Susan's Musings

One Can't Be Undone

Earlier this month one more article extolling smaller families hit the newsstands – it was titled, “One and Done.” It claimed that the notion of the only child being spoiled and maladjusted was unsubstantiated; just a deeply held myth. While conceding possible societal and individual costs if one child families became prevalent, the author argued that in tough economic times, limiting family size offered great benefits.

Only relatively recently has family size became a choice so easily decided by humans. Not surprisingly, religious families tend to have more children as they view God as a third partner in family planning. As China has discovered in the aftermath of its one child policy, people are often myopic in seeing the long-term consequences of actions.

I am re-running below a piece I wrote about a year and a half ago after reading reports of couples reacting to the economic downturn by choosing not  to have more children. Like so many decisions in life, there is only a small window in which to rethink fertility options.

A FALSE ECONOMY?

There has been a wave of newspaper articles examining how people are cutting back expenses in light of lost jobs and economic uncertainty. Not surprisingly, most Americans are eating out less often, buying only necessities and postponing vacations and remodels. But among the budget busters, what really got me thinking was reading of those who were considering not having a second or third child because they are worried of depriving their existing child(ren).

As someone who didn’t think of checking into respective jaw sizes before marriage and thus ended up with seven children needing orthodontia, and who spent enough on diapers to feed a village, I know how expensive raising a family can be. And that is without feeling compelled to cover the costs of the latest (expensive) shoe or clothing fad, must-have gadget, or even college tuition. But on the other hand, I well know that just the basics can add up to quite a bundle and I am not immune from feeling badly when a perfectly reasonable request needs to be turned down because money only stretches so far.

One of the advantages of getting somewhat older is being able to see a larger picture. I know that young couples beginning their families measure the value of things like art, sport and music lessons; private schooling and summer camp. But, of course, it is terribly easy when we are raising children to forget that childhood and young adulthood will most likely make up a short part of our children’s lives. We too easily forget that we aren’t really raising children; we are actually taking care of children in order to raise adults. Does a man or women contemplating conception think of the yet unborn baby at forty or fifty?

Well, usually not. After all, young parents are often far from forty themselves. And projecting ahead like that would start getting into terribly uncomfortable territory, such as picturing aging, perhaps illness and dying. But the truth is that deciding to limit the size of a family is making a decision for the life of that future adult. Will he or she possibly have the entire burden of aging parents to him or herself? When his or her parents are gone will there be no one who can share old memories? Will his or her children miss having a support network of aunts, uncles and cousins? Are friends, no matter how close, the same as blood relatives?

Prosperity comes and goes. My grandparents, struggling to feed five children during the Depression, weren’t determining whether they afford karate lessons or not. They were helpless as they sent those children to bed hungry. But all five children grew and thrived. And the older they got, the closer they got to each other. Together, they dealt with the deaths of their parents and shared good and bad times with each other. Through the years siblings became an increasingly precious treasure.

My husband and I are now seeing the benefits our own seven children enjoy from having each other. Were there fights and tears and less individual attention when they were younger? Did we decide against music lessons because we couldn’t let one or two children’s interests dictate the family schedule? Certainly. But as badly as we sometimes felt when they were young, we now see them becoming trusted sounding boards for one another as they face major life decisions, we watch them take care of each other when flu or morning sickness strikes, and we get huge comfort from knowing that while we might be kept in the dark about certain antics “Big (and little) brother and sister” are watching.

Bringing a child into the world always means taking a leap of faith. We have no way of knowing what lies in wait for any individual or family. In thinking of the future, there is a razor thin line that divides being responsible and realistic from being short sighted and falsely imagining that we are in control. I don’t envy those who need to make decisions that will impact decades to come while the immediate horizon looks scary. But I do hope that young couples take a moment to reassess whether thirty years down the road what they consider to be indispensable or critical might end up being of less value than a brother or sister. 
 

The Jonah Lives On

Certain phrases such as, “Where’s the beef?” leap into the national language. Other phrases glide into the shared language of smaller groups. When my children were younger, we read many books aloud. This lasted way beyond the years when the children became fluent readers. I have fond memories of taking turns reading Thomas Hardy’s  The Mayor of Casterbridge with my then sixteen year old son.

