree with Senator Warren and those who don’t.
But her actions, to me, were bigger than pointing out the double standard for big corporations versus average citizens or about ensuring that bank executives don’t continue to pass the repercussions of their behaviors onto the general public. Her actions were about her willingness to ask the tough questions and to not back down. Her actions were about repeating the same question over and over again until someone is forced to answer. And, to be honest, her actions were about validating my own behavior.
I’m not even close to being in Elizabeth Warren’s league much the less in the Justice League, but I do believe heroes have to ask the hard questions. If they don’t, silence persists, and nothing ever changes.
So even though my family insists on calling me “The Interrogator” to try to shut me up, it’s not working. Instead, I’m thinking of getting one of those t-shirts with a big question mark on the front. It may not be the fashion statement superheroes make when wearing their capes, but it just might be a start.
Because if no one questions the status quo, then nothing ever changes or improves. So, far all the
Everything I Need to Know About Valentine’s Day, I learned in First Grade
I always liked school, but I absolutely hated first grade. That’s because I had a very, very, very mean teacher.
Even forty years later, I’m still traumatized by memories of Mrs. Gladwill.
Normally, I’d feel really guilty calling someone out by name but 1) I’m not the only who has scars inflicted by Mrs. Gladwill and, 2) She’s dead. She died in 2008 at the age of 94. I know this because my mother sent me a link to her obituary. My mother, who is a very wise woman, knew I needed closure.
There’s no need to go into all the details of why first grade was difficult. There are just too many of those details, such as:
Watching fellow students have their ears twisted;
Sitting in class in fear of having “accidents” because, instead of giving permission to use the bathroom, Mrs. Gladwill gave lectures about “not planning accordingly”;
Having my desk put in the corner of the room so others couldn’t cheat from my papers.
But my worst memory, by far, is Valentine’s Day.
Back in the early 1970’s, before there were strict dietary guidelines in schools, Valentine’s Day parties were one of the celebrated days of the school year. Preparation began well before the actual day. By the beginning of February, letters were sent home with both the names of classmates and a list of snacks, such as cookies, cupcakes and candy, that parents were asked to contribute. We used that list of names to painstakingly address a card for every single classmate – whether we liked the person or not. But we did pick out “the best” cards and candy (every card had to have candy) for our friends.
In school, we decorated mailboxes (shoeboxes covered with construction paper) in which our Valentine’s Day cards were to be delivered. The actual celebration was to be a festival of sugar and giggles.
The day before the big Valentine’s Day party, I could no longer hide the fact I couldn’t swallow. I’d begun to worry the day before at school when eating lunch was a painful challenge. At breakfast, while I was trying to somehow swallow a spoonful of Cheerios, my mother took one look at me, told me I looked like a chipmunk and declared I had the mumps.
I wasn’t just devastated. I was horrified.
Mrs. Gladwill simply did not tolerate illness. Every day, after she took attendance, she would take a piece of chalk and scrawl the names of the absent on the blackboard. In the eyes of first graders, having your name on the blackboard was equivalent to the adult version of being forced to wear a scarlet letter. Walking into the classroom and seeing your name on the blackboard was the ultimate walk of shame.
Being diagnosed with mumps was not only a sentence to take that walk of shame, but it also meant I was going to miss the Valentine’s Day party. In the eyes of a six-year-old, life couldn’t have been much worse.
That Valentine’s Day was probably one of the longest days of my life as I spent every minute imagining all I was missing. Finally, sometime after 3:00, I heard the squeal of the school bus’ brakes as it stopped in front of my house. When my brother came into the house, he didn’t call me chipmunk or tease me for missing all the festivities. Instead, he handed me the shoebox I had so painstakingly decorated only a few days earlier. But now, it was full of Valentine’s and candy. I spent hours reading and treasuring all of the cards, even the ones I knew weren’t heartfelt.
