Most of the kids I work with already have a wealth of resources at their disposal.   Some attend expensive private schools, enjoy the support of dedicated guidance counselors, and hire a cadre of private tutors to make sure they excel.  Others go to regular public schools and invest in a test prep course to make the best of their chances. 

Sometimes I feel guilty for helping kids with plenty while others don’t have that advantage.  It isn’t fair.  But the kids I work with have the same confidence issues and test anxiety as any other teen, and it really feels good to help them do their best.  I feel all mixed up about that. 

A couple of months ago I had an opportunity to tutor a couple of students from inner city Detroit.  As you may know, the Detroit Public Schools are in desperate straits after decades of financial corruption .  The problems in that city are huge, and thousands of children are caught in the crossfire of politics, poverty, racism and so many things outside their control.   

But in this case, a handful of caring adults found some motivated high school students and took them under their wings.  They channeled their passions into advocacy and service.  Within this group, they identified kids with promise and committed to helping them get into a great college.  That’s where I entered the picture.

Two kids I tutored, D and B, seem just like any high schoolers you might meet.  They’re fashionable and funny.  They’re also respectful, highly motivated, and engaged in their community.  They do many projects helping underpriviledged kids and hungry folks in Detroit. 

I noticed that D and B had their own hurdles that most kids I know don’t face.  They rode public buses or hitched rides to our meeting location–no parents drove them.  They didn’t have easy internet access, so they borrowed the computer at the office where we met.  They couldn’t afford the expensive graphing calculator  most high schoolers use, so they passed one around for homework and tests.   These little things required time, planning and energy that most of us take for granted.  I was pleased to meet some kids in Detroit who overcame these hurdles and showed leadership potential. 

Then I learned more about their stories.

B’s father died suddenly in the middle of her junior year.  Her family relocated, and she had trouble getting to school, due to both transportation logistics and difficulty coping with her father’s death.  Her grades plummeted, but an inspiring summer school teacher sparked her interest in school again.   In short order, she turned her grades around and hopes to make it into a good university.

D has lived in poverty his entire life.  He admires his mother who attends school and works temporary jobs to support her family.  Last January they hit hard times, and his lights and gas were shut off for three weeks.  He coped with the bitter cold by wearing extra layers of clothing and doing homework by candlelight.  D wants a good education so he can break his own cycle of poverty.  He describes school as his escape, salvation and source of self-esteem.

I keep wrestling with a couple of things:  1)  the stark contrast between D and B’s experiences and the advantages my family enjoys; and 2) the striking similarities between these charming teens and the others I know. 

We’re all subject to the same tests, but the playing field is not level. 

Life isn’t fair, that’s for sure.   For now, I just hope my roundabout path through the wealthier suburbs might give D and B a boost that makes a difference. 

photo credit: e-magic

“Mom, I just can’t stand to be in the same room with them anymore,”  she said, with tears welling up in her eyes.  “No one understands how bad they make me feel.” 

I felt the puddles well up in mine too.  The constant banter of put-downs slung between siblings over the long holiday was taking its toll.  My daughter was playing the victim in this case, but I knew it wasn’t a one-way street:  I’d witnessed plenty of antagonizing behavior from all three corners of this tumultuous triangle. 

I know sibling rivalry is a natural thing, and I do believe people can’t live together without some frustrations and annoyances.  With two middle schoolers clamoring for status, and a third grader trying to keep up, sarcasm and insults have invaded our home.  They’re tough pests to eradicate.  I want my kids to develop lasting relationships that will carry into adulthood, so I try to help them work out their differences with respect. 

Lately, though, I had fallen into the easier habit of scolding the offender when I caught wind of it:  “We don’t talk to each other that way in this family,” or “If I hear one more put down, you’re losing a privilege.”   The problem was, one child tended to be the target of the scolding.  Although he was typically saying the most outrageous things, I wasn’t catching the stealthy jabs of one or the incessant attention-seeking of the other.  The oft-scolded child was feeling resentful, the youngest was encouraged to tattle, and it simply wasn’t getting any better.   

It was time for an intervention.

I called them together and asked her to tell her brother what she shared with me.  As she began, the defenses shot up:  “That’s not what I said!  She constantly accuses me . . . ” So I had him explain his point of view, and his sister eventually admitted her role in the battle.  I asked them how they really felt when they picked on each other like this.  “It’s not getting us anywhere,”  one finally said.

