The Crab Chronicles

They Call Me Mom

Mother's Day is always sweeter to me now that I have children, because for the first 41 years of my life I was childless, and I desperately wanted to be a mom. I just couldn't find the right guy and get things going. I always had a timetable in my mind of when I was going to get married and have children, and publish my first best-selling novel. Of course, as the proverb goes, Man Plans, God Laughs.

I also always had the thought that if I adopted a child I wouldn't get the full 100% experience of being a mom. Yes, I had a bias. I can admit that now, because I realize how foolish I was to think that way.

Apparently I am not the only person to think like that. I was asked just a few years ago, when talking about my son, "What does he call you?" I said "He calls me Mom."

Both kids call me Mom. I also answer to Mama and Mommy. My son usually calls me Mommy now, and that's fine.

Being a mom is so much more than biology.

Most adoptive moms think about their kids' biological moms on this day. If our children were placed at birth, it's likely the bio moms relinquished voluntarily and made a plan for their children. Many adoptions nowadays are Open, meaning everyone knows about everyone else.

In the bad old days, however, adoption was seen as something to be kept secret, or to be ashamed of. This created a lot of emotional problems for adopted children. Imagine being told one day at 10 or 15 or even 35 that the people you've always thought were your biological parents are not biologically related to you at all. That causes massive trust issues and anxiety. I recently made contact with a distant cousin through 23andMe and he was only told when he was 15. His adoptive parents refused to give him any information about his biological parents. He is trying to learn what he can now, many years later.

I fervently believe that everyone on earth deserves to know where they came from, who their biological parents are. I have always told my kids I would help them search if they wanted to search.

Not all kids who search for birth parents will like what they find, of course.

There is some pressure in the adoption community for adoptive moms to honor or include bio moms in Mother's Day celebrations. That's fine, but not all of us can or want to do that.

Another adoptive mom posted an excellent blog about her feelings about her kids' birthmoms. Four out of five of her adopted kids have issues because of the birthmom's alcoholism. She said: "What about when there is information, and it does not allow for creating a fairy tale of a sacrificial birth mom? How about families, like ours, who have had to spend years and years dealing with the emotional wreckage that birth parents caused...the trauma, neglect, anger, and soul deep pain? What do those sweet Mother's Day memes that acknowledge the birth mom and state falsehoods mean when they really do not apply in our own situation?"

As she goes on to explain, all we can do is love our kids and try to help them heal. Those are our best options.

I wish I had been able to adopt both my kids at birth. I couldn't. I got them as soon as I could. I think that's what God calls on us to do: our best.

A Few Thoughts About the College Cheating Scandal

The latest headlines seem to all be about how the Hollywood actresses Felicity Huffman and Lori Loughlin spent a lot of money to ensure their children would go to good colleges. What they did was dishonest. I would call that helicopter parenting in the extreme.

I was not raised by "helicopter" parents.

When I was in middle school we lived about a mile from school. I was allowed to walk home from school if it was a pretty day, by myself usually. I walked to piano lessons by myself. My piano teachers lived in the neighborhood. My brother and I roamed around the neighborhood on our own. We drank from the garden hose. We built forts and rafts from mud and dirt and sticks and got our clothes filthy. We had to save our allowance for extras.

My mother didn't make any effort to keep us entertained in the summertime. She would take us to the library every week, and sometimes out to lunch or to the pool, but most of our time was our own. 

My brother was always bored in school and my mom supervised his homework and made sure he did it every day up through 8th grade. When he got to high school she finally realized it was time to let him go. She told him he would have to be responsible for keeping up in his classwork and studying for tests. She was available if he needed help, but she wouldn't micromanage him. He had to motivate himself. He could choose to be a ditch digger or he could choose college. Either way, he would have to live with the consequences of his choices. (Just FYI, he did finish college and then went in the Army.)

I was always a comparatively "good" kid and did my homework and made good grades by myself.

What disturbs me most about the college cheating scandal is this notion that children have been so heavily monitored and directed that they didn't have to learn to motivate themselves and manage their time. Then they get into a college where they don't belong, due to cheating. 

I've seen parents micromanaging their kids in the extreme -- although not much in recent years since my kids have grown up, thank goodness. I have also been heavily criticized by people I know because I didn't micromanage my kids enough, in their eyes. 

My daughter never needed to be micromanaged.

My son always hated school and was bored. I helped him, but he still hated school. He went to a school which had once been one of the best public schools in Atlanta, but when he got there, it had gone downhill. There were lots of fights, teachers let kids get away with talking in class and even cheating, and he had lost respect for his school. I let him leave high school after his sophomore year. He really wanted to drop out. He went into a program called Gateway to College and started college, but unfortunately the program got canceled. He got a GED. He also went to college for two semesters and did fine, although he dropped out. I tried my level best to motivate him to finish college but to no avail.

My son's choices and personality were molded by his early experiences in Kazakhstan, his birth country. He came home at age 10, already a person in his own right. I could influence him somewhat but his personality was already formed. So yes, my parenting experience is different than it would be if I had given birth to him, or even adopted him as an infant. 

I struggled mightily to NOT be a helicopter parent to him. I inherited my dad's control freak tendencies, unfortunately. Michael has always been his own person, however, and only allowed a little bit of managing. Forget micromanaging. 

His stubbornness and intelligence served him well when he was small, with his alcoholic birthmom, but later, not so much. I had to learn to let go of trying to force him to do anything.