A few days later when I returned to class, my name was one of many written in dark chalk on the blackboard. Apparently, some nameless person (me?) had come to school with the mumps and shared the virus with everyone else.
Eventually, attendance went back up and our class returned to the same, miserable status quo. But I didn’t. That Valentine’s Day taught me a lot about love:
1. Love is about the memories we treasure because, even though they sometimes grow out of difficult situations, they remind us of people and challenges we’ve overcome.
2.Love is about finding a song that will mean something to you at any age. For me, the Rolling Stones got it exactly right. “You can’t always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, well you just might find, you get what you need.”
3. Love is about having a family whose support will always make the worst day a little bit brighter.
4. Love is learning to treasure all the small gifts, even ones from people who may not realize that they were giving anything of importance.
5. Love is about taking care yourself, even when others will try to make you feel as though their needs should come first.
Most of all, I learned that Valentine’s Day is much more complicated than cards, or candy or having just one special person in your life. It’s about recognizing and acknowledge everything that makes you happy.
And, over the past 40 years, I’ve been immensely blessed with people, memories and circumstances that make me happy.
Which, is why, even though I may not entirely succumb to the sappiness of Valentine’s Day, I certainly embrace the sentiments, and the lessons, it’s taught me.
The Boy Scouts Are Misinterpreting the Meaning of Moral
Last year, a fourth grade teacher at my daughter’s intermediate school was arrested for soliciting a 13 year-old girl (or so he thought) online.
Also last year, a teacher at my son’s middle school was arrested for child abuse and identity theft. Two weeks ago, she pleaded guilty to the identify theft, but she is still awaiting trial on 11 counts of child abuse.
Other than the fact that both were teachers in Berkeley County Schools and neither is gay, I don’t think the two have much in common. Yet, they were both engaged in immoral activity because their behavior was harmful. They used their power to hurt, control or take advantage of others, which I think most people would agree is anything but moral. The definition isn’t that fuzzy, at least I’ve never thought it was.
Unfortunately, some people are trying to redefine the meaning in order to fit their own narrow and bigoted views.
This week, the Boy Scouts postponed a decision to “sort of” lift its ban on anyone who is openly gay. I say “sort of” because the potential policy change would simply allow local organizations make their own decisions.
Photo/Richard Rodriguez) NYTCREDIT: Richard W. Rodriguez/Associated Press
I was reading about the situation in the New York Times. While the content of the article bothered me, I was even more disturbed by the accompanying photo, which showed scouts and their parents holding signs that proclaimed “Keep Scouts Moral and Straight.”There was so much wrong with that photo, and I felt sorry for the young boys who are obviously being taught that discrimination is appropriate.
My kids are taught that discrimination is immoral:
Moral people don’t exclude but instead include.
Moral people don’t make broad judgments but instead ensure that every individual is given respect.
And moral people don’t define others by who they choose to love but rather by how they treat others.
Rex C. Curry for The New York Times
Just as important, national organizations that demonstrate moral leadership don’t waffle on potentially controversial issues and, instead of taking a stand, cower by relinquishing their decision-making authority to locals.
Even more importantly, they don’t bow to bigots who make unsubstantiated and untrue generalizations about any group of people. Yet, the decision to delay a decision on the ban on gays came after rallies like the one at the Boy Scout headquarters in Irvine, Texas where protesters claimed that prohibiting gay membership equates to protecting their children.
After the incidents last year at my children’s schools, no one rallied with signs asking the school system to protect my children.
But maybe that’s because there’s no organized effort to rally against straight people who commit immoral acts. But maybe there should be. After all, I’m pretty sure statistics would show that’s where the real “danger’ lies.
Did You Just Stick My Jelly Beans Up Your Nose?
There are those days when I feel as though people are sticking my jelly beans up their noses.
In more innocent times, I never worried about leaving a bowl of jelly beans on my desk. Instead, I was pleased to share with others while regularly snagging a few pieces of candy myself.
I should have known better.
I should have realized that some people will always find a way to sabotage life’s small pleasures because they are so focused on meeting their own needs.
