Category: Daily Life

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here’s to 2016

IMG_5493 (3)After a year of atypical, ardent ups and downs, the Intramuralist and company set out to add some new experiences to our annual, end of year celebrations. Hence, this midwestern family of five found ourselves in the middle of Times Square as the ball and confetti dropped, ringing in the festive start to 2016.

It was actually fascinating; we had never done that before — “a bucket lister,” said one enthusiastic son. And so with an approximate 999,995 others, we did our best packed sardines imitation — albeit mostly without the odor and oil.

On one hand, the precautions were eye-opening in a “huge-A-Ha,” unfortunate way. We noted the thousands of police officers positioned to protect us; they were on every corner… in the streets… on the subway. It is a sad reality that such joy-filled public celebrations must now be guarded against those who set out to only destroy; the evil and terror has pierced our innocence. No doubt none in our family will soon forget the few officers thus actually armed with AK-47s.

Yet herded as we were into this unprecedented environment on NYC’s jam-packed 7th Avenue, there was something more eye-opening and encouraging than all the precautions, all the protection, and all who attempted to zap the joy of New Year’s Eve…

Picture this… picture the most crowded place you can imagine — a stadium, a massive conference room… people everywhere… with little room to do anything more than raise your arms with smart phone in hand in order to capture the next snapshot, chat, whatever.

But unlike such typical scenarios, where a crowd of massive size would be aware of varied interests and individual wants, needs, opinions, emotions, etc., we were all focused on the same thing; we were all excited about the same thing; we were all looking in the same direction — eyes focused — waiting and wanting for the big ball to drop.

Without a doubt, there is a inherently beautiful meaning accompanying the dropping of that New Year’s ball…

Instead of focusing on our differences and maximizing what we don’t have in common — noting that in an actual, estimated crowd of one million people, countless significant differences exist — we shared something greater. Indeed, it was far greater… so great, in fact, our individual differences did not matter…

… different genders, ethnicities, ages, faiths, etc. They did not matter. They were also not watered-down. Our differences did not have to be ignored or removed in order for the celebration to ensue. We were each excited about a celebration greater than self.

I was especially struck by my youngest son, that incredible kid who has never been disabled by his special needs. Note that previous to our trip, we had (sadly) cautioned him in regard to taming some of his typically more overt, overly friendly interactions in Manhattan. But sensing there was something different about this crowd — and people actually were interacting and were friendly — Josh said “hello” to an elderly New Yorker. Encouraged by a brief acknowledgement, Josh continued, “Hey,” he paused. “Want to be friends?” The man was first taken by surprise; he then lit up with a huge grin, articulating a hearty, warm Italian response, and said, “You just made my whole night!”


Our nights were each made — because our individual differences did not matter. We could simply, poignantly, “be friends.”

Oh, how I crave such… that we learn to accept and respect our differences — with no demanding-ness, no in-your-face-ness, no watering down nor need to force everyone else to “think like you/me”… no narcissism… no arrogance… no “mad-as-hell” rants or unattractive self-promotion…

It’s amazing what that big ball can do.

Here’s to 2016, friends… as we wrestle with our differences via respectful dialogue — always encouraging one another to grow.

Respectfully…
AR

 

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excellent communication

thEvery now and then my youngest son says something that blows me away; in fact, in a world where healthy communication and intelligence aren’t always linked together, I am often impressed by the wisdom in Josh’s words.

(Note: let us never allow the labeling of “special needs” to cause us to conclude that there exists an inability — or a lesser ability — to communicate well with others.)

Today’s post, no less, is not long. I simply wish to share with you my gifted teen’s profound, transparent thinking; he teaches me much, even in the normal routines of daily life. Sometimes we just have to ensure our eyes and ears are open… such as earlier this week…

On Tuesday, Josh had an eye doctor appointment. It’s a somewhat rare occurrence for him, as we had not been to this particular physician for three years. The surroundings were thus somewhat foreign.

We immediately walked into the waiting room, which while rather large, still only hosted less than a handful of other patients at the time. There was a toddler waiting, who sat quietly off in a corner playing with a few toys. There was also an elderly gentlemen in need of care. Before we both joined them, I went to the window to check in, while Josh ventured off to select two seats for us in the room.

