On Single Mothers, Sex, and Making Choices

For four years I taught an introductory course called “Women’s Literature and Issues” at an independent high school in Augusta, Georgia.  The type of school and location is important.  Being independent, this school allows teachers to create courses, get them approved, and then, pending student enrollment of eight or more students, teach the course. Augusta, Georgia is worth noting because this is a conservative state and community.  Not just conservative politics.  To wit, there is a wildly popular program called “Social” here.  Starting in sixth grade, parents enroll their children to learn manners and various ballroom dancing throughout the next five years.  If you are among the elite, you will be selected to be in Cotillion – that is, you will be a student-teacher and then at the spring formal that is held yearly in the convention center, the girl will wear a white bridal type dress and present the best dances with her carefully selected be-tuxed partner.  Probably a partner her mother lined up for her back when she was in third grade; that’s when a mother approached me asking if my eldest would be her daughter’s social partner in middle school.  Because of the educational opportunities afforded by my school and in spite of the socially conservative traditions of the community at-large, I had a strong enrollment in a course that reviewed women in history and literature, as well as discussed the issues of women in the Middle East and across the world.  When I accepted an administrative position, something had to give – it was this class.  Well, evidently, I need to get back at it.  Too many comments and articles have crossed my screen recently about single mothers and feminism for me to stay silent.

Item One:  A New York Times Article: “Single Mothers With Family Values” http://www.nytimes.com/2013/10/27/opinion/sunday/single-mothers-with-family-values.html?_r=0

The thrust of the article is that family values are found primarily in Christian and Republican tradition. Not so.  Any single mother who is caring for herself and her children values her family, regardless of religion and politics.  To be fair the article notes a couple of democrats, a libertarian, and a Hindu.  However, the article centers on women who have embraced Christian and conservative ideals as a path to success.  The article notes, “Ms. Maggio credits God, not government assistance, with helping her climb out of poverty.”  Say what? This woman reportedly went from welfare to a six-figure banking career, and she is unwilling to give a nod to the assistance that helped keep her off the street?  Even more disturbing:  she doesn’t take any credit for her own, presumably, hard work or business acumen in the rise. 

Okay, so one can argue that if a person wants to credit God with their success, she is entitled to do so.  Granted.  However, her refusal to give any credit to assistance or herself can incriminate women who do take credit for pulling themselves up by their bootstraps.  Women who are smart and hard-working are being discredited by women who refuse to take credit for their accomplishments.  The implication is:  tithe, credit God, and it will all be okay.  Oh, let me mention that she is now married – that’s another perk of this self-effacing paradigm. Work hard, use government assistance, take and give no credit to anyone except God, and then you’ll have riches and a husband. 

I’m getting a little queasy.

Item Two:  Another New York Times Article:  “Sex on Campus: She Can Play that Game, Too.”  http://www.nytimes.com/2013/07/14/fashion/sex-on-campus-she-can-play-that-game-too.html

Women are hooking up on campus with no intention of finding Mr. Right or even pursuing a relationship.  Women want to do their own thing and have some uncommitted sex in their free time.  Dandy.  Men have been doing this for millennia.  However, there is a woman, Susan Patton who “wrote a letter to The Daily Princetonian urging female undergraduates not to squander the chance to hunt for a husband on campus, say that de-emphasizing relationships in college works against women.”  To be specific, Mrs. Patton suggests that, “For most of you, the cornerstone of your future and happiness will be inextricably linked to the man you marry, and you will never again have this concentration of men who are worthy of you.” 

Oh, dear.  Well, luckily Princeton is not handing out MRS degrees.  Certainly, many of us meet future partners in our college years.  We might debate whether or not that is a good thing.  However, the suggestion that it is incumbent upon young women to find a husband in college in order to secure the “cornerstone of …happiness” is ridiculous.  Many women do not want to marry.  Of those that do, a great many will divorce.  Furthermore, why is the advice to snag a smart wife not being given to men?  It would seem that the suggestion is that men can be successful on their own while women need a smart husband in order to succeed. Why, oh why, is a successful business woman (who, incidentally did not follow this advice in her youth), foisting such a load on younger women?  People  – regardless of gender - need to be educated and mentored to make informed decisions about marriage and relationships.  And, they need to know that they can be successful without a partner.  Marriage is not required.  Mrs. Patton – sit down.