However, I was chatting with a friend this morning whose grown daughter just came through a medical ordeal and nearly died, and we agreed that prayer works. Secular studies have proven it. Diehard skeptics won't ever accept it, however. 

I prayed a lot when my son was in school, prayed he would make good grades. He did, with some help.

I mention prayer because what strikes me about the cheating scandal is that those parents could not "let go and let God" when it came to their kids going to college. They were willing to cross the line, pay thousands and thousands of dollars, for their children to get into college and have some "guaranteed" measure of success. 

What do you do to a child, though, when you show them they can cheat on the SATs or be listed as playing a sport they don't play, just to go to a particular school? Those parents are sanctioning cheating. They are saying do whatever you need to do and damn the consequences. 

That doesn't teach those kids anything good. It teaches them basically win --whatever it takes.

I think as a society we are promoting this more and more. We are judging people whose children don't go to college, or who go and drop out. We are saying, in essence, if you don't go to college you are lesser than. That's appalling. 

My son is working at a restaurant and learning to be a cook. He may never go back to college or even to culinary school. I am okay with that as long as he is happy. If I won the lottery and suddenly had the means to say to him "You can go to any college you like and I will pay all the bills," I still don't think his mind would be changed. 

You see, HE has to want to go to college and succeed. He has to be willing to work hard. I can't go do his homework, or take his tests. No parent can do that. So in the end, whether a parent cheats or not, the child still has to do the work and motivate himself or herself. 

Parents have to let go, and let the child learn what is most important about the college experience -- teaching oneself how to organize time and budget, and study. Balancing partying with studying. Choosing friends who boost you up instead of tempting you to screw up. So many things that were critical about my college experience had little to do with books and studying. 

My parents were available to help me with homework but they pretty much left me alone when I was growing up. I had to figure out how to succeed in grades 1-12. That was on me. So college didn't come as a rude shock to me. 

So what I would say to Huffman and Loughlin if they were sitting in front of me is this: your getting caught cheating is the best thing that could happen to your kids. Truly. They are experiencing the consequences of bad choices.

The Huffman and Loughlin kids will have to navigate a hostile world that is not gentled and softened for them unnaturally -- just like the rest of us. It's better for them this way. They will have to motivate themselves and work hard.

The embarrassment of what their parents did will haunt them. Learning how to deal with that will build character, however.

I just hope and pray they don't turn out like their parents... Beautiful and successful and unwilling to put their faith in their children, or in God...

The Saddest Christmas Tradition

My mom and I spent a little time yesterday telling my son how much his Grandpa Tony loved Christmas, and how delightfully childlike he was about it.

I wish my dad were here, to wear a silly Santa hat and say "I believe that's the prettiest tree we've ever had!" He always wanted to open one present on Christmas Eve and Mom always (laughingly) said no. 

It occurred to me just today that every Christmas of my life, my father must have missed his parents. They had both died before he turned 30 years old. He never acted sad around me and my brother, though. 

One day in the near future my mom will join him in heaven. I will have to try and soldier on, just like Dad did for all those years, because I want my son's memories of Christmas to be happy ones. 

As a parent, I am old enough now to miss my Dad every year, and to dread the time when I will miss my mom. We have an obligation, though, not to pass that sadness on to our families. Christmas is supposed to be a joyful time.  

I heard from a friend recently who said it was too much trouble to put up a Christmas tree, and they were not exchanging gifts because it was just her and her husband. That made me sad.

My mother always insists that her children be with her on Christmas  -- except when my brother was in the Army, and some years he just couldn't get leave to come home. I used to wonder why Mom was so adamant about having us home. Now I understand. She was creating a sense of home, and security, and making memories. Even if it was just her and me and my brother (after Dad died) that was okay. We still had happy Christmases. I always put up a tree at her house, usually the day after Thanksgiving. We always put wrapped gifts under the tree. We always fixed a special Christmas dinner.

BTW, the years when my brother couldn't come home on Christmas, Dad would always cry. He hid it from me, and I only learned of it later when Mom told me. Dad grieved hard for Bruce when he couldn't come home, despite being incredibly proud of him for serving our country. [below, Mom and Dad, holding baby Bruce]

Christmas memories that are joyful and meaningful have to be created. They take some work. Yet I believe that "keeping Christmas" is vital to our emotional health and well-being. We need that joy. We need to ponder the beautiful story of the birth of Jesus, and all that he brought to the world. 

We need to sing together. We need to hug each other. We need to laugh at silly jokes together. We need to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas, and It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas. We need to wrap presents, and drink eggnog.

We need to put aside our sadness and the missing of our parents and grandparents and be joyful, so our children will have happy memories of Christmas. Every generation has to do that, learn to lay aside nostalgia and grief, and keep Christmas alive for the next generation. 

I wish for every one of my peers and folks older than me to remember this: Christmas is what you make of it. It can either be a very happy and joyful occasion or it can be sad.

Keep Christmas. Bake cookies. Sing carols. Send cards. Call old friends. You don't have to spend a lot of money. You can make it a joyful holiday, though, with a little effort. Remember the joy of Christmases past. Pass that joy along to your children and grandchildren.

Choose to celebrate what Christmas is really all about: love. That's why Jesus was born, to teach us how to love each other better. Honor him by passing on that love.. 

Rudolph the Nasally-Challenged Reindeer

I think Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer was the first Christmas song I learned. I can still sing all the words. Every year, as a small child, I was thrilled to watch Rudolph on TV and I sat on the floor mesmerized by the familiar story. 