One book we enjoyed as a family was a memoir written by a man recalling his late 1800’s childhood. (I don’t remember the title but if anyone does, please let me know.) He and his siblings were raised in Maine by their grandfather, and our favorite chapter concerned a day when the grandfather was away from home. The children decided to bake tarts, and to add a note of suspense and excitement, they doctored one tart with all sorts of less than tasty flavorings. Once baked, each child would pick a tart and they would bite into them at the same time. Most of the faces would be wreathed in smiles – and one child would grimace and race for a glass of water. The lone, unfortunate tart was known as the “Jonah,” named for the prophet who brought storm conditions to the ship he boarded. 

As the tarts finished baking and anticipation grew, the children heard a knock at the door. There stood an elderly man who introduced himself as their grandfather’s friend, who had been away for many years. After explaining the grandfather’s absence, they invited him in and offered a drink. Just then, the tarts were ready and the guest exclaimed, “Oh, it has been so long since I’ve smelled such wonderful pies!”

The children were trapped. Good manners demanded that they invite their guest to join them. What was meant as a fun game was turning into a potential nightmare. You can imagine the tension as they sat around the table and passed the tray! As each family member bit into a tart so did their guest, and as fortune would have it, he turned red and started coughing as the Jonah effect took hold. 

Once all was calm, the children explained what had happened and braced for a stern lecture. To their great relief, the guest burst out laughing and as he headed out, asked them to tell their grandfather that Mr. Hannibal Hamlin sent regards.

That night, the children greeted their grandfather with the message of his friend’s visit, omitting the details which might earn them a punishment. On subsequent visits, Mr. Hamlin shared their reticence.

Just how momentous the day had been was something the children did not understood until years later. Hannibal Hamlin had indeed been away from home for years, serving as Abraham Lincoln’s vice-president during his first term of office. He was returning from that position, having relinquished the title to Andrew Johnson, who shortly thereafter became president following Lincoln’s assassination.

I thought of this story and how the phrase, “the Jonah” became part of our family shorthand, in the aftermath of publicizing our Holy Hebrew! webinar. The announcement was dogged by technical glitches as our Thought Tool email bounce rate soared due to server issues, our links went to the wrong or blank pages, and numerous emails vanished into the stratosphere. I only hope that the class’s Jonah status ends long before the webinar actually starts, and we recover with as much grace as Vice-president Hamlin.  If you are interested in finding out more, it is with not quite as much trepidation as the children had, but neither with equanimity, that I provide this link for you to explore  Holy Hebrew!

With Charity for All? Not Exactly

Economists and politicians can debate whether extending unemployment benefits is a needed crutch in hard times or whether doing so discourages too many people from searching wholeheartedly for work. Society, though, might gain from a different approach.

It is an approach that I believe the author of the words, “with malice toward none; with charity for all,” might have appreciated.   In his second inaugural address, Abraham Lincoln hopes that the nation will care for the widows and orphans of those men who died in battle. But in other writings he emphasizes that charity (which in itself is quite a different word than today’s usage of entitlement or benefits) is not an automatic good.

In December, 1848, Lincoln wrote his father a letter saying that he was “cheerfully” sending him a requested $20. But there was another letter written to his stepbrother on exactly the same sheet of paper!  In that one, he refused his stepbrother’s application for money, suggesting that a “defect in (his stepbrother’s) conduct” would make the loan a waste of money.   

By necessity, government makes broad-spectrum decisions. It divides people into categories and then makes rules affecting large numbers.  It can only look at bodies, not at souls. Government can never know that two people will react differently to exactly the same stimulus.

Leaving aside those who deliberately abuse the system and even those who take taxpayer money without any compunction or regret, each person who is out of work or who has fallen on hard times is a complex individual. The great flaw in the government forcing one citizen to transfer money to another is that the coerced action negates the humanity of both.

By inserting itself into human interactions, the government removes the potential of charity, which is an action that is unique to humans, not to institutions. It takes away the possibility that Abraham Lincoln had, of ending his letters to both his father and stepbrother with the word ‘affectionately,’ opting to do what he felt would bring greatest benefit to both men. Perhaps most harmfully, by inserting itself as the primary resource, government shatters relationships and human interactions, impoverishing us all.

Split Opinion

Time for Literacy Tests

An air of confusion hangs over Alvin Greene’s victory in the South Carolina Democratic primary. The candidate for the U.S. Senate seemingly came out of nowhere to receive 59% of the vote. Allegations of dirty tricks have been made, but so far none have been substantiated.

Anecdotal evidence suggests that many did indeed vote for him based on criteria which surely would make our founding fathers cringe. Some of those interviewed admitted that they knew nothing of Mr. Greene, his opponent or how either man stands on issues. It was enough that his name was first on the ballot and appealed to them. 

