Category: Daily Life

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together

Funny how there are some stories that are retold through the centuries with little question of actual occurrence due to widespread acceptance of the inherent wisdom…

 

David was up at the crack of dawn and, having arranged for someone to tend his flock, took the food and was on his way just as Jesse had directed him.  He arrived at the camp just as the army was moving into battle formation, shouting the war cry.  Israel and the Philistines moved into positions, facing each other, battle-ready.  David left his bundles of food in the care of a sentry, ran to the troops who were deployed, and greeted his brothers.  While they were talking together, the Philistine champion, Goliath of Gath, stepped out from the front lines of the Philistines, and gave his usual challenge.  David heard him.  The Israelites, to a man, fell back the moment they saw the giant — totally frightened.

 

But David, the youngest, smallest — thought to be weakest — was not afraid…

 

David took off from the front line, running toward the Philistine.  David reached into his pocket for a stone, slung it, and hit the Philistine in the forehead, embedding the stone deeply.  The Philistine crashed, facedown in the dirt.  That’s how David beat the Philistine — with a sling and a stone.

 

Something about that account makes me smile and cheer every time.  There’s something about David’s underdog status that feels good… something about the victor who no one simply expected to be there… something about not taking success for granted… something about faith and hard work and humility that’s attractive…

 

On Friday night my sons’ high school played in the Division II football state championship.  They had never won before; in fact, in the school’s 132 year history, they had been to the playoffs only 4 times, netting a single game victory.  The school had no championships in any sport.

 

We were playing a team known for their athletic tradition, a team coached by a well-respected man, whose son plays in the NFL — a team boasting several starters fully expected to also succeed at the collegiate level.  Noting the massive size of several of their lineman, the Goliath comparisons came quickly.

Imagine then our humble glee when on this freezing, snowy night, shockingly, our boys raced to a 34-0 halftime lead.

 

As the clock ticked away — and victory became more sweetly apparent, the thousands of us that travelled the approximate 4 hours, began to catch a glimpse of what we had actually grasped…

 

Here was a group of young men — young, impressionable teens — who were about to taste something that could propel their confidence to new levels, arguably spurring them on, boosting their self-confidence for whatever’s next in life…

 

They worked hard.  They believed in one another.  They encouraged one another and held each other accountable.  They played and prayed together.  They had a vision and belief in what they could accomplish together, united, as a team! … not this me-oriented thinking that is so prevalent in today’s society within leadership and perceived success.

 

The student body, staff, administration, and community all then rallied around them.  Friends from outside the community — former residents, adjacent school families — they rallied around.  There was no negativity, no permeating criticism, no dwelling on what we weren’t or aren’t or have never been; rather, there was a community focus on together, who we could be and what we could accomplish.  Let’s cheer these growing young men on… in celebration… together.  Amazing what unity will do… how good it feels.

 

There’s just something about the victor who no one simply expected to be there… something about not taking success for granted… something about faith and hard work and humility that’s attractive…

 

Well done, boys.  Well done.

 

Respectfully,

AR

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losing faith

What happens when people lose faith in the one who calls the shots?

 

I wonder what happens when the people’s trust erodes…

… when results fail to match unquestionably high expectations…

Can the leader still be effective?  Can the leader still lead? …

 

In Houston, once hoping to soar to unprecedented professional heights this season, the Texans found themselves losing multiple games and their leader, Texan QB, Matt Schaub, throwing multiple interceptions.  Once revered as the beloved franchise quarterback, Schaub found himself instead the target of weekly, intensifying boos.  While Schaub was mercifully bailed out by an injury that deemed him unable to play, now healthy, he has not returned to the starting lineup.  So even though his peers in Philadelphia, New York, and Cleveland provide some semblance of solace, a clear majority of people no longer trust Schaub to do his job well.

 

In Washington, once buoyed by the support of far more than party loyalists, the administration found the Obamacare rollout severely flawed and their leader, Pres. Obama, initially repeating promises that were untrue.  You cannot automatically keep your insurance if you like it, and you may not be able to keep your doctor or hospital either.  Once revered as the strong leader of the Democratic Party, Obama is finding himself instead the target of intensifying criticism.  In a new CNN/ORC International Survey, an unprecedented 53% of Americans now believe that Obama is not honest and trustworthy.  While the Intramuralist’s perspective is certainly limited (and also somewhat biased because I believe Obamacare to be unwise, massive policy), my sense is Obama is hoping to be mercifully bailed out by a website that finally works.  My sense is he would also like to be mercifully bailed out by a press that changes the subject.  Nonetheless, a clear majority of people, at least at this point, no longer trust Obama to do his job well.