After a few minutes and even more in-need-of-filling forms, I finished registering and turned to find Josh. I saw him nowhere. I scanned the room, wondering if he had for some reason wandered off.

And then what to my wondering eyes should merrily appear, but in the back of the room, there was a miniature plastic house — one of those Little Tikes playhouses — with doors, windows, shutters and shades — that stood no more than four feet tall. I narrowed my focus, and sure enough, through the plastic window slats, I saw Josh’s big, blue eyes peek out at me. His smile was radiant and contagious.

So I strolled across the room taking a seat near an adjacent, outside window, eager to greet Josh in his newfound, gleeful discovery. He sat on the floor — this 8th grader taking up most all the space inside the house. I quickly realized, however, that his glee was gone. He sat there, stationary… and silent.

So I waited, giving him time to think and reflect. Then all of a sudden, he offered a single, serious, but not unhappy phrase:

“I miss being little.”

How profound… how honest… what an excellent communicator..

I miss being little…

May my eyes, ears, and heart always be open to what this young man has to say. He teaches many of us daily.

Respectfully…
AR

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sharing a different story

ShuttlecockOne of my more fun (and shareable) college habits was to enroll in a Phys. Ed. class each semester, giving me at least one class where the load was light but I still received academic credit — also a class I would knowingly, thoroughly enjoy. Hence, if one would ever pull out that dusty old transcript, they would find among others, each of the following, highly-esteemed classes on my resume:

  • Racquetball
  • Basketball
  • Ballroom Dancing
  • Bowling; and… (wait for it…)
  • Beginning, Intermediate, and Advanced Golf

It was great! Each was co-ed, adding to the fun — even though I was one of only two females in my male-dominated basketball class; in fact, it was obvious that our talented male classmates — several who starred on their high school teams — weren’t especially thrilled with me and my female cohort. Yet one day when I was playing the shooting guard spot, I was able to block a notably stronger competitor — one of the undisputed, most athletic men in class. My male teammate was then able to slide around him, finishing with an eye-catching, monstrous dunk. My teammate, who had not spoken to me all semester, then finally made eye contact; he offered his sole words to me that spring: “Nice pick.” It’s one of the best compliments I’ve ever received.

Arguably, however, my favorite P.E. class was none other than Badminton. For whatever reason, there was just something endearing about this sport that I previously, primarily only associated with backyards and barbecues. I learned so much there. And it was there I learned that this casual summer sport meant so much more in other parts of the world; there is an entire World Federation, highlighting athletes graced with phenomenal fitness, agility, strength, speed, and precision… so much more than a mere light-hearted focus on that feathered, little shuttlecock in the summer.

I was befriended that semester by a young man who grew up playing competitively in Thailand. He played on the equivalent of an American AAU team. Erwin and I were fast friends, and so we often played badminton outside of class. Without a doubt, he sharpened me and my skills. I improved immensely — and came to love the game.

In the final weeks of that semester, the teaching assistant set up a round-robin tournament, in which we would play each class member one-on-one. I did fairly well, finding myself in a much-anticipated match against the #2 men’s singles tennis player at a Big Ten university. Obviously, while badminton was not his number one sport, he was very good. I was just an athletic competitor, loving intramurals, who had picked up the light racquet for the first time that semester.

The match was interactive and intense from the start… back and forth… back and forth. We were playing the best of 3 games, playing to 15, having to win by 2, with a person only able to score while serving. The match was intense; my time with Erwin had obviously paid off. Much to the surprise of the teacher, me, everyone in the auxiliary gym that day, and, that #2 men’s tennis player, this became an especially tight match. It went on and on, play after play — each strategically placing that shuttlecock in precise areas of the rectangular court. He won game one; I won game two. Next came game three.

By this time most other match-ups quietly paused to watch what was seemingly surprisingly evolving. I saw Erwin smiling often, cheering his precious protege on. And sure enough, as I felt the sweat increase on my brow — and actually saw it on my opponent’s — in addition to his altered facial expressions, realizing that this scholarshipped athlete (in tennis, no less!) was about to be beaten by a un-scholarshipped girl — my confidence increased exponentially. The match was over in less than an hour. Erwin and I embraced at game’s end. It was an awesome day.