Truthfully, the farce presented by this election may be more blatant than in others, but the core problem is in no way unique to this particular race or state. Over the past decades Americans have been urged to vote for all sorts of individuals based on their gender, race or well-known family name. Even in Supreme Court nominations, all sorts of demographic issues trump ability.  I venture that even the majority of those who consider themselves well-informed base their knowledge on television commercials and marketing material rather than actually analyzing a candidate’s past actions and words.

Literacy tests received a bad name and were outlawed in this country because they were too often used as a means to achieve a racist or anti-immigrant result. But is there anything truly wrong with asking those who vote to reveal some knowledge of the vote they are casting? Jay Leno gets a lot of laughs with “man on the street” interviews that show how appallingly ignorant people are. During the last presidential election he showed clips of people explaining why Sarah Palin was a good running mate for Barack Obama, being unable to identify a picture or name of any of the Supreme Court Justices and having no idea whether Iran was part of the United States or not. (Full disclosure: I don’t actually remember the specific clips I saw, but my examples are perfectly plausible).

But considering how abhorrent the idea of an election literacy or knowledge test would be to most Americans, perhaps we could start by implementing what I think would be a less controversial idea. Other than those it targets, could anyone be opposed to having our legislators take a basic exam on any legislation for which they are casting a vote? It would be perfectly reasonable to say that a failing grade should mean not being allowed to vote – and no grading on the curve. For one thing, legislation running thousands of pages would cease to be offered if you just might get a question on an obscure paragraph from page 1,316. Secondly, we might have a clue that a law is poorly written if half the legislators answer one way and half the other way on questions such as: “According to this piece of legislation XYZ will be illegal. Circle Yes or No.” 

This idea could be expanded to require all candidates for public office to take a basic economics exam. And I think the public would very much enjoy if the first session of Congress each term featured a televised quiz show starring our representatives answering questions pertinent to our Constitution and history.

Alvin Greene’s nomination disturbs South Carolina Democrats. But their pain could be the nation’s gain if it highlights how increasingly ignorant the American electorate is and spurs us to reclaim voting as a privilege rather than a right.

The Child Equation

Outrage

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      “…it seems everybody is eager to pounce on my story                                                           now that something bad has happened.”

We spent a fair amount of time in the car last week, which included listening to more radio news than usual. At the time, newscasters were fixated on Abby Sunderland, the 16 year old sailor quoted above. She had encountered a violent but not uncommon Indian Ocean storm. Her sloop had been dismasted and her emergency beacons had been activated, but it was still unclear exactly what else had happened.

As I listened to the broadcasters purporting to be concerned for her safety, they sounded to me more like lions in a Roman arena, lusting for blood. I had the distinct impression that they would be disappointed if she was unharmed.  They seemed enraged by her parents’ confidence (based on actual knowledge of sailing, emergency equipment and Abby’s capabilities) that she was weather beaten but okay. In ominous tones the broadcasters announced that “experts” were raising questions about Abby’s parents’ culpability for encouraging and allowing their young daughter to set out.

I don’t know Abby or her family, but I do know something about sailing, about 16 year olds, about having a dream and pursuing it. I do wonder how many of those attacking the Sunderlands are being inconsistent and possibly hypocritical.

I doubt that those pundits who are appalled at Abby’s voyage are equally outraged with the parents of child actors for placing their offspring in danger. Considering the sad litany of damaged former child stars, it would seem to be a reasonable query for child safety proponents. How many of these “experts” are in favor of 16 year old girls getting abortions with or without parental consent? What is it about this particular case –assuming that the outrage is real and not generated solely by the opportunity of being widely interviewed and quoted by the media – that is provoking such indignation?

Could it be that Abby’s adventure is so traditional? There is something wholesome about a 16 year old testing her abilities by going to sea, There is something old-fashioned about a young girl throwing her heart and soul into an adventure and then not looking to blame anyone when things go wrong. There is something traditional about a family sharing a passion for sailing and recognizing when their daughter has the necessary skills by looking at the child rather than at an age chart.

A few years ago, around midnight, my husband and I, armed with binoculars, crouched in bushes on the shore of a bay. We were attempting to visually ascertain whether our thirteen son and his even younger crew had securely anchored their boat on the first night of their summer sailing outing. We couldn’t see in the dark and I slept uneasily that night. But the three boys returned home after their voyage more confident, more mature and more capable of growing up healthily because we supported them as they tested themselves.