I grew fast as a child and I was an "early bloomer" -- I was bigger than all the other kids when I started kindergarten and that was true right up until 6th grade, when a couple of the boys finally got taller than me. I was also chubby. So I felt like a freak and a misfit in school, always. (In high school it was the opposite -- I was shorter than most everyone!) Rudolph was a misfit, too. I felt Rudolph understood my pain. If I had been a character in his world I would have felt right at home on The Island of Misfit Toys. 

In the end, Rudolph's nose [spoiler alert] was seen as a beacon, and Santa used it to steer by. He didn't insist Rudolph get a nose job, to conform to all the other reindeer.

I was dismayed to see that some folks now consider Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer "problematic" and "bigoted," as reported here. Political correctness strikes again. The Thought Police are here. 

So I watched Rudolph dozens of times as a kid and guess what? I'm not bigoted. I have friends of all races and creeds. I am not materialistic, or sexist. 

I also used to watch The Three Stooges and guess what? I don't go around snarling at anyone or hitting anyone. 

I've read all the Harry Potter books and yet I don't try to do witchcraft or worship the devil.

Amazing, isn't it?!?

I wasn't corrupted as a child. I had parents who let me read and watch anything. There was no censorship. They were always available to discuss everything with me and my brother, but we had no trouble distinguishing fantasy from reality.

We can over-analyze just about any book or movie and find things that are disturbing. 

Let's play the political correctness game, shall we?

Cinderella depicts cruelty and oppression (the wicked stepsisters and stepmother). The moronic Prince has to take a slipper all over town because he can't remember what Cinderella's face looked like.

Snow White depicts cruel stereotypes of Little People and may put children off of eating apples.

Willy Wonka tortures children and tries to ruin their health by feeding them too many sugary snacks.

And on and on. I could eviscerate just about any classic story by adopting the ruthless and idiotic Politically Correct mindset. It seems strange to me that we now celebrate racial diversity almost fanatically in this country, yet we don't want to allow diversity of thought. [For instance, I let my kids eat dessert almost every night and neither one got fat, nor did their teeth rot, nor did they turn into sugar fanatics.]

Why must we all conform to the mindset of Political Correctness? 

How are we going to teach our children to distinguish between what is good and bad if we present them only with what we decide is good, and ruthlessly censor what we have decided is bad? Then there is no contrast. If you've never seen the damage a charging rhino can do, you will not know to be afraid of it. 

Another reason not to overly censor is that children have an innate BS detector. Ever feel the sting of embarrassment when your child corrects you in front of company? Most children are not stupid and they can experience all sorts of stories without internalizing those stories.  

I am always suspicious of someone (or some entity) trying to tell me how to think or feel, or what to put into my mind or my body. Like everyone else, I want to be free to make my own choices, good or bad. 

It's not just Liberals that want to police our thoughts and our art.

There's a popular idea now among conservative Christians that Halloween promotes evil. Yet, millions of people now in their 30's and 40's and 50's went trick-or-treating as children, dressing up as ghosts and witches, and we don't worship the devil. Most of us believe in God, pay our taxes, and are kind, loving folks. 

During the Cultural Revolution in China, in which the government tried to force everyone to decry and ignore all art that wasn't zealously pro-communist, the result wasn't what the government wanted. People began to mistrust their government and the seeds of the next revolution were sown. It totally backfired. 

Whenever something is presented as morally wrong -- like alcohol consumption for instance -- it instantly becomes more attractive. During Prohibition [1920-1933] the manufacture, sale and distribution of alcohol were prohibited. Tell someone they cannot have a drink and guess what? They will drink more. The ban was bad for health -- bootleg booze killed a thousand people a year. Crime rates rose. Government spent too much trying to enforce Prohibition, and lost money. It was called a "noble experiment" and theoretically it should have worked, but it didn't. 

Forcing people to conform to any one train of morality or moral thought never works. 

 

Instead of pulling Rudolph off the airwaves, watch it with your children. If you see something bothersome, pause the show and talk to your kids. I showed my kids a lot of movies and videos and used the PAUSE button carefully. I tried to teach them to look critically and analyze what was presented to them, not just swallow it hook line and sinker. Also keep in mind that art produced decades ago is bound to present characters and situations that may not conform to your belief system, but that doesn't mean the entire creative endeavor should be decried, banned, or destroyed.

Remember, kids are not stupid. My kids loved Willy Wonka, but he didn't turn them into sugar junkies.

Ban all "incorrect" books and movies from your house and your child will make a beeline for them as soon as they can. The forbidden is always attractive. 

 

 

Halloween Mania

When I was a kid, Halloween "decorating" consisted of getting a pumpkin, hollowing it out, putting a candle inside it, and setting it on the front porch. Nobody went to the store and bought fake spiderwebs and plastic skeletons and tiny ghosts and festooned their yard with all that. We applauded folks who got in the spirit by setting out a pumpkin, preferably one that wasn't half rotted and smelly by October 31. 

Our costumes were bought at Woolworths and consisted of cheap plastic outfits and plastic masks that were too hot to wear for more than a minute, and the elastic always broke on them at some point.

We would come home, me and my brother, sit on the floor and sort through the candy and EAT IT ALL. Then we had a stomach ache. Then we went to bed feeling nauseated. My parents let us eat it all and suffer the consequences.

Good times.

As we got older our "costumes" were usually old clothes from the attic -- a Hobo was a popular choice. Now we would be vilified for making fun of homeless people, of course.