For years I have proudly shared that story including the most memorable outcome, how this semi-humble Intramuralist beat a collegiately ranked, men’s singles tennis player in badminton. It was one of my favorite highlights. But in all reality, odd as this may seem, while I remember how I felt — and I remember the looks on the faces of the people in the room — I honestly cannot remember if I won or lost. I don’t know.

I have often wondered if that tennis player and I were in the same room again today, how he would tell the story. We were in the same place, same time, sharing the same experience, but sensing different emotions. He might say it differently. He might even say he won.

Remembering such — and remembering that one time badminton prowess — helps me give great grace to people whose perspective is different than mine… even when experiencing the exact same thing.

Respectfully…
AR

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AP GOV

chalkboard_by_lorelinde-d8u2l4gMy mother has long talked to me about the blank chalkboards in each of our lives. Here it is… behind us… blank… just waiting to be written upon. Time for new markings — sometimes with a little dust leftover from the eraser — but new markings, nonetheless. The beautiful time to write is now.

My older son no doubt felt that empowering chalkboard behind him when he left for year one in college last fall; he was well aware and excited for the unique opportunity ahead of him.

My middle son is currently sensing the chalkboard  — at least politically; he’s enrolled in AP Government.

Let me first diffuse a bit of my facetious facade… JT’s class selection certainly pales in comparison to his older brother’s whole new set up and surroundings. Relevant, however, to our Intramuralist postings, my middle son is learning all about government and politics; he’s seeing the big picture — and all the little nuances — all, comprehensively, for the first time. Note: it will not be me who does the writing upon his beautiful, blank chalkboard.

He observes.
He processes.
He asks questions and more questions — and then comes to his own conclusions…

Is democracy the wisest form of government?

Do people realize that a democratic republic is different than pure democracy?

Why would someone consistently support spending more money than they take in?

What lives do we protect and what lives don’t we? Why the difference?

How is it that politicians can promise free college without a way to pay for it?

Where is the limit to taxation?

How can a person claim to be tolerant but then be intolerant of the one who thinks different than they do?

Why do these guys stay in office so long? Why are there not term limits?

What is despotism?

How involved should government be in creating social policy?

How did Christianity influence our Constitution? What was our founders’ desire?

What’s the definition of the separation of Church and State? Does it really exist?

How do people misconstrue the Constitution?

Is that Executive Order legal? Do presidents know they can’t legislate? Does the Supreme Court know they can’t legislate?

Do people realize the foolishness in politicizing EVERYTHING?

AND…

Is there anything else we should be declaring our independence from?

I’m thankful this day my son isn’t quite ready to claim full independence from me… although it’s not my job to do all the writing on his chalkboard.

The beauty is that the younger generation gets to fill it in on their own. We get the privilege of watching them grow.

Respectfully…
AR

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amazing

IMG_5032When my youngest son was born, we were greeted by all the plethora of standard congratulatory salutations. But there’s something when a child is born with a disability that threatens to damper what should be none other than a celebration… “Yes, I’m humbled and thrilled at the birth of my child and God’s incredible creation — but I have to change my expectations. This isn’t the life I had planned… not for him… not for me.” I didn’t say that. But I thought it… often.

And no doubt due to the totally penetrating grace of God — even when I am clueless — I quickly realized that the blessing of Josh was no less than any other. He was amazing — just the way he was… just the way he is.

While I got there emotionally — with my dear family and friends who “came along” — it was soon apparent that not everyone else in contemporary culture gets that. There was the geneticist who referred to the day of Josh’s birth as “the saddest day of your whole life.” There was the one resident, callously mumbling after a broken finger that it “wasn’t like he’s ever going to play in the orchestra or anything.” And there were the many who made well-intentioned stabs at encouragement by saying Josh could grow up and “get a great job” bagging at the local grocery store.

I chose not to focus on those who weren’t where I was. I knew God was calling me to a wiser perspective… that it was not up to me to decide what my kids could and could not do. It was not up to me to dictate. It was not up to me to focus only on the perceived end results. It was, however, up to me to celebrate who my son was, how God uniquely wired him, and to encourage him to grow.