For that venture, our son recruited his cousin and a friend. When the friend’s father questioned whether the boys had enough expertise to head out alone, my husband quoted from a favorite childhood book of his, Swallows and Amazons.  In that British classic, four siblings seek their parents’ permission to have a sailing holiday in the English Lake District. Their father, abroad serving in the Navy, telegrams his wife these words: “Better drowned than duffers; if not duffers won’t drown.” 

We don’t actually agree with the first part of that sentence and we are fully aware that life has dangers that no amount of preparation or planning can eliminate. But it is has become a family motto for us nonetheless.  We take seriously the responsibility to equip our children with the tools they need to become independent and strong, whether in sailing or any other aspect of life. At a certain point, we need to cast off the lines and let them set sail. We will answer to God as to how well we have done our job, not to the “experts.”

Building a Little House on the Prairie Home in a Gossip Girl World

Have you ever seen the TV show, Gossip Girl? Well, I haven’t, which means that I went out on a limb a bit by mentioning it in the title of a presentation I am giving in a few weeks, “Building a Little House on the Prairie Home in a Gossip Girl World.” I thought it was a safe bet that the two shows present contrasting views of family life and fortunately my college-aged neighbor confirmed this fact.

I have no desire to live back in the 1800’s. Among other things, I am immeasurably fond of indoor plumbing. But I don’t accept that technological advances must go hand in hand with the loss of strong families and values. After all, the world of Ma and Pa Ingalls was technologically advanced compared to a hundred years earlier and while technology has (with a few exceptions) pretty much marched on throughout history, adherence to standards and morals seems to wax and wane.

Most parents in what I think of as the Gossip Girl world have little of substance to convey to their children. The idea of their passing on sage wisdom and life guidance as the Ingalls or more recently the Cleavers or even the Munsters did, is ludicrous. When you aren’t sure yourself whether being honest, self-reliant and faithful is laudable, it becomes difficult to transmit that message.

What if you do have strong principles and beliefs which you wish to share with your children, but the educational, entertainment, political and general society around clash with you on every point? Barring moving to the middle of the prairie with a few oxen, what can one do? That is what I hope to explore in a few weeks and I am highly interested to hear your insights and suggestions on the topic.

If you would like to share your thoughts with me, please leave comments by clicking on the comment tab under this piece at www.susanlapin.com. 

A Modest Proposal

Modest: Observing conventional proprieties in behavior, speech and dress

So says my Webster dictionary. But what in the world does it mean? In today’s world exactly what are the conventional proprieties? I believe a hat is necessary if you are a lady invited to join Queen Elizabeth for a garden party at Buckingham Palace, but few of us make that list. We are more likely to spend time at the supermarket and office than at royal teas. And while we may know that going to a corporate job interview in a mini skirt and a low-cut blouse will keep us unemployed, we probably associate that fact with presenting a business-like appearance rather than an old-fashioned word like modesty.

In a poignant article in June’s Oprah Magazine, author Krista Bremer discusses how unsettling it was when, at the age of nine, her daughter, Aliya, chose to wear the headscarf common to Krista’s husband’s Moslem heritage. She had assumed that a bi-cultural marriage would bring interesting customs and exotic foods into her life. Never had she contemplated that her born and bred in America child would opt for going to school in Moslem attire.

The author only dips a toe into recognizing that associating with Islam has more far-reaching implication than choice of dress. Instead she focuses on her own teenage forays into the world of bikinis and her internal discomfort at that young age when she simultaneously enjoyed and felt disturbed by the attention that exposing her body brought her. Even while she is embarrassed by Aliya’s chosen dress she is drawn to admire the way her pre-teen is defining herself as more than just a physical body.

A number of years ago, a young Catholic girl in the Northwest wrote a letter to Nordstrom’s explaining that she and her friends were unable to shop in their teenage boutique because the styles were too immodest. Executives at the store responded by asking her to join their teenage fashion board and even hosting a “modest clothing” show. In my own community, observant Jewish women and girls accept that during certain shopping seasons there will be nothing that meets the standards we prefer to follow. And a Protestant friend complained to me that while she and her husband attempt to establish certain modesty guidelines for their daughter, it is difficult to do so when a youth leader at their church dresses in a manner that they forbid their daughter to emulate.

A modern world view may reject the notion of conventional proprieties and scorn ideas like female modesty as old-fashioned and patriarchal. I think the opposite is true. When a woman shows cleavage she might as well acknowledge that her chest will be the focus of men’s attention. If she wants them to concentrate on her brilliant mind, sparkling wit and developed spirit, she would do well to avoid that distraction. Nothing short of redesigning the human body will change that. We handicap our teenage girls terribly by pretending that how they dress is solely a matter of comfort and personal choice.

