Great Expectations

Earlier this year I became aware of a tween and teenage issue affecting families in what I naively thought was my perfectly insulated and innocent community. It seems "sexting" hit close to home in the families of more than one personal friend. The shock and disappointment was profound and ultimately led to our church organizing a parents' night on the topic of teens and sexuality. And yes, if you know what my church has been going through, you're seeing some irony in this. But that's beside the point.

As my friends and I discussed this disturbing trend in teen behavior, someone mentioned having read about the affects of technology on a teen's desires and proclivities. She reported that the graphic and "advanced" nature of their early exposure to sexuality results in many teens needing "more" in the way of stimulation as they grow toward adulthood. The effects of peeking at Playboy magazine or reading a young adult romance pales in comparison to what our kids are finding online and sharing with one another on their cell phones.  

I'm finding this desire for "more" to be an ongoing theme in this world in which my children live. It may be a byproduct of living in a community where most families have what they need and then some, but it's disturbingly prevalent. No longer is a cell phone acceptable; a smart phone is required (and they still don't answer when you call). A vacation to Colorado is unappreciated because "we've been to that state before." A plain old birthday party at home doesn't suffice when everyone else does something way cooler and more expensive.

Sweet 16 parties and bar/bat mitzvahs are often examples of "more." In many cases, these rite of passage events resemble mini-proms or a wedding reception. I can't speak to the bar/bat mitzvahs of my day because I never attended one until recently, but I did turn 16 a couple nearly three decades ago and these grand affairs were not the norm. I find myself wondering what happened to the good old slumber party. But then again, it's probably safer to gather all of your kids friends in a supervised location where they're less likely to be drinking and photographing their private parts to text to a friend (who then sends it to his friend, and so on). I guess my biggest concern with these first class affairs is that they're setting our kids up for disappointment years from now. What if on their 21st, 30th, and 50th birthdays there's no one to throw them a lavish private party? How can your wedding reception top your bar/bat mitzvah when twenty years earlier it was the talk of the town? If you set the standard so high so early in their lives, can we exceed those expectations for the special moments later in life?

A couple years ago I heard stories of prom date invitations that both amused and concerned me. Boys were arranging elaborate scenarios in which to pop the question, "Will you go to prom with me?" Proposals were staged involving teachers and principals. Banners were hung on the bridge that links the middle and high schools. And a member of the track team recruited his friends to run in sequence wearing specially made t-shirts that read WILL - YOU - GO - TO - PROM, followed by Romeo wearing "WITH ME?" Awe! As in awesome, right? Absolutely. I would have loved to have been proposed to that way. Oops. That's what I was afraid of. To be on the receiving end of that level of sweetness and creativity as a high school senior only sets you up for disappointment when your adult boyfriend proposes marriage by leaning across the couch during a timeout in the football game and opening a little black box. And, he probably belched at some point in this transaction. Trust me, guys get lazy once you've been together awhile. You're rarely going to find romance delivered high school style. (Side note: Rob did not propose to me on the couch during a football game. It was a baseball game. No, but seriously, he proposed to me on the side of the road. It was more romantic than it sounds.)

Lest you think I'm presenting myself as above all this excess, I can assure you that I'm not immune to the temptation to fulfill my kids' desire for more. This Christmas we're heading to Mexico for the week. Unlike Colorado, Ian and Abby haven't been there yet, so they're looking forward to it. (Just hope we can get Abby a passport in time. Damn government shutdown.) And in lieu of a Sweet 16 party, a friend and I made our daughters a deal a year ago, promising them a trip to France instead, assuming they keep up their French studies. I'm sure the party would be much less expensive, but this way I get something out of it, too.

The reality is that many parents, myself included, want to give their children more than they had. Or they want to express their love and pride in their child, regardless of the cost. Sometimes, we go overboard trying to make up for the lack of time we spend together as a family. Our hearts are in the right place when we decide to go big for our kids, I just sometimes wonder whether our heads are in on it too.

Your thoughts?

My Down Time is Bringing Me Down

When I woke from my two-hour nap on Saturday, I engaged in a bit of self-psychoanalysis. The sheer fact that I reflect on the state of my mental and emotional health as often as I do, is probably a sign that I'm worse off than I think. Or I'm just completely self-absorbed. But that's beside the point. The important thing is that these self-examinations provide me with blog material.

