Afternoon of 'shoulds' not being done

Summer afternoon, and the music from 'Heroes of Might and Magic' is wafting over from the computer over there. Casey is addicted to games right now; he went through a frenzy of engineering and building in MineCraft, then went on to playing the Protoss in StarCraft and now is indulging in a little light Heroes. Apple, tree, short distance. Apparently games never get old. I'll have to kick him off soon for his own mental health. And mine. Okay, mine. Enough with the mom-guilt. What is summer for, if not to indulge in wretched excess and the boredom of not enough to do as a kid?

I could have enrolled them in those earnest summer enrichment classes like the ones being advertised all over town: math, reading, writing. But they made the top of the Honor Roll at school, their grades were excellent. They're doing tennis and dance and gymnastics and basketball and cross country running this summer. All stuff they wanted to do. We're actually pretty booked up; this little lull is kind of the calm before the busier parts to come.

The kitchen floor linoleum is peeling up in a way that drives me crazy. The side yard is overgrown with jasmine vines which are not nearly as charming as they were a month or so ago when they were blooming and spreading that amazing jasmine smell everywhere; now they're just spreading vines everywhere and tying their tight little knots on everything they shouldn't. Can't open the side gate because there's a huge pine tree branch in the way. I planted that tree as a tiny sapling about 15 years ago and now that thing is about a hundred feet tall and spreading its branches 30 feet in all directions.

Who woulda thought it'd get so big so fast? I thought I'd be long dead and it'd be someone else's problem when it was this big. Though I may still get that petty little satisfaction from the Giant Sequoia and the Giant Redwood that I also planted about the same time. Those ones aren't quite so big yet, since they grow more slowly. What the hell was I thinking? Whoever moves into this falling-apart heap of a house when we're gone will be asking that same question. "What the hell were they thinking, planting a goddamned giant redwood and a giant sequoia? Didn't they have any freakin' clue that they're called GIANT for a reason?? Who the hell plants a damned GIANT REDWOOD in their back yard??? Stupid short-sighted bastards..."

The garage has two little pathways through it- one to the mailbox opening, the other over past the washer and dryer and out the side door. We have a Commodore 64 out there that probably still works, along with an Amiga and some IBM's and every other computer that we've ever had. I live with a packrat, and honestly I'm not much better. Very few people are ever allowed to see in the garage due to my shame about the way it is. There are boxes of Computer Gaming World and Life magazine and old textbooks on genetics that are at least 20 years out of date. There are also two giant arcade games out there; neither work now but they are still out there. I secretly wish that the giant arcade Cyberball game that now resides in the dining room would join them and they could all fly away to some grand place to be restored and taken away from my environs. I go out there to run laundry and sometimes I stand there and stare at it all and despair of ever getting enough energy to tackle it all. There are sometimes critters out there, roof rats, squirrels, maybe raccoons, who come and go and treat it all like their own personal playground. I go out to do laundry and glare around suspiciously, nervously, looking for the little jerks and hoping I won't see them. Which is usually what happens.

The thing about having the boys home now, except for the running around ferrying them to this and that activity, is that I'm still (supposedly) an adult, expected to keep everything going and still accomplish stuff and do all my normal grown-up business, despite these guys. I've been drafting them to do chores and help me on things; they did really well the other day when Casey cleaned house inside while Riley and I cut down the overgrown bamboo around the side of the garage (never, ever, plant bamboo within a mile of your house- our neighbor planted some years ago and it has magically migrated to our house) and we cleared the front walkway so it wasn't such an impassable jungle. The bamboo stalks then became things to collect and treasure and now we're in the throes of converting the bigger, sturdier ones into the cores for boffer weapons. Duct tape has been acquired in cool colors and foam of various sorts appropriated for padding. Two swords and a two-ended spear have come into being so far, with many more in the plans, according to Riley.

I've been running up against my own limits, though; headaches the size of the Titanic have been hitting with disturbing frequency and they wear down everything, including my patience, my energy and my will to live, honestly. The boys are surprisingly patient about it all, and they are pretty self-entertaining, which makes it all easier than it used to be when they were smaller. But it'd be so much easier not to be flopping around uselessly in a fog of pain.

Anyway. I'm looking forward to going more places, doing a bunch of day trips to places. The boys have been surprisingly reluctant, wanting to stay home and play games for a while. And with the headaches and all, I've probably been overindulging that tendency. I figure we'll all get bored and start getting out more, getting more done Real Soon Now.

Last day of school

Short day of school for the boys today, last day before summer break. Last day for me of time to myself, too. And there are so many things I need to take care of that would be so much easier to do without dragging reluctant kids along for the ride, and yet here I am, procrastinating.