Krista Bremer’s discovery that developing one’s soul and inner being is easier when not exposing too much flesh is true. It is unfortunate that she never knew that modesty is embraced by many in the modern world; the idea is not limited or original to Islam. It was a great loss to women in our society when treating one’s body with respect and dignity ceased to be conventional propriety.

Just Like Me

Two women were having a loud conversation, one which everyone in the vicinity overheard. Their voices were passionate; their convictions firm. The political candidate under discussion was an arrogant, self-serving liar. How could anyone possibly support him?

There was only one glitch. Both women were so eager to express their opinion that they hadn’t listened very well to the other. Each of them was sure that her friend was validating her own ideas. On the other hand, we eavesdroppers had caught the opening sentence of both diatribes which the conversationalists had missed. The women were supporting opposing candidates. Everything good each woman said about her own candidate and negative she said about the other one’s, was being turned around by her friend as proof that her intelligent, articulate companion shared her own point of view.

Here is another instance of the same syndrome. A psychologist was giving on air marriage advice to prospective husbands. She spoke of how her husband buys her greeting cards once or twice a week, leaving them on her pillow or tucking them into her computer case. Sometimes the cards are funny, other times sentimental, but she treasures them as evidence of a loving spouse. Her marriage advice? Young grooms should learn from her husband and shower their own wives with cards.

We all tend to assume that others, particularly people who seem similar to us, think as we do. The radio psychologist missed expressing a valid and important point because her vision narrowed to only her own preferences. New husbands (and veteran ones) should recognize that most wives do cherish tokens of affection. But imagine a couple who are having trouble getting on the same financial page, where the wife is concerned that her husband spends money carelessly. His spending a few dollars on a greeting card is likely to be met with annoyance rather than gratitude. Even if money isn’t an issue, maybe one wife has a weakness for cashews or ice cream or flowers. She may tell herself that getting a card is nice, but since it is something she doesn’t particularly care about, the repeated action comes across as impersonal proof that her husband isn’t taking the time to really know her. 

As for my political debaters, neither of them actually said anything of value to the other. Had a policy issue or debatable fact been introduced, they both would have quickly realized that they supported opposing sides. The ad hominem attacks on one man and empty praise for the other didn’t lead to further understanding or a broadening of vision.

As a disinterested party to both the political conversation and the radio show, I found these two incidents amusing. At the same time, they made me uncomfortable. I have an uneasy feeling that while it is easy to recognize that type of behavior in others, it is much harder for me to recognize it in myself. 
 

Frigates, Coursers and Librarians

I didn’t recognize any of the people working at my community’s library today. I still get surprised when that happens. Despite being aware of the policy changes that were instituted a while back, I just cannot get accustomed to not knowing the staff.

Over the years, our library system has announced a number of “new and improved” policies. Sometimes, the change is a good one, as when card catalogues became computerized. Other times, I have to wonder why anyone wanted to tinker with a successfully functioning system.

When our county declared that librarians were going to rotate through the branches, rather than be assigned permanent positions, there was an attempt to explain how beneficial this would be. Both librarians and patrons would be better served. I didn’t get it.

To my shame and regret, I didn’t plan a protest rally. I didn’t even express my dismay to the local newspaper’s editor or to the “Friends of the Library” fundraising group. That reflected a busy life, not a lack of concern.

For years, my children and I spent hours each week at the library. We attended programs and special classes, but most of all we roamed the shelves and checked out books. Over time, the librarians learned of each of my children’s unique interests and abilities. Frequently, they recommended books, assisted them in research projects and in general, became part of their educational support network. The library was our greatest resource for homeschooling material and it was also friendly to our budget.

Had there been no easy access to a library my children would have still been surrounded by books. They would have still had adults in their lives encouraging them to read and pointing them in the direction of worthwhile material. Not all children are so fortunate.

The public library system offers the gift of books to all. Through the generations librarians have been the interface to those books for scores of immigrants or neglected children.

Today, I can reserve books online, check myself out using a computer, and never interact with a human being. If I do have a question, anyone working behind the desk can answer it. I can even type it in my computer and never exchange a word with a person. That’s fine for me, though I certainly prefer to see familiar faces and share greetings. But for a child for whom the library serves as a haven and a doorway into a better future, the computer cannot replace a living person expressing interest in his life. A strange face each time she visits means there is no one to notice that she has read a particularly challenging book or prefers non-fiction to fiction. Libraries should exude welcome and comfort, not impersonal bureaucracy.