Speaking of blog material, you may be thinking that the reason I don't write as often anymore is because I have less to say. Nah. It's this new job. It's cutting in to my writing time. When I get to the office I actually need to hunker down and get right to work. No easing into my day with a period of self-discovery. You might argue that I could write when I get home from work, but anyone who has a full-time job and kids at home who expect a meal and a ride to soccer practice, and a church or synagogue that needs you at weekly meetings, clothes that demand to be washed, and a body sorely in need of a workout recognizes that writing probably isn't high on my list of things to do in the evenings. No, when I have down time, I want it to mean something. That's why I play Words with Friends or 7 Little Words, or I watch the TV shows on my DVR, or try to get caught up on Scandal before the new season starts. If my head's in the right place I might actually read, but writing? Well that requires entirely too much thought.

For the most part I'm okay with the way I choose to spend my down time. Or I was until Rob pointed out that someday I'm going to die. He pointed this out after I woke from my nap. He suggested perhaps I sleep too much and noted that there will be plenty of time to sleep when I'm dead. Well, damn. When you look at life through that lens, spending my time playing word games or watching television seems pretty ridiculous. When I'm gone, what will I have contributed to this world? Will someone go back and read my WWF scores? Will my TV viewing habits warm the cockles of someone's heart? I think not.

My blog on the other hand, well this sucker is leaving its mark. It will live forever. I know this because I've tried to delete posts that I later regret, and it's true what they say about things in cyberspace never truly disappearing. This means my uber-honest, somewhat snarky, frequently funkapotomusized, periodically painful and gladly grace-filled random thoughts will live on in perpetuity. Woo hoo!

SIDE NOTE: There's something to be said for the old fashioned written journal. The one you could burn before your parents, sister, boyfriend, best friend, husband or children read it. Those were the good old days. I think I have about 13 of those embarrassing tell-alls hiding in the back of my closet. Does anyone have a match? Perhaps I should do my own Freakin' Angel version of Throwback Thursday. I'll share an old journal entry and we can laugh together over how I've grown and matured stayed pathetically the same since I was 13. I won't make it more painful by adding an old photo to go with it. Some things really should remain private.

Back to the issue of my poor use of time. As is the American way, I refuse to take responsibility for my choices in this regard. Al Gore, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and that Zuckerberg kid are to blame. If they hadn't gone and created the computer, the internet, social media, e-books, on-demand video, etc., I would probably be a published author by now. And my son, whose technology addiction makes me look like a Luddite, well who knows what he would be doing with his life. He probably would have discovered some kind of new insect (he wanted to be an entomologist until he discovered the computer), written a comedy sketch for Saturday Night Live or made his mark in community theater. Yes indeed, we are being controlled by forces greater than ourselves. In fact, I think computer technology is the new Darwinism.

Think about it. Thousands of years ago "man" lived with the constant threat of being eaten alive by dinosaurs (I know this because I watched Land of the Lost). Natural selection meant that only the strong survived. Survival of the fittest, if you will. Today, we no longer are being chased by dinosaurs. Instead, we are chased by technology that wants to pin us down - mind, body and soul - and trap us in a  never-ending web (pun intended) of useless information. Those who are not strong enough to rage against the machine are destined for chunky thighs and a big butt, distorted thumbs and wrists, and a future spent in their parents' basement. Our "natural" selection has been replaced by man-made selection. Only those who break free from this technological tyranny have a chance to survive and live as the actual human beings we were created to be. I feel a doctoral dissertation coming on.

In conclusion, between the demands of my new job (how long can I consider it "new?"), my need for sleep and the distraction of technology, I'm lucky if I can write one blog post a week. I promise that once the kids leave home and I'm off these committees at church, and I've given up on trying to keep in shape, I'll resume my more prolific output. In the meantime, I'm sure you can find something to amuse you on the web or my DVR.

If I Could, Would I?