Exactly. 

To shift direction, I asked them to write down ten things they appreciated about one another.  “Real things about the person,” I urged, “not ‘I like your shirt’ or something shallow.”   Typically, my kids sulk away with such an assignment but come up with pretty good comments when they’re left alone to write. 

To my surprise, middle son started talking aloud.  “I really like playing games with you when we’re not angry,” he said.  “I kind of like it when you act crazy,” she responded.  “I like seeing you laugh,” he added, “and I like it when you make me laugh.”    They went on for awhile, fondly remembering the fun they enjoy together.  My favorite comments:  “I like it when you come in my room when I cry”; “Sharing thoughts with you,” and on both of their lists:  “I really like playing with the rats with you.”   Who knew those Christmas rodents would create harmony in our house?

When big brother walked into the room, he slung an insult out of habit.  The other two stopped him cold.  “Looks like you need to write down ten things you appreciate about us,”  his siblings ordered.   He sputtered and squawked for awhile, but they held him to it.  He came up with a pretty good list, actually.  Number six: “I enjoy playing with the rats together.”     

Maybe there’s hope for this trio of siblings after all.  I know the harmony won’t last long, but I’ve got some lists to remind them (and me) of those happier times together.

And when all else fails, just let out the rats.

photo credit: Laenulfean

My middle son (age 11) is a dramatic one.  He loves goofing around, speaking in funny voices, and even dressing up upon occasion.  He’s always dreamed of being an actor.  I have no idea whether he’d be good at it, but I do know he would have a blast. 

But he doesn’t like to be pressured.  He wants to know exactly what to expect.  And the most important thing in the world right now?  His friends.  Of course, that’s the nature of 6th grade:  those other tweens know so much more about the real world–at least what’s cool or interesting– than mom does.  If mom thinks it’s cool, it’s most likely not.  That’s probably my fatal flaw.       

When the opportunity of the all-school play arose, I was sure he’d want to join.   This isn’t a dweeby activity–the annual play at our middle school is a huge event.  Everyone who makes the commitment is accepted, and last year, almost 200 kids danced and sang their way through Bye Bye Birdie.  The community support for this gig is unbelievable.  My son saw the production and clearly announced he wanted to join as soon as he could. 

That was before he started talking to his new 6th grade friends.  Most haven’t experienced any of these productions, so they rejected the idea of putting themselves out there.  What self-respecting 6th grade boy would do such a thing?  

Except we all knew this activity was perfect for this 6th grade boy.   That is, everyone but my son knew it, and the unknown is to be avoided at all costs.   

So despite much encouragement, haranguing, pressure and bargaining, he dug his heels in deep.  I finally remembered to follow my own parenting advice:  let him make the choice.  If I forced him to do it, he’d probably keep arguing about every rehearsal.  The battle between us would continue, and he’d have a hard time enjoying the process on his own.  We’ve learned this the hard way on other matters, and sometimes I’m slow to learn. 

So we let him choose.  He’s not doing the play this year, and he doesn’t have to be in the shadow of his big brother (which probably was part of the issue).  He’s got two more years to see if he’s interested, and if he does, he’ll throw his whole self into it.  (And he’ll love it, mom knows!)

I think we all breathed a sigh of relief when the decision was made, and I’m fine with it now.  I love my kid for sticking to his convictions.  But I really hope he chooses to do it next year.

photo credit: Wootang01

Today I joined the throngs of people flocking to health clubs to get back in shape this week.  I shouldn’t have been surprised by the suddenly packed parking lot and the crowded fitness center at my YMCA:  in January alone, over one million Americans join health clubs each year.  And sadly, up to 75% of those quit their goals within the first three months. 

But today,  the place was teeming with people prepared to sweat off their holiday indulgences (cookies, anyone?).  I found an empty bike, adjusted my settings and hopped on, ready to tackle the imaginary trail ahead.  Twenty-plus wheels cranked, spinned, climbed and coasted up and down the virtual hills and valleys.  Twenty-plus bodies synchronized with the pounding music and our instructor’s commands.  Twenty-plus souls pushed, pulled, cycled and sweated to gain some strength and burn a boatload of calories in our quest for fitness.   We felt proud.  We felt strong.  We felt high on the endorphins.  Well, actually. . . we were gasping for air, trying not to throw up and on the verge of total exhaustion, but not just yet.