When I was small my aunt passed down an adorable witch costume my cousin had outgrown, a black dress with a fringed hem. I was a witch for the next several years. 

Halloween has gotten out of hand.

Now don't get me wrong - my house is decorated for Halloween. We have a fake ghost, a dracula, a large plastic spider -- we got the spirit, y'all. [All my decorations were purchased in past years the day after Halloween when everything was marked down to half price.]

We don't buy real pumpkins. Too messy. I have a plastic pumpkin and that's fine. When both kids were home we certainly did carve pumpkins.

I went for years that I paid little attention to Halloween. I didn't have kids and I lived in either an apartment complex or a condo, and didn't get trick or treaters. 

Then one day I had to pay attention. I adopted my daughter in 2004 and in 2005 she experienced her first American Halloween. Suddenly, things got crazy. We had to carve a pumpkin. I ordered her a witch costume at the last minute and paid extra to get it shipped on time. UPS -- unparalleled poor service -- failed to get it to us until 9 p.m. Halloween night and I was livid. I fashioned a costume for her anyway and she went to a friend's house in the neighborhood where they were having a street party and I think she went trick or treating a bit, too. She was 14, really too old, but I wanted her to experience an American Halloween.

[I was standing at the door that night and a vehicle pulled up out front and a little man jumped out, ran to the door, handed me a package, and FLED back to his car. I was so startled. It was really kind of funny. Later.]

Halloween has changed a lot over the years.

When I was a kid I had to stop trick or treating when I was in 6th grade. "Halloween is for little children," my mother explained sternly. I cried. I carried on. I wailed and gnashed teeth. Then my brother and I tape recorded ourselves screaming and rigged a fake ghost to drop down on trick or treaters and scare them. Needless to say, we had a lot of leftover candy that year and I imagine there were some soiled little costumes parents had to deal with later. 

We all lament the commercialization of Christmas but man, Halloween is catching up. 

A few years ago I took the kids to Party City to shop for Halloween costumes. It was a nightmare. The costumes were stupidly expensive and I got into a big argument with my daughter over the costume she wanted, which was entirely too sexy and totally inappropriate.

Now it's all over the place. People hire professionals to decorate their yards. Costumes costing $30 or more are purchased. Every TV show has people in costume!

Adults spend a fortune going to parties in costume. 

My son and a friend went to Netherworld last night. It's a huge deal here in Atlanta. Two haunted houses. They ended up leaving. It cost $55 to go in and the line was an hour wait! I was proud of Michael for saying NOPE, and just leaving. That's an insane amount of money. I told him, I went to a haunted house when I was a teenager, and I'm glad I did, but I only went once, because it was just things popping out trying to scare you for a few minutes. Nothing scared me but my ears hurt when I left. What a ripoff. I think I paid $10 to get in -- and I still felt ripped off. That went a lot further then than it does now.

below -- costumes at Kroger a few years ago -- I was horrified by the drunk clown and the hooker right next to him!

Words to Live By

It's funny that I heard something over and over as a child and never realized until much later how profoundly it influenced my life, when I got out into the world and encountered people who thought and lived very differently. 

My grandmother Wilma Butler Hasty had a really privileged life and also a very difficult life. How could she have had both? Simple. She was born into a family that was wealthy. While still a young woman, though, the money went away. 

Her childhood as the 7th child out of 12 was pretty good. Her father owned a number of profitable businesses in Cobb County, Georgia. His children were taught by governesses. They had a swimming pool. There were new clothes and new cars. 

However, my great grandfather, although he had more than a dozen children, really didn't like children. He left it up to his wife and the servants to rear the children. My uncle told me when he was a little boy Grandaddy Butler made it clear he had no use for his grandson or any other child. He had lost most of his money by then, but not his attitudes. He ran around on my great grandmother and caused her a lot of heartache, at a time when divorce was simply not done. 

So my grandmother was raised in a huge group of children and got little parental attention. She used to say to me sometimes, with great wistfulness, "You're a lucky little girl. You have parents that love you and fool with you, all the time." [By "fool with" she meant "spend time with."] We did a lot of fun things as a family (sports, fishing, picnics, etc.), and my dad was very hands-on. He fed us, dressed us, read to us -- did everything Mom did. We never doubted he adored us.

I digressed.

Back to Memaw. [right, with some of her siblings, around 1904]

At about age 23, Memaw got married to a handsome hometown sports hero, my grandfather, and it looked like her life would be pretty easy and glamorous. Baseball players were very well-known in 1923 even though it was pre-television. 

However, my grandfather was accused of a crime he didn't commit and his contract was sold to a minor league team, and Memaw went with him to Oregon and had to endure a life far from home and family, with very little money. They came back east just in time for the Depression.

She also lived through the Great Depression, and World War II. Life was never easy for her. 

Wilma Butler Hasty never gave up or gave in, however. She never regretted anything, either. 

Her philosophy: "Always do the best you can do, and then FORGET IT."

When Memaw got married and had her own children, my grandfather was often away on baseball trips, because he kept playing for companies who hired him, in the 1930's, to coach the company baseball team and travel with the team. Company sports teams were very popular in those days. She was a single parent much of the time. [left, Memaw, Papa, Elva, Bobby and Don, around 1940]

Now, I would never have worried about being under her protection. My grandfather bought her a shotgun and modified to fit her tiny stature [4'10], and she was a crack shot. She learned to cook and sew and she could run a household and handle money and do anything her husband could do. She was very smart, funny, and fierce. God help any man who ever tried to get the better of her, in anything. I watched her negotiate with butchers in grocery stores countless times, marveling at her self-assurance. "I want that piece of beef right there, that one. I want it ground THREE times. Not twice. THREE times," she would command. If the butcher looked hesitant she would say "I will WATCH you grind it."