Ever since I graduated from college, my dad has wanted me to go into business for myself. He's offered to help financially, and even offered his support if money is the obstacle to my writing a book (it's not; it's just laziness on my part). After 50+ years of "working for the man," my dad knows that true job satisfaction comes from pursuing your own dream, not someone else's. While I'm certainly blessed to have such supportive parents, unfortunately, I'm chicken shit scared to death at the prospect of going out on my own. The work I do for others stresses me out, and that's with a guaranteed paycheck and benefits. I can't imagine how insane I'd be if financial security and success rested almost completely on my shoulders. This fear of doing something so radical leaves me awed and inspired by those who go for it.

In the past few years, more than a couple friends have taken the leap to fulfill a dream. My college friend Tom and his girlfriend moved to Florida from PA and started a kayak tour business. Freakin' Angel Kathy decided to go solo with her law practice, and FA Andria is engaging her creative side in making unique pieces which she sells in local stores and at shows. MPC friend Bill opened a Sports Clips Haircut location. My former Judson Press colleague Linda ventured out on her own as a marketing consultant; and while I'm not exactly sure what she does, my old Lehigh Valley friend Cathy appears to be successful in whatever endeavors she's pursuing. Among my craziest most inspiring friends is Dave, who just a couple months ago fulfilled his dream of opening a restaurant (get thee to The Granary!). I'd be scared to death, but even if he's a tad nervous, he doesn't show it. Geez, imagine my blog posts if I was trying to succeed in business on my own. You think I bitch, whine and complain now!

An example of Lori's stunning photography

As impressive as these friends are, there is yet another who inspires me at an even deeper level. Imagine sacrificing your salary and the comforts of home to spend thousands of dollars in order to travel to a foreign country to help others in need. In two short weeks, my friend Lori Sheppard, a pediatric physical therapist, will leave for Morocco where she will train and provide support to people caring for children with special needs. This will be Lori's third visit to this country - her first two visits were for two weeks each, but on her last trip she felt called to return for nearly three months.

Lori's company is kind enough to hold a position for the duration of her trip, but she needed to resign from the management job she held and will return as a staff physical therapist. As you can imagine, this decrease in salary adds to the financial burden of this opportunity (home mortgage payments don't stop while she's away). Lori has made some lifestyle and budget changes over the past year and has started a small photography business (she's amazing!) to help bring in some funding. These changes alone are not enough, however, and this is where we come in to the story.

While many of us like to think we would do something like this if we could, realistically, most of us can't. Lori can and is, and her only reward will be the joy of helping others in need (a nice reward, albeit with no monetary value). The cost of Lori's trip is $12,000.00, including travel (airfare and in-country), living expenses, ministry expenses and financial obligations here at home that cannot wait. Would you be able to give a tax-deductable monetary donation to help out?  There are a couple ways to give:

Lori

• www.compassion-corps.com - On the donation page, select ‘short term trip-Morocco’.  On the payment info page, use the drop down box under ‘designation’ to select my name.
  
• Checks (payable to “Compassion Corps”) can be mailed to the address on the website – put Lori Sheppard's name in the memo line.

Lori would remind us that the finances are not the only important item to consider. If you are so inclined, would you please keep her endeavor in prayer?

Thanks for thinking of her and offering your support. Of course I also encourage you to eat at the Granary, buy Andria's cool gifts, get your haircut at Sports Clips, and seek legal counsel from Kathy. And if you're ever in Holmes Beach, FL, visit Sea Life Kayak Adventures.

As for me, I'm going to ask my dad if he'll support my desire to purchase a boat and take friends fishing. I'm sure that would pay the bills!

My New Fear of Flying

Air travel was never an issue for me. No fear. No need for a drink to calm the nerves. Heck, I didn't even mind getting stuck in the middle seat. I think my only real issue with flying was the increasing expense. Damn them and their luggage fees and unwillingness to give me a freakin' bag of pretzels! Yes, the dollars and cents of it was the only gripe I had. But that was before Friday, when my family and I flew from Denver to Philadelphia. Friday's flight changed everything. I'm just glad no one was hurt.

I knew I was in trouble when I sat in a row with a mommy and daddy and their 11-week-old bundle of joy, Samuel. Sammy looked a bit like a Cabbage Patch kid, but he wore the bug eyes and bald head really well. I oohed and aahed and that's saying something because I'm one of those terrible people who believes there are ugly babies in the world. But I'm getting off track here. The important thing for you to know is that Samuel started to cry before we even left the runway. Karma at work. If I had let Rob sit in that seat instead of foisting our children off on him, I would have had relative peace and quiet. Or so I thought.