I definitely feel nauseous.

Item Three:  The stay-at-home mom vs. working mom debate that has been aired nationally on television and in print media.

“What do you do all day?”

“Your children will be drug dealers and prostitutes unless you are home with them.”

“Must be nice to have the whole day to yourself.”

“If you give up your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

“If you stay at your job, you’ll regret it forever.”

The dialogue can go on and on.  The more it goes on, the more vitriolic it becomes.  I’ve been a stay-at-home mom for a grand total of ten months, plus summers when I was a classroom teacher.  The rest of my career, I have been a working mother.  I had my first child in the first five months of my first job. 

Web MD reports, “In a 2005 study, the U.S. Census Bureau reported an estimated 5.6 million stay-at-home moms. That is a 22% increase from 1994.  ‘It used to be more popular and widely accepted for moms to work,’ says Cara Gardenswartz, PhD, a clinical psychologist in independent practice in Beverly Hills, Calif. ‘There's been a backlash, because right now, there's actually more status to not be a working mom.’”  I take issue with Dr. Gardenswartz’s assertion.  I think the prestige of being a stay at home mother is highly dependent upon the area of the country one lives in and the profession in question.  Here in the South, there is a definite wealthier class perception that if the mom works there is something wrong with the family.  This is not something that I encountered when I lived in the suburbs of Chicago. 

One of the original points of the women’s movement was to validate and open up opportunities for women to have careers.  This point continues in the current-day conversation of salary equality and glass ceilings.  But, stay at home moms and working mothers have taken each other on in a battle that vilifies everyone.  Isn’t the point here for women to have choices in a wide variety?  But women have too long tried to prescribe ways of living for other women rather than encouraging each other in our different pursuits.

This idea is illustrated well in this clip from the movie Mona Lisa Smile that I used to show in my women’s lit class.  Joan (in white) has been grappling with wanting to go to Yale Law and wanting to be married.  Her art history instructor, Miss Watson, has spent the semester encouraging the girls in her class to make their own choices (so she believes):

Several important points rise to the top here:

1.       Ladies, if you are a single mother, you deserve a lot of credit.  Take it.  Take a bow.

2.      Men and women, you do not have to get married.  Unlike in the board game Life, it is not a requirement.  Having a partner is an option.

3.       There is a myriad of choices available to everyone – explore them. Take charge of your choices.  Don’t coast through marriage and family decisions on some kind of default setting.

4.      Rather than telling others to marry or not to have sex or to join a church, help others think through how they want to live.

I feel better now.

A True Friend

It is rare to find a real friend. The cliché is that a real friend will do anything for you.  I disagree.  There are all kinds of real friends. And, it has precious little to do with the number listed on your Face Book page.  (I have 1013 friends, according to Face Book - I beg to differ.)

And, I got to thinking:  what kind of friends are there?  I don’t believe in fair weather friends.  If a friend is only there for fair weather, he is no friend at all.  I took stock, and I have a few friend “types” based on my own experiences that may speak to your experiences, as well.  This is not meant to be all-inclusive, but rather a sampling that may inspire you to appreciate your friend groups as much as I do mine.

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Case #1:

The friend who will stay at your hospital bedside when you are both four hours from home. He has a wife who is wondering why he isn’t getting home from chaperoning a school trip, but he stays there with you while he comforts your 9^th grade son, who is worried out of his mind, and talks your husband into actually traveling because you are about to have emergency surgery.  This friend stays there and then borrows a car and drives your son home, both of them amped up on energy drinks, and he comforts your kid the whole four hours. 