What I never realized until much later was that she didn't just say "Always do your best." She lived it. Any task she was given, she gave it 100%. She did her very best physically, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually -- and that's all anyone can ask of you. 

My parents reinforced her philosophy to me, and I am so thankful for that. I have a fierce work ethic because Memaw and my parents always impressed on me the importance of not just doing what you had to do to get by, but of doing a really GOOD job, giving it 100%. Inherent in that philosophy is that you should be proud of whatever work you are doing, and you should do it with honor. 

When I grew up and encountered co-workers who would sit around gossiping and getting very little work done, I was puzzled by that because I couldn't understand that attitude. 

I have a friend who spends a lot of time talking about this or that decision he made, and whether or not it was the right decision. Some years ago I finally got fed up and channeled my inner Memaw and just said to him (hopefully not too unkindly) "Look here. You make the best decision you can make and then FORGET IT. Just let it GO." I had never encountered someone so backwards-looking, such a Monday morning quarterback type of person. I wasn't raised like that.

I have always told my kids the same thing I was told: "Do your best, and then FORGET IT." 

Of course, if you haven't done your best then you might have room for regrets -- so that's a powerful incentive for never slacking off. 

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Michael was telling me earlier today that he works harder than anyone else in his department, and most of his co-workers take advantage of his strong work ethic. I told him to keep working hard, and his work will be recognized. 

Talk To Your Kids

Today is World Suicide Prevention day and I wanted to point out a couple of things that I think really need to be said. Before I do, I want to mention that every time I see my son without a shirt on, I am reminded of the terrible sadness that he can never forget, the sadness of losing his older brother to suicide. I am reminded because Michael has a large tattoo on his chest with his brother's name, and a pair of angel wings. 

On his wrist is a memorial to a friend who committed suicide a couple of years ago. 

Michael lost another friend to suicide just about a year ago. He has lost far too many of those he loves to suicide. 

I was horrified to read this article in USA Today about kids as young as 6 committing suicide in greater numbers. They are bullied, in most cases, often because they are different from their peers. 

"Children who have disabilities or differences in learning, sexual/gender identity or culture are often most vulnerable to being bullied, according to the CDC." 

An 11 year old killed himself after taunts about him being gay. "Schoolmates called Sellars gay and made fun of his clothes before he took his life in Akron, Ohio, in May, his mother told reporters at the time. After his death, his older brothers were taunted on Snapchat and Twitter. His mother said some suggested they should kill themselves, too." 

I have friends and family members who are gay. Being a teenager is hard enough, but imagine being a gay kid who is fearful of being bullied?!

According to The Trevor Project**

• Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death among young people ages 10 to 24.¹
• LGB youth seriously contemplate suicide at almost three times the rate of heterosexual youth.²
• LGB youth are almost five times as likely to have attempted suicide compared to heterosexual youth.²
• Of all the suicide attempts made by youth, LGB youth suicide attempts were almost five times as likely to require medical treatment than those of heterosexual youth.²
• Suicide attempts by LGB youth and questioning youth are 4 to 6 times more likely to result in injury, poisoning, or overdose that requires treatment from a doctor or nurse, compared to their straight peers.²
• In a national study, 40% of transgender adults reported having made a suicide attempt. 92% of these individuals reported having attempted suicide before the age of 25.³
• LGB youth who come from highly rejecting families are 8.4 times as likely to have attempted suicide as LGB peers who reported no or low levels of family rejection.⁴

I have an aquaintance whose son was questioning his sexuality, and he killed himself because he didn't think his father would accept him as a gay man. Such a tragic situation. 

Nobody chooses to be gay. I have a close friend who is gay and we had a discussion about that once. He said "Why would I choose to be discriminated against? Reviled? Bullied? Being gay is NOT a lifestyle. People are born gay, or bisexual."

I have another friend who insists that being gay is a choice. Took me many years to realize that he feels that way because he is bisexual, and was raised in a very conservative christian home. He chooses to ignore his feelings of same-sex attraction because he fears rejection and possibly damnation. He cannot understand that for most of us, attraction is far less complicated.

When I was a young teenager I remember my mother saying to me "There is NOTHING you can do that will cause me to not love you. NOTHING." At the time I thought she was being a bit... melodramatic. However, I realize now that her unconditional love and support was exactly what I needed to hear. (I am not gay.) I have said the same thing to my children. I may not always like or approve of what they do, but my love for them is never conditional.

ALL parents need to have that talk with their children, in my opinion. A parent's love should be unconditional. If you are reading this and thinking "Well, yes and no..." then I urge you to imagine how you will feel when your child dies by their own hand, fearing that you won't love them if they come out to you. 

In my opinion, love should never be conditional. If you truly love someone, you love even the unattractive, uncomfortable parts, the parts that may repel you. Humans are put on this earth with one great commandment: love one another. 

We need to do better. We need to teach our kids that suicide is NOT the answer, ever.

 

^{**Founded in 1998 by the creators of the Academy Award®-winning short film TREVOR, The Trevor Project is the leading national organization providing crisis intervention and suicide prevention services to lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer & questioning (LGBTQ) young people under 25.}

 

The Mud Pie Queen

I had never heard the term "helicopter parent" until about 10-15 years ago when I read an article about that type of parenting and realized a woman I worked with was the epitome of a Helicopter Mom. I listened to her talk about parenting like it was the most exhaustive thing in the world, and I remember feeling sorry for her. 