I'm not sure when the disturbance began. Early on I was probably distracted by Sammy's Cabbage
Patchness, or that heart-breaking newborn cry of his. At some point fairly early in the flight, however, I became painfully aware of what I was dealing with. I should say what "we" were dealing with given that she affected at least a dozen people - certainly those seated directly in front of, behind, and next to her, but those across the aisle and a couple back as well. I was one row behind on the other side of the aisle and could not escape. The "she" in this story didn't have gas, wasn't snoring and didn't fall asleep and slobber on her neighbor's shoulder. Those fairly typical airline experiences would have been preferable. No, in this case, "she" turned around in her seat to talk to someone in the row behind her. For the entire flight. No exaggeration. Certainly that would have annoyed the person sitting next to her or next to the person she was speaking to, but here's where it gets ugly. This MAAPE -- Most Annoying Airline Passenger Ever -- spoke loudly enough for my dad, my mother-in-law, and the deaf guy on Project Runway to hear her. Did I mention this continued for more than three hours?

You know how people come together in times of crisis or despair? They form a special bond having lived through a terrible experience together. Well, that's what happened to passengers in rows 14-17 on flight 1752. As the hours went by, trips to the bathroom were opportunities to share a sympathetic and somewhat crazed smile. When the MAAPE volume increased, or she took a rare breath, our brothers and sisters in travel hell turned their heads to look at one another and communicate their frustration wordlessly. The poor guy next to me was trying to get work done, but gave up because he couldn't concentrate. Even earplugs didn't help block the noise. About two-plus hours into it I turned to my husband and told him I was going to say something (in keeping with my Grumpy Old Woman status). It seemed absurd that we should all suffer when perhaps she just didn't realize she was a loud talker (the polar opposite of Seinfeld's low talker). My husband, never one to make a scene, told me not to. Why I listened to him is beyond me. I said nothing and the dozen-plus people around her suffered in silence. Until...

One man, seated in front of me (the aisle across from the MAAPE) finally could hold his tongue no longer. He stated, loudly enough for all of us to hear, "Thank God this isn't an overseas flight! Three hours straight?! Seriously??" In the ultimate display of camaraderie, a gentleman sitting in front of the MAAPE passed back one of those airline-sized bottles of whiskey. Followed by one filled with vodka. Followed by a can of Coke. "So this is how you're surviving!," replied the grateful fellow passenger who took the whiskey in one shot. The laughter united us, and the MAAPE turned around and smiled, wondering about the joke she must have missed. She then continued talking. As loudly as before. We all had one more good laugh at her expense when I sneezed (never a subtle thing on my part) and my quick-witted son Ian announced for everyone to hear, "Geez, Mom, must you be so LOUD!" Love that kid.

When at last the plane landed and passengers disembarked, the palpable tension was broken and along with sighs of relief were comments and questions like, "Why didn't someone say something?" (We can all blame it on Rob.) One woman suggested the flight attendant should have spoken for all of us. The attendant responded with "I couldn't believe it. I kept thinking she had to stop eventually, but she just kept going."

I learned several valuable lesson on this flight:

1. Everyone should own noise-canceling headphones.
2. Alcohol is a good idea, regardless of whether you need it to calm your nerves.
3. Never listen to your husband when it comes to dealing with a problem.

Oh, and one more thing. Don't diss the baby. Little Samuel slept through the whole thing. Lucky little Cabbage Patch kid.

Racey or Racist?

You know I tend to avoid potentially divisive issues, but perhaps as evidence of my increasingly stupid outspoken nature, I'm going to take on the issue of race, as raised by writer Anne Theriault. Anne got me worked up with her Huffpost Music article "What Miley Cyrus Did was Disgusting -- But Not for the Reasons You Think."

Yes, let's give her even more attention!

For those of you who have been living under a rock (or away from social media), Ms. Theriault is referring to the revolting, disgusting and scripted-to-generate-a-reaction performance of Miley Cyrus at the VMA Awards, The writer takes on what she refers to as "Miley's minstrel show."