There have been various end-of-school activities and events, and mostly I have dodged them; the guys are getting of an age now where they don't much care if I'm there and I have felt like I don't have the bandwidth to do all the volunteer things that all of the Good Moms and Dads do. Fortunately Paul has been stepping up and doing some of that stuff. He's been going in and playing music with the fifth grade kids every week all year long, and they finished up the school year at the Talent show with a couple of songs they'd been working up for a few weeks. It went about as well as one might guess. :)

One of the things that got to me, though, was seeing how grown-up all of the kids are getting. We have always volunteered with the boys' classes since Kindergarten, helping the kids learn to read and doing math projects and other things like reading books aloud; Paul's been playing music once a week with all of them since 2nd grade, so they all know him really well. He lets them request songs to learn and sing together, and it means that he ends up learning to play some of the pop favorites out now, which the kids sing along to with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Getting them to be enthusiastic is harder to achieve as they get older and more self conscious, of course, so it was cool to see them all singing loudly during the talent show, even if some of them lost track of the lyrics or the melody.

Today is the last, short day of school and when they all come back in the fall they'll be the oldest, the 6th graders, the biggest kids, for their final year at this grade school. They're really ready, though. And they're really ready for a big break. We've signed them up for various summer sports things; Casey will keep up with gymnastics, of course, but he's adding tennis and they both want to try Aikido, so we'll see where that goes. Riley's going to go to high altitude running camp where his long-distance running coach has a cabin in the mountains and holds a long weekend of distance runs and swimming in lakes and more cross country running and games and exhausted sleep and more running. Riley is of course stoked to do all this. We also signed him up to try a hip-hop dance class, since he's game and he's already doing moves all the time.

It'll be busy, certainly, but there will be time for lazing around and playing games and going out to the beach and exploring in the woods and that sort of stuff.

And much to their chagrin, there will be plenty of chores and getting some of the long overdue clean up stuff done, hopefully. Summer never ends up lasting as long as we want or getting all the fun stuff done that we planned, but that's all a part of summer too. We won't get bored. :)

everyday

So I've been feeling a distinct lack of mojo. I admit I've never quite gotten the whole notion of 'mojo', though; if you do creative stuff for a living you don't really have the luxury of waiting around until your 'mojo' is in good shape, you just keep going anyway. But nevertheless, I've felt so hectic, busy and scattered that I haven't had time to focus on much of anything. Creativity has been feeling pretty dried and cracked lately, so in a small attempt to reach deeper to find the ground water I'm starting a small new project (like I need new projects, but so what). Nothing big; actually it'll be focused on the small and daily. The idea is to just take a photo a day, of whatever strikes me that day. I won't be beating myself up if I miss a few days here and there, because what would be the point of that? I have enough things to beat myself up over already. This notion is smaller, kinder; to simply catch a moment on most days that otherwise I wouldn't savor. I'm really big on that notion of savoring the moments; I acknowledge that, I'll own that. I just plan to make an official spot for it in my everyday. It's certainly not a new idea; there are tons of similar projects that others have done, but I have never done it before.

Riley tried on a great top hat with steampunk hatband and loved it (from Pendragon Costumes)

Periodically I have well-meaning people tell me I should just put the camera down and properly savor the moments; that putting the lens between me and whatever is happening is a way of distancing myself from the action. If I'm shooting an event, that may be true because I'm focused on the job at hand, but I think I have a pretty good grasp of when it's appropriate to put the camera down. The bald fact, though, is that when I have my camera at the ready or at least with me, it reminds me to really look and see with an eye for shapes, colors, action, emotions, all of it. I find it enhances my experiences, rather than detracting. Whether it detracts from the experiences for the people I'm around I can't say, though the boys sometimes get annoyed at having a big lens pointed their way. More often, though, they want me to record some silly moment for them, and it unites us in recognizing that a moment has meaning that we want to remember.

It's not always a big moment. For me at least the smaller, sideways moments are the ones I like the most. Those are the bits where most people don't think to take any images, but in my mind they always, almost without exception, hold so much more meaning than the more formal shots where people are 'getting pictures taken'. Take Seanna for instance:

I've known Seanna since she was a tiny little kid. She's always been beautiful, as are all the women in her family. I don't get to see her very often anymore and when I do I like to grab some stolen shots just to sort of make sure her presence in my world gets remembered; she could so easily just flit through half seen and half remembered like an elvin presence sliding through this common world. Who knows when I'll see her again? And even if I didn't manage to steal some shots of her sister, I'll still be reminded of her too, and her mom who couldn't be there.

