Last Shuttle Launch

In the late summer of 1971, I went to Hawaii with my uncle (who worked for NASA) my aunt, and my sister. My uncle was working on the recovery mission for Apollo 15, which was set to splash down into the Pacific in August and my sister and I were going to visit our grandparents who lived on Oahu. I remember being unimpressed by the fact that a space orbiter, containing astronauts David Scott, James Irwin and Alfred Worden, had just spent 3 days on the surface of the moon and was making a pinpoint crash into the ocean. It seemed....normal. I was homesick (in Hawaii, for God's sake) and missed my new puppy, Popi. Even though I spent my 10th birthday (in Hawaii, for God's sake) I was sad. Well, I never said I wasn't an idiot. The full impact of being a part of space history was inexorably lost on me. Inexorably, yes...but not irretrievably. A few hours ago, the very last shuttle to be launched into space left the launchpad in Cape Canaveral, Florida. A beautiful sight, one that, strangely, has become commonplace. I watched it with tears in my eyes. With the economy (and ideology) being what it is today, it may be a very long time before we see its like again. We lack the resources but also the clear vision for our long-term survival. Our short-term survival has become the focus. And understandably so. But there's so much more to explore out there. At what point do we look at what we have left and prepare for the day when what we have is no longer enough? Then where do we go? I guess that's up to politicians and purse-string holders. I've seen many, many rocket launches in my life - each one full of the dreams of so many, to "slip the surly bonds of earth...to touch the face of God." I've taken most of them for granted. Forty years later, 10 days from my 50th birthday...today, I  watched the last one I will probably ever see in my life. I wonder about all the unanswered questions and if we've sacrificed our future because of our short-sightedness. I guess I'll never find out. God speed, Atlantis.

Back to Work

Sunset

The first measurable rain in 5 months produced 
this sunset last night.

Interesting Film

Zero 

A stop-motion film by Christopher and Kristine Kezelos. 
So many issues.

Does Over Parenting = Unhappy Adults?

Lou Brooks

In terms of parenting, on a scale of 1-10, I consider myself a 14. I'm not bragging or patting myself on the back, though, because I'm beginning to realize that I (and so many of my friends who competed for Queen Mom) may have made a grave mistake. A recent article in The Atlantic suggests that over concentration on making your kids happy may doom them to unhappiness later in life. The article, "How to Land Your Kid in Therapy," is making headlines and I think there may be something to it. I know that whenever something is popular or desired (whether it be perfect parenting or Martha Stewart's lifestyle), there is someone out there who is chomping at the bit to bring it down, usually by producing data or quasi-proof that everyone is wrong. My instinct was usually that the critic was one of those people who likes to say, "All you people are going in the wrong direction. You're idiots." Sometimes that's true, but it's not just this article that has had me thinking this way. Little background: I have one child. One child with whom I was home for twelve years. He was the focus of my undistracted attention, which was also partly to blame for the demise of my marriage - but that's another story. I wasn't just room mom, I was PTO president. Sometimes he would say to me, "Can't you just be a regular mom?" But I didn't hear him. I mean, I heard his words, but I thought that if volunteering a few hours a month at school was good, then winning recognition for over 100 hours per year was better. And I wasn't alone. Most of my friends did the same -- I just took it one step further. I had snacks waiting for him daily when he came home, prepared with multi-colored bread I drove all over to find. I created paparazzi events when he boarded the bus on the first day of school, baked homemade croissants for my fellow parents at the bus stop, planned summer field trips for his friends and enrolled him in gymnastics, which ended up taking up 24 hours per week in practice and $6k per year in tuition and travel. He had a choice...sort of. It became his life and he didn't really know any better. But I did. I fell into the trap of getting sucked into extracurricular things that consume your life as a child and as a family. As his successes at gym grew, the rest of his life faltered. But I wanted him to be happy, or what I perceived it to be, even if it meant excluding everything else. I cheered him on, as I always had, at school and at competitions and I hoped it would be enough. 

