Blog Archives
Small Moments, Big Reminders
In the grand scheme of life, this past week was rather uneventful. Yet, small reminders of how to live were wrapped up in my mundane, everyday activities.
On Saturday, I was the local grocery store when I thought I passed someone I knew. Instead of turning around, I glanced into the side view mirror of my shopping cart.
I know . . . shopping carts don’t have side view mirrors, rear view mirrors or any other mirrors. But, I’ve been spending a lot of time on my bike recently, and I’m constantly checking for cars in the side mirror attached to my handlebars. Apparently, the muscle memory of steering a bike is similar to pushing a grocery cart.
My action was ridiculous, and even though no one else would have even noticed the quick glance into nothing, my behavior kept me from actually turning around to see the person. Instead, I put my head down and hurriedly pushed the cart forward.
Saturday’s reminder: Never be so focused on moving away from our mistakes or missteps that we fail to turn around and face the current situation.
Sunday during church, the choir sang a particularly uplifting song, and as members finished singing, a little boy in the pew behind us started clapping. This was followed by his father’s hushed but angry voice saying “you don’t clap in church!”
The father’s reaction to his son’s joy and celebration reminded me how often we let society dictate how we express our feelings. I wish I had turned around and said, “What better place is there to clap than in church?” But I didn’t.
Sunday’s reminder: Don’t let anyone prevent you from expressing joy and happiness.
I was sitting at my desk at work on Monday, when my cell phone rang. Even though I didn’t recognize the number, I answered anyway. The call was from a former neighbor currently living in the Ukraine. As she recited all the countries her children have visited as part of their education and all the trips she is constantly making, I started feeling as though my life is dull and unremarkable. Then she told me her family is coming home after two years, and she was looking for advice regarding schools.
Since I rarely go through a day when someone doesn’t ask me for advice, I didn’t initially think much about her questions. But later, I realized she had given me a compliment.
Monday’s reminder: Being asked for an opinion is a sign of trust, and having someone’s trust is a remarkable gift.
Last month, my colleagues and I moved from our offices to a building that had previously served as a doctors’ office. Despite the large sign out front that says “research center” and the paper sign we put on the front door with the doctors’ new address, patients still come through our doors.
On Tuesday, a woman came walking down the hall yelling loudly, “Where’s my cancer doctor?” I politely told her the doctor had moved and that the address was posted on our front door. The look she gave me indicated she needed more instruction, so I walked her to the door and read her the sign. She repeated the address as she walked to her car.
Tuesday’s reminder: Being able to read is something many of us take for granted, and making assumptions that everyone can get the message through the written word is presumptuous.
My daughter just got braces, and she isn’t bothered at all by them. In fact, she loves the color (aqua) and the attention she’s getting. On Wednesday, she took her customary place in the passenger seat of my Jeep, pulled down the visor, flipped open the mirror and admired her mouth. Then she turned to me and said, “You know, I’m not the one who has to get used to the braces, since I don’t look at myself all the time. Everyone else has to get used to them.”
Wednesdays reminder: Perspective really is everything.
Thursday after work I hurried home so I could get in a bike ride before I had to transport my daughter to evening activities. One of my older neighbors was outside with her dog, so I stopped to talk. Oak catkins were spread all over her lawn and driveway, and she apologized for the mess. Since I was focused on her and her dog, I hadn’t even noticed until she drew attention to them.
Thursday’s reminder: Don’t apologize to others for living your life the way you want. If people judge how you spend your time, they aren’t worth making time for.
On Friday, I was riding my bike on the bridge over the interstate near my house. I could see that traffic on the exit was backed up almost to the highway, and my first reaction was that there must have been another accident on Interstate 81. (Such accidents have become almost daily events.) But traffic on the interstate was moving smoothly.
As I rode through the light at the exit, I noticed the first vehicle in line was about a car’s length back from the white line that distinguishes the exit from the road. It also marks a trigger linked to the stop light. Despite the long line of cars and the red light that wasn’t changing, the first vehicle didn’t move. I imagine eventually something prompted the driver to move forward, but I was glad I wasn’t stuck behind him.
Friday’s reminder: Sometimes we can’t wait for something to happen, we have to make it happen ourselves.
This may not have been a week of earth shattering events or life-changing moments, but it was definitely a week to remember.
Swimming in a Dress
Victoria swim wear – http://www.fashion-era.com/images/SocialHistory/swimpad500.jpg
This week, I had two conversations that morphed into one question about how we live our lives.