Josh is in 8th grade now. (Careful — he thinks being the oldest grade in school is akin to something close to “king.”) But as one who has watched his older brothers thrive in one of Ohio’s premiere show choir organizations, Josh decided last week to try out at the junior high level.

Truthfully, I was a bit skeptical at first. The bar is high, and it should be for such a talented organization. But if I was completely transparent, I would also acknowledge that I was weary of the time commitment required on my part — early a.m. practices, multiple week night practices, and all the supervision necessary, so as not to add more to the director’s already, admirably full plate.

 And so we spent Monday – Friday last week at show choir tryouts… up at 5:40 a.m., getting Josh ready, grabbing breakfast, downing the protein, and out the door by 6:30 in order to arrive at least 15 minutes early. We also practiced each night at home, worked on his dance moves, his vocals — with Dad and big brother joining along.

Let me add that initially, Josh didn’t comprehend the idea of a “try out.” He assumed everyone made it. I was worried about that lack of realization — that is, until Thursday, when on our way, he prayed, “And God, I know you have my back, whether I make it or not.” 

 I loved that.

So each morning the 80 some adolescents worked on the newly taught choreography. They danced as a group before the director and judges. I was there in case Josh needed anything. His teacher also graciously volunteered to come in early multiple days, helping with any supervision. (She is excellent — love our community!!) Then on Friday, it was Josh’s turn to actually sing before the judges — only 10-20 seconds. All students sit still while only one sings.

From this semi-humble parent’s vantage point, Josh’s singing was excellent. His enunciation was a little off — maybe his tone a bit, too — but nothing took away from the beauty of his words. As for his dancing ability, he was a half second or two behind on several of the synchronized moves; sometimes, too, he turned in the wrong direction, but he got it. That boy can dance!

Let me briefly share that Josh didn’t make it. I have great respect for the director, so please, no sighs; we had a great week! Let me also share, though, what I learned…

I was first reminded of that perspective I believe God desires us to have — to celebrate who each of our kids are, how God uniquely wires them, and to encourage them to grow.
Second, I learned that we often put too much emphasis on the end results; the process — and the growth in that process — is without a doubt, beautiful.

And lastly, I was struck most by Josh’s own words — words that are true. Loudly and proudly, with all others sitting and listening, my sweet son, Josh, sang the chorus from “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars…

“When I see your face
There’s not a thing that I would change
Because you’re amazing
Just the way you are.”

Amazing. Smiling. Just the way he is. Again, it is he who teaches me.

With great joy…
AR

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learning from more than the likeminded

photo-1429051883746-afd9d56fbdafPrevious to these past 10 days and the excellent ensuing, daily dialogue, we heard the respectfully-articulated insights and perspectives from persons other than me in our annual summer Guest Writers Series. (P.S. I thought it was great!) Thank you, friends, for writing and listening. I have learned from you!

I believe that we grow when we are willing to listen and dialogue regarding diverse perspective. Far too many are only able to converse with the likeminded. Hence, we end up with a lot of really smart people — who are still very blind. They never allow their mind to be altered from where it is right now. They still may be smart, but their pursuit of wisdom is sadly, severely hampered.

 In the weeks I was away, I pondered the thoughts of our guest writers… Like you, I listened and learned. Like you, I often read certain portions of posts twice. Like you, I didn’t necessarily agree with every opinion embedded, but also like you, I desire to be stretched and challenged. Agreement and consensus are secondary to active listening.

Here were some of the articulations that struck me most from our summer series:

“If you don’t like the law, elect different representatives, and they can pass new laws. That’s democracy.”

“Think again about who you would want to speak at your funeral. What do you want them to say?”

“During those formative years when we were transitioning from girlhood to womanhood, our society and media wasn’t telling us that our physically displays of affection with our peers had sexual connotations. We were free to hug, touch, and run arm and arm. We were free to accept each other no matter how we were made. We learned how to be good friends, strong and reliable, and that love had very little to do with sex, but with our willingness to be there for one another.”