Then there's Amanda, here, always talking. I have the best conversations with her, and they're always changing, just like her, growing at a frightening rate. I suspect her bemusement at the boys' antics will remain a constant, but I still want to grab a few shots here and now. Freezing time. They're little time capsules, I guess. Snapshots are called that for a reason, and though the name has some negative connotations, it doesn't matter. I don't expect that these snapshots of mine will hold much meaning for anybody but me, but that's okay. I'm doing it for me.

How wild is it that looking out a window and seeing this is an everyday ordinary thing?

Jeff noodling around during rehearsal

Snapshots don't have sound or smells, of course, but they can really trigger them. You can't hear Jeff here doodling around on his guitar while he waits for Paul to find his lyric sheet, but he's idly playing a complicated guitar riff that most guitarists aspire to play someday in the distant future if they work REALLY REALLY HARD at it. You can't hear Maya quietly remonstrating with her IPad for not cooperating on scrolling lyrics at a reasonable rate. I'm not a video person at this point and I like the act of seeing and grabbing one image at a time, so I'm sticking with my camera. It's a purer form for me.

Snapshots: I cut off Paul's head, and actually I like it better that way. I had just gotten off the stage and grabbed my camera (still holding a harmonica) and turned and shot; you can't hear Maya's beautiful voice in harmony with Paul's or the guitars, but it sounds pretty damned good from right here.

I think I get to have a pretty extraordinary everyday, so I'm going to try to relax and savor it and go ahead and pick a shot from most days to just save them up. I don't know what if anything I'll ever do with the collection and it doesn't really matter if they ever have any other purpose; not every creative thing has to lead to money. I don't know why that's such a hard lesson for me, but I need room to just create cool stuff just because it wants creating. I need to feel that on a gut level right now.

Spring is hard.

I'm not sure why it is, but I have a hard time in spring. New beginnings, but I associate it with endings, too. My dad passed away in the spring about 12 years ago, after a long hard battle with cancer. I just found out that my aunt, one of my dad's sisters, has just passed away as well, almost on the same day that he did. She was the last one who knew any of the history of their family.

Family is hard. Most of us love our families in one way or another, but isn't it odd how you also get a ton of your major life lessons to be learned and dealt with from your family?

My dad had some tough issues to deal with from his family. He was considered a gifted child artistically; his teachers had him put into a special art program in school when he was quite little. He was the spoiled favorite, from what his older sister told me many years later, his mother's favorite and a darling boy to her. He was probably also dyslexic, judging from his writing and spelling, but such things weren't diagnosed back then.

When he was around seven his mother was taken away suddenly, and in the course of a single day he and his sisters had to pack a small suitcase each, were taken away from home and they never saw her again. They were told at the time that she had died, though it was later found not to be true; her husband and her brothers had her committed to a mental institution for many years and she was subjected to electroshock treatments and eventually a lobotomy. There was never a clear picture of why this was done to her; there may indeed have been some mental illness, but there were family rumors of a plot between her brothers and her husband to get her share of family money. She apparently recovered enough many years later to be released and she remarried a good man, from what my aunt said. My dad only learned of this years later after she had died and he was told by his older sisters.

After his mom disappeared, he and his sisters lived with their father and his new wife, who already had a daughter, her own favorite. Sonny Jim, as he was called, was no longer the favorite and he had a rough time at home; his step-mom was abusive and his father was a cold, distant man who punished by beating. He told me many years later of being chained in the garage for a week like a dog, being told that if he was going to act like dog he would be treated like one. His father resorted to 'farming him out', sending him to a farm during the summers to work, with a fee being paid to his father for him. Being sent off to work on a farm for the summer wasn't uncommon back then, but his descriptions and stories of what it was like would be considered abusive child labor these days.

Sonny Jim was probably around 11 or 12 here,
about the age of my guys now.

I received some old family photos through my sister and my mom recently. There have never been many pictures of my dad, especially not of him when he was younger, so it was a surprise to discover a few early photos of him and a few small transcribed letters from his family, talking about him.

On leave, visiting the family. This was taken in 1944,
so he was about 19 years old.

One of the letters talked about how he had re-upped in the Navy, despairing that he would ever figure out what he was going to do with his life. He looks pretty cocky and self-assured in these early pictures.

He ended up getting court martialed at one point for killing a man when he was a Chief Petty Officer, though he wouldn't talk about it. I do know he received an Honorable Discharge from the Navy, since I saw the papers in his effects after he died. This picture from the deck of the ship he served on was also in his papers, and is also in the archives of the Smithsonian:

From the deck of the USS Kitkun Bay. That is a Japanese aircraft going down.