 

At the North Pole (sorry), once alive and well in the imaginations of young children,  Santa Claus has found himself competing with the latest technology and fingertip information that threatens to pierce the reality of his fictional existence.  Once revered as the jolly old icon of the Christmas season, Santa is finding himself the target of intensifying disappointment, as he is clearly unable to meet all the desires and demands of each child — and as we live in a world continually drained by materialistic expectations.  Just last week, this semi-humble blogger only added to the growing disappointment, as when my young son asked to pause and take his picture with the bearded fellow at the local mall, I immediately dissuaded him.  “He charges money for that.”  To which my impressionable young son replied, “Why would Santa charge money?”  An arguable majority of children no longer trust Santa to do his job well.

 

What happens when our trust in our leaders erodes?  … when results fail to match expectations?  What happens when we no longer have faith in their performance? … and… or… who they are?

 

Granted, there’s far more to the NFL than the Texans quarterback, far more to Washington than the White House, and far more to Christmas than Santa Claus.

 

Come to think of it, Santa doesn’t have anything to do with faith.

 

Thank God.

 

Respectfully,

AR

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why/when race matters

Tell me:  why does skin color matter?  When does it matter?

 

In an interview with the BBC to promote her new film, “The Butler” — a film about race relations — Oprah Winfrey discussed race relations and the White House.

 

The BBC interviewer asked:  “Has it ever crossed your mind that some of the treatment of Obama and the challenges he’s faced and some of the reporting he’s received is because he’s an African American?”

 

Noting the celebrity status and thus power of Winfrey, there is ample credence to the notion that Oprah’s public relations team most likely provided this question to the interviewer beforehand.  Nonetheless, here is Oprah’s response:

 

“Has it ever crossed my mind? … Probably it’s crossed my mind more times than it’s crossed your mind.  Just the level of disrespect.  When the senator yelled out, ‘You’re a liar’ — remember that?  Yeah, I think that there is a level of disrespect for the office that occurs, and that occurs in some cases and maybe even many cases because he’s African American.”

 

While the timing of Winfrey’s public assertion may have more to do with her theatrical release, it’s interesting indeed that the claim comes simultaneously with Pres. Obama’s approval ratings sinking steeply.  With the flawed rollout of Obamacare and the recognition of unknowns, mistruths, and broken promises, Obama has plummeted to approval numbers comparable to Bush after Katrina and Bill after Monica (… sorry, that line flowed off the keyboard just a little too quickly).

 

But my point today is not about approval numbers.  In fact, my personal impression is that our leaders and their staffs pay far too much attention to polls and perceptions; too much decision-making is guided by their perceived image.  My question today centers more around race.

 

Regardless of whether the question was posed prior by her own PR staff, I have little doubt Oprah said what she meant and meant what she said.  She believes that Pres. Obama has been disrespected many times because he is black.  In other words, she believes skin color matters.

 

I struggle with that.  I don’t struggle because I disagree with her.  No, the reality is that there exist people in this country who dislike and disagree with this President and his policies solely because he’s black.  The reality is equally true, however, that there exist people in this country who like and agree with Obama and his policies solely because he’s black.  Neither of those scenarios represents objective, critical thinking.  In both select situations — regardless of opposition or advocacy — skin color matters.

 

Where I hesitate is when a person asserts a definitive conclusion from a limited vantage point… when someone such as Oprah concludes a motive exists, which may be based more on their own passion and opinion than on a complete and comprehensive perspective.  For example, when the congressman yelled, “You lie,” what logical, irrefutable information do we have that ties the assertion of falsehood to the color of Obama’s skin?  Note that no president should ever be chastised like that; no leader should be chastised publicly, so disrespectfully.  Let us also note that the comment was in response to an Obamacare promise, a subject which we are painfully now learning was enacted with some significant mistruths.

 

It is well known here that I believe the Affordable Care Act, in totality, to be an unwise law.  It’s too big, too costly, and too prone to corruption.  Let me also state unequivocally that my perspective has zero to do with the color of anyone’s skin.

 

Race does matter in our country.  It matters to many blacks, whites, Hispanics, you-name-it.  We don’t always know why.  But unknown to Oprah, we can’t tell you when.

