Learning From Our Mistakes

 "When our children make mistakes, they are not failures they are learners.”  - Dulce Chalé

Well, if this quote is to be believed, then maybe my children really do know everything? Perhaps, they’re right when they say, “Ya, ya, Mom, I KNOW, ok? Jeeez.” Trust me, the mistakes made by my kids have been learning experiences, but not just for them. Before having children, everyone has a plan. Whether it’s school, potty training, or discipline, there’s a plan. Everyone says it's the hardest job ever, and we nod as if we get it. The realization that we are not even close lands hard, however, and usually comes right around the first time our little darlings screw up. Until that happens, we are all the perfect parents. Trust me though, it will come, and you will learn just how much you don’t know.

It's easy to think you have your act together when your child is toddling around smiling at fifty adoring relatives on Thanksgiving and singing "Baby Shark." No one looks at that idyllic moment and thinks to themselves, "I can't wait until this darling little gift from God is sitting in the principal's office because he went rogue at recess and punched someone  over a game of four square.” Been there, done that.

Norman Rockwell, "Shiner" 1953

It’s not something we plan for, either. You think that being ready for anything means college savings bonds, braces, and banking the cord blood? Oh, no, there is so much more to it. You not only have to provide basic food, shelter, and clothing, you also have to educate them, buy them at least a few of the cool toys, and make sure they are "good kids." No pressure, right?

When you get a call that your high schooler has skipped school to go on a joy ride with a friend, you learn pretty quickly that you are not at all ready. So you rush over to the school because you don't know where your kid is, and neither does the principal. I'm sure the phrase "FML" was bouncing around in his under-developed, teen-aged, pea brain when he sauntered back into school (via the front office door, DOH!) and found me waiting for him. Mom 1, kid 0. It was perhaps not my best parenting moment when I stood in the principal's office ripping my son's head off and asking the guidance counselor for military school brochures. The threat level goes right to bright orange when a mother finds out her child has not only broken the rules but has been caught because he was, quite simply, stupid. It sounds awful, I mean, who calls their own kid stupid, but at least once or twice, they will meet that standard. 

It occurred to me recently, however, that maybe there shouldn't be such a firestorm when a kid screws up. The joyriding high school kid is now a fully grown, gainfully employed, functional adult who is independent, sweet, and still a lover of taking off now and then for an adventure. The last few months have shown me that it’s not easy being a kid. Parenting isn’t the only tough job; growing up is no picnic either, especially now. Our young people have lost so many milestones and opportunities, nothing is what they expected it to be, and they have no way of knowing when or if it will get better. They are struggling, how could they not? If every now and then they drop the ball, as long as they come home safely, is it really so bad?

I'm not talking about dangerous behavior, violence, or other major issues. (In other words, no keggers when the parents are not home!)  I mean the normal, yet distressing moments like a fender bender with the family car, a broken curfew, or an afternoon of hookey at the beach.  Rather than looking at a situation, and figuring out how many days to put a kid on Amish lockdown (no cell phone, internet, video games, or TV), we could maybe let it slide with just a good conversation, a plan for going forward, and some cookies?  

Just ask my kids; it's not normal for me to be this Zen about their screw-ups. I've always been the mom to shoot first and ask questions later, but it's a different world now than it was just a year ago. As parents, caregivers, and adults, we need to find a little grace, a little peace, and maybe a small bit of common ground with our young ones because they need it. So do we. 

Twitter vs. The Dinner Table

"Your opinion is your opinion, your perception is your perception--do not confuse them with 'facts' or 'truth'."  John Moore

A funny quote for a piece that runs in the Op-Ed section, but recently I spent some time on a social media platform that I do not normally use, and it seems that many are confused over the differences between facts and opinions. I finally took the plunge and started using Twitter more, and honestly, it still eludes me, for the most part. It's easy enough to sign up, write a Tweet, and post it, but it's a little more complex trying to figure out replies, follows, and retweets. It's a numbers game, and that's probably where the disconnect lies for me. If your Twitter account has a lot of followers, more people will see what you post. Throw in the right hashtags (those words with the # sign in front of them) and even more people will see it. That's kind of the name of the game on Twitter; you want to get the most amount of people to see what you have to say. Quantity seems to count more than quality, but that's just my opinion, it's not necessarily a fact. See how that works?

The Twitter arena is huge. Worldwide the platform has 330 million users, and 145 million of those are daily users. That's a lot to wade through, so narrowing down exactly what you want to read and talk about can be difficult. I'm following a lot of journalists, but I deliberately chose a wide range of outlets and people to follow. Some would say there are two sides to every story, but I would disagree. There are way more than two sides to every story, and if you only pay attention to the parts of the story that align with your stance, you won't have a complete picture of the issue. I really just cannot fathom not being aware of other points of view, even if some of them make my blood pressure spike. Who wants to live in an echo chamber where no new information is ever considered? Well, it seems plenty of people on Twitter want to do just that. 