“What is best in a society: personal freedom to choose no matter the consequences or personal freedom to choose with possible financial penalty if you choose the socially-selfish option? Perhaps a mix of the two is best.”

“I will give examples of ‘dignity squashers’ first — then move on to the ‘dignity encouragers.’ Let me give the exact definition of dignity so we’re on the same page. Dignity is pride in oneself, self-respect, self-worth. By not teaching our children life skills that evoke dignity, we as parents are setting them up to fail.”

“What we should do instead is develop a ‘live and let live’ legal framework.”

“Ironically, it is often the overlooked seeds who soar after high school. They have already played in a tough game environment and are well equipped to take on a new road to the big dance. They don’t have to rely on their past bracket to define them. It’s a clean slate and they chart their X’s and O’s.”

“A favorite tactic in today’s debates over anything controversial is to question your right to hold a belief, or to label your opinion itself as ‘bigoted’.”

“How many of us will let our passion trump our reason? How many of us will lose friendships over words we type on our keyboards? Think about that before you hit post. Maybe you think it doesn’t matter, that if someone disagrees with your opinion you are better off without their friendship. But what about their respect? When did we become a country where people either agree with you or they are wrong?”

“Do you want to be right or do you want to be righteous? Do we always have to be right? … or will we allow for our character to be carved and to grow?”

[And quite possibly, my personal favorite…]

“I listen to the music now… with tears, for she taught me so much more than I ever taught her.”

There is so much we can learn when we shelve our deeply entrenched stances — and actually listen to other people, too.

So thankful to be back… cheers, too, to each of our guest writers…

Respectfully…
AR

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the bracketology of friendship

unsplash_5288cc8f3571d_1
As the final seconds ticked away and the buzzer sounded, a collective “crumple” could be heard from coast to coast. The crumple sound was that of brackets busted. Every March basketball fans both diehard and novice fill out their brackets in hopes of selection swag and bragging rights. Crumpled up paper aside, there is something joyful about a low seed defeating a top seed at the big dance.

Is it petty envy? Perhaps. Or is it our desire to root for and witness the success of the often overlooked underdogs? No doubt, it is a bit of both. Jealously of others and joy for others are both components inherent in human nature.

The seeding isn’t exclusive to March Madness. It is a ubiquitous part of our culture, particularly in the halls of high school. A lot of teens are grateful to survive high school with little drama. It is to be expected and part of the dance. But it is with an incredulous sadness to watch kids be categorized and put into brackets based on talent, looks, academics, athleticism and economics.

This bracketology became apparent when mentoring a young person several years ago. A very bright and socially awkward high school student to whom first bell through the ringing of the last bell was a daily torment. A lot of defenses (some not so positive) were built up. This student was a dealt a “low seed” by the self-appointed selection committee roaming the halls and cafeteria. Their bracket was even worse than “overlooked”; it was “undesirable.” Using coping strategies helped ease the challenging years. What was truly reassuring and exciting was the hope that in post high school and/or college, they would find their group of friends without the social mores of high school dictating their seed. Post high school/college begins a new chapter with a clean slate. As a young adult, this person flourished in college, joining organizations of their choice and embracing friendships and fun. Although a very challenging and desirable degree was earned, they were sad to leave college where they created their own identity.

Not only can the anxiety of the school day plague many young people, they are also faced with the scrutiny of well-intentioned parents. These high school brackets bare some self- examination by parents as well. All too often, we find ourselves trying to oversee the selection committee, whether it be for protection, well-being or even to live vicariously for their own “selection swag.” Are parents interfering their child’s independence and interests so they can have an acceptable seeding? Does this higher seed give them more happiness or pressure? It is their duty and prudent to protect them from harmful influences. Do they take it too far by directing their homecoming dance groups? Does a child being in a desirable bracket make the parents a higher seed? Do parents impede their child’s independence? All motivations included, it is difficult to know the right answer.

Ironically, it is often the overlooked seeds who soar after high school. They have already played in a tough game environment and are well equipped to take on a new road to the big dance. They don’t have to rely on their past bracket to define them. It’s a clean slate and they chart their X’s and O’s. In high school one’s friends are friends largely by circumstance — in college one’s friends are friends by choice. It is beyond the halls and cafeteria when all the brackets get crumpled. It is a time for the underdogs to dance.