We can also add that despite what seem like dire circumstances to you, this friend has the presence of mind to take a hilarious picture that lives on despite the fact that you were dying in the moment. 

(Yeah, that’s me in the bed.)

Case #2

This is the friend who was there in college.  You were both there and are both here now.  Perhaps one or both of you remembers more of college than the other, but you have a common history that is undeniable.  Perhaps that history has more than one narrative of unpleasant fraternity mixers and desperate study sessions.  Maybe you also have had a game or two of racquetball during which you both needed to blow off steam.  The kind of steam that can only be blown off if one yells the “secret” word to one’s sorority really loudly, really late at night in a really deserted athletic center. 

The cool thing about this friend is that she shows up years later.  And then even more years later.  And, in fact, you realize that she has been a strength and support even though you thought she was invisible.  It has actually been a mutual support.

Case #3

There is a friend who you never really thought was a friend, at least not in high school.  You were doing your thing and she was doing her thing.  And never the two did cross.  Except maybe in advanced English class or world psychology or some other esoteric subject whose teacher fancied himself rather fancy.  This is one of those friendships that takes up and puts down and keeps an even keel.  It’s fun.  It’s clever.  It finds common ground in adulthood.  It is as real as one that has been there all along.  In fact, it has been there – you just didn’t realize it.  Maybe she didn’t either.  But, no matter – it’s there now. 

Case #4

This is the friend who has always been there.  Through thick and thin.  Sure, you’ve let each other down, but you can pick up tonight even with a six month silence sitting there between you.  She talks.  Then you drink.  You listen.  Then you drink. Then you switch.  Then you drink some more.  This is the tried and true friend.  Perhaps since high school.  Perhaps since college.  Maybe since last year.  You know. She forgives.  She knows.  You forgive.  You have history.  it’s all there. 

Case #5

There is a friendship sprang from professional endeavors; we work together.  We have common interests in (choose one or more):  politics, children, spouses, social agendas, social interests, books, music, movies, TV shows.  We have drinks when we can.  We text.  We chat.  Sometimes we compare parenting notes, but often we are on different pages there.  Sometimes we have different books.  Still, we respect each other’s approaches and ideas on family life.   

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I appreciate each of my friends – as individuals, as types in a category, as just plain friends.  In Russian there are many words to designate “friend” – it all depends on the person’s relationship and perceived relationship to the speaker.  Of course in any language, there are as many “types” of friends as there are days in a year.  But, no matter what categories you use – or, if you give everyone their own category, it’s the time of year to take stock.  In the end, it is the friends and the relationships that make our lives. 

Listen Up, People!

I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. 
Most people never listen.  

 (Ernest Hemingway)

An alarming trend is evident among the American populace.  People are repeating themselves.  Over and over and over.  You get the idea.  For example, today I had a conversation with my next door neighbor.  She repeated the exact same information four times to me.  I responded every time in an appropriate manner using reflective language and answering her question.  Four times. 

I do not know why she felt the need to repeat her concern.  I do know that I notice such repetition a great deal in all forms of communication.  Perhaps the key lies in that word “communication.”  Are we so communicatively overexposed that we can’t let an idea concern or complaint go until we are sure someone has not only heard us, but also commented on our status and liked it and shared it?  Tweet and retweet. 

This week (it’s only Tuesday, mind you), I have gotten two telephone calls and one email from a parent regarding the exact same issue.  I have responded in a prompt and consistent manner to each correspondence.  Why must this parent ask me the same thing in three different ways?  Does she believe I will invent a new answer for her amusement each time? 

As an English teacher, daily writer, and avid reader, I do contemplate individuals’ ability to concentrate long enough to really listen and respond authentically.  I probably do blame test messaging and Facebook and other social media for the decline in attention spans.  But, also as a teacher, I have immense faith in human beings’ desire and ability to connect with our fellow beings.  Why, though, must people repeat their ideas?  This has been the age old lament of any teacher who has ever attended a faculty meeting. 

