The F Word

"If you want to conquer fear, don't sit home and think about it. Go out and get busy."

---Dale Carnegie

Fear is a mighty powerful emotion. It can make us act, but it can paralyze us as well. I'm not talking about the average everyday worries. Some people don't like to fly; others hate the dentist. I happen to love flying, for the most part, and my dentist is fantastic, but I say three Hail Marys on every flight I take, one before I get on, one at take-off and one when we land. Dr. Dara is terrific, but I still have to sit in my car for 10 minutes and psych myself up to go in every time I have an appointment. That's pretty normal, from what I've seen. It's the big stuff that's a problem. Illness. Financial ruin. Job loss. The death of a loved one, G-d forbid a child. Being scared is part of life, and we have to face our fears, or we'd never leave the house, right?

I write this column on Thursday nights since my deadline is Friday. As I sit here tonight, I'm hearing from neighbors about an accident near the end of my street. Alleged drunk driving. Who knows if that's really what happened, that is for law enforcement to decide. What terrifies me is that one of the cars involved was driven by a young woman, still a teen, out for a ride with friends and, allegedly, hit by a car who blew a stop sign. Again, that will all be sorted out through proper legal channels, as it should be. The facts will come to light, and everyone's rights and responsibilities will be handled.

However, for me, it's a knee-jerk response of fear and what ifs. I have kids in that age range, one is a new driver herself, as in just two weeks ago. I try not to be THAT mother. The smother mother, the one that won't let her kids out of her sight, the mom who spends years hovering like a Sikorsky over the sandbox and the classroom and prom night, etc. I want my kids to be independent and have adventures and good times and fun memories. What isn't part of that scenario is getting a phone call from one child, who heard about the accident, but was calmly asking me, "Are you guys home? Is Devin out? Are you all OK?" We all were, thankfully, and note to self, I guess I did an OK job raising a kid who cared enough to call and check in, but Holy Mary the Mother Blessed and Joseph the carpenter too, it's rattling, to say the least.

Fear is sometimes a knee-jerk response; it's hardwired in the brain. I've written dozens of science articles on exactly what happens and how, and yet, when I hear that a young person was scared and possibly hurt, because one minute she's out for a drive with friends and then next minute there's crumpled metal and broken glass around her, science isn't relevant. Fear creeps in, the what ifs take over and as a parent, I imagine that somewhere, another parent is getting a phone call that will scare the daylights out of them. Thankfully, that's a call that's never come to my home, but never say never, right?

When I was in high school, a good friend was crossing the street and was hit and killed by a drunk driver. One minute she was an average 16-year-old kid, laughing with friends, the next she was gone. I won't ever forget the look on her mom's face at the funeral. Yes, it's irrational. Yes, I wanted to take a shovel to the head of the person who hit her.  I still do. Who knows if this accident tonight was alcohol-related, I sure don't know that, but that's not the point. The point is that everything we hold dear can change in an instant. How the heck do we, as parents, as friends, as a community, deal with that? Boy, I sure don't know. Perhaps if I did, I wouldn't be wide awake right now, looking at baby pictures of my kids. Overkill, yes, for sure, but there you have it.

"Let's be careful out there" was a favorite line from Hill Street Blues, a cop show I watched with my dad, for years. He would say that to me every time I left the house, and mostly my eyes would roll so hard, I could see my brain. I get it now. The fear we feel as parents is likely never going away and I'm betting my dad knew that and also knew that telling me to be careful was no guarantee of anything. There's only so much we can do, as parents, but we have to keep doing it anyway. We are out there, being busy and trying our best. It's all there is, right?

To The Blanket Fort! STAT!

“Never mock the magic that lies within a blanket fort’s cozy walls.”

—Author unknown, quoted by Meredith Sinclair in “Well Played.”

Another week, another nor’easter? Seems that way. Last week I was tucked into the Barnacle, which is a little more exciting than a blanket fort, especially in a storm. Since then, however, the weather gods, together with some ordinary stress, and a few steaming loads that hit the fan, have all conspired to have me searching for refuge. A weekly nor’easter? OK, I like the waves as much as the next idiot, but we can be done now, thank you very much. March comes in like a lion, right? OK, well about now, someone needs to “tranq that beast” because I’m over it. March is also supposed to go out like a lamb, and it might, but at this point, I’m ready to get out the mint jelly and serve up Mary’s little friend with fries and a double Jameson, neat.

As it happens, a good friend of mine called because he too was having a bad day. This guy is fast becoming one of my favorite people. He’s a dad, a great cook, has an exciting job that takes him all over the world and everyone he knows drools over the pictures of all of his adventures. He’s kinder than most people realize, and tougher than nails, in the best way possible. This day though, he was having a tough time. I get that because the weather hasn’t been the only thing that’s a mess in my world. It will all pass, of course, as these things do, but he had the best idea ever: A blanket fort.