Respectfully…

CK

 

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our kids’ dignity

photo-1429277005502-eed8e872fe52When my dear friend AR asked me to write again for her, I honestly had two reactions. First, I was very humbled and honored, and secondly, I was at a loss of what topic to write about this year. After much much prayer, I hope this is what He wanted me to write…

I can’t tell you the number of moms (sorry, Moms; I’ve heard these things from you directly) I’ve talked to recently who are denying the opportunity for their children to learn self-reliance and responsibility. Let me elaborate, and please, please hear me; I’m sure there are times we’ve failed, but I’d like to think our boys are self-sustaining or heading in that direction.

I will give examples of “dignity squashers” first — then move on to the “dignity encouragers.” Let me give the exact definition of dignity so we’re on the same page. Dignity is pride in oneself, self-respect, self-worth. By not teaching our children life skills that evoke dignity, we as parents are setting them up to fail. If they don’t have the necessary life skills to move on, we are crippling them to be dependent, entitled adults. We as parents MUST have the goal of teaching our children to be dependent, self-sustaining adults. Therefore, they can have a family and home of their own. We all want our kids to be able to make it on their own — and be successful. However, I don’t think these moms are realizing they are doing damage to their kids and their future families.

Allow me to set the stage… It’s a middle school gym, on an abnormally warm February day. The gym is packed with parents, students, and two wrestling teams. It was warm in there; we were sitting cheek to cheek, and it was almost over. A heavyweight boy then took the mat for his turn to end the day; his effort was no match for the skill and experience of the other team’s boy. Our wrestler got pinned, and laid on the mat crying. As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, the boy’s mom and sister came screaming, and tromping down to the mat from the top row of the bleachers. They threw themselves on top of him, screaming and wailing his name. I was mortified for the boy.

Another example is blurbs of conversations I’ve had… A mom is preparing for her children to start driving and begin thinking of college majors and desired schools; however, she won’t allow her kids to use a sharp knife.  Another mom is still ordering food, making appointments, pumping gas, making sandwiches, and actually moving to college with her son — because he isn’t able or prepared (or she doesn’t believe he’s able or prepared) to do these things on his own.

A girl my son dated, couldn’t make toast; she had never used a washing machine or dishwasher. I asked her why, and she said her mom said it was easier to just do it herself. Friends, please hear me; the goal of parenthood is NOT to make our kids’ lives so easy that they can’t function on their own. Does it feel good to be needed? Yes, absolutely. But trust me when you see your kid making and doing things on their own that are needed skills. That feels awesome!

Let me give another example of a dear friend that has had two major events in her life, that I have been awestruck at the grace and dignity that she extended to her son. My friend, T, posted they were elated to announce that their son was going to a well named college to play his dream of football. More posts came of him moving in and starting school; however, a short time into the year, he decided it wasn’t what he wanted to do and came home. There were other circumstances, I’m sure. How did my friend, T, show dignity to her son? She posted a simple statement that he was home from school, and they were seeking the Lord’s guidance and allowing him some space. WOW! I was astounded at the grace and humility she showed. She denied the possibility of any gossip to start and gave her son the dignity he deserved.

The same family, a short time later, found themselves in a potentially devastating position. Their son’s girlfriend became pregnant. As the mom of boys, I totally appreciated her difficult spot. What did my grace-filled friend do now? She posted another simple, loving, brutally honest statement. She said she loved them — and children are a blessing from the Lord; this child is no different. She made a beautiful, simple statement — and denied the stirring of gossip pots as her family moved on to honor God with their lives.

Here’s my last thought… Don’t dread your children growing up. Be excited for what the future holds, because you know you’ve prepared them. Reassure them that you will always be there to give them support to help in anyway, but it’s not your place to take opportunities away from them because you didn’t prepare them or couldn’t deal with life’s natural progression.

As always, it is my prayer for those who need to hear this to take it to heart. Those who aren’t ready to come to grips with this, bookmark it and come back to it after you seek His truth. I’m in no way insinuating I’ve always given my sons dignity in every difficult situation; however, it is what I strive for daily.