At that moment, we were full of hope.  Full of optimism.  Full of energy.

Can you imagine how much hope, optimism and energy fills America’s health clubs in the month of January every year?  One million new souls, believing that this year we will really get back in shape, conquer those demons, and get on with a healthier lifestyle.  It’s a valliant effort, even it costs us over $18 billion per year, and it might be short lived.  I’m part of it, in my own sporadic way. 

But I can’t help thinking about all of these people who come out of hiding this week.  What if we could capture all that new energy and put it toward a different purpose?  What if we could harness it and channel it to last the whole year through?  What if one million people used all of that energy and optimism to promote a different kind of health–-not just body-sculpting–-but a community-building kind of health?   

What if, instead of just working out, a million newly energized, motivated people could instead work together to:

• feed someone. . . toward stamping out hunger
• tutor a child. . . toward improved literacy
• give to a charity. . . toward ending poverty
• visit a church (or temple, or mosque, or someone who needs a friend) . . . toward a better community

What if. . . ? 

Imagine the possibilities.  

Where would you channel these one million energetic, hopeful people?

(This was originally posted in January 2009)

Yesterday morning I decided to get off my bum and drive my kids to the bus stop in the pouring rain.  The pouring rain is a happy thing around here.  Rain (instead of snow or ice) means there might be a God out there who is considering sending spring our way, someday.  It washes away the old snow and slush and leaves a fresh landscape of potholes, mud and weird grit, so we can freeze up and cover it with snow again.  Such is the freeze/thaw cycle in Michigan, but it really makes us appreciate the miracle of spring.  Anyway. . .

I had to prepare my gigantic mug of coffee for the 3-minute trip down the street.  I’m one of those people who needs to have a coffee mug in hand for at least the first two hours of the day.  It makes me happy, and you know the motto, “When momma’s happy, everybody’s happy.”  

So I grabbed my coffee, hopped into our awesome Ford Flex (gotta put a plug in there for the economy) and headed down the street.  I wedged my big round coffee mug as best I could into the cup holder. 

I bet you can guess what happened next.

As I pulled up to the stop, my unsecured mug tipped over and out poured the entire contents.  Directly into the adjacent cup holder. 

That’s right.  It didn’t spill all over the car, it poured right into the cup holder, filling it up like a cup of coffee itself.

My first reaction?  “Oh ______ (fill in your favorite expletive here), I can’t believe this happened.  What a schmuck I am.  G is going to kill me (because this isn’t the first time I’ve done something dumb with my coffee).  This is starting out to be a lousy day.”

Then I realized, “I am the luckiest woman ever.  Who accidentally spills her coffee directly into another vessel without splash or spill?  It’s going to be an amazing day.” 

After the kids finished laughing at me, I sent them on their way, went home, and cleaned up easily.  Zero evidence.  Except for the fact that G reads the blog, and I’m sure he’ll be cool.

What do you think?  Schmuck or luck?  Half empty or full?

photo credit: kiss kiss bang bang, photo credit: Art Freak

The story keeps haunting me.  It was shouting out inside my mind when I wrote Monday’s post about the places we avoid.  You can view this tragedy’s photo and full story here. 

It’s just a pair of shoes.  But they happen to be attached to a man frozen at the bottom of an elevator shaft in an abandoned Detroit warehouse.  He fell, or was pushed, or was moved there, and then he froze. 

It gets worse.  No one reported it for about a month.  Homeless people live in this building, “not twenty paces” from that spot.   Urban “explorers” played ice hockey in the basement.   An explorer’s friend called a reporter, and it took several calls and many hours for the agencies to respond.  Eventually they recovered the body, performed an autopsy, and discovered he had a name and a family: 

Johnnie Redding, 1952-2008(9?) (held by his brother Homer):

The public outcry over this has been justifiably angry and shocked.  How could this happen?  How could people be so callous, so cold and uncaring, that they didn’t DO something?  I’m more heartsick.  People are very quick to blame and shame the man, his family, or the city of Detroit.  I have no answers.  Only personal thoughts and questions.