Remember blanket forts? Aren’t they the best? A couple of dining room chairs, some covers and boom, you have your own little hideaway. I used to put a sign up on the ones I made, “Out to lunch.” Even then, if I couldn’t have a snack while doing it, I didn’t do it. Blanket forts are inviolate. It’s an international symbol that someone needs a break, and sometimes the only way to get it is to circle the furniture and deploy the quilts and pillows. I told Mr. M that’s what he should do. He had plans with people, and it’s good to have friends, but sometimes, you just have to pull the covers over your head and tell the world to keep the hell out.

What about sink or swim though? What about hanging in there and taking on the world? What about standing up, in some killer red shoes, taking names and kicking butt? Sure, there’s time for that, in some situations. Not always though. There are days, and we have all had them, when not one more thing can be done. Not one more call, not one more email, not one more conversation. Flip your sign to “closed” grab a book and a beverage and set yourself up in a blanket fort of your own. If you don’t want to bother messing up your living room, sure, it can be metaphorical, but I promise you won’t get the full effect if you don’t literally get a blanket and throw it over some chairs. It’s like an emotional lifeboat — only you don’t have to divvy up the freshwater and supplies.

With little kids, there is the concept of a “time out,” and it’s usually punitive. When my kids were wee babes, there was only so much rebellion I could take before I sent them off to the bottom of the hallway stairs, to “think about what you did.” My guess is they mostly thought up elaborate plots to run away to the circus. One of my kids even told me, “When I’m a grown-up, I’m going to let my kids have anything they want so that they will like me, since YOU DON’T!”

Oh, the humanity. That same child is now declaring his intention to never have kids, and I am, for now, in full agreement. Sometimes I miss the little kid days. Not as a parent, as a child. Bike rides and baseball games, a yard full of friends and when it was all too much? Oreos and a blanket fort. How has corporate America not embraced the blanket fort? Workplaces now have perks like free sodas, snacks, communal work areas with sofas and chairs, and even emotional support animals, but I’ve yet to see a blanket fort anywhere.

There is something about the oasis of chairs and bedding that says, “Come on in. It’s quiet here, no one is going to tell you what to do, or who to be.” If that isn’t a lifeboat of sorts, then I don’t know what is. There will always be time to hit it hard. Taking a break isn’t giving up, it’s giving in to a welcome bit of comfort that is so often in short supply. Get your pillows and cozy up, the rest of the world will still be there when you’re done.

The Most Dangerous Toys? Oh Please...

"I've had a lot of worries in my life, most of which never happened."

---Mark Twain

At times, I have been a world-class worrier. My first child wore a life jacket and a bike helmet in the tub. As the years wore on, I eased up. My second only wore the helmet. The third? Neither, but the baby monitor wasn't turned off in her room until she was ten years old. Thankfully, over the years, I've been able to calm down about the minor issues and just focus on what matters most. It's a good thing because looking back, worrying about tubby time seems simple compared to some of what keeps me up at night now.

Recently the list of the ten most dangerous toys came out. I appreciate that there are organizations that check on safety and toys because the laws about the manufacturing and sale of them are not that specific and the list always seems to bring up something no one thought of before. Knowledge is power, right? No, not always. Sometimes knowledge is what's causing that rising panic when you start losing it because the toy your kid wants---more than anything in the world---made the top ten.

This year's list is much like those in the past. It talks about toys with toxic materials, small pieces, dangerous malfunctions and all that. The problem is, some of the items on the list, while not harmless, seem to be there for no real reason. One of them is the Wonder Woman Battle-Action Sword. It's on the list as one of the "worst" toys, and let's face it that's a big deal. It's a short list; it's like being a National Merit Finalist for a trip to the Island of Misfit T

oys. The problem with this toy? It could cause a "blunt force injury." Well…yes, but couldn't almost any toy do that? I bashed my brother over the head with my Patty Playful doll, and he needed two stitches. It would be one thing if they had a problem with the Lasso of Truth being a choking hazard, or Wonder Woman's invisible plane being recalled for not meeting emissions standards, but come on.

Another toy to look out for the is the Spiderman drone. The propeller blades go wicked fast and if a kid touches them, it could cause an injury. Isn't that true of every drone ever made? How come Spiderman is singled out?  First Wonder Woman, and now the webbed wonder? Doesn't this sort of sound like a conspiracy against Super Heroes? Watch out Batman; they'll be coming for the utility belt any day now.

It's become ridiculous. The holidays are stressful enough; now there's a naughty list of toys too? Whoever makes up the list must think parents are stupid and will just hand a kid a toy and never bother to read the directions or watch the children play. It's like the whole "You'll shoot your eye out!" frenzy in the movie "A Christmas Story."  The Red Ryder, carbine action, two-hundred shot range model air rifle wasn't on any list, but everyone still worried about it. Everyone except Ralphie's dad, who got it for him. Did Ralphie shoot his eye out? No, it never happened, he broke his glasses, that's all.