With Prayer… Not to Offend But to Enlighten…

Mama Wahl

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degrees of freedom

photo-1418225043143-90858d2301b4My husband, son, and I celebrated the 4th of July for the first time in three years last month. We lived in Switzerland as ex-pats while my husband completed a work contract. Returning to the United States just before Independence Day was significant in our eyes and prompted (even more) comparisons between our adopted and birth countries.

The differences between the two countries are significant in some cases, but more subtle in others. Of course, there are obvious differences in language, food, and lifestyle. July 4th and its celebration of independence brought a more subtle topic to mind: differences in personal freedom in Switzerland and the U.S. This topic has been nagging at me for a while. In Switzerland, the people tend to make decisions from a societal perspective (which sometimes limits personal choice) versus our very individualistic focus here in the U.S. I have been curious as to whether these subtle differences stem from governmental or cultural roots. It helps me sort things out when I write. So here goes…

Switzerland’s government is officially a Confederation or a Federal Republic. This is the same basic type of governmental system as the United States. Simply put, the countries are alliances of self-sufficient states (or “cantons” in Switzerland). Swiss citizens can call for a vote on any given topic if they garner a enough support from others. Or, in the case of the U.S., the citizens can lobby their representatives to vote one way or another or to introduce a new bill or law.

So, if the governments of these two countries operate in essentially the same manner, maybe the differences in personal freedom are cultural. Are the Swiss people raised to consider the effects of their actions on society before evaluating the effects on themselves, as individuals? I’m not sure, but I know now that personal freedom to make a decision for the individual absolutely exists in Switzerland, but it may come with a price.

On the surface, this societal way of thinking seems to have effective and even beautiful results. Environmentalism is promoted and encouraged by the Swiss government through monetary rewards. Cars are incredibly expensive to own and even more expensive to park. Even our apartment came with a 200 chf/month surcharge if we wanted an assigned parking place. There is a pecking order on the road: Walkers come first, then bicycles, buses, motorcycles, scooters, and finally individual cars bring up the rear. Fabulous rail and bus systems, protected mountains and land, clean lakes, and even cleaner food are the result. Swiss citizens certainly have a choice about what mode of transportation they use; they have a degree of free choice. They are encouraged, financially, to make certain decisions.

Swiss citizens recycle as much as possible. I believe this is done for environmental concerns, but also because of frugality. As the tale goes, the government urged its citizens to recycle for the good of the environment. The citizens didn’t respond to this request with a substantially higher rate of recycling. So, a group of concerned citizens called for a vote and implemented a new system that removed all trash bags from grocery shelves and replaced them with a government-made product, at a substantially higher cost. Oh, they’re great trash bags. In three years, I never had one break. One trash bag costs 1.70 chf or about $1.80 each. Compare that to the U.S. trash bag cost of 15 cents/bag, and it is clear that there is more incentive to recycle. Again, there is the choice to eschew recycling completely, but a person will pay a price (literally) for that decision.

Americans, on the other hand, have been educated about the benefits of recycling and other environmentally friendly actions. They are left then to make their own choice on the topic without immediate consequences. Many Americans make a socially conscious decision, but they do so of their own free will, without fear of financial penalty. No coercion is involved. No laws are in place. No pricey trash bags await them.

Many other examples of this idea exist. The Swiss believe in personal responsibility where the effects of their choices are concerned. Would you rather not wear a bike helmet while riding? Go ahead, but if you sustain a head injury and you weren’t wearing a helmet, the National Healthcare System may not be on the hook to pay your medical bills. You might have to assume full responsibility for them. Hate the idea of putting snow tires on your car in October? No problem if you don’t, but if you’re involved in an accident and don’t have them on your car from November 1st through April 15th, you may be liable for all the associated costs.

The Swiss also believe that children are best raised when their mothers stay at home. If a woman wants to continue work before her child(ren) are in school, she certainly has the right to do just that, but childcare is exorbitantly expensive; thus, many women stay home after their first child is born. The school day is also structured so that children go home for lunch. Most women find it difficult to hold a job that will allow them to go home for 1.5 – 2 hours during the day… another example of freedom of choice, but at a price.