• How did Johnnie end up here?  Was it on his own or at the hand of someone else?  Did he have family?  Did they report him missing?  We now know he did have family, and he’d been missing for months.  Many can’t believe the family wasn’t out there looking for him. 
• I’ve had a close family member go missing, more than once.  It’s very complicated.  When someone doesn’t want to be found, it is very difficult to find him.  My family has called police, hired private detectives, and scoured unspeakable places in strange cities.  It wasn’t until this person reached out that he was “found”  (and the ending is happy, in case you’re wondering).  So yes, I can believe Johnnie had family who loved him.  I don’t know the whole story, but I feel heartsick compassion for them.  I do not blame them. 
• How could the people who saw Johnnie’s body not report it?  It’s an easy question for us in the mainstream to ask.  We expect the authorities to respond.  The warehouse people are survivors of a life we cannot imagine, living in subzero temperatures, which may be the least of their problems.  What pain have these people survived?  What tragedy has seared their souls so they are not compelled to react to a shocking (to us) discovery?   Or were they unsure how to go about it (and get through the consequences)?   And what about those urban explorers?  What other things have they found before that this discovery did not end the game?  I must believe that they are human, that somewhere deep down they do care.   How do scarred people find that human place again?
• Why did the city not respond more quickly?   Does this happen often?  I cannot explain, except to wonder how overwhelmed the city agencies are with urgent, life-threatening emergencies that they are slow to react where a life cannot be saved.   I must believe that the people do care.  With limited resources, in a declining city like Detroit, how do we rebuild our systems to support human dignity?

The thought that has been haunting me most: how bad is it going to get?  This isn’t the only frozen, lonely person in the news this month.  The outrage over this story has provided a wake-up call, but I do fear the impact on the poorest of the poor will get worse.   I just pray that our human compassion will overcome our fears to step in and find solutions.  We need to stop blaming, and keep connecting.

“There but for the grace of God” go I.

“Get dressed. . . you’ve got to eat breakfast. . .brush your hair. . . do you have your homework? . . . don’t forget your lunch. . . did you brush your teeth?. . .it’s really cold out there, make sure you wear your gloves. . . “

Now, don’t you think, after hearing this tape several hundred days a year, our children (or spouses?) would know what to do in the morning without our constant reminders?  Maybe not.  If we constantly remind them, there’s no need to remember on their own.  And whose fault is it when they get to school without lunch?  Ours, of course.  We didn’t remind them. 

There’s a simple solution:  Check Yourself

It works like this:

1. Set expectations
2. Provide a system for success
3. Say, “check yourself” and hold your tongue
4. Let the consequences do the teaching
5. Enjoy your coffee

This works wonders for kids of all ages.  When my kids were 4, 6, and 9, we created a simple checklist for morning, after school, and bedtime routines.   We talked about how this would make those parts of the day easier for me and for them.   I posted it on the door, and when morning came, I would just say, “check yourself” or “check the list.”  It took a bit of time to adjust, but soon they learned to take on responsibility for the routine.

The critical piece is this:  If they forget something on the list, we have to let the consequence happen.  So if he forgets his homework, the response is, “Bummer.  What are you going to do about that?”  Definitely empathize, but without “shoulds” and “I told you sos”.  We need to let the child be frustrated with his forgetfulness, not our blaming.  If we decide to rescue him (which I’ll admit I typically do once), be fully aware that it delays the lesson.  Chick Moorman puts it like this:

1. Rescue once? you’re a nice mom
2. Rescue twice? it becomes an expectation
3. Rescue three times?  Congratulations.  You have a new job. 

I hope to teach my children to self-monitor and take on little responsibilities, so they become responsible adult citizens of the world.  Also, I’m lazy and don’t want to do all the work around here.    

Do we still have chaotic, crazy mornings?  Of course we do.  I mess this up a lot.  But when I’m using this strategy, it works for me.  I hope it works for you too.

photo credit: bookgrl

My thirteen-year-old looked concerned when he caught me reading Dr. Michael Bradley’s book:

Yes, Your Teen is Crazy!  Loving Your Kid Without Losing Your Mind

I’ll bet you can guess what he said:

“. . . . whhaaaaat’s this??”