I learned the lessons of jelly beans when I was getting my master’s degree and had classes with someone from high school. I don’t remember ever talking to my fellow student in high school and was honestly surprised he’d even graduated from college.
I had preconceived beliefs about him, and he, in turn had preconceived beliefs about me. I remember the day he told me, “you are actually really funny. In high school, your friends told me you were funny, but I never believed it. I always thought you were just too smart and too serious. You really aren’t that serious at all.”
I couldn’t really fault him for never getting to know me as I’d never made the effort to know him.
Instead, I’d simply thought he was someone who spent a lot of time in the principal’s office.
Turns out, I was wrong.
He rarely spent any time in the principal’s office. Instead, he spent a lot of time with the vice principal, who was in charge of discipline.
“Mr. Tidquist and I,” he said, “were quite familiar with each other. But I really didn’t like him or the jelly beans he always kept on his desk.”
I shouldn’t have asked about the jelly beans, but I couldn’t resist.
“Mr. Tidquist always had a jar of jelly beans on his desk, and sometimes he would grab a handful and eat them while lecturing me,” he told me. “One day, I was sitting in his office alone waiting for him to come in, and I was just so angry. I kept looking at those jelly beans and thinking of Mr. Tidquist eating them. I just couldn’t help myself. I would take few, put them up my nose, put them back in the jar and then stick some more up my nose.”
He smiled.
“I can’t even describe how I felt when Mr. Tidquist came back in his office, sat at his desk, grabbed a handful of jelly beans and ate them.”
After hearing the story, I couldn’t immediately describe how I felt either, other than to say I was relieved that I’d never been in Mr. Tidquist’s office and therefore never been tempted to eat his jelly beans.
But lately, I feel as though my decisions, beliefs and values are like the jelly beans on Mr. Tidquist’s desk. I take pleasure in being a strong and educated woman who can think and act on her own. I like to believe that by sharing and discussing my opinions, I just might help make the world a little bit better.
Instead, when I’m not around, some people choose to express their dislike and misperceptions by judging me, discrediting me or misinterpreting my actions. But they don’t say anything to me directly.
In other words, they are sticking my jelly beans up their noses.
Since I’m human, there’s a part of me that can’t help but be bothered and offended. But there’s another part of me that realizes how their behavior has nothing at all to do with me. Which is why, instead of taking my jelly beans off my desk, I’m thinking of putting a mirror next to them.
That way, when people put my jelly beans up their noses, they are forced to see how their words and behavior only reflect back on them.
In the meantime, I’m going to continue to enjoy sharing my jelly beans with everyone who appreciates them.
The Turmoil of Men, Women, Misery, Illness, Martyrs and Marriage
By the end of last week, I was wondering why my husband had married me. Only two days earlier, I’d been wondering why I’d married him.
According to friends, that’s not unusual in a long-term relationship, but I’m not sure my friends truly understand the ugly monster that threatens to wreak havoc on my marriage.
Some call it being sick while others call it having an illness. Personally, I prefer when people say they are feeling “a bit under the weather.” That means they may not be operating at full potential, but at least they are still functioning.
And therein lies the problem.
Whether because of how I was raised or because of my God-given Type A personality, I have an innate belief that when people don’t feel well, they should still try to make some contribution to society.
My husband, on the other hand, believes that the first sniffle or wave of nausea indicates he should lie in bed all day moaning.
O.K., maybe he’s not that quite that bad… anymore. He has, after all, lived with me long enough to know that I’m not the type to provide much comfort when he’s sick. Instead, I am much more likely to tell him to, “suck it up.” At times, I’ve even gone so far as to accuse him of using illness as an excuse to avoid the “honey do” list or to get attention.
I know, that makes me a very bad wife and explains why I’ve questioned that fact he married me. But please note that I’m not a completely bad person.