I posted this picture a while back over in my Flickr site, and it's been the magnet for a lot of comments from others who also had relatives who served on the Kitkun Bay. It's been oddly touching to have this side of my dad's life verified and talked about, since he never talked about his service much when we were kids. He told me bits, many years later, about a kamikaze attack on their ship and how he saw his best friend burned alive in front of him. He ended up going overboard during an attack with several other men, and told me about using his pants for a float. He was the only one rescued, over 24 hours later. He was sent to a VA hospital with severe pneumonia and had a rib and part of his lung removed, with a scar that ran most of the way around his ribcage, and that was the end of his naval service.

1948, soon after he was discharged from the Navy. He was 23.

There was a lost year after that, with no record that I have found of what he did or where he went.

He resurfaced and went to art school, studied ceramics and other things. I have his most prized art book from that time, and it's become one of my most prized books as well.

He met my mom sometime after art school. He was restless, though, and left Kansas City for California and wrote long letters to her. Writing long rambling letters and stories was a life-long habit of his; he often wrote to his sisters and much later, to me, with his idiosyncratic spellings and acidic observations about people. His letters to my mom were convincing enough to persuade her to fly out to join him in California. They got married and started a family, moved around a lot and stayed consistently poor. He didn't hold down jobs for long, getting fed up with pompous fools and bored with following rules and restrictions. His impatience and refusal to settle down caused turmoil not only in his career but with his marriage and my parents had a long and troubled relationship. My mom ended up doing a lot of compromising and making do and working at whatever she could to make ends meet while he went from one job to another with long periods in between.

In the Mojave Desert, with the new car. Around 1966, I think.

We moved a lot when I was a kid. He worked sporadically; my mom was the steady one. He never smiled much and he was very rarely happy. We knew he would never go see fireworks and he would disappear suddenly if a car backfired nearby. We knew him as a dad easy to anger, rarely pleased, frequently critical. I used to dream about running away. Oddly enough, though, I never really doubted that he cared about us; I think he cared intensely and wanted us to do well for ourselves, have better lives than he'd managed for himself.

Around 1976. He was about 51,
though he felt much older to me.

 It's odd to miss someone so cantankerous and grouchy. He was critical of my drawings, even while he encouraged us to draw and work on our crafts and the things we enjoyed. He told me not to become an artist like him, to go into science. He told me to be happy and get well educated; have a decent career. I rebelled and went into art anyway, determined to prove him wrong. Before he died he told me that I was a better artist than he'd ever been, and he was glad to see me making my living as an artist. I think he'd be pleased to see me now with my boys. I suspect the notion of having grandsons at all would give him pause, since he never completely accepted the notion that he had kids himself. I know the boys would drive him crazy with their noise and nonstop talking, but I suspect he'd be proud of them, too, and maybe a bit touched to see that he had smart, kind grandsons. It's hard to know, since he died the year before they were born.

Crazy Making

Allysson pointed me towards this article in Salon about how people who work in creative fields get treated. It's long, but an interesting and revealing read. And as she said, it's somewhat depressing, at least for those of us who try (or even just dream of trying) to make a living in fields regarded as 'artistic'. The article points out:  "The Bureau of Labor Statistics confirm that creative industries have been some of the hardest hit during the Bush years and the Great Recession. ... A working artist is seen neither as the salt of the earth by the left, nor as a “job creator” by the right — but as a kind of self-indulgent parasite by both sides. Why the disconnect? ... Essentially, these are working-class people – a lot of them have second jobs. They’re highly trained – dancers, singers, actors – and they don’t make a lot of money. They make tremendous sacrifices for their work. They’re people who should have our respect, the same as a farmer. We don’t want a society without them.” That's not to say farmers or anybody else don't deserve respect, but that artists do also.

 That article goes hand in hand with this little number, found through Hazel: "We'll sign the picture with your name!" which applies to creatives of all sorts. Go ahead; I'll wait. :)

Then there's this one, from Talis, about how the London Olympics plans to not pay the pro musicians playing for the Olympics. They've spent a ton of money for corporate sponsorships and the costs are mounting up, so where do they find a place to cut costs? The musicians. Of course. Like the musicians don't need or deserve to be paid for working, they should be glad to get the exposure. Right.