She writes:

What Miley is doing is cultural appropriation. She, a wealthy white woman, is taking elements from black culture in order to achieve a specific image. Her status as a member of a traditionally oppressive race and class means that she is able to pick and choose what parts of black culture she wants to embrace without having to deal with the racism and racialization that black women live with every day. In short, she can imagine that she is being "ghetto" without having any concept of what living in a ghetto would really mean.

Ms. Theriault finds particular offense in Miley's use of "black women as props...Miley was, at one point, slapping a faceless black woman on the ass as if she was nothing more than a thing for Miley to dominate and humiliate."

My reaction to this post was disbelief and frustration. Is everything ultimately about race? Haven't white performers (musicians in particular) "culturally appropriated" elements of black culture for decades? Isn't imitation the highest form of flattery? Do African Americans really want to claim sexual vulgarity as their own? Would it have been okay if the woman Miley slapped was white? Would it be acceptable if a black woman slapped a white woman? Would the message have been different if Robin Thicke was black? Or what if Miley was a black woman rubbing up against a white man? Dear God, is this really about race?!

That was my initial response to Ms. Theriault's piece, when I assumed she was an African American woman. I confess to being surprised when I read her bio and saw her picture. Anne is white and this is her life:

Anne lives in Toronto with her husband and young son. She spends her days teaching yoga, reading in cafés, and trying to figure out how to negotiate in toddler-ese. She regularly blogs about books, nostalgia and feminism.

Clearly, deep breathing in yoga studios and hanging out in cafes qualifies this woman to write about Miley's misuse of the black experience. She can identify with what black women live with every day. Seriously?

The issue of race in this country is challenging enough without bringing a Miley Cyrus performance into the conversation. We're at a place where "black America" takes up the Trayvon Martin case as a rallying cry, and later, when three black youth kill a white man for fun, "white America" responds by asking where the hoodies are for Chris Lane. Is someone keeping score of the violent attacks one race perpetrates on another? We want to be sure things are fair. Well, guess what? They're not. And once again we're failing to ask the questions that really matter. Imagine if we spent as much time debating and addressing the real issues as we spend engrossed in the nonsense of pop culture.

We're living through one of the most challenging and disturbing times in our country's recent history. From the economy and issues of social justice, to our under-resourced educational system and involvement in foreign affairs, it's time to put our priorities in order. Let's not add the fuel of a Miley Cyrus performance to fires that have been steadily burning without her help.

Grumpy Old Woman

A foreshadowing of things to come?

I turned 44 last month. One year closer to my mid-40s and middle age. I'm not often bothered by getting older, except for the gray hair and the hearing loss and my complete inability to read a pill bottle without glasses. The one real concern I have, however, is my potential for becoming a mean, grumpy, crotchety old woman. I'm already seeing signs:

1. The "fun" I have being snarky, sassy and sarcastic in my blog is slipping over into "real life." For example, during his last visit to PA, I scolded my 4-year-old nephew for eating some of the rice from my Chinese food. I wasn't serious, of course (though I really don't like sharing my rice), but he gave me the death stare and then burst into tears. Damn kids and their tears. They'll do whatever it takes to get what they want. 
   Same thing happened when I saw some kids with their dad in a Dunkin' Donuts when I was on my way to Dutch Wonderland. I casually mentioned I was going there and how lucky I was and what a shame that their dad wasn't taking them somewhere cool like that. Again, the death stare (from the dad) and the tears (from the kids). Whatever.
2. As I'm getting older, my confidence/attitude is leaning more toward "I don't give a damn." I feel like Kathy Bates in "Fried Green Tomatoes" when she goes a little nuts and tells those bitches in the parking lot at Winn-Dixie "Face it girls, I'm older and I have more insurance" (see video below).
3. I'm more easily angered. Anger was never a prevalent emotion for me, but lately, perhaps because of the uptick in bullsh*t in my life, I definitely have a greater tendency for getting ticked off. Where I used to have a "stay out of it, keep your mouth shut, what's the point of starting something" attitude, I now feel like calling out people who are arrogant, talk out of both sides of their mouth, and don't stand up for what is right.
4. I'm becoming defensive and starting to think that "don't go down without a fight" is a way of life that I've overlooked for too long.
5. My skin is thickening. Someday I'll resemble a reptile. I'm learning, rather late in life, that it I have to toughen up if I'm going to survive in this world. Yes, there are people who don't like me. There are those who think I'm too outspoken. Some who don't think I'm "nice." Not being loved and adored used to bother me (just a few months ago), but my corporate bitch of a sister gave me a good talking to and set me straight.
6. Finally, I need increasing amounts of alone/down time. I don't want to answer the phone, respond to texts, send emails, go to meetings, visit friends, cook dinner, run errands or even write blog posts. After a full day at work, all I want is to curl up with my iPad, and sometimes my cat, and fall asleep nice and early.