I DO have empathy for people who are sick, and I DO believe people need to take care of themselves so they recovery quickly and don’t get worse. And I certainly don’t want people coming to work sick. The problem is, I don’t allow myself to take it easy when I’m sick, and therefore set the same expectations for my husband.
Maybe it’s just a man/woman thing. A few years ago, my husband sent me a link to a scene from a British sitcom in which a man believes he’s on his death bed because he has a “man cold.”
I could completely relate, and I think my husband did too.
Last week, he came down with the stomach bug, and I came down with a strong case of irritation. Not only did I have to take on all his household obligations, but he didn’t even offer to try to help. That would have made me feel much better, especially since I always play the martyr when I’m sick. There are many times when I’ve been running a fever or had the stomach virus and insisted that I still had to walk the dog or the world will come to an end.
In hindsight, I was more than just irritated last week, I was also fearful. I didn’t want anyone else in the house to get sick. And while my irritation wasn’t justified, my fear was.
Years ago, when the children were still quite small, the stomach bug caught us all at the same time. Having to take care of small children with the stomach virus is messy, esp when you are suffering the same ailment. At one point, I broke my own rule of silent suffering and proclaimed, “could this possible get any worse?”
It could. As if on cue, one of our two dogs walked into the room and threw up on the carpet. And yes, I was the one who had to clean up that mess too.
So even though my husband thought I was a bit insane last week when I following him around with Lysol and insisting he thoroughly sterilize the bathroom each time he used he, I think he understood just a little.
On the positive side, no one else in the house got sick. At least, not yet.
I Couldn’t Get a Dog so I Got a Gun
Conflict among people is normal, and most of us accept it as a routine part of life. Conflict within ourselves is just as normal, but something with which we often struggle.
As a licensed social worker, I couldn’t get out of bed every morning if I didn’t believe people can change, that humans have an innate responsibility to support each other and that no good comes from belittling others.
As a rational human, I couldn’t get through life if I simply tolerated and never called out stupid and ridiculous beliefs and behaviors.
As a licensed social worker, I have to ensure that my conduct is appropriate, that I abide by a code of ethics and that I participate in ongoing continuing education.
As a rational human, I am dumbfounded by people who complain when they are required to meet expectations and criteria before they are provided with opportunities and privileges.
As a licensed social worker, I have an obligation to listen, try to understand the perspective of others and validate their feelings.
As a rational human, I simply cannot understand why others choose to ignore facts, scream conspiracy and throw around accusations that are hurtful. I have to call out people who choose to believe and spread all of the vile, ridiculous and illogical propaganda about gun control that I have been witnessing over the past few weeks.
The rabid followers of the NRA propaganda machine remind me of children blindly hitting a piñata at a birthday party. For most people, hitting the piñata is just fun game that results in children scrambling for a few pieces of candy. But the NRA is turning gun control into a piñata that must be destroyed and is putting the blindfolds on people as they swing at it. Those swinging the sticks are convinced that if they don’t break the piñata, they will never have candy again.
In reality, if the piñata doesn’t break, the children won’t be denied candy. They just won’t get the immediate gratification they are seeking.
Most parents allow their children to have candy, but they don’t want them to make a diet of it. Similarly, gun control advocates are not screaming that everyone’s guns should be confiscated. Instead, they are recognizing that too many lives are being broken and destroyed by guns and that something must be done. To counter that, claims are being made that the gun death statistics in the United States aren’t that bad.
Tell that to someone who has lost a loved one to a gun. For them, one death is too many.
Just ask Jackie Barden, whose son Daniel was killed at Sandy Hook Elementary school in December. Jackie recently noted that the process for adopting a kitten is more difficult than getting a gun.
I don’t know much about adopting kittens, but I do know a lot about adopting dogs. As a volunteer for a dog rescue group, my role is to process applications. In other words, I do background checks. I check national “do not adopt” lists. I do a criminal background check. I conduct property checks. I review living arrangements. I talk to animal control and veterinarians about the applicants. And I call references. If I don’t find any red flags, another volunteer conducts a home visit.