As Emily Dickinson said:

There is no frigate like a book
To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
That bears a human soul!

Not only books, but librarians as well, are capable of being chariots. I have no idea what the government officials who instituted the rotating librarian policy were thinking. It would be lovely if they would think again.
 

Stand by Your Man: Take 2

Marathon Maturity

It is possible that that some people do not consider a pyramid of bright yellow sulfur to be an attractive sight. But for our family, that view always evokes nostalgic smiles and wistful sighs. You see, along with heavy seaplane traffic and the striking architecture of the Vancouver Convention Centre, the miniature mountain of sulfur always signaled to our family that our boat had passed beneath the Lion’s Gate Bridge and was approaching  our Coal Harbour dock, one of our favourite boating destinations (we even get into the British spelling as you can see).

This past Friday, my husband and I arrived in Vancouver by car rather than by boat, but even so we both felt our spirits lift as we caught sight of the familiar landmark across the harbour.  We had come to Vancouver as the cheering squad for our daughter Miriam, who would compete in her first marathon on Sunday. Aside from the achievement of running the 26 mile course in an amazing four and a half hours despite almost constant rain, she and her teammates also raised over a million dollars for Leukemia/Lymphoma research.  I was delighted that so many of you supported her efforts.  Thank you.

Over the years, our family hasn’t been very typically American in our children’s sports activities. We had a few summers of T-ball and soccer day camp when the kids were younger and a basketball season or two during high school.  But our lives never revolved around Little League or driving kids to and from games and practices. Our children’s physical pursuits tended to be more informal neighborhood games, individual endeavors like snow-boarding and the family passion of boating.  Parental cheering squads just weren’t often needed.

One reason we weren’t into team sports was that we live in an area with only a small population of Sabbath-observing Jews.  Most games were scheduled for Friday night and Saturdays, which our children learned effectively ruled out their participation. One year our son did find a basketball team that played only on weekdays.  However, to his disappointment, their final championship game fell on the night of Purim, the Feast of Esther, and he went to synagogue rather than to the gym. 

Last November, when Miriam decided she wanted to run a marathon and to train with the well-known Team in Training, the fund raising arm of the Leukemia/Lymphoma Society, she discovered that training was scheduled for Saturdays and Tuesday nights. At that point, had it been me, I would have shrugged and looked for a pottery course instead. But Miriam explained to the coaches that she could not attend the Saturday runs on account of Shabbat and found friends with whom she could run on Sunday instead.

That was one of the ways in which she balanced being part of the group and following her faith.  Another was that on this past Saturday, while her team members spent the day before the race touring Vancouver, she and we enjoyed the Sabbath in our hotel. We lit the candles on Friday evening and spent the long sunny Saturday attending worship service, enjoying our Shabbat meals and strolling the busy harbour front to view our beloved snow-clad mountains, the seaplanes and ships, and of course the yellow sulfur stack.

Since the official pre-race pasta party, intended to assist carbohydrate loading, was both on the Sabbath and did not involve kosher food, we brought pasta salad from home for Miriam to eat in our room on Saturday night.  With all the issues that cropped up for a religious Jewish participant, her team members were always understanding and helpful.  Admittedly, they were a bit confused Sunday night after the race was over.  That was when most of the runners enjoyed a rambunctious party featuring a great deal of the alcohol they had to refrain from in the weeks leading up to the race.  They were sure that beer was kosher and were puzzled by our daughter not participating.

Finishing a marathon is a great achievement; living with integrity is an even greater one.
Well done, Miriam!
 

Goofing Off

One of the downsides of running your own company is that you always know when at least one of your employees (you) is goofing off. Nevertheless, that was what I was doing last week. I came back from a truly wonderful Passover (see below, Fifty pounds of potatoes…) rather tuckered out, and had great difficulty changing gears and focusing on work.

After I wasn’t concentrating on the job at hand but before laying my mouse down and walking away from the computer, I succumbed to one of the dangers of modern life—computer games.

In doing so, I either made a worthwhile discovery or else deluded myself into rationalizing that I wasn’t completely wasting my time.  In an attempt not to lead others down a frivolous path, I won’t give the name of the game that seduced me, but seduce me it did.

The objective of the game was straightforward. I needed to stack playing cards by suits in order from aces to kings. What I found fascinating was that after losing the game, my computer gave me the option of replaying the exact same layout. While I occasionally won on the first round, what I discovered was that even when I lost, I was able to be victorious on my second, third or fourth try. The secret was discovering that what seemed the obvious road to victory was often a dead end path. To win, I frequently needed to ignore what looked like the unmistakable correct choice. Searching for unanticipated pitfalls was a more reliable strategy than sprinting to an easy win.