While I assured my son that he need not worry, that I was preparing a parenting workshop for other families, I did appreciate this book’s framework for challenges that are sure to come.  Dr. Bradley gives a much needed (sometimes scary) wake-up call to parents.  The premise is based upon research revealing two findings about adolescent brain growth:

1. The most advanced part of the brain (prefrontal cortex) doesn’t complete its development until adolescence ends.  The good news:  we’re still able to shape our teens’ rapidly expanding brains.  
2. In adolescence, this important part of the brain basically shuts down when the impulsive (limbic) part of the brain is firing madly.  Teens’ brains are not yet wired to moderate impulses and understand the outcomes of their actions.  

So the truth is, if you think your teenager is brain damaged or crazy, (s)he technically is.  Temporarily. 

With much more depth than I can do justice here, Dr. Bradley offers these Ten Commandments of Parenting Your Teen.  Even if you don’t have adolescents, you might find these relationship pointers helpful (because let’s face it, we all still act like teenagers once in awhile, don’t we?). 

1. Thou Shalt be as the Dispassionate Cop Unto Thine Own Child:  Be Cool, Not the Fool.   Emulate a benevolent police officer keeping the peace.  If we’re snarky, the messenger takes the blame.   
2. Thou Shalt Listen even as Thine Own Child Shouts.  Because shouting back isn’t listening.
3. Thou Shalt Not Shout:  Speak thou Wisely.  90 percent of what we say in critical conversations is useless, loud, and often imflammatory.  The presentation of the message is the message. 
4. Thou Shalt add Fifteen Minutes to Every Interaction Involving thy Teen.  Build in time for emergency flareups, or delay decisions until you can think them through.  Don’t be pressured to cave in.
5. Thou Shalt Vanquish Thy Foolish Pride.  Embrace mature pride by building a connection with your child, not winning the power play. 
6. Thou Shalt Not Kill (or hit, or threaten to hit, even if you may entertain thoughts thereof. . .).  Enough said.
7. Thou Shalt Apologize at Every Opportunity.  Apologizing earns respect through your authenticity, and it allows you to sneak in lessons about humility, honesty, courage, and self-discovery. 
8. Thou Shalt Honor Thy Child’s Identity (Even Though it Maketh You Ill).  Choose your battles wisely, and support your child through the rest.
9. To Thine Own Self Be True.  Hold on to your values and lead by example.
10. Know Thou, This Too Shall Pass.  You’ve done colic, diapers, potty training and moved on.  You have the long term perspective.  Your teen may not.

This book is helping me re-think some of my approaches as we embark upon these roller coaster years.   So far, I’m actually looking forward to it. 

Do you have teenagers?  What would you list on your ten commandments?

This is part of WFMW at Rocks in My Dryer.

photo credit: www.eddie-lawrance.co.uk

I think I learned about the civil rights movement in junior high, and I remember giving a corny “I have a dream” speech for student council.  MLK Junior day was first observed when I was in high school, and it wasn’t officially observed by all 50 states until the year 2000, with some controversy.

Thankfully, my children’s experience is far different.  They attend remarkably diverse public schools where MLK Jr. is lauded as one of America’s greatest heroes.  They learn his story in kindergarten and celebrate his message of peaceful justice and equality every year.  They learn and play with children from an amazing variety of races, ethnicities, and socioeconomic status.   They bump heads and learn to work things out as children, without labels.   It’s not perfect harmony, but it’s a darn good start.  

Occasionally I hear grumblings from parents about the “heavy emphasis” on Dr. King and diversity, which baffles me.  I chose to send my kids to this public school, warts and all.  I believe that if my children develop fond childhood friendships between different cultures, it will be nearly impossible to fear (or hate) that group as a whole, and it may be more possible to connect and make peace with different cultures later in life.   Teaching young childen this message is one of the most important steps toward healing our world.  As adults, we all carry some prejudices and stereotypes to overcome.  Our best hope rests on each next generation. 

Dr. King’s words, exerpted from his August 28, 1963 speech at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC, still resonate loud and clear:

Visit this site to read the full text or watch the 17-minute video.  It’s worth it! 

“. . .And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of “interposition” and “nullification” — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today!

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.”

This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.

With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

And this will be the day — this will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning:

My country ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.

Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring!

And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.”

 

Forty-five years later, we’ve come a long way, but we still have far to go to respect all children as equals. 

May we keep on keepin’ on toward that dream. 

photo credit: DrewMyers