Now, I was raised by a stay at home mom and my colleague had a full-time job but those weren't the only differences.

Every moment of the day was scheduled for Helicopter Mom. Her children took lessons, got tutored, and had play dates. Her children were professionally photographed at  least twice a year. Their birthday parties cost $300 or more -- just for the special party stuff. Much more was spent on a cake, presents, and swag bags for the other kids.

They were expected to make all A's and she did their homework with them every night.

I knew her before I adopted my kids and I remember thinking wow, I so don't want to parent like she does. 

Now, to be fair, both her kids are honors students. Nice kids. Probably will go far in life. [I know this because they went to the same school as my kids and I would see Helicopter Mom occasionally and chat, although our friendship didn't survive me leaving that company.]

What made me think of her was that yesterday I was reading a review of a book called Achtung Baby: An American Mom on the German Art of Raising Self-Reliant Children, by Sara Zaske and I was fascinated and horrified to read of how differently children are raised in Germany and America. The German method sounds pretty awesome. American helicopter parenting?!? Sounds ridiculous, in comparison. Zaske moved to Germany with her husband when she had a toddler and was pregnant, and lived there several years.

More about the book, from Amazon:

As opposed to the stereotype of strict, overbearing German parent, Zaske found "free-range" was the norm for childhood. In Germany today, children are encouraged to walk to school on their own and talk honestly about the Holocaust and other painful moments in the past. The priority is raising children who are self-reliant, independent, and responsible: a stark contrast, says Zaske, to the results some experts see from American children in the "helicopter" parenting era. From the birth process (in which midwives are the most common attendants) to early childhood (child care is considered a right, and "kita" schools provide playtime instead of the more rigorous American-style education) to elementary school (where topics such as sex, death, and nudity are a part of everyday conversations and outdoor time is enforced daily), Zaske compares American and German parenting culture and gives the U.S. reader inspiration to explore new methods. 

I realized as I was researching this interesting book that I was raised much more in the German style than in the current American helicopter style, and I am very glad about that. I was a "free range" kid who didn't know differently.

My favorite activity from ages 5 or 6 until age 7 or 8 was to make mud pies in the back yard. I considered myself the mud pie queen.

I also liked to go exploring in the woods behind our house in Augusta -- usually by myself. My brother and I fished in the creek that ran through the woods, and swam in it [Ray's Creek, in Augusta]. We didn't concern ourselves with snakes or sunscreen. One day we walked for miles in the creek, pretending we were on safari in Africa, neither of us wearing shirts. 

left, me at age 3 at my brother's 6th birthday party - I never wore shoes

Mom wasn't watching us every minute. The rule was, we had to tell her where we were going if we left our yard, and she enforced that. However, we went all over the neighborhood and played, only coming home at dark, many times. We played football in the street. We rode bicycles everywhere.

When we moved to Knoxville, when I was 8, I remember spending entire afternoons outside sledding when it snowed. We got a lot of snow the winter of 1971. 

below left, me sledding in Knoxville, age 8 // below right, me on my bike, age 6, Augusta

We were daredevils. In hot weather we roller skated down the steep hill leading to our house, or rode our bikes down the hill. 

I remember spending countless days at the beach or at the swimming pool without parental supervision. (My older brother was often told to watch me but he usually didn't.)

When we bought the cabin on Douglas Lake I usually fixed my own breakfast and lunch [ages 8-16] and what I did during the day was my business. My brother and I swam, made rafts, swung from a rope swing and dropped into the lake, played tennis on an old court nearby, read books, picked blackberries, etc. We were outdoor kids, water babies.

Since my brother and I were both fair-haired and blue-eyed we had really fair skin, and I recall Mom slathering us with Sea & Ski before going to the pool but she was actually considered a bit overprotective for doing it. We got burned many times for not getting it reapplied. 

My mother was never an activities director worried about what I did every second of the day. Not at all. In fact, I learned early that if I ever said "I'm bored" I would be told "Well I have plenty of chores around the house that you can do." She wasn't kidding. I learned how to do my own laundry when I was 8. I could cook a full meal at age 10. 

Grades were not a big deal, for me. If I made a C they would ask me why but I don't recall making any C's until high school. Mom or Dad would ask me if I did my homework, most weeknights, but I had usually done it on the bus or while lying on the floor of the den watching the 4 p.m. movie. I don't recall homework ever taking more than 30 minutes until I was in high school. I don't recall my parents ever fussing at me about any report card until I got into high school and nearly failed Algebra my freshman year. 

I have few recollections of "play dates" as a child because my playmates almost always lived within walking distance -- a mile or two. Sometimes parents would organize trips to the roller skating rink or the movies, with a group.

I started going to the movies without my parents when I was about 7. There was always an older child with me, you understand, and we were taken and picked up at the door to the theater, but parents today would never do that, I'm sure. 

So much of my childhood was spent outside playing kickball, basketball, tennis, and other games, with no parental supervision. I skinned my knees regularly. I drank out of the garden hose. I peed in the bushes -- I'm talking about as a 3 year old, not later.

In the summers, aside from vacation time, I was often bored. I read books. I played with my dolls. I played games with my brother or other kids in the neighborhood. I watched TV -- we only had 2 channels.