 This movie is a favorite of mine because it's not really about the Red Ryder BB gun, or the Bumpus hounds or the "major award" leg lamp. It's about what we remember most. We are entering the season of "lists" from who is naughty or nice, to the Black Friday specials, the holiday card addresses, and the invites to the New Year's party. Some of my most cherished memories of this time were never on any list. There was the Christmas my doll carriage fell apart and to make me feel better my father pretended to write to the factory elves about quality control, after spending two hours getting it put back together. Then the year George was nine days old, and there were still gifts to wrap for his older brother at 5 o'clock Christmas morning after a sleepless eve of screaming and diaper changes. These all could have been disasters, but that's not how they are remembered.

Enough of lists that are just more worries to add to the ones we already have. Most of them won't ever happen, Mark Twain was right; so much of what we worry about never comes to pass. Make new lists, without chores or "action items." Mine will read something like, "Call Lisa J. for coffee" or "Go to lunch with Miss June" and "Play cards with Auntie Anita." The rest of it can just wait. After Christmas, maybe I can pick up that Wonder Woman sword on clearance.

Pressure Cooker Parents

"The only thing you ever had to do to make me happy was come home at the end of the day."

---Aaron Sorkin

Recently I was talking with some friends, and the topic of anxiety came up. An anxiety disorder is a real, medical, neurobiological condition, no question. It's one I wouldn't wish on anyone, it's crippling at times and not well understood. But there's also the regular run of the mill anxiety we all feel sometimes. Work deadlines, family pressure, stress and the like. What about that? I wish I knew, because then maybe I could help a few young friends of mine, but I don't have all the answers.

I have some questions though. Why is the rate of teen suicides up so much? It's horrifying. In the period between 2007 and 2015, the number of girls ages 15-19 who took their lives doubled. For boys, it went up 30%. We are losing too many precious kids to depression and anxiety issues.

Another question I have is: Why are so many teens so incredibly stressed out? Even some who are not harming themselves still suffer. Panic attacks, aggression, strained relationships with family, and risky behavior with drugs and alcohol are all hallmarks of stress. Remember when being 16 years old meant you hung out with friends, went to school, played a sport or joined the marching band and maybe on a Friday night you got to borrow your mom's car and go out with your friends? It's so not that simple anymore.

Where is this stress coming from? Some kids have diagnosed anxiety disorders, and my heart is with them and their families because it's incredibly hard dealing with that kind of illness. Some kids are just born high strung and put pressure on themselves over grades, SATs, college and so much else. Sometimes though, the pressure is coming from a parent. We've all seen those parents, and while I never like to assume I know everything by looking at someone, sometimes you can just tell. Haven't we all been at a game where a parent is screaming harsh criticism from the sidelines? Heck, I've been to a game where one parent punched another parent over a goal that was denied. This pressure cooker way of parenting is happening more than any of us realize, and our kids are at risk.

A friend told me that her husband (pardon me, now ex-husband) "required" their kids get As in every subject. I said, "What happens if they don't?" and her daughter spoke up at that point and said, "We were too scared to find out." Raise your hand if you think it's fine for a kid to get so freaked out over a B that they consider hurting themselves?  This dad isn't a one-off either, and it wasn't an issue of domestic violence, he never raised a hand to anyone, he just "laid down the law." There are a lot of parents just like him though. Ask any guidance counselor, principal or teacher how many kids they see that are about to burst from stress. You might be surprised.

How did some parents get this way? Another unanswerable question. They aren't all ogres, they aren't all looking to borrow Joan Crawford's wire hangers, but they're stressed too. They want the best for their children, but some of them have gotten it terribly wrong. Perhaps they've read too many books like "How to Prepare Your Pre-schooler for the Ivy League." Ok, that's not a real book (at least I hope not), but there are plenty of similar books. Maybe they've gotten caught up in some societal rat-race competition thing. I sure did a few times, thinking that my kid just had to take a particular class or stand out as a stellar athlete or they would be left behind, choking on the dust of failure and desperation. Do we all want the best for our kids? Yes. Is getting into an Ivy, or having the highest GPA in town or being an MVP worth their health, their sanity or their lives? No. I'm not making this up, there are kids dying over grades, over SATs, over social drama and while there could be hundreds of causes besides parenting, it's one of the few things we can control. It's got to stop. How do we make it stop?

I don't know any parent who doesn't love their children so much they'd walk through fire for them. Maybe before doing that, we parents could all take a long hard look at our kids, their strengths and weaknesses, their faults and fears, and remember that they are, for a little while yet, still children. Remember when they were babies, all pink and giggly? Somewhere under all the stress, the eye-rolls, and the sarcasm, we have to remember that they are still our babies and some of them are in a world of hurt. Surely we can fix that, right? I don't know about anyone else, but I'm with Sorkin on this one. If my kids come home at the end of the day, to me, that is everything and more.