While I would not recommend that most Americans shirk work responsibilities to play computer games, I do think it could be a good idea for politicians. One potential benefit is that they might get so absorbed in the game that they won’t have time to tinker with legislation, which could have very positive results for the electorate. More importantly, maybe the message will sink in. What looks like the straight, clear-cut and simple path to objectives such as ending poverty, providing health care or quality education or achieving world peace, usually leads to a hazardous blind alley.

If a deck of inanimate cards contains surprises and snares, leading to a losing hand more often than a winning one, how can one expect manipulation concerning people to simply fall into place? It may sound like taking money from some and giving it to others will increase wealth all around, but it won’t. It may seem that increasing funding for schools will lead to better education for more students, but it won’t. It may even seem that being nice to people who want to kill you will disarm them, but it won’t.

Having a clear objective, whether winning a card game or saving the world is a good idea. But the unintended consequences of moving a seven of hearts prematurely won’t destroy lives and nations. Unfortunately, legislation’s unintended consequences are far from benign.

Hopefully, I am back to working conscientiously this week. But being reminded that good intentions and brilliant ideas often fall flat and that multiple paths may be needed on the road to success wasn’t such a waste of time after all. 
 

Free to Choose?

I was chatting with a young mother recently while two of her three sons simulated a boxing match. The baby watched avidly from his stroller. Turning to me, my companion said, “I’ve never been a boy. How am I supposed to understand them?”

I don’t really think she was expecting an answer. But the differences between the genders don’t go away as children get older. Over the last few years, I have watched my daughters and their friends transition from adolescence into adulthood.  I have seen that the challenges they face are entirely different from those that my son and his peers face as they navigate the same years.

I know that today’s social and economic realities dictate that both sexes explore career options.  But there are very different implications for boys and girls though it is perhaps politically incorrect to point this out.  The burden of career commitment rests far more heavily upon the shoulders of boys than upon girls.  Deep down, young men know that their masculinity is intimately linked to their being successful providers.

They know that any woman who decides to take “time out” from her job and focus on her home has not made herself any less of a woman.   They know that when a woman decides not to return to work after maternity leave, much of society approves.  However, men also knows that if a man announces to his wife that he no longer feels like going to work he will be viewed as an irresponsible failure.  For him, work is for keeps.

The woman in her twenties or early thirties who adamantly declares that she doesn’t want children or that having a family won’t interfere with her dedication to her studies or career, may well mean it sincerely.  But young men can get themselves into quite a mess if they gamble on those feelings never changing.  

Economic factors often force many women into the workplace even if they truly would rather be building a home or spending more time with their children.   But women whose economic situations allow them genuinely to exercise choice often choose to work only part time or to stop working altogether.  I have read that in countries such as China after years of being fully integrated into the work force, more women are choosing to stay at home as economic and social changes allow that option. 

But, whether we think it fair or not, men don’t have the luxury of choice in this area.  As a society, we ardently defend the idea that women should have full access to professional schools and the careers of their choice.  But we also insist that they should have complete freedom to opt out of school or work if they choose.  Then we refuse to acknowledge that we have different expectations for men. Something is wrong with this picture, isn’t it?  Ancient Jewish wisdom teaches that one who is obligated to do something and does it, is exhibiting more greatness than someone else who volunteers to do the same thing. The act of doing what we should rather than what we choose requires greater commitment.

Since graduating college, my son and his friends have been navigating the career waters trying to find occupations in which they can prosper and thrive. In contrast to summer jobs they may have held, they are now looking at years, not weeks, of work ahead of them. Embracing this challenge can be a part of what molds them into the type of men who will make good husbands and fathers, the type of men whom our daughters seek as life partners.

When we pretend that gender doesn’t matter, that - as a group - young men and young women have equal stakes in the job game, we are lying to both sexes. While I admit that sentence would have infuriated me at eighteen, and probably will infuriate most college students today, I think our society suffers when we pretend that we can make up any rules we feel like, even when they run counter to reality. Those little boys I saw whose behavior was perplexing their mother are going to want to wrestle and struggle in ways most little girls will never understand.  And if they channel that masculinity and grow up to accept the yoke of supporting a family, they deserve our appreciation.

Twenty Pounds of Potatoes, Twelve Dozen Eggs...

At the end of the meal, after proclaiming in a loud voice, “Thank you HaShem (God); thank you Grandma,” three year old Eli noticed that everyone at the table was looking at him. He explained to the group, “I like to thank both those guys.”