My mother had even more freedom than I did as a child, in the 1930's and 40's. She rode her bicycle everywhere and her parents often didn't know where she was or what she was doing. She went all over Atlanta.

I tried to parent as freely as I had been parented but it was an uphill battle.

I was horrified when my son started middle school and there were no more recess periods. I had recess right through 8th grade. Kids need to go outside and run around and play. My son would come home so wound up from school and needing a break that I felt sorry for him. If I could have done it I would have homeschooled him. 

When I was in middle school I often skipped riding the bus home and just walked, usually alone. It was about a mile, through the neighborhood adjacent to ours. On pretty days I enjoyed walking more than riding the stuffy, smelly bus. One reason we bought this house was that it is walking distance to the middle school and the elementary school. My son walked home from both schools.

When I worked full-time, my kids knew that when Granny was in charge, they had to entertain themselves. I didn't let them watch TV or do computer stuff unless I was home and supervising. They played a lot of board games, or played outside. They walked to the pool without supervision, though. They rode bikes all over the neighborhood. I let them be "free range" as much as I felt was safe. 

I think nowadays perhaps it isn't safe for kids to be quite as free as I was as a child, but I think parents need to let kids do some exploring on their own, to develop self-confidence.

Let them fix their own snacks. My brother and I are both excellent cooks, and love to cook.

Let them play unsupervised, without phones or computers or videogames.

Encourage them to make things without help, to do their own homework without being supervised, to have entire summer days where they have to entertain themselves.

Talk to them about history, music, family stories. Share ideas and encourage them to share.

It's important.

 

Things My Father Taught Me

Exactly 22 years ago today my dad, Anthony Henderson Thompson, lost his battle with cancer and left us. I don't usually pay much attention to death anniversaries but I wanted to point out that he taught me so many things that are still critically important to my life today. Not a day goes by that I don't feel blessed to have had his wisdom and guidance. 

 Dad, me, Mom, Bruce's wife, Bruce, about 1991

WORK HARD

Dad was in some ways a workaholic. He got up at 6:30 every work day and usually left the house by 7 or 7:30. He usually didn't leave the bank until 5 or 6 p.m. or later. His work ethic was ferocious and he had no patience for anyone who didn't share it. The words "that's not my job" never left his lips and he didn't allow his employees to say those words. His attitude was that everyone needed to pitch in and do whatever was needed. He ran a trust department in the bank for 35 years and it usually made more money than the commercial department. He would often do things for his customers way outside his job purview -- like buy them a new TV set and put it in their house for them, which wasn't his job but it made the elderly lady customer very happy. He advised them about real estate. He took calls from customers after hours, nights and weekends and vacation times. He always made each customer feel important. His older female customers always adored him, and he was like a son to them.

PLAY HARD

Dad loved to play. Lots of folks didn't realize he played as hard as he worked. Whether he was building a go kart and racing up and down the street with all the kids in our neighborhood or hunting, fishing, boating, gardening, building model airplanes, or playing tennis or golf, he was always active. He always said his happiest times were at our cabin on Douglas Lake when I was a kid. There was no phone, and he could completely relax. [below, Dad at Douglas Lake, late 1970's]

TAKE CARE OF FAMILY AND FRIENDS

Dad never hesitated to step in and help anyone in the family. When one of his brothers was travelling and ran out of money he called Dad and the money was wired within the hour. When another brother's father in law died, Dad rushed to help him get the estate settled and he taught his brother how to manage the finances. When my maternal grandparents needed help, he was right there, acting just like a son. He organized family reunions. He gave financial advice to anyone who needed it. He taught his nieces and nephews to water ski and fish. He taught me that when someone needs help, you help. Period.  [below, Dad at a Thompson family reunion, about 1987]

BE A GOOD NEIGHBOR

I cannot count the number of times Dad took food to new neighbors, or neighbors who had had a death in their family. He would come in and say "Elva, I heard old Miz So-and-so died, what can we carry?" and Mom would make soup or chili or spaghetti [or defrost some] and they would carry entire meals. We took presents when there was a new baby. New neighbors were welcomed with gifts. We took food and/or presents at Christmas. Dad's generosity was real and he was always enthusiastic. 

One year he cooked barbeque for all the family in Augusta, and then divided it up into small packages and delivered them all over town. I don't think anyone got a great amount, but his heart was in the right place. 

He loved to barbeque. 

PURSUE PASSIONS WITH ZEAL

My dad loved his hobbies and he was enthusiastic about them. He was never casual. If he loved something or someone, it was obvious. 

My Dad loved to read and he read voraciously. He was never without a book, and often would be reading more than one at a time. He's the only person I ever saw read and watch TV and the same time. He hated commercials and he would read when they came on. I think my brother got his love of books from Dad, because my brother still reads 3-4 books a week, and knows all the librarians by name. 

Dad also loved to work in the yard. Every home we lived in, he would cut the grass, plant vegetables and flowers, and beautify the outdoors space. He and Mom worked hard to make yards beautiful. I didn't learn until I was grown that he had worked on his uncle's farm as a teenager, and knew the farm life wasn't for him, but somewhere inside him he loved growing things. The year after he died, the rose garden he had planted at the last home in Augusta went crazy with blooms. We took it as a sign. 

Dad loved all things military. Dad grew up during World War II and his brothers fought in that war, and it profoundly affected him. He watched military movies. He read books about military leaders. He visited the grave of Alvin C. York many times. He showed me and my brother every civil war battlefield and ship or carrier that allowed folks to tour it. For him, history was like a living thing, and he was passionate about everyone knowing history and appreciating it. My brother and I are both history buffs as a result. 