The first conversation was with a friend who told me about home-schooled children who were on a field trip at the Shepherd University pool. They were affiliated with a religious group that prohibits females from wearing pants, and, apparently prohibits swimming suits as well. My friend’s son watched astounded as the girls jumped into the pool still in their dresses.
The second conversation occurred on the phone with my mother, who wanted to know if my son had received his birthday check. After telling her yes, I added, “I know, he hasn’t sent a thank you note to acknowledge it. I’m a bad mom.”
My mother disagreed. “No, you aren’t. You are a much better mom than I was.”
Her comment shocked me, because I’m not even close to the type of mother she was.
My mom always made sure we sent thank you notes immediately. She planned menus that met every dietary guideline. And she ensured we did our Saturday chores, our beds were always made and that our laundry was always put away.
Not only do I fail to do all of those things on a regular basis. but my life is a chaotic mess compared to the structure in which I grew up. I told this to my mother in fewer words, but she responded, “You have fun with your kids. You know how to relax and just enjoy them. I never did.”
Not to belabor the point, but she WAS always wound quite tightly, and I’m generally not wound nearly that tight.
But getting unwound wasn’t easy. As I recently told a friend, “I spent the first 15 years of my life being a nerd trying to follow all the rules, and I spent the next 15 years trying to prove I was a rebel. Then I became a mom and had to find a happy medium.”
swimsuits in 1919 – http://old-photos.blogspot.com/2008_01_01_archive.html
In short, I had to break free of restrictive expectations and learn balance so I could enjoy life.
Which brings me back to the girls who jumped into the swimming pool in their dresses and to my question.
“Can anyone really enjoy life fully when they are restricted by a rigid belief system?”
Being in a pool with a dress is probably more fun than not being the pool at all, but I can’t imagine it was all that enjoyable. The water-logged clothing had to make movement difficult and exhausting.
I have absolutely no right to question or judge the beliefs and choices of the girls or their families. If they choose to swim in a dress, they have every right to do so.
But I have every right to question my own choices and the self-imposed restraints I’ve often put on myself – those that prohibit me from enjoying life. Sometimes these have been thinking a work deadline is more important than a few hours with my children. Sometimes they have been my obsession with gaining weight. And sometimes they’ve been my concerns that I will fail when I try something new.
I’ve definitely done my share of swimming in a dress.
But both times and people evolve, and as I’ve aged, I’ve become better and better at shedding my dress. That doesn’t mean I’m going out in public in a string bikini, but it does mean I can enjoy a good swim in a modest tankini.
Godless
This week, I was told I was godless.
That was news to me, but in this era when people can post anything on the internet and pretend it’s the truth, I have forever been labeled godless.
In reality, that doesn’t actually mean that I don’t believe in God. It just means I don’t share the narrow-minded, judgmental views belonging to some people who call themselves Christians.
Because I support gay marriage, believe in comprehensive sex education, will always fight for separation of church and state and don’t believe that Christianity is the only legitimate religion, to them, I am godless.
This isn’t the first time someone has questioned my faith.
When I was a teen, I often attended youth group activities with a friend at a fundamentalist church. Upon arrival, my friend always got the attention of boys while I always watched from the sideline. One evening, I just couldn’t deal with the situation, and the youth pastor picked up on my petulance and jealousy. He asked me to come to his office, and I agreed because I thought he was going to provide some words of wisdom and solace.
Instead he interrogated me about my religious beliefs.
“Are you saved?” he asked me.
“I go to a Methodist Church,” I said, thinking he would understand that most Methodist weren’t real big on going up to the altar, getting on their knees and proclaiming they were “born again.”
He didn’t like my answer.
“Well then, you aren’t a real Christian,” he said.
Even at fifteen, I knew he was full of it. But, in order to escape his small office, I promised I would think about his advice.
I never talked to him again, which probably wasn’t real Christian of me. Instead, it was actually rather godless, because the God I know is loving and forgiving. I wasn’t being either.
There are times, like this week, when I’m still not.
I question people who wrap themselves in Christianity and proclaim that the way they live their lives is the way everyone else must live theirs. I swear when those same people call me a hypocrite for saying I believe in diversity but don’t believe in exposing kids to the lies they want to perpetuate. And I have a hard time loving and forgiving people who are more intent on justifying their own beliefs rather than caring for others.
I was too angry to truly exemplify God’s love and ability to forgive, so maybe people were justified in calling me godless.
But I’m pretty sure God understands and forgives me.
Slaying the Lizard of Oz
When my daughter was in preschool, she discovered The Wizard of Oz, and even though she absolutely loved the story, she just couldn’t get the title quite right. She called the classic story “The Lizard of Oz.”
Initially, my husband and I tried to correct her, but nothing worked.