 

Respectfully,

AR

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bomb threat

Last week, unfortunately, my son’s school ended up being added to the growing list of schools where someone did something stupid.  Sorry, I don’t really care for the word “stupid.”  Yet with a faint but intentional acknowledgement of the existence of evil on this planet, a bomb threat was communicated to my son’s middle school administrators.  While the school system responded admirably indeed, I continue to stand amazed at all the disruption and distress caused by the foolish actions of one person.

 

Thankfully, the threat was nothing more than an empty call for chaos.  Most students were diverted before the busses ever arrived; the school was then searched, and no actual explosives ever materialized.  School was cancelled, as a separate building was then designated as the pickup point for all affected students.  Thank God the threat was nothing more.

 

But as the mind of the Intramuralist often feels as if it’s continuously circling, there was an additional aspect of this process that couldn’t escape my attention.  It was actually rather amazing… fairly fascinating… not really disturbing, although perhaps so to some… as I was especially struck by the actions of a few of the parents.

 

As we rushed to the school, understandably, several ran.  Several sprinted.  We were eager to swoop up our 5th, 6th, 7th, and 8th graders as quickly as possible.  When we reached the pickup point, we then had to wait in line, offer proper identification, and one of the teachers would bring us our child.  I was fascinated by the frantic few who refused to wait in line.

 

When I arrived, came to a stop, waiting my turn, there was a middle-aged mom who ran up directly behind me.  She paused for a mere moment, and then uttered, “@#%&^!!  I’m not waiting in any line for my kid!”  She then swiftly maneuvered around me and all others who proceeded her, boldly barging to the front of the line.

 

Many times since I’ve thought of that woman.  She had to be at the front of the line.  It didn’t matter that the rest of us were each there for our children, that we, too, were facing similar circumstances, nor that we, too, wanted to ensure the safety of our kids.  To this mom (and a few frantic more), all else was irrelevant.

 

Obviously, her passion was pure.  She was passionate about her kid’s safety.  But it struck me how her own passion — which was beautiful and wonderful and yes, for an excellent cause — allowed her to be blind to the needs and causes of all others.

 

Was she arrogant, as some have suggested?  Maybe, but I don’t think so.  I’m not certain we can discern that via such actions.  Rather, I think she was blind.

 

How often, friends, do we allow passions — which are beautiful and wonderful and yes, for an excellent cause — to blind us to the needs, wants, emotions, and passions of other people?  Is our passion so important that all else pales in comparison? … or should pale?  Is it ok, even for those good causes, that we deem all else irrelevant or insignificant?

 

Is this not once more, an example of how intelligence and wisdom collide?  Where a passionate, excellent cause, even among the intelligent, may blind us to other valid circumstances and concerns?

 

Where are we blind?

 

Last week, unfortunately, my son’s school ended up being added to the growing list of schools where someone did something stupid.

 

Respectfully,

AR

Posted on

groups

As my teenagers consistently calculate their oh-so-active weekend social schedule, there exists constant talk of, with, and about the “group.”

 

The “group.”  What’s the “group” going to do?  Where are they?  What’s the “group” think?  Text the “group.”  What do they say?

 

For months I’ve witnessed this phenomena unfold.  The evolution and application never quite donned on me… until well, now…

 

The “group” plans everything.  The “group” is in control.  It’s not especially democratic nor does the majority always rule.  It would seem instead that often the loudest voices in the “group” make the decision; sometimes there are several who are simply silent, but who still seemingly, at least, go along with the “group.”

 

It’s not, however, just for the big dance.  The “group” plans pretty much everything… what are we doing this weekend?  Where are we going?  Whose house will we stay at?  What do we want to eat?  How do we feel about that?

 

And membership, well, it’s a bit exclusive.

 

I remember when a new gal appeared, with nothing less than a trepidatious tiptoe, obviously desiring to join them.  “Not so fast,” seemed the initially unspoken claim.  Soon after, however, came, “Well, she can join us, but she’s not a member of the ‘group.’”  [Yes, an actual quote.]  Membership is a privilege.

 

I’ve decided that once again our teens have watched us adults a little too well… witnessing how we behave, taking both conscious and subconscious note, and then emulating our habits in ways which first adopt and then magnify both the good and the bad.