Please bear in mind that I have taught in three different states, six different school systems.  And, this, my friends, is a typical faculty meeting scenario:  one teacher will make a suggestion, and at least three others will offer the exact same suggestion with slightly varying verbiage.  One more teacher will pose the same idea as some sort of perverted rhetorical question.  Such redundancy has been the bane of my existence since the start of my education career, and a primary reason why I drink.  Teachers are the worst at sitting still, listening, and responding meaningfully.  It is disconcertingly ironic.

But now, this trend has seeped under the faculty room door and out into the real world.

Distressingly, I am the president of our HOA.  (As a sidebar, let me just say that if you ever get the idea to be the president of your HOA, do yourself a favor and strike your own wrist over and over with a hammer until you snap out of it.)  Each meeting we have is like the movie Groundhog Day.  The same people; the same complaints; the same emails are sent; the same neighbors ignore the same emails. 

Perhaps, though, I shouldn’t point a finger at the speakers.  Maybe the finger should be pointed at the listeners.  As many times as I have encountered repeaters I have also met the unlisteners (sounds like a Dr. Who villain).  These are the people who ask you a question and fail or refuse to listen to the answer.  After you have responded to their inquiry, these people then plaintively say, “What?”  They fully expect you to repeat your answer rather than having required themselves to listen to the answer the first time around. 

So a few old-new guidelines of speaking and listening etiquette:  If you have something worth saying – say it.  Meaningfully.  To someone who needs to hear it.  Or to someone whom you want to hear it.  Then leave it alone.  Something worth saying needs to be said only once.  Say it well and be gone.  When a colleague or neighbor makes a good suggestion or has a nice idea, commend them on it – do not repeat the idea.  If you ask a question, actually engage yourself to hear the answer and retain said answer.  Who knows, you might find you like listening as much as Hemingway did.  Or, you might find yourself talking to someone as interesting as Hemingway.  If not, you can always have a drink.  Cheers!

Read Between the Lines

I remember the days when my three boys took turns (unwittingly) telling me:

a) how beautiful I am

b) how wonderful I am

c) how they will buy me a mansion and diamonds when they get older and they will go to work and I can stay home and watch cartoons all day

d) how I am the best mommy in the world

e) all of the above

Today was not that day.  Yesterday wasn’t either.  In fact, those days are long gone. 

Today is a new day. 

Here is a sampling of what I’ve had today:

Key:      AJ = son #1  (age: 20)

            CD = son #2  (age: 18)

            NG = son #3  (age: 12)

To be fair:  these are all approximations of sentences or exchanges that happened today unless noted with quotation marks.  These are in no particular order.

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AJ:  Did you know there’s a psychological disorder that you can develop when you have one awesome parent and one loser parent?

NG:  (when I asked why my hip was hurting):  “You are old.”

CD:  My friends worry if you will be in a good mood at school.  (Note:  I am always in a good mood at school as far as anyone knows!)

CD:  Do we have to have a Russian test tomorrow? 

CD: Who won the donuts any way?

NG:  I have a social studies quiz tomorrow.

NG:  (when asked about studying for above quiz):  There’s no quiz.  Who told you that?

AJ:  Massage school and bartending school sound good.

CD:  I am Don Quixote.

NG:  You don’t really know English, do you, Mom? (disbelieving look from me)  Well, I mean, not middle school English.

AJ:  I think a Jack Keroauc kind of traveling around thing would be cool.  (As long as it’s not Chris McCandless, ok.)

CD:  I totally have a good shot at Cornell.

CD:  I’m never getting into Cornell; just sign me up for community college now.

NG:  You don’t know Spanish, Mom.

CD:  What?

CD:  Good just exploit me; I don’t care.

AJ:  Volunteering around the world would be cool.

NG:  I was sad…and perturbed.

CD:  (when told his aunt broke her toe)  Hee hee. Swift.  No, seriously, is she ok?

NG:  I am special.