America has a few population mandates itself, usually to promote population safety. Immunizations are highly encouraged and sometimes mandatory for school attendance. Car liability insurance is mandatory. Health insurance is becoming mandatory. Many Americans rail at these mandates because of the personal freedom that is subtracted from their lives. Yes, these mandates might promote a healthier and better functioning society, but Americans want the choice.

What are your thoughts? What is best in a society: personal freedom to choose no matter the consequences or personal freedom to choose with possible financial penalty if you choose the socially-selfish option? Perhaps a mix of the two is best.

Make no mistake. Our family had a ball living overseas. We traveled; we hiked; we skied. Of course, “work” was done in the usual sense. Steve did his engineer thing. I did my teacher thing. Our son, Sam, did his student thing. But other work was done, too… the kind of work that is really work-in-progress… an evolutionary process that no one really expected. Living in a different society opens you up to new ideas and perspectives… and sometimes makes you appreciate old ones.

Respectfully…
SLL

 

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losing the art of friendship

photo-1436915947297-3a94186c8133What have we done?

That was the thought that went through my mind as I sat with a group of 8th grade girls. They were chatting about the usual teenage girl stuff: school, friends, and boys.

Then one of the girls commented, “My best friend and I were being silly, skipping to the school bus holding hands the other day. One of the kids at the bus stop yelled, ‘Lesbians!’ Now that rumor is all over school.”

“What did you expect?” said another.

This is not an article about sexual orientation. The topic I would like us to think about is the sexualization of simple expressions of friendship and the impact that is having on our kids. The American Psychology Association states that “sexualization occurs when:

* A person’s value comes only from his or her sexual appeal or behavior, to the exclusion of other characteristics;

* A person is held to a standard that equates physical attractiveness (narrowly defined) with being sexy;

* A person is sexually objectified —that is, made into a thing for others’ sexual use, rather than seen as a person with the capacity for independent action and decision making;

* And/or sexuality is inappropriately imposed upon a person.” (http://www.apa.org/pi/women/programs/girls/report-full.pdf)

Most of us are aware of the negative side effects of girls being over sexualized in regards to their male counterparts. (Click on above link for the full scoop.) Young girls are overly concerned about being attractive and attracted to boys, and now they seem to be dealing with relationships with female peers in a sexual context as well.

“You understand that being affectionate with friends is a totally normal things, right? It has nothing to do with whether you find that person attractive or not.” I said to blank stares. They didn’t believe me.

“When I was your age…” I started, then stopped when I got a group eye roll. My telling them of the good old days wasn’t going to help.

This conversation has been on my mind since and I have brought it up to enough teens and young adults to believe that their perception is a common one. And it made me sad.

You see, I do have strong fond memories of the girls I hung out with in 7th and 8th grade. These were the years of growth-spurts, first bras, periods and passing around books by Judy Blume. We leaned on each other for understanding and support, and laughed until milk came out our noses. At dances and skating parties we would be just as likely to partner up with each other as with a boy. Dance or skating with a boy had flirty overtones, but among ourselves there was none of that. We shared a close intimacy that allowed several of us to cram into a bathroom; one changing, one peeing and another at the mirror putting on her Bonnie Bell lip gloss.

Oh, we talked about boys, but mostly the unattainable ones whose Teen Beat pin-ups were taped to our walls. Most of our time together was spent making our own adventures: camping under a starlit sky, sleepovers that involved baking, making up dance moves and then crowding close to each other telling ghost stories, or hanging out at the local swimming hole. Our friendship was not based on being thin or fat, tall or short, curvy or flat. We were just us.

As we’ve grown up our lives paths and experiences have been as diverse as anyone’s. However, during those formative years when we were transitioning from girlhood to womanhood, our society and media wasn’t telling us that our physically displays of affection with our peers had sexual connotations. We were free to hug, touch, and run arm and arm. We were free to accept each other no matter how we were made. We learned how to be good friends, strong and reliable, and that love had very little to do with sex, but with our willingness to be there for one another.

I worry about this young generation who consider every relationship with their peers in a sexual context. I worry about their ability to be content, self-accepting and at peace.

Respectfully…

SBS