My dad used to tell me that I shouldn't become an artist because artists don't get paid, and even when they do it's not much. I (of course) rebelled, and told him something along the lines of, "Oh yeah? Just watch me." It's only taken me 30-odd years to realize that if my kids ask me about becoming an artist, I'm tempted to say just about the same thing that he told me. Now I'd say, 'Become whatever you want, kiddo, but you need to be realistic about the economic realities too. You have to be able to eat and pay your bills. And working for the exposure, for free, won't pay the bills.' The little video above with the talking critters says it well: "Getting credit and exposure isn't compensation. If I create an image, credit is my right, not something that you grant me."

Damn straight.

I do a lot of work for free, for various groups and causes I believe in. The problem is that my time is limited and so is my energy. And there's always the money issue looming over me; I need to bring in money even if I am not the main breadwinner these days. The gaming industry is extremely volatile and as Paul's job history proves there's never a certainty that he will keep the job he has. My main job right now is an energy and time consuming one of raising two little boys who deserve a fair chance at a good life. That leaves very little time and energy to do work as an artist or to do any 'building' work that will take me towards a place in the future doing work I like, that's fulfilling or advances my own goals.

Part of my problem these days is figuring out what my goals are, what road I want to travel down, rather than being pulled blindly along where ever someone else with a strong vision wants to go, with me along as the hired (but frequently unpaid) talented wrist. It feels too much lately like I'm being pushed and pulled about by promises of money or exposure or good causes and I haven't taken the time to stop and look around and figure out where the hell I am and where I want to go. So I'm going to be pulling back from some things and trying to schedule in some time for myself to figure out what's what and which road to go down.

And I'll be taking time out to enjoy the boys, too, because they're growing up a little too fast for my taste.

Gymnastics and Reno

Crazy busy, and my brain wants to noodle around and mess around and do almost anything but what is needed for the deadlines. So, well, a wee break to satisfy the hamsters, I guess.

We were in Reno last weekend for Casey's big USA Gymnastics Region 1 final competition. He's a level 6, the highest he can go at his age, and he made the Northern California All Star team a few weeks ago, so he was given a special uniform and competed with the other boys who made the All Star Team. He saw his Demaray's teammates during the meet since they were at least in the same competition, but he was on different events at different times than they were. He said it felt strange, but he also felt like he had to do a good job because he was representing his team.

So Region 1 includes Northern California, Southern California, Nevada, Arizona and Hawaii. This region is the most populated and the most competitive in the nation, apparently. At least that's what everyone tells me. And since I know very little about all the politics and stuff around all of it I tend to accept it at face value. Casey being on the Northern CA All Star Team meant that he was on one of the teams competing for trophies; only the various state all star teams were considered for team awards at this big Regional meet.

The actual meet was huge; running smoothly over 5 days with Levels 5 through 10 and various age ranges for each level. Casey's level 6 compatriots were only a small portion of the overall number of kids competing.

Part of the idea of these meets and the USA Gymnastics Association is to help kids have positive experiences with gymnastics competition. A benefit as well is that they help develop the athletes who go on in the sport to compete in things like the Olympics. The boys who do really well academically as well as in the competitions and stay in it up through high school can get recruited for 'full ride' scholarships to places like Stanford and UC Berkeley, though college funding for the sport is in serious jeopardy. The UC Berkeley team is fighting to keep their funding, and the rest of the universities are following very closely on what happens with the Berkeley case.

The kids who try gymnastics, like it and continue with it, and then join a competitive team have to learn discipline and they work really hard all year round, even during the off season.

For a bit of background, Casey and Riley both started doing gymnastics at a beginner class when they were in 1st grade; they learned basic tumbling and started on the basics for the gymnastics skills that are needed and form the basis for all of the more complex moves. That expanded for a few years for both of them.

They were both good at it, though Casey had the clear advantage over Riley of having a very strong, compact build while Riley is taller, rangy and lacks the sort of upper body strength Casey has. Riley eventually wanted to drop out and go into track and cross country as well as basketball instead, and Casey made it clear all along that he wanted to continue steadily on with gymnastics. Casey now goes to gymnastics 5 days a week, 3 hours per day, every week, more during the summer. A day off is very unusual. If Casey were to drop out for an extended period, like a year, he would not be able to get back to the level he is at now; the conditioning for flexibility and the strength required to be good at this are things that they work at always, constantly.