CD: (in a Snape voice) "Since you’re not doing anything productive (as I type this blog), can you quiz me on this?" (handing me anatomy notes)

NG:  But that’s not what inquisitive means.

AJ:  I hope not.

NG:  I did wash my hair.

CD:  I am magical.  Like a unicorn.

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I think if you read between the lines you can still see the original phrases, hidden here and there, having taken on a bit of a different shape.  The boys are communicating in their own ways.  People tell you things.  Weird things.  Unrelated things.  Incomprehensible things. At unexpected times.

It’s all important.  Listen.  It's all magical.

Parenting, Punishment, and Protesting

Did you know that in the great state of Georgia it is possible for a parent to bloody a child's lip and chip his teeth with closed-hand blow to the mouth, and the police will decide that because the child was talking back to the parent, the blow is an acceptable form of punishment?  Did you also realize that in the great state of Georgia if that same child attempts to fight back or strikes the adult, it can be decided that the child is the one committing the crime?  Never mind that the child is cornered by an adult twice his size with the adult grabbing and twisting the child's arms to "get him to settle down."  Never mind that the adult in question is the child's parent.  Never mind that it is the nature of pre-teens and teens to talk back as they stretch their wet wings, getting ready for the flight into adulthood.  Never mind that parents should have a host of tools in their arsenal for dealing with the host of issues that arise.  Oh, and in this case, let us throw in that the disagreement that led to the argument that led to the blows that led to the cornering began with the child sharing some opinions that the parent simply didn't like.  

Maybe this kind of thing is at the root of protesters at pride parades and festivals around the country. Maybe the protesters feel that the people who attend pride events are sharing something about themselves that the protesters don't like.  So, since they can't strike a physical blow to the mouth of the pride attendees, they attempt to strike a mental or emotional one.  Maybe the thought process goes something like this:

1.  Pride attendee:  I want to attend this event to have fun, be happy, and communicate who I am.

2.  Protester:  I don't like who this person is.

3.  Protester:  I want to hit this person because he is different from me.

4.  Protester:  I can't hit this person because I might go to jail.

5.  Protester:  I will protest with a vitriolic sign and shout mean slogans to try to harm this person.

I don't know.  I don't think like this.  I want to believe that people in general don't believe that literally or figuratively popping someone else in the mouth will make the injured party change their ways or agree with the attacker, but history proves me wrong.  Indeed, the root of the vast majority of local and global conflicts start with one group deciding that others should not be different.  

Here's the thing:  in the great state of Georgia a parent doesn't have to employ the fourth and fifth lines of the thought dialogue.  A parent can simply decide that he does not like the child's opinions. Then, if unsuccessful in changing the child through argument, the parent can hit the child in order to silence the child or attempt to force the child to the parent's way of thinking.  In doing this, the parent has not committed a crime.  Even though in the above thought dialogue, had the protester decided to hit the attendee, he would most likely be charged with a crime.

I am the mother of three boys.  Over the years they have told me thousands of wonderful, silly, witty, alarming, scary, tear-soaked, clever, mundane, sad, worrisome, joyous, pride-inducing, and just plain old fun things about themselves.  Never once in any scenario has my first thought been to strike them.  No matter how earth-shattering the announcement was (although it is incredibly hard to surprise me), have I ever thought, "I don't like that.  I'm going to hit you."  What kind of person does? 

The history of corporal punishment in Georgia schools is still being created because it is still legal.  In fact, corporal punishment is legal in 19 states nationwide.  In Poland corporal punishment in schools was outlawed in 1783.  Georgia state code has three sections that regulate corporal punishment in public schools.  Yes. These are laws about the proper situations, people, and settings in which corporal punishment should be administered in a public school setting.  If there are laws regulating who can strike the children in this state when they are at school, it may be no wonder that a bloodied lip and chipped teeth are seen as a perfectly fine form of parenting. 