 

For adults, too, we have our “groups”… “groups” in which the identity of the “group” often becomes priority number one…  when the fight for preservation of the “group” trumps what is wisest and best…

 

… we fight for our groups based on team… for Cowboys or Patriots…

… we fight for our groups based on race… for black or Hispanic…

… we fight for our groups based on politics… for Democrats or Republicans…

… we fight for our groups based on profession… gender… demographics… religion… education… based on a singular commonality or focus.  And that singular focus often paves the path for a significant blindside, as when we fight only for our “group,” we tend to lose sight of the bigger, wiser picture…

 

When we fight only for our sports “group,” we no longer can appreciate the remarkable talent on display when Tom Brady throws that perfect, last second pass…

 

When we fight only for our ethnic “group,” we no longer see that when we put one race first, we’re engaging in the same behavior of which we are critical…

 

And when we fight only for our political “group,” we no longer recognize that spending on our party initiatives can blind us to the perils of unsustainable, deficit spending.

 

When we fight only for our “groups,” it seems we act more like our teens.

 

Respectfully,

AR

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reasoning like a child

Years ago there was a significant part of me that would acknowledge, “I talked like a child; I thought like a child; I reasoned like a child.”  I suppose deep within each of us there will always exist some grappling with that immaturity.  12 years ago my immaturity was altered.

 

I was awaiting my authorized exit from the hospital, having given birth the day before to our third son.  My exit was authorized; his was not.

 

Note #1:  Josh wasn’t the child I expected.

Note #2:  none of our children are what we expect.

 

As valiantly as any attempt, we cannot control all aspects of any child — who they are or what they will become.  With young master Josh, we simply knew that right away.

 

Josh was born with Down syndrome.  He was also born with a life-threatening congenital heart defect that would cause us to spend a month in the cardiac ICU wing, only a few short months after his birth.

 

There is much we could discuss today in regard to the specifics…  how much we knew beforehand… how he couldn’t breathe on his own when born… how the OB staff still saw Josh as a miracle… how I felt no pain, with no meds, even with contractions at their most intense point… the night he almost died… how people walked alongside us, learning to love us both practically and well… how others stumbled forward, not knowing what to say… how it was hard for all of us… how we understood…  how family embraced us… how other moments were awkward and some even ugly… like how the geneticist greeted us by saying, “This must be the saddest day of your whole life.”

 

Each of those could serve as a blog post in their own right (… and maybe they will some day), but with the plethora of unique and raw emotion, what the Intramuralist desires to focus on today — noting all the crud and disrespectful communication that’s especially rampant in the country — is how Josh’s birth changed how I think… how this then newborn babe helped me talk and think and reason a little less “like a child”…

 

I’m a little less judgmental.

I no longer believe intelligence and wisdom are the same.

I value wisdom more.

I don’t believe intelligence is all it’s cracked up to be.

I have a different concept of beauty.

Big words don’t always speak best.

Outward appearances mean less.

I really don’t care about IQ tests.

I care a lot about solid character.

I’m more intentional in teaching our children well.

I value life more.

I realize how little I’m in control.

I know God is real.

I know his ways aren’t always my ways, but I now know they’re still good.

I see a difference between what the world calls wisdom and what wisdom really is.

My heart is softer.

I have a greater recognition of something bigger than me.

I’m not afraid to speak truth.

With compassion, of course.

I love better and less conditionally.

And I recognize that none of us know it all.

 

I didn’t — and still don’t —  know it all.  I didn’t even know as much as I thought I did.  Years ago I never knew how one small child could melt my heart… melting it down to a place of greater compassion… and far greater wisdom… and how what this world considers bad and weak could be so ironically, good and strong.

 

Thank God for 12 years ago… for reasoning a little less “like a child.”

 

Respectfully,

AR

Posted on

blurred lines

[Note:  this post was penned prior to last week’s provocative, public dance by Miley Cyrus. In other words, the lines were already blurry.]

 

Everybody get up!

 

I’m up. I’m dancing like any good un-retired disco queen of the late ’70’s. I love, love, love the beat of this song. It’s being called the song of the summer by media. I’ve watched the Robin Thicke/Jimmy Fallon version of Blurred Lines on YouTube an embarrassing number of times. This version uses school instruments and has a PG-rated solo. It’s a super fun vibe. The band is smiling, jamming, rocking, kidding around and having a terrific time. Then I read the original lyrics on several popular lyric websites.

 

Hey, hey, hey. 

 

Prude would never be a word used to describe me. Each day less and less things make my chin drop. But some of those lyrics… oh, my! Now I know this isn’t the first rap song to use offensive (to me) words but it’s the first nasty rap I really have fun listening to. I want to buy it so bad.

 

You know you want it.

 

There exists controversy over whether or not the song is “misogynistic” or “rapey”, and when I read the words rapper TI sings, I wonder who really resonates with this sex slang. Why does any song any where in any language need to say what he says? This is where I get really confused. And then there is the original music video with nude dancers. They chose to do a remake on that one. Wonder why?