It's really amazing to see these little guys do these impossible things, as well as follow all the restrictions and structure required of them. It's a far distance from complaining about doing chores and homework. I have taken a fair amount of flak from other people, especially other parents, who would never subject their kids to such strenuous and demanding routines, or put them through such hard competition and judging. I have been warned by people worried for his health about putting his body through all of the things the sport requires, warned that he will grow up distorted in mind and body from the constant strain and disipline. And I have learned to listen politely, nod and let them gently know that Casey himself is the one who wants to do this so badly; he loves it, he craves it and he knows he always has the choice of stopping in this sport whenever he wants or needs to. So far he's been very clear and he wants to keep going, getting better, being as good at it as he can be. He understands that he has to do well academically in order to continue, so he keeps his grades up and gets on the honor roll every semester. He's one of those kids who wants to compete, wants to do well, and we end up watching him with some bemusement. Where did he come from? Where will it all lead him?

It's very competitive, make no mistake about that. Kids of every ability level have to learn to deal with the pressure of being judged by tough professional judges as well as realizing they aren't always the best in the crowd, and if they're very lucky, like Casey, they learn to measure their accomplishments not only against other boys who are really exceptionally good, but against their own abilities.

Sounds like a load of bunk, I know, but Casey came away from this competition really happy. He didn't come in first in anything; he came in third on rings and 11th on high bar, 11th all around. At the local and state meets he went to with his team throughout the season, he was getting used to getting a medal in almost every event, used to placing in the top three on most everything. Not here. And yet he was really happy with how he did, because he beat his own personal all around record score. I was really pretty impressed with his attitude. Though getting a couple of medals as well as his own trophy when his All Star Team won third place probably helped his mood too. ;)

 

So the next day after the big Regional meet, we drove home from Reno, through Donner Pass, and stopped and played in the snow for a while. The boys loved it. And life was good.

And we got home that evening just in time for Casey to make it to gymnastics practice.

Zeitgeist

We went to see the Hunger Games movie last night. This was mainly because Riley has been devouring the books and desperately wanted to see the movie, and it has been getting favorable reviews. So we all went and bought a few snacks for unreasonably high prices (the overall total to take 2 adults and 2 kids to a movie and get a few movie snacks is shocking these days). The theater was full even though it was a Sunday evening.

Normally I doubt I'd bother to write up a post about a popular movie. Lately I haven't bothered to write about much of anything, to be honest. I have been stuck in a funk for a couple of weeks, partly because I seem to have developed Metatarsalgia in the ball of my left foot, which is also the leg that has a big metal plate along the length of the tibia due to a bad break a few years back. Add my usual amount of tibia pain to the ball of the foot pain and it's keeping me from taking Yoda Bob Dog for our usual walks and it depresses me. Anyway.

I have not read the books at this point, I have only the movie and Riley's reports to form my impressions, so whatever I say can safely be taken with a grain of salt. But what an interesting cultural reaction to a really dark concept. The people shown in the Districts look straight out of 1930's dirt-poor coal miner communities, while the rich in the city are futuristic and obviously don't have to do hard menial labor; they can afford to devote most of their time to decorating themselves. The contrast has been drawn very broadly.

There are very few characters in the entire movie who are sympathetic, actually; most of them seem set up for cardboard symbolism rather than as believable developed characters. Which I'll admit irritates me; I don't like being hit over the head with the Message, however one cares to interpret the overbearing message of the movie. And it seems that different factions in American society find ways to interpret the Message for their own groups; though it's not a perfect fit it could certainly be read as a commentary on the 1% vs. 99% Occupy wealth distribution idea, and I hear that the conservatives are interpreting this movie in their own way as a condemnation of the excesses of liberal values as well. Whichever way one looks at it its painted with a very broad brush. Polarization comes to mind. It's really not a feel-good story with a satisfying happy ending, and of course the books aren't either. It's interesting since usually movie goers really want happy endings; they can handle harrowing subjects in some cases but usually those types of movies only do well if they're well made, important historical subjects and offer some light at the end of the tunnel. This particular movie doesn't offer that.

So what is the appeal; why are people so willing to go see it? This movie is doing well in the box office and getting good reviews. It's very surprising considering the really dark content; kids killing kids, poor kids being offered up as a poor underclass sacrificial punishment/payment to a rich upper class that governs with iron control. There is no real ending; though our protagonists manage to survive, there is no hint of an overall bettering of the societal ills, though the movie leaves plenty of room open for sequels. There is no satisfying blowing up of the Death Star at the end. Honestly it surprises me; if this had come out when I was a teen it would have bombed, I'm pretty certain. The societal timing of this story is everything, really. It's not like the concept of the story is really new or that different, it's more that it somehow fits in with the zeitgeist of the times right now.