Here’s the thing:  no matter their ages, our children will have enough bumps and bruises in their lives. The world will beat them up pretty good - it is not our parental duty to prime that pump. We don't need to inure them to the pain of the world.  No matter who a person is, he will get his lip bloodied in life.  More than once.  Parents need to love the kids when they are smelly and weird and silly, and even and especially when they tell us something we might not want to hear.   We should model how we wish the world would be:  accepting and wonderful and loving.  It is our job to teach children that the world is a wonderful, fascinating, wildly varied place where, yes, they will see a protester along the way, but where, ultimately, they can be their wonderful, fascinating, wildly varied selves. 

McJobs

Someone once said that everyone should work in food service for a year.  I don't know exactly why that someone made that pronouncement, but there's truth there.   Why?  What does working in food service do for a person?  Gives you insight into the human condition: greed, jealousy, fear, kindness, evil, sadness, joy, meanness.  You can see it all in one day if you work at least an hour.  Some hyperbole there - probably won't catch all of those states if you only work the hour prior to opening or after close.  Ok, still some hyperbole, but man, do you see a lot when you work in food service.

I attended a professional conference last week during which the presenter asked if any of us had ever had "McJobs."  I hadn't heard that term before.  I had, however, worked at McDonald's for two and a half years.  Add in two seasons at a food stand at the Iowa State Fair and about six months at Hardees, and I have done my time in food service.  Still, I had not heard the term "McJob."  A quick glance at Wikipedia tells me that "McJob (sometimes called joe job) is slang for a low-paying, low-prestige dead-end job that requires few skills and offers very little chance of intracompany advancement."

I am not going to say that I enjoyed working under the golden arches (or at any other of the above-mentioned places), but I am going to say that as a teenager in the 80s, I felt like I was paid okay; I made friends; and I wasn't looking for advancement.  I was looking for some money to go to the movies or buy ugly earrings and stone-washed jeans.  It wasn't fun.  Well, it was fun the one time we had a rat the size of a small terrier run through the mall store.  It was also fun the time I scared my friend Kathy when she thought she was alone breaking down the shake machine, and she almost wet herself.  That was fun.  I never considered myself degraded by working there. I had to be on time, cheerful, follow a script of service, but there are standards in every job.  Standards don't degrade people - they require a mode of behavior that hopefully one will learn from and rise above.

I learned how to serve food to all sorts of people, with a smile, and quickly.  I learned the ins and outs of keeping things clean, of staying busy (or looking busy).  I learned that there are people in the world who will buy and freeze McDonald's hamburgers and reheat them at home.  I learned that you don't mop the owner's shoes and tell him "Out of the way, Big Daddy," when he's in a foul mood.  I learned that you do, in fact, refill the lady's fries when she complains the packet isn't full even though you watched her eat nearly all of them and then come back up to the window.   I don't believe my self-esteem was brought down because of working in fast food.  At the time, I made friends of varying ages and varying interests; almost thirty years later, some of them are professionals, some of them are clergy, and one is a truck driver. 

Of course, upon reading further in Wikipedia, this term is being applied to adult individuals who are working in such jobs now.  The term "McJob" is even in the Oxford English Dictionary (OED), and there has been controversy surrounding it. McDonald's employees were asked to sign a petition asking OED to remove the word. Many of those employees felt that the term was so accurate that they refused to sign. Is it demeaning to those who work in fast food or restaurant settings?  Does McDonald's treat entry-level employees badly?  Is there little chance for advancement in that company?  Well, I don't know how it is now; I have only my own now outdated experience to go on.  But, I can tell you my what happened in the drive-through yesterday at McDonald's.