DO THE RIGHT THING

Dad always stressed that me and my brother Bruce had to do the right thing. He said it many many times. He lived that, too. He had an innate sense of right and wrong and he never condoned being anything but morally upright. When he said he would do something he kept his word. He always returned phone calls, even if he didn't know the person. He tipped generously. He helped his employees get promoted. 

He wasn't perfect, but he tried hard to always be moral and ethical. He taught me that -- probably the most important thing he taught me, except for one thing, how to love. 

 

LOVE WITH ABANDON

If my father loved you, you knew you were loved. You didn't have to wonder about it. He would be there for you no matter what, and if you wronged him, he was quick to forgive. 

There will never be another one like him. 

PTSD and Busy Hands

It's very rare for me to get super angry these days, but not long ago another adoptive parent said something that made me so angry I had to just stop the conversation cold and walk away. 

Sometimes that's all you can do, if you don't want to feel your blood pressure skyrocket, as you verbally battle the two worst foes of any parent: ignorance and delusion. 

I pointed out that all of our children who are adopted as older children have PTSD [Post Traumatic Stress Disorder] to some extent. His response? "Oh no, that's only for soldiers returning from war."

What made me the most angry was that he has several adopted children (adopted as older kids, not babies) and all have PTSD, but he refused to even admit the possibility. He had the belief that religion would save his children from any unpleasant aftereffects of their unpleasant early lives. I disagreed. 

My children both have PTSD. It manifests differently in each child, too.

My daughter got very upset one night when somebody at dinner waved a butter knife while talking. When she had calmed down she said as a small child she saw her birthmom and grandfather in a fight where a knife was used in a threatening manner, and it terrified her, of course. 

Small children who experience things like that ARE going to do one of two things, generally: either block that trauma out entirely from their minds, or get very upset or triggered by similar (though not the same obviously) situations, like the dinner knife incident, for the rest of their lives, in many cases.

It makes sense, right? If you've ever been driving and had a car accidents you've got some idea of PTSD. You drive along the same road, make the same turn, approach the same intersection, and fear or anxiety grip you because your body recalls how it felt to have that wreck at that place.

We all want to avoid people or places of situations that have caused great fear or pain or anxiety. That's part of being human. 

I bring all this up because seeing someone you love suffer with PTSD is one of the hardest and most painful things in the world, as I well know. 

 

Some soldiers return from war and do not have PTSD, or they somehow manage to deal with it on their own, and return to normalcy. 

Many soldiers have a hard time with it though. 

Even though soldiers are highly trained before they are put into combat situations, many return with PTSD. 

It used to be called "shell shock." In the movie Patton, there's a scene of General Patton slapping a soldier in a hospital and berating him as being a coward. I remember watching that scene and being horrified by Patton's behavior. That sort of macho posturing has always made me queasy. 

Making fun of someone who is in pain or distress over something that happened in the past? My opinion on that involves a lot of profanity.  

That old school disdain for PTSD created a lot of alcoholics and drug addicts.

I do not claim to be an expert on PTSD. I'm sure even among mental health professionals there may be disagreements about how to deal with it. 

I am pretty familiar with what doesn't work though.

Denial seems to be the method a lot of people use to deal with PTSD. It may seems to work for a while, but it doesn't work in the long run. Medication doesn't really work, either, IMHO. I think it just masks the underlying issues. 

I think the only thing that really works is to process the pain. 

There's a therapy technique called EMDR that has been used successfully on people who have been through trauma. A friend whose adopted child did this explained it to me as "She sat there doing something with her hands while at the same time recalling the trauma." That may be overly simplistic and/or inaccurate but the EMDR was somewhat successful with that child. 

When I was trying to teach my daughter to sing, I found if she beat time on something while trying to mimic the notes, she was far more accurate. 

My takeaway is simply that distracting yourself while trying to do something difficult, like recall trauma, somehow makes it less painful, more bearable.

My children aren't my only experience with PTSD.

I went through an incident when I was a child that gave me PTSD. I recall it very well. Took me years to get past it.  

I used to watch my mother, when she was upset, go in the living room and play the piano. Her hands were busy. She would stop crying. She would calm down. (We heard a lot of piano music when my dad was dying of cancer.) 

All of this is to say when I first learned about Jon Jackson and Comfort Farms, I got so excited I nearly wet my plants. [pun intended]

Gardening has helped me through some really tough times in the past 11 years. It made perfect sense to me that it would help vets with PTSD or other issues.

Jon returned from war suffering from PTSD and a TBI [traumatic brain injury] and he soon realized the way to healing was through farming. Keeping your hands in the dirt. Raising animals. Battling Mother Nature.

Keeping your hands busy produces all sorts of results.

He passed on this knowledge to other vets. So far, over a thousand veterans have been helped at Comfort Farms. 

There's so much more to do, though. Many vets are still committing suicide, every day. This needs to stop. 

My partner Carlisle Kellam -- who is an amazing photographer and filmmaker -- and I have teamed up to make a movie about Comfort Farms, to raise awareness and help Jon expand the program. 

You can visit the movie website HERE. You can view the beautiful trailer. Hopefully, you feel moved to DONATE because making movies (even modest documentaries) isn't cheap. 

If you're not interested in films but you want to support Comfort Farms, check out the Stag Vets website or the Comfort Farms Facebook page.