So what is the flavor of the times now that this sort of story appeals so much to the younger crowd? They identify with it; they feel in tune with it. It's alien to me. Riley seems quite comfortable with the notion of a large, underprivileged, underdog class. My guys are growing up with a deep feeling that our society is not fair, that a select few have all the power and all the control. This Hunger Games story feels familiar to them, like an extreme extension of the way things are. It's a weird notion for me to grasp. It's not like the notion of working class vs. upper crust is new, after all; that's always been around. But it may be a relatively new notion that most of us as Americans are just always going to struggle, be working stiffs who can barely make ends meet. That whole notion of the American dream, the self-made man, if you work hard enough you can better yourself, is eroding away. My guys do not seem to be absorbing that idea the way that my generation did. We grew up with the clear idea that if we applied ourselves and worked hard that we could do better than our parents did, raise ourselves up. My boys see us struggling to keep jobs, struggling to pay the bills no matter how smart we are or how hard we work. I don't think this is because Paul and I are whiners, blaming everyone but ourselves. We have just fallen into harder times where most everyone is struggling and with things like the Occupy movement they are seeing that the basic structure that we live with is unfair to the majority of people. They are growing up more quickly and much more cynical than we were.

I grew up with the Vietnam body counts on the news at night. I had friends with older brothers or dads who served and were lost in Vietnam. There were still nuclear drills at school, where that special alarm would go off and you were supposed to 'duck and cover' under your desk. Like that would help, really. But as kids we were presented with external fears that probably unified us as a country, certainly as American kids. We pledged allegiance to the flag and our country, we were taught the ideas at school that we could be proud of how people wanted to come to our country because we were free, we were brave and we welcomed people who were different and gave everyone equal opportunities. It may not have been perfect or always true but we felt that at least we were working towards it, that it was the right thing to do. My boys are not growing up with those ideas, though we make our own efforts to give them good values and a sense of right and wrong and what's good and fair.

We transferred them to a public school in a richer neighborhood because it offers a science and math magnet program; if they went to their home school in our neighborhood they would not be getting taught science at all. We cannot afford private school. They will not not be able to go to the best colleges because university fees are so expensive and only the wealthier kids can afford to go. Scholarships are a possibility but those have become scarcer and the competition is fierce. College in this country is much more expensive than it was when I went, and it wasn't exactly fair then either. It's gotten worse.

It's just a fact that kids from wealthier families are given more opportunities for a better life. And my boys are soaking all of this in almost subconsciously. We're solidly middle class, and they know we could be much worse off, but they've also had to do without when money has been especially tight. And I think they have a good feel for how precarious our financial situation is. I think they're lucky, happy kids overall, but the zeitgeist of what they are absorbing in school and from the world around them is frightening.

They do not see this country as a good place, the land of the free, not the way we did as kids. They think of other countries as being better places, fairer places, more caring places. They see other countries as places for better opportunities, and this country as a place with very serious problems that they feel powerless to fix. They feel invisible and unwanted in this country. And they may well be right, though it really hurts my own deeply American heart to think that.

I'm not sure what the solution is aside from our own parental efforts to give them love and make sure they know that we value them and think they can do great things. It feels like an uphill battle to overcome the damaging massages they're getting from everywhere outside, that's for sure. All those kids that are going to see The Hunger Games are identifying with the kids being sacrificed. And what does that say?

affirming and insulting all in the same day

So I have awesome friends. I have dear friends who live far away and whom I miss terribly, and some whom I've known for many years who are close family. And I have developed friends who live here, nearby, where I can see them regularly, and it's a very good thing because they affirm me as a person.

That sounds so new-agey, I know. Friends, good friends, real friends; we talk and listen to each other and hear between the words what is and isn't said. We care for one another, we try to support each other. Yesterday was a day where some of my friends made a special effort to affirm me, to tell me their own perceptions of what kind of person I was, after I tried (embarrassingly badly) to give some of my own perceptions of who I was.

I am really bad at describing myself in front of other people, it turns out. I uncomfortably gabbled a few phrases like 'I'm pretty creative', or 'I need more patience' or 'I wish I were thinner but I'm too lazy to work hard at it' sort of stuff. Pathetic, really. The fact that this was with women I trusted and respect only made my own self-criticism worse, probably; it meant that my vicious inner critic felt safe enough to emerge and say some of those horrible critical things out loud. Not pretty. But get this: my friends came right back and told me all sorts of wonderful things about me that they perceive about me, and I found myself profoundly moved and touched by their love and support.

They said good, solid, positive things that were all true, and I realized even as it was going on that I was having trouble taking in what they were saying and retaining it all; my brain wanted to set those complimentary things aside as not being a part of me. Obviously it's hard for me to hear positive things about myself. That may seem odd; surely we all want to be told nice things about ourselves, but it makes me uncomfortable and my tendency, always, is to try to brush compliments away in embarrassment.