As evidence of this "change" (not the change, I hope), I'm finding the greatest enjoyment in spending time with my family (at least when I can't be alone). I actually like my kids' company, and that's saying something given that they're teenagers. Even better is a day on the boat with my parents (and the kids, too, assuming they're not whiny). And for a little slice of heaven give me a getaway with Rob and throw in a dear friend or two. 

As often happens when I put my issues/feelings/angst/funkapotomusness into writing, I'm blessed with some insight. The occasional "A Ha!" moment. Having put it all out there, it occurs to me that at least some of my personality disorder changes can be attributed to evolving family dynamics. I have two children who are torpedoing toward independence. I've also experienced entirely too much loss in the past nine months. In addition to the understandable haywire affect it's having on my emotions, this loss and change is calling me to re-prioritize. And shocker -- it looks like family really does come first, with friends and faith right up there as well. What's less important is the stress of a job, the need for a clean and tidy home, and social obligations with people I really don't want to spend my valuable time with. 

Today I leave for vacation -- Breckenridge, CO -- and it can't come soon enough. It's been a tough summer. It's been a tough year. I'm ready to get away from it all and focus on the stuff that matters. I may even refrain from checking my work email. 

Just one more thing. Before you think I've truly become an evil person, I didn't actually torture some stranger's kids at Dunkin' Donuts. You didn't really think I could actually be so heartless, did you?

Top 10 Reasons You Should Join Us Next Year

I returned home three days early from my church mission trip to Banner Elk, NC last week. This change in plans did not result from an ailing child, a broken fingernail or a frightening encounter with a galloping horse (though the horse thing did happen). Unfortunately, I was called home by the death of my Aunt Glenna who had suffered from leukemia for the past six months. This is the second of my mom's sisters to pass away this year - my Aunt Faith died on April 30. This loss, my mom's grief, and the need to leave my church family at a time when I needed them most, made for a weepy couple days. My ridiculously bad hair and increasing facial blemishes didn't help either.

But this post is not meant to bring you down; I can point you to some others if that's what you're looking for. No, this post is intended to convince you to join me on next year's Media Presbyterian mission trip (church member or not!). Here are the top 10 reasons (in David Letterman fashion) to mark your calendar for 2014:

10. There is nothing worth watching on television during July and August.

9. Hot, humid, buggy weather in Pennsylvania is replaced by pleasant days and cool, sweatshirt-weather nights in the Blue Ridge Mountains of western North Carolina.

8. You will see teenagers taking on actual manual labor. You're also likely to meet a teenager who will talk to you. And perhaps hug you when you need to leave early. You'll feel much better about the next generation.

7. Evenings filled with games, devotions, carb loading in the dining hall, and rocking on the porch in the Lodge.

6. This trip provides a great opportunity to practice your southern twang and brush up on your knowledge of country music.

5. Taking vacation days to do work around your own home is sad and depressing. Taking vacation days to work on someone else's home is inspiring and rewarding.

4.  The chances are excellent that someone will actually express appreciation for your work.Try getting that at home!

3. If you're looking for friends, you will make them on this trip.

2. If MPC people are already your friends, there is no better way to spend a week together (a vacation to OBX would cost a great deal more and you wouldn't have that warm fuzzy feeling that comes from helping someone else).

1. In one week, your personal problems will be put in perspective and you'll be reminded that it isn't "all about you."

Need more convincing? Check out this video from our week:

Can we count you in next summer?