 

If you can’t hear what I’m trying to say. 

 

Why add the obscene? Life can be sad and hard and even cruel all on its own. Why throw more violence and crass images into the universe? But I love the bounce of this song. Perfect for car dancing but I don’t have it on  my iphone because I can’t justify some really bad lyrics in part of the song.

 

Maybe I’m out of my mind.

 

This isn’t about nasty rap; it’s about me trying to convince myself that if the beat is good, I can overlook the really negative message of the words. There is a disconnect with the fun loving, smiling men wearing wedding rings, everything-is-alright-then group singing this terrifically fun song. I actually had that argument in my head. They all look too nice and happy for it to be wrong!

 

Can’t let it get past me.

 

So now I wonder how many other things I excuse the nasty because I like the beat? Books, movies, TV shows, gossip, certain friendships, idle thoughts. Apparently I have selective vision, only focusing on the good and fun stuff when the obscene side is right there as well. It’s just a song, right? No big deal. What’s the real harm in buying the tune and ingraining the lyrics in my head?

 

Maybe I’m going deaf.

 

After 50 plus years I can recognize the little voice that whispers “good choice/bad choice. Sometimes I listen to the voice and sometimes I conveniently ignore it. This time I’m hearing the old adage, “garbage in, garbage out.” I combat that one in my head with “don’t throw the baby out with the bath water.” I really, really  like this song…sort of.

 

I hate these blurred lines.

 

Respectfully,

CB

Posted on

state of the race

I am white.  I don’t like being labelled white or even Caucasian. But because I’m in the race majority for the time being (though this is supposed to change sometime in the next fifteen years and whites will be in the minority), I carry a burden. In the U.S. we still have never made it past the race issue.  When my forbears came to this country in the early 1900’s, they were labeled dumb Pollacks. That wasn’t nice; the Polish worked hard, taking menial labor in the coal mines and working three jobs to make life easier for their children.

 

This is where I get upset.  I’m trying to be respectful since I am a guest of AR. I don’t understand why black people (and hey, I have two half black nephews, so I am not racist) are frequently changing what white people are supposed to call them. Colored? Not anymore. African American? The label du jour. But I know a lot of black people who are not from Africa and they resent the label. Asians don’t seem to be too upset about being called…. Asian.  Native Americans used to be Indians, but I don’t get the same sense of them having a chip on their shoulder about being or being called Native Americans.  Hispanics?  They deal with their label, too.

 

Where am I going with this? Well, as a white person, I wonder why African Americans have their own television network and awards program. When whites become the minority in the U.S. — and in 2012 white babies born in the U.S were in the minority, and whites are projected to be in the minority by 2043 — I don’t think we will have the white equivalent of the NAACP. I don’t foresee whites getting that coveted college scholarship or reduction in tuition because they will be the minority. The Hispanics do have their own TV shows, but I don’t see them pushing their agenda, which is equality, I think. Maybe superiority?  I don’t know.

 

Because, if you ask me, we are all equal.  All races.  We now have a black president.  I never voted based on race, so the black president thing isn’t about Obama being half white and half black. But a lot of people make it about that very thing.  Which then diminishes the equality of the situation.

 

I didn’t like when Obama chimed in about the George Zimmerman trial saying Trayvon was an African American (true) killed by a white person (not true). Zimmerman is half Hispanic. There they go again, making it about race. It isn’t. If I see a white teen walking around with his hoodie pulled up, a part of me becomes watchful. He could be any color and my guard might go up. To me, this was not about race.  But some made it about race… again.

 

One more thing.  If black people ever say they want reparations for their ancestors being slaves, I am opting out.  I didn’t have a slave. My ancestors didn’t have slaves either. They were dirt poor, eking out an existence in Eastern Europe.  Which is why they made the trip to America. If anything, I want reparations for my ancestors being labeled dumb and being treated like dirt. That hurts me that my forebears were labeled and treated poorly by other people’s ancestors in America.

 

See where this leads? To craziness. Race is not an issue anymore.  Black people are afforded the same opportunities as any other race in America.  We all have to work hard and grasp for that brass ring if we want to make it here. So please, stop talking about race and start exerting your energies toward making your world better. But if we’re going to continue this tedious discussion about race and what different races need and demand, then you need to call me what I am.  An Eastern European American.

Here’s to not having to check a box on forms stating our race. Here’s to equality for all.

 

Thanks for listening.

