The Real Thing

"Reality TV" is about the only thing that 's left of TV these days, and like yester-year's soap operas, it's easy to become addicted.  Though I'm not really a TV watcher, I love learning, and medicine intrigues me; "Trauma: Life in the ER" is one of my guilty pleasures.  As I watch I am struck by the unique nature of each story -- patients and their families, dedicated doctors and nurses, innocent and not so innocent victims -- but at the same time, am desensitized to the reality of it all.  Just like reading a good book and internally growing to dislike the antagonist, it's the "not so innocent" that give me pause.

Time after time gangbangers and thugs lay sprawled on the tables of inner city OR's, close to death while medical professionals work furiously to keep them alive and family members pray fervently for a miracle.  Tattoos show gang affiliations and their injuries reek of violent confrontations.  Families weep and shriek when struck with the news their loved one has died or will not see the next day.  "Did they not see this coming?" I wonder.  "Live by the sword, die by the sword."  And while this may all be true, it never prepares a family for the tragic, brutal death of someone loved.  My thoughts may keep me safe at night; they may harden me to the possibilty I will be fervently praying for a miracle one day, but they do not accurately reflect the sorrow and turmoil of that family.  Add to their pain, my judgment which serves only me --  to make me different from them, better than them -- and no one can possibly comprehend their experience.

A neighbor's son was murdered Saturday night.  A young man.  A boy, in my memory, with whom my son Steven had his share of problems.  A mother with whom I'd had my share, because of our sons.  I just spoke with her last week or so as I was walking the dogs.  Time had passed, I didn't know if she knew where her son was, anymore than I know where mine is today.  We talked about Bishop -- he was her cousin's dog before he came to live with us -- and made small talk like neighbors do.  We wished each other a blessed day, and we meant it.  Last night I cried for her.  There are no "sides;" there is no "safe."  I could be her, right now.  To lose a child, to get that call...  How can I judge?  Our sons have made their choices and there is nothing we can do, but it doesn't mean that we ever stop hoping and praying.  It doesn't erase or appease that sense of loss.  In some ways, it's really just a culmination, as we experience that loss each and every time we come face to face with their violent choices and their hopeless paths.  It doesn't negate the love, no matter what the end, and it certainly doesn't force us to forfeit our need for compassion and understanding. 

Reality TV may make it easy to judge or shake our heads from the comfort of our sofas, but the "real" reality is what -- or Who -- is in our hearts.

True Love

I love Morris and Lawrencia. When we’d first moved in they were friendly enough; they were new to the neighborhood, too. I wasn’t exactly new – I’d grown up here – and wanted things to be as they were in 1975. I expected people in “my neighborhood” to act as my family acted -- before I realized how dysfunctional we were. But Morris and Lawrencia were loud. And their kid touched my fence. And they kept different hours and valued different things. “When I was growing up, people respected their neighbors,” I said. I had this idyllic picture of my childhood; I had “boxes” for everyone and everything – the good, the bad, the happy. In my narrow vision, everything on our side of the street was good – even when it wasn’t.

When my marriage dissolved – maybe imploded would be a better word – my neighbors were there for me. It was Morris and Lawrencia who lifted me up with an encouraging word; it was Morris and Lawrencia who showed me that, while true love may not exist for me, I hadn’t been crazy for chasing the white whale – it was out there. Neither said an unkind word about anyone; they focused on their own lives and worked to make their family happy, despite things going on around them.

When Scott and I married, it all came together. My neighbors and I have mellowed with age. My husband has been that one missing piece that joins entire sections of a puzzle together. Of the friendship and kindness of those around me, I am completely undeserving. But through the actions of others I have found true love.

10 Ways to Annoy Your Office Co-Workers

1.  Hide the filter basket to the coffee pot (the more obvious the location, the more it will annoy them when they discover it)

2.  Fill your co-worker's 365 Days of Sudoku desk calendar with random numbers, in pen

3.  Wear squeaky shoes, and make frequent trips to the copier

4.  To yourself, whistle "Deck the Halls" -- don't know what it is about that tune, it eventually has the same effect as acoustic bombardment techniques used on prisoners of war and is contagious, like yawning

4b. Yawn -- a lot

5.  Link all of the paper clips in their lap drawer together then weave them among the papers in the drawer

6.  Fill their email inbox with obnoxious ads for erectile dysfunction medication or emails from Nigerian princes

7.  Use the office microwave to cook popcorn -- for eight minutes

8.  Spend the entire day speaking with a Southern twang (once again, acoustic bombardment or contagion, depending on the mental stability of your audience)

8b. Yawn -- a lot more

9.  Quietly stand behind them humming "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" as they try to leave voice mails to department heads

10. Whenever a co-worker leaves their desk, lower their chair (consistency is the key on this one!)

A Word To the Wise Is Sufficient

I am a homeschooler, but I sometimes have my doubts as to whether I am doing an adequate job, much less a good one.  At the end of the year, when Christine and I sit across from her evaluator my confidence returns; looking over the field trips, classical readings, and test scores reminds me of the time and effort we have put into her education.  It reminds me, too of the fun we've had.  Christine and I share a special bond that I don't believe would exist had we not spent so many hours together talking, laughing and learning. 

Steven and I had the same relationship but somewhere along the line boundaries became blurred and he began to see me as his equal instead of his authority.  Even close relationships suffer when boundaries are not established or respected.  When Scott and I became parents together, we worked to reclaim some territory, but reclaiming territory is never as easy as just holding onto it in the first place; Steven's age and independence, plus a few well-meaning adults, aided and abetted his "escape" from true maturity.  Christine however, was stuck.  Praise God.  Together Scott and I have established clear boundaries for Christine -- boundaries she has grown to appreciate.  (Understand I AM NOT boasting, except in the power and grace of God for sending me a wonderful man like Scott, and for working with mercy and grace in our lives.)  She understands that boundaries help her grow and develop self-respect.  She understands that boundaries as a young adult will make her a better woman, mother, spouse, employee or employer; they will bring her success, whether they are boundaries she respects or boundaries she establishes.

This is something we are working hard to teach the younger children.  Joe, like Steven, has rejected our rules.  He doesn't like to eat what's on the table.  He doesn't like that he is no longer allowed to fall asleep to the television, or sit for hours in his room playing video games, or texting while it is "family time."  He doesn't like being told to shower regularly, or clean his room, or fold his clothes, or have compassion or charity toward others.  Joe likes it when it is all about Joe.  What he and those who would support his "game" fail to realize is, rules are all about Joe; they are all about what's best for him.  They are all about growing and developing him into a strong, independent, successful individual.  Those who try so hard to "protect" Joe from growing up do so selfishly -- keeping him a child, or currying his favor by capitulating to his every whim, or using him to fill the emptiness in their own lives.  Ask me how I know.  These are the same mistakes I made with Steven.  They say those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it; I am determined to learn, if not for myself, for the sake of my children and step-children.  I realize there may be only so much we can do to prevent Joe and his "sponsors" from making the same mistakes Steven and I made, but Scott and I know there is One greater than any rebellion and it is to Him we pray.