My son, on other hand, never even attempted to point out that a lizard is very different from a wizard. He simply chose to make fun of his sister, and since she didn’t understand his ridicule, she wasn’t really bothered.
Trying to teach my daughter the difference seemed futile. Instead, we decided that allowing her to happily promote the concept of a giant lizard ruling over the Land of Oz made our lives more peaceful.
At least, it was more peaceful until that day she came home dismayed that her parents made her look foolish by allowing her to publicly talk about “The Lizard of Oz.”
I can’t tell this story without thinking of all the adults who also believe in the Lizard of Oz.
These are people who make up their minds about something and only listen to those who validate their beliefs: the politicians who believe that they speak for “all Americans” or the old white guys with money who only listen to other old white guys with money (or to those who pander to them). They, like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, could easily gain wisdom. All they’d have to do is listen to people who better understand the real issues.
These are the people who only make decisions based on their own paradigm. They ignore that the world is changing, which means their way of doing things should change too. Instead, they, like the Tin Man, appear heartless because of their refusal to adapt with little regard for others.
These are the people who are self-absorbed. Like the Wicked Witch of the East, they believe those seeking help are the problem, and they care more about feeding their own egos than feeding the hungry.
But no matter how hurtful or destructive these people are, they get away with their behavior because there are even more of us who enable it. We act like the Cowardly Lion, who is afraid of everything. We fear calling out those who are wrong. We fear making ourselves look bad. We fear causing too many problems. We fear repercussions. And we fear failure.
But being the Cowardly Lion is outside of my comfort zone. I’m not the type to sit back because trying to change misperceptions and outright mistakes is too difficult.
I’m off to slay the lizard, the problematic Lizard of Oz.
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.
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
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.
Buck Wild in a Beauty Salon
If you’ve ever lived in West Virginia, you know all about MTV’s newest “reality show” premiering this Thursday night in the spot previously filled by Jersey Shore.
If you’ve never lived in West Virginia, all the drama surrounding Buckwild has probably either escaped you and/or seemed relatively unimportant. But here in the Mountain State, there is a great deal of concern about how the show will perpetuate negative stereotypes about those of us who live here.
When the first promos began airing last month, there were newspaper articles, editorials and online petitions criticizing Buckwild. Even our junior U.S. Senator and former Governor, Joe Manchin, wrote a letter to MTV asking that the show not be aired. Many argued that his subsequent appearances on national news and talk shows simply provided unpaid advertising.
To me, the show just looks stupid. I never watched Jersey Shore, and I have no plans to watch Buckwild. And yes, I even signed one of the online petitions asking that it not to be aired. But my reasons have nothing to do with how people might perceive West Virginians. There will always be those who believe stereotypes regardless of what they watch, hear or read.
To me, the show is actually more of a reflection on the entire nation than it is of West Virginia anyway. And while I deplore the concept of encouraging young people to do really stupid (and yes, mostly scripted) things for others’ entertainment, what I deplore even more is that there is obviously a large market for such shows. And yes, I know there are many who will tune it to watch Buckwild out of initial curiosity, but that’s not my issue. My issue is with people who watch this type of show for entertainment and for more people to ridicule. This includes television viewers such as the guy who was having his hair cut during my last hair appointment.
Until a few years ago, I never understood why any man would go to a beauty shop, but that was before I discovered the salon where I now go.
The place is more entertaining than anything on television because the people, the conversations and the emotions are genuine. I never complain that my appointments usually last more than two hours, because that time is more compelling than any reality show, particularly those featuring half-dressed young women and cocky young men whose vocabulary is rooted in George Carlin’s monologue about seven dirty words. And, when I think about it, I don’t recall hearing much, if any, cussing in the beauty salon.
Instead, I hear and participate in conversations about real people and real struggles that somehow turn into laughter and hope. The conversations range from cancer, to drug addiction to cross-country motorcycle rides. Everyone in town seems to know the owner and her husband, so there is a constant stream of local characters who come through her doors with their own dramas and issues. Discussions can turn from politics to childhood memories in a matter of seconds. And all of this occurs to some music soundtrack that almost always becomes part of the conversation.
The owner, and my stylist, strives to play just the right music, but she also always has technological difficulties. During my last appointment, she finally gave up when her latest gadget stopped working, and she was forced to turn on the radio to a classic rock station. Of course, the music brought back more memories and more stories.
And then, Manfred Mann’s Earth Band’s “Blinded by the Light” came on, and we all sang along. Sort of. The lyrics have always been unclear, so we all sang a different variations of “revved up like a deuce another runner in the night.” Some bordered on completely inappropriate. In order to resolve the debate, I took out my phone to search for accurate lyrics.