Many families who want to adopt a dog are denied for a variety of reasons: they’ve had pets hit by cars; they haven’t spayed or neutered their current or previous pets; they aren’t home enough to spend quality time with an animal; they don’t have the money or space for a dog; they already have too many pets. The list is long and varied, but the bottom line is the same. Rescue groups want to ensure the dogs have a good quality of life and, most of all, that they are safe.
We should want the same for people. And yet, in the United States, people who are denied adopting a dog can walk into a store or a gun show and buy almost any gun they want.
We might be keeping dogs safe, but I have to wonder about the people.
The Problem With Pretty
(Photo by Matt Cashore, USA TODAY Sports)
Not being much of a football fan, I wasn’t watching when the University of Alabama beat Notre Dame the other night. But being an avid news fan, I couldn’t miss the stories about how sportscaster Brent Musburger raved about Katherine Webb, the beauty queen girlfriend of Alabama quarterback AJ McCarron.
I really didn’t understand all the fuss. Men have been making comments about beautiful women as long as women have been making comments about good looking-men. I may be a feminist, but I also recognize that appreciating beauty is an essential element of human nature.
Initially, I didn’t perceive any problem. At least, I didn’t perceive a problem until I read a story about how Webb and her parents responded to all the fuss.
They weren’t bothered by Musburger’s comments. And why would they have been? Webb is a beauty queen. She struts around in a bikini in front of cameras. She obviously wants to be noticed for her appearance alone, and her subsequent reaction reflected that.
What bothered me was the importance Webb’s parents placed on her being beautiful.
Apparently (according to family), Katherine was once considered an ugly duckling because of a skin condition and her height. Her mother said that being in the Miss USA pageant helped build her daughter’s self-esteem. In other words, her mother believes Katherine’s self-esteem hinges on others’ perceptions of her appearance. And that’s what bothers me about this “news” story.
Self-esteem is complicated. Yet, like so many other issues, people try to simplify it. Several years ago when my children were in elementary school, they attended an assembly about self-esteem.
“What activities did you do? I asked. They looked at me puzzled.
“We didn’t do anything,” my son said. “Some lady just talked to us about how we should have self-esteem.”
We moved on to other subjects, but I was irritated with the school for wasting precious educational hours on some pointless presentation. You can’t teach or preach self-esteem. True and lasting self-esteem is achieved through experiences of success and through overcoming difficult situations. Our responsibility as adults is to provide children with those opportunities.
And self-esteem isn’t an “all or nothing” concept.
People don’t either have or not have self-esteem. Most of us feel confident in one aspect of our life while struggling in others. When I was younger, I had excellent self-esteem about my intelligence and ability to do well in school because I had volumes of success in academics. I had very poor self-esteem in regards to my appearance because I’d been told I looked like a monkey and was a four on a scale of one to ten.
Experience taught me that what others think of my appearance has absolute nothing to do with my value as a human, my capacity to be loved or my ability to be happy.
But those are lessons I learned from decades of life experience. Katherine Webb doesn’t have that yet.
Instead, she is surrounded by people who put an inordinate value on appearance. People who coach her that plastering on makeup to cover a skin condition is essential. People who have convinced her that fitness means being skinny enough to meet society’s standards for wearing a bikini. People who equate being called beautiful with being accepted.
Maybe I’m being a bit judgmental because I was raised to never rely on my appearances for anything. Sometimes that message was delivered in a subtle manner as my mother never bought fashion magazines nor wore makeup. At other times, the message was delivered loud and clear – like the time she told me that I was lucky to be smart rather than pretty. And even though those words hurt at the time, they also held a great deal of wisdom.
When you can’t rely on your appearance open doors for you, you develop other skill sets. And those achievements and successes are what truly build self-esteem.
There is nothing wrong with being beautiful, but there is everything wrong when women allow it to define them.
And that’s the problem with pretty.
Just So You Know 