I was welcomed by the sound of the microphone clicking on.  A pause.  Then, a terse, "Well?"  I placed a small, unspecific order, to wit:  a cheeseburger and a small diet Coke.  I was told the total and the microphone clicked off.  I pulled around (there wasn't anyone in front of me, so I had no wait time), and was greeted by a sign that read, "Thank you for having your payment ready."  It wasn't.  But, I fished out the two dollars and change and paid.  No words were exchanged between the cashier and me.  I smiled and pulled forward, having now resolved not to speak first but to see if the food delivery window person would speak.  She handed me my Coke and turned her back on me, resting her butt on the edge of the drive-through window.  She chatted with a co-worker as I waited. I should have had my payment ready within two seconds, but I was now to wait with a rear-view for company.  The wait was short, perhaps two minutes total.  She handed me the little bag with my cheeseburger, and I was off.  No words.  No thank yous.  No have a nice days.  No come agains. 

I do realize that working part-time as a teen is different than full-time as an adult. I do not want to go down Back-In-My-Day Lane; however, it seems to me that no matter what one's job, one can "mcjob" it if one wants to.  One can refuse common courtesy; one can demand speedy payment and provide unspeedy service; one can put one's rear-end on the windowsill of any job. In each job I have had - from newspaper route to McDonald's to classroom teaching - I have learned skills and been able to apply them in the next job.  Regardless of the actual setting, McJobs might be many fewer if employees take their rear-ends off the drive-through windows and get to work. And, that might even apply to our lawmakers right about now.

Killing Time

See what is happening?  As I hung up the phone at 4:10, that is exactly what happened on my office wall clock.  Time fast-forwarded for exactly 24 hours and the clock was then "reset."  I didn't make this happen; I looked up and it was spinning.  I have two witnesses lest any of you think I was drinking or hallucinating on the job.

My youngest announced, as only a burgeoning middle-school nerd can, that it was a paradox.  "You know, Mom, when The Doctor crosses his own timeline."  Right.  "And, anyway Mom, you know time isn't linear." Right.

Well, son, time feels pretty linear on  many days.  Many parents at my school will say in awe and with a little bit of regret that they can't believe their child is in whatever grade he is in.  My stock response for them is, "Isn't amazing how young people age but we stay the same?"  This remark is usually met with a polite chuckle.  But, really, what can you say?  How about: "I can't believe it either, and with every year, we are all a year closer to the grave."  Doesn't seem quite the right response, does it?   Perhaps, "Well, children grow and mature and we get old and die and they take our place."  A little grim again.  We all have days when we feel older than we are. Hopefully, those are outweighed by days that we feel younger or just right.

I have always had trouble remembering how old my friends are.  I may know their birthdays, their life stories, their most intimate secrets - I can remember all of those, but age?  Who cares?  I don't pay attention to that. If you have ever told me your age, chances are you are still that age in my book.  If I've never known your age, chances are good I will put you right around my age.  When I was a little girl, I once knew that my grandmother was 57.  She is still fifty-seven, a full two decades after her death. My mom is fifty-five, and no, it doesn't matter that I'm 46.  Of course, I can do the math and figure out people's chronologies; I'm not that dense.  Time does pass, and people do age.  I just don't keep track of it very well.  A blessing or a curse? I'm not sure. Just this morning I was asked when I met my dear friend, Kathy.  In Mr. Drish's physical science class in 9th grade - when I was fourteen.  Whoa.  Kathy and I have been friends for...um...thirty-two years?  How is that possible?  I don't feel old enough to have known someone for that long.  The thing is, there is truth in my son's statement.

When I was in the classroom full-time I did read alouds to my classes.  Nearly every day started with a couple of pages from a book that took most all of the semester to read.  One of my favorites to read aloud was Tuesdays with Morrie by Mitch Albom.  The chapters were just right to kick off a class, and often Morrie's ideas paralleled discussions that we were having in class.  One of those ideas was that although we are all a certain age at any given moment, we are also all of the ages we have been up to that point.

That's a great lesson for teens who often feel the fun of their childhood has slipped away and what they have to look forward to is years of slaving.  It's okay to not be mature all the time.  Go play in the yard; ride a bike; fly a kite; make mud pies.  It's an even greater lesson for mortgage-paying-car-repairing-child-rearing-supper-making adults. You have all of the ages you have already been inside of you.  Time passed isn't lost; it is stored within us.