My debate skills were not honed online, but rather at home. Growing up, the dinner table at my house was often the scene of some heated discussions. More than once my father would make a point while waving a piece of steak balanced on the tip of his fork around in the air, and getting all red in the face. My mother was the moderator, and when she started clearing the dishes, your time was up. More than once a dinner roll might have been tossed at someone's head, but that was mostly my brother. My father's favorite way to end a debate was to say, "Well, when you can show me proof of that, let me know, until then it's just you spouting off, so sell that nonsense somewhere else." More often than not, the next night would find one of us tossing a newspaper clipping, or a book on my father's plate and saying, "Now what do you have to say?" Truly, it was a better education than any class I ever took.

Twitter is nothing like the dinner table at my house. There's no food, and there's no one to clear up the dishes after a particularly snarky debate. It's also more complex, at least for me. One user could say something, and if another user replies with a different point of view, all Hell breaks loose. Hashtags are flying instead of dinner rolls, and everyone is "atting" each other. That's another part of it. If someone mentions you, they do so with the @ symbol and your "handle" which is your Twitter username. It's sometimes considered aggressive to at someone. Please, many of these users wouldn't have lasted ten minutes at the Kelley dinner table. The names we used had no symbols and were mostly sarcastic. Aggressive, at least when making your point, was required. No harm, no foul was the only rule and it worked for us. 

Perhaps Twitter should be more like the dinner table? Whoever is making the meal, decides what gets served up. Whatever winds up on the plate can be taken or left, and often requires a grain or two of salt. If it's something you don't like, you don't get to decide it's wrong, it's just not what you like. One person's favorite meal is another person's cereal night. Yes, that is an oversimplification, but don't we all need things to be just a little simpler right now, and not quite so chaotic? For now, I will probably stick to just scrolling through my Twitter feed, and not engaging much. I'm still up for a debate, I just prefer to be face-to-face, over something delicious, so at least if I get my butt kicked, there's dessert. Happy Tweeting, and if you want to follow me, that's fine, just don't expect much, I'm still new at it.

Still Here...

 

“Even though it was a very long distance to cover, we are still here.” -Alan B Shepherd Jr.

 

While it might seem obvious, it took a bit for me to realize that the flip side of this national nightmare of politics, pandemics, and problems, is that we have come pretty far. We’ve covered a lot of ground and that should be acknowledged. Think back to December of last year, or January. We were hearing about this virus, but who would ever have thought that we’d still be in this whole panic mode? Throw in an election and a volatile political climate and it’s been quite a time. If you’re reading this, congratulations on still being here.

 

Honestly, that’s an accomplishment. Everyone whines about “participation trophies” and how there shouldn’t be an award for just showing up, but I disagree. No one realizes what it might take for someone else to get up every day, care for their family and friends, work, manage a home, oversee remote learning, and navigate it all without losing it entirely. We’re mostly focused on ourselves, and we have to be. Airplane rules, right? When that oxygen drops out of the ceiling it’s go time. At least, metaphorically. You can’t help others if you’re gasping for air yourself, right? So, give yourselves a big pat on the back. You’re here. 

 

Slowly, some of what was normal, is coming back. Restaurants have limited capacity, but many are open. School is back…sort of…and while challenging, it’s a small step towards getting back to normal, whatever that may be. This week, I was so lucky to get back something I have been missing terribly. My sport, my game, my go to for blowing off steam has always been badminton. I don’t play that well, but I show up. Smashes, clears, drives, cross court drop shots, and backhands are my weapons against falling apart, physically and mentally, so it’s been hard to not have that. Safety first though, always. This week, I got to play an actual match. The badminton shoes that had been stashed away, unworn, were coming out of the closet along with my racket and a wicked attitude for smashing some birds. It was amazing, by which I mean, I did not die, fall down, or bash myself bloody. Considering the previous week found me tripping over air and kissing pavement, this is quite something. 

 

While I was beyond giddy to have gotten to play, it must be said, re-entry…stinks. There’s another “S” word that fits, but this is a family paper.  Holy fitness Batman, staying off the court for seven months will bite you right in the gluteus maximus, and every other muscle that’s been laying around unused. Also, while not technically a muscle, my hand eye coordination is pretty much gone. It’s not like it was one of my strengths to begin with, but now it’s almost nonexistent. There were mortifying moments of swinging at a bird, only to see it sail past the end of my racket, mocking me, as if to say, “Not today, Brenda, no ma’am.”

 

It really should not have come as a galloping shock, because rest leads to rust, right? While my red shoes and my little dog make me sometimes think of myself as a Dorothy, it was all Tin Man on the courts, squeaking and banging around. But guess what? In those immortal words from another great movie, Gone with the Wind,  “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Regardless of the score, my moves, the missed shots, and post-match pain, it was everything just to have been able to show up. To put on my way cool badminton shoes (which are silver, with red trim, of course) and be off the bench and back in the game is worth every ache and pain, every sweat-soaked swing, and every cursed net shot. No, there was no participation trophy, unless you count the ice-cold beer I cracked open when I got home, but for me, it’s still a win. Matches are not what they were before, because safety protocols require reduced capacity, no crowds, no guests, no cocktail hour (gasp!) and no high fives, but the game is still here for me. While it will take some time to get back to where I was, isn’t that true of everything? It’s been more than twenty years since I took up badminton and I’m still floundering around the back court missing at least as many shots as I make. So what? There was no choice to sit out for seven months; everyone has been on hold in some way during this time. If we are lucky enough to still be here? Well then, we are lucky enough.