And yet. To wave away a genuine, caring, positive comment about how someone thinks of you, to treat it as wrong or meaningless is actually really insulting the other person, saying their careful words and perceptions are silly or worthless. And I really value these women's views and opinions, so I need to think seriously about what they said and absorb their thoughts and take it all to heart, I think. That ugly specter of damaged self esteem is something I fight against every day. It cloaks itself in supposed humility and 'not giving myself airs', but really, it just becomes self damaging. And it's long past time to get past it and embrace myself and my own strengths and gifts.

Then.
Yesterday afternoon Casey came home and told me about this kid at school who sits next to him. I know this kid; I know most of the kids in the boys' classes because it's a small school and they've been there since kindergarten. And this kid is a problem for my guys and has been ever since he got held back in second grade. Big, bullying, but then when he gets caught or called on it he turns the story around and becomes the helpless victim who has been mercilessly bullied by the smaller, younger kid, made fun of because he was held back or whatnot.

So this kid sits next to Casey. Yesterday he grabbed Casey's crayons, taunted Casey to get them from him and broke them. He threatened Casey with the old 'what are you gonna do?' thing. Casey 'tazed' him (which is an attempt to poke somebody right in the nerve bundle in the side). After which the other kid said Casey had attacked him and retaliated by taking out a broken, sharp ruler and jabbing and stabbing at Casey on the arm, chest and leg. And then told Casey his mom was 'f***ing fat' (which Casey really didn't want to tell me). Casey retorted that so was his, whereupon the other kid took scissors and threatened to cut up his jacket unless he 'took it back'. Casey caved and 'took it back'. And then the other kid took a permanent marker and proceeded to mark up Casey's favorite shirt all over the chest and arms while kicking his legs. Casey doesn't lie about things, and he's so not a troublemaker in class or on the playground.

All of this happened in the classroom, while their teacher was on the other side of the room correcting tests, and he didn't see what was happening. It happened in stifled whispers and furtive movements. Casey did not raise his hand to try to tell his teacher, and he had decided not to tell on the other kid. He likes and trusts his teacher, but in his past experience, everyone always believes this kid when he turns the story around and whichever kid was actually the victim of the bullying would be the one to get blamed and get in trouble. This kid is very good at lying and persuading adults that he is the injured party, and very good at getting other kids in trouble. Bullying is taken very seriously in their school (which is a good thing), but it can result in the wrong kid getting in trouble, and getting a referral or even expelled. The kids (at least the good kids) take it pretty seriously. So Casey gave in to this kid, and said nothing until he got in the car and then he told me. And then we talked about it with Paul. At the very least I wanted his teacher made aware of what's going on and I needed this kid moved away from Casey. Man, when Casey first told me, I was so angry that this kid keeps getting away with stuff like this and that something like this happened to one of my kids, that honestly, all reason just flew out the window... for a good long while. Mama Tiger would have ripped that kid apart if he'd been around right then.

Well, the upshot is that we had a conference with Casey's teacher, and we all listened carefully while Casey told us what had happened, reassured him several times that he wasn't in trouble. His teacher made sure to tell Casey several times that he could absolutely come to him if anything like this happens again, and that what had happened to him was horrible. He will call the other mom and talk to her; this isn't the first time he's had to deal with her. He is aware of how she is and the tendency to excuse and explain away transgressions. The other kid will be moved away from Casey and there will be consequences, though we're not sure what yet. Casey has been assured that if there are any threats or retaliation that he's to come directly to his teacher, and his teacher will be watching carefully.

Bullying is such a complex and insidious thing. I know this kid and I know he isn't all bad, but he's had run-ins with Riley and Casey before. His mother is part of the problem; I've met her a few times and she doesn't really know me or Paul at all but her kid repeats things he claims his mom said about myself and my kids that are just wildly unfair. Apple, tree; short distance, I guess. His mom must be so proud. Maybe if I were able to be more kind I'd try to say 'well I'm sure she has a tough time and there are all sorts of things she has to deal with' but honestly, right now I just feel like, 'well, we all have tough things to deal with, that doesn't excuse it.'

Lots of people have tough lives. It doesn't ever mean you have permission to treat other people badly, like the right wing Republicans are treating women and gays and anyone who stands up to them. Maybe if someone had stood up to those grown-up, powerful bullies when they were kids in grade school they might be different people, though I wonder. Are some people just bad apples? Does it really depend on what tree we come from? Some people overcome bad upbringings, certainly. Can bad apples be saved?