 

Respectfully,

DEE

Posted on

scars

When my daughter was barely 2 yrs old, she took off at her best toddling speed on an unfortunately gravelly path.  Before her grandmother could catch her, she had tumbled face forward.  Shaken to see her innocent face smeared with blood, dirt & tears, I was quickly summoned.  As I held her to assess the damage, her little hands tried to rub away the pain of an open gash between her upper lip & her nose.

 

Too eager to play to get fully cleaned up from dinner before the frolicking began, reflex now sent her hands to the wound, grimy with dirt and remains of spaghetti sauce.

 

Other than not being able to prevent this pain in the first place, the most difficult thing for me was having to gently pry her little hands away from the injury.  I tried to explain as best I could in two year old terms that we needed to clean the wound & not to hurt it more.  I secured her arms as she bravely allowed the nurse to disinfect the area & apply a “butterfly” bandage.  Tears finally stalled when she saw her face with the butterfly “mustache” in the mirror.  Amused, she smiled at herself, which stretched at the gap above her lip, re-activating the pain, beginning the crying & hand restraint all over again.

 

As difficult as that was, I sensed God speaking to me & showing me a lesson in it.

Like a download of understanding, I could sense His compassion toward me, toward us, His kids.  I saw how I had been the child, hurting & trying with my own inadequate hands to fix my pain, often exposing myself to more injury & infection.  Less trusting than my daughter had been, I had even flailed out, hurting others in my attempts to “help” myself.

 

I saw His constraining love as a parent. Suddenly I could appreciate the necessity of Him asking of me what I might be too limited to comprehend in this earthly realm; to trust Him in the process beyond my natural impulse to fix things according to my own understanding.

 

Born this side of heaven while made for glorious eternity, life can seem unfair.  My biggest battles seem to be curbing my childish attempts to manage my own impulses… anger, selfishness, envy, pride, lust, gluttony… Thankfully, even through the pain I have caused myself & others, His longsuffering nature still beckons me to return my focus to Him.  The more times I opt to be still, look to Him, & wait to see Him work, His healing comes to my body & soul.  His purposes become more & more clear.

 

A dozen years later after the incident, my daughter is left with little more than a small scar that I see as a “beauty mark” above her lip.  This & many other scars in my own life remind me of the understanding I received in those moments, the message He has now, several times over, written on me.  I am getting more used to being still & allowing Him to comfort & secure me.  He has cleaned & dressed many wounds in me, & drawn my sight to a higher place from which to see the healing taking place, to see Him work.  I am beginning to see His reflection, a new creation, the new me! …With some beautiful scars, & stories of healing to tell…

 

Respectfully,

RMH

Posted on

privacy (guest writer #10)

“What’s the big deal?”

This is the response I hear most often when broaching the subject of privacy and the whole Snowden affair.

 

“My life is an open book. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, so I don’t really care who knows what I say or do.”

 

That may be true, but is that really the point?

 

Two of my children living in my house have a bevy of electronic devices (i.e. cell phone, iPods, e-readers, computers, etc.) One is 14 years old and the other is 22.

 

Now, for the 14-year old, we have total access. We know her passwords, we spot check text messages and emails, have friended her on Facebook, and look over her shoulder when she is online. It is not that we distrust her, but she is a child and still under our protection. Our job as a parent is both to keep her safe and to help her navigate through the good and bad of communicating electronically.  Whether or not you have set up the same rules for your teenager, you probably understand why we do what we do. We know that minors have yet to acquire the wisdom, life-experience, skills and discernment needed to live independently. In other words, children need parenting.

 

On the other hand, if we were to engage in this same level of involvement with our 22 year-old, you would say that we were over-bearing, over-reaching, over-protective, and, well, just wrong.

 

Why?

Because he is adult.

 

And as an adult, our gut tells us that he has some rights. These rights include the right to privacy, the right to expression, the right to his own beliefs, the right to not have unwarranted searches of his property and possessions, the right to protect himself and his property from invasion, and the right to be treated as innocent until proven guilty. If some of these sound familiar, it might be because our founding fathers guaranteed these rights in the amendments of the United States Constitution.

 

So what is the big deal about Snowden’s revelation that our government is actively collecting and storing every single electronic communication that you create?

 

Is it that our government no longer considers its citizens as independent adults? Are we seen by the government as children needing care and supervision? Do we want the people in our government to view themselves as responsible to oversee its citizens, or as public servants that work for and represent a free people?  And, do we as a people want our citizens to view themselves as responsible, self-governing, capable adults?

 

I think the big deal is in the answers to these questions.

 

Respectfully,

Sharon