By the time I’d found them, the conversation had already moved on to Buckwild, and everyone was expressing an opinion. That’s when the clean-cut gentleman who had been sitting quietly while his hair was being trimmed said, “I think it looks entertaining, and I’m looking forward to watching it.”
For the first time, the shop went quiet except for Led Zeppelin playing in the background. Everything just seemed to stop. And then, just as quickly, the conversation resumed. Only no one said anything about Buckwild, instead the owner started telling a story about the recent Eddie Money concert.
No one acknowledged the man’s comment, and I don’t know whether he was oblivious to the slight or if he even cared. What I do know that everyone else’s reaction spoke volumes. And I don’t think the silence was so much an indictment on his opinion as it reflected a deep sadness that someone, surrounded by real characters, real conversation and an ongoing celebration of the reality of day-to-day life, would admit he wanted to simply observe the exact opposite.
Hours later, when I was thinking about the incident, I realized how we often lose sight of all that is meaningful around us because the media is trying to sell us a completely different definition of what makes life interesting.
I’m just glad there are people who still don’t buy that, and instead enjoy the simple pleasures of going a bit crazy, or buck wild, in a beauty salon.
The Rapist with the Great Reputation
During my freshman year of college, female students were on high alert. A predator had taken advantage of unlocked doors to rape at least two co-eds in their own dorm rooms. Flyers with a composite drawing of the suspect along with warnings and safety reminders were hung up all over campus.
I think the guy was eventually caught, but I honestly don’t remember.
What I do remember is that, for a while, most female students were careful about locking their doors and not walking alone after dark. While those precautions should have been and should continue to be common practice, our fears were somewhat misplaced.
Instead of worrying about a stranger jumping out of the shadows to attack us, we should have been alert to those we already knew.
No one ever taught me that, but I learned the lesson anyway. Unfortunately, I learned it too late.
I was already a college graduate when I was invited to a law school party that started like any other. That didn’t last long.
At other parties, I didn’t fall down after one beer. At other parties, male acquaintances with whom I had absolutely no romantic interest didn’t complain, “that’s not how it was supposed to work” when I talked to other male party goers. And at other parties, I didn’t leave with huge chunks of time missing even though very little alcohol was consumed.
I will never know exactly what happened that night. I’ve gotten bits and pieces from friends but, to be honest, I never really wanted to know. For a long time, I was ashamed and believed that I had done something wrong.
Only years later, when I learned about Rohypnol and other date rape drugs, did I piece together what probably happened. And even then, I had no proof that anything happened at all.
Statistics show that such an incident isn’t uncommon. The National Institute of Justice (NIJ) estimates that about 85 to 90 percent of sexual assaults reported by college women are perpetrated by someone the victims knows. Half of all victims do not define the incident as rape because ” there is no obvious physical injury and alcohol was involved.” The NIJ also reports that “approximately 27.5% of college women reported experiences that met the legal criteria for rape.”
What they usually don’t do is report these incidents as crimes.
That’s because rape often doesn’t look like the crime many of us were taught to avoid.
Rape is not just a crime of violent sex offenders who stalk women in dark alleys. It is not just a crime of deranged individuals who can’t control their violent urges and express them through rape. Instead, it is often a crime committed by men or boys with great reputations who, for whatever reason, are seeking to meet their needs by controlling women. And because these men are often respected professionals, athletes or students, they often get away with their behavior.
A former emergency room nurse told me a story about caring for a young woman who had been raped on campus by a student athlete. The university offered to pay the victim’s tuition if she didn’t press charges or go public. She never pursued the crime, but she never went back to school either.
A social worker tells the story of a woman who drank too much and was picked up by a police officer, who, instead of giving her a ticket, chose to rape her instead. She never pressed charges for obvious reasons.
This week, a colleague showed me the photo of a young woman holding a sign that says ” I need feminism because my university teaches how to avoid getting raped rather than don’t rape.” I posted the photo on Facebook, and it immediately got reaction, including those who wanted to emphasize that young women should be taught to take safety precautions.
I couldn’t agree more. But I can’t say that putting all the responsibility on women is fair or appropriate. Universities, and society as a whole, must send a constant and consistent message about the definition of rape and that it is a crime regardless of the circumstances and people involved.
That’s not happening. Instead, the message seems to be that these things sometimes happen when alcohol is involved or when women lead a man on. The message also seems to be that some men are just too important to hold accountable.
And so, I agree with the young woman in the photo.
There will always be individuals who push the limits. The rest of us have the responsibility to push back.
Just So You Know 