Which pretty much sums up our Passover. With God’s blessing, we had all our children and grandchildren around the holyday table for the first time in a number of years. While I spent many hours preparing the food for the seventeen to nineteen people at each meal of the eight day celebration (including ten festive meals), it truly was a labor of love.

This is not to say that it also wasn’t a lot of work. The planning started weeks in advance with a lot of unknowns. Would we have a very pregnant daughter at the table or a post-partum one? Or maybe the eagerly awaited family member would arrive during the festivities? Would we have a sparkling new and large kitchen to work in as well as extra bedrooms available or did the east coast winter snowstorms put another daughter’s planned move into a new home behind schedule?

Well, we are still waiting for the baby and about two weeks before Passover it became clear that a tiny kitchen would have to suffice and that we would need to impose on generous neighbors for beds. We rented an extra refrigerator, bought a counter top convection oven and moved the organizing/cleaning/shopping/cooking countdown into high gear.

Is Passover an easy holyday to make? No. But it is hard to think of anything that is worthwhile which doesn’t entail great effort. While this year had its specific complicating factors, other years have featured my own newborns, ovens and refrigerators that conked out, and a variety of other family and technical hurdles to overcome.

Still, while I appreciate the times we have spent Passover at friends or relatives as well as the availability of hotel Passover programs, my favorite years are like this one, when we are blessed enough to have the strength and time to do all the preparations and gather our family around our own table. The “easy” Passovers when others do the work, can be wonderful, but they always feel a bit “Passover style” to me rather than the real thing. Not only are the weeks of preparation an intrinsic part of the celebration, but while the food may be delicious elsewhere, it doesn’t include those items whose smell and taste trigger the explosion of Passover memory receptors.  And had anyone other than I done the cooking, I would have missed out on my grandson placing me in such illustrious company.

As my mother always said at the holyday’s end each year, “May the same hands that put the Passover dishes away this year take them out again next year.” Amen.

The Return of Sue Barton

I have just re-read Sue Barton: Visiting Nurse. If you are male or perhaps a female under a certain age, you might not be familiar with the Sue Barton series. But for girls born during certain years, not reading Sue Barton would have been like not reading Nancy Drew. Don’t even dream of telling me you don’t know who that is.

Nancy Drew is still around. In fact, her books have been (unfortunately) updated and she was even the star of a recent (unfortunate) movie. But Sue Barton, whose adventures took place in the 1930’s, has gone the way of the corset. It is easy to see why.

In this era of “girls can do anything” a female detective is still deemed relevant. A nurse who works in hospitals and clinics where every single doctor is male is less so.

In the book I just finished, Sue is working in Manhattan as a visiting nurse, going into the homes of immigrants and the indigent as a combination nurse/social worker/Mary Poppins.  She soon faces a major dilemma, one that seems quaint to any contemporary reader. Her fiancé (a doctor naturally) is establishing a practice in New Hampshire, and despite her commitment to and satisfaction with her work, he balks at a multi-year engagement while she remains at her post. The idea of a commuting marriage doesn’t cross anyone’s mind.

The issue is resolved when Sue tentatively approaches her supervisor, expecting condemnation for thinking of leaving so soon after her training has finished, and instead receives delighted congratulations. If memory serves me correctly, in one of the future books Sue will even stop nursing professionally as she raises a young family.

Back to 2010. I know a number of bright, accomplished and capable young women who are either working in the nursing field or training to do so. A number of them thought seriously of attending medical school, but in the end decided against that path. Why? Because while they are drawn to the medical arena and think they would find working in that area personally gratifying and meaningful, they also value being wives and mothers. The number of years and the dedication necessary for training as a physician, the debt incurred during schooling and the investment of hours needed to establish and maintain a practice discouraged them from pursuing that course. In a way that might horrify some of their mothers who came of age in the sixties and seventies, they are willing to trade prestige, responsibility and higher income for the ability to better balance family and work.

They have watched older sisters, aunts and neighbors attempt to have everything and in the process sometimes lose too much. Some of them were raised by mothers who chose to stay home with their own daughters, and in retrospect, they appreciate that decision and want to emulate it. Others, while proud of their mothers and knowing they were always loved, felt that they want to be more available to their own husbands and children than their mothers were.

There is one big difference between the girls I know and Sue Barton. Approaching adulthood in the 1920’s, Sue never thought of being a doctor. (If there are Sue Barton experts out there and I am wrong, I await correction). My daughters and their frie