When he had his almost inevitable sports-ending injury, everything came to a screeching stop. There was nothing to fall back on. He was a kid who had heard applause most of his life for things he could no longer do. At school, he stood out because of me, because I was a constant presence. He struggled with generating his own value...and it was my fault. It's not just my kid. I see his friends, who have also never known disappointment; who've never pumped their own gas, or had to work for a car or did anything without the safety net of their overprotective parents. They don't know failure or struggle or hunger - and not just hunger for food - hunger for something that they have to work for. There's no satisfaction in getting anything because they haven't earned anything. Everything is handed to them by parents like me, well-intentioned parents who want better for their kids. They go to schools where they are applauded for going to the bathroom, given bonus points for sharing, and trophies just for showing up. Individual accomplishment - as well as natural talent - is marginalized when everyone gets a trophy, why don't we see that? And so, we release these woefully unprepared kids out into the world and wonder why they're so unhappy. They had amazing childhoods, supportive parents, days filled with pool parties and summer vacations. Why are they so sad? Could it be because real bosses don't welcome you with snacks and sandwiches made with rainbow colored bread? There's no applause when you turn in your project at work and you don't get a trophy just for coming in to work every day. 

For my child, reality hit home a bit early. The divorce forced him into seeing the world a lot differently. He's had a job since he was 15, lives at home but pays for his insurance, car, gas and some groceries. It was a shock at first but I think he's proud of his growth...and so am I. We speak of it often, how he sees his friends as unhappy and how shocked he is at how naive they are. There but for the grace of God... He still struggles with disappointment and some sadness but I'm lucky that he's a very self-aware young man who understands why he feels this way. He says he's sorry that he had to give up that kind of life but says he wouldn't have had it any other way. He pities his friends who have yet to see the light of self-sufficiency and wonders how it will affect them when they're out on their own. I look at my mistakes and see new parents making those same mistakes and want to warn them but I suppose epiphanies are self-actuated. As parents, we do our jobs as best we can and cross our fingers that they'll be okHe makes mistakes, some spectacularly stupid ones, and I've learned to let him fall. It's crucial that he learns to pick himself up on his own. And when he does, I acknowledge, but I don't applaud.

Happy Father's Day!

It's funny, when I think of my dad, I remember the times when he would thump me on the forehead and say, "You're a 'pohaku head.' No common sense." In Hawaiian, I think it means 'hard-headed, like a stone.' I now look at it as a term of endearment but at the time, it just hurt. Ouch. Happy Father's Day, Daddy.  Miss you.

Happy 12th Birthday to Sam

Happy birthday sweet Sam!! 
You are the perfect puppy....sweet, smart, loyal and true. 
I'm so happy you're here, beautiful boy!

Slow

Goodbye Oprah

They call it television history. The end of an era. As cheesy as it sounds, I will miss Oprah. The show was one of those staples, like coming home from school and always having a snack waiting for you. No matter what kind of day you had, it was nice to count on someone always there, talking about something you may or may not find interesting but nevertheless always familiar. And familiar is comforting. It bears repeating that she was like a good friend who everybody goes to for advice because she seems to know what she's doing. You felt like you could walk up to her on the street and say, "So I was thinking about what you said the other day..."  Of course, you can't, mostly because her bodyguards would beat you down to the street. She's Oprah. In the past few years it seemed that she'd become a caricature of herself, believing in her own "persona." Sometimes she made me mad and I will confess to at least one hotly fired off e-mail to the show to complain that she'd lost touch with her audience; that she believed all the press about how she was above reproach. The show with Lisa Marie Presley, for example, irritated me when it seemed to me that all the questions were elitist and pompous: "So...ain't it great to be able to not have to worry about money?" I'm paraphrasing, of course, but I thought that she'd forgotten who her audience was (or at least, started as): housewives and exhausted moms who clip coupons to get by. Fortunately, there were few shows that showed that side of Oprah. The compassionate and sometimes self-effacing side of her is probably what touched most people. I loved watching her and Gayle on the road and Oprah trying to pump gas, something she admitted she hasn't done in 20 years. Television magic! Her generosity, not just of material things like cars, houses, full scholarships...but also her generosity of spirit, her willingness to share ugly personal things with the viewers and open to take in the ugly sides of others with little or no judgment. Those things were also appealing to me even though cynically, I always suspected that it was easy to be compassionate and generous when you had the world on a string and no worries yourself. I read an article recently about the "Gospel of Oprah," and how her flock of viewers interacted with her in the same way that a religious leader reels in the faithful of her constituents. I think there's some truth to that statement, even though I'm offended that I was preached to without even knowing it. She was always conscious of not revealing too much of her strong faith in God in her "message," even though it was obvious that it was a compelling force in her life. I respected that, her respect for not wanting to impose her own religious beliefs on me. But maybe it went through anyway. Normally, I'd be pissed, but somehow, it seems okay because it's Oprah. I put off watching her last show for a few days because I was convinced it would be too sad. And it was. And I got teary a few times. She talked about thanking the audience for the privilege of being able to come into their homes all these years. For being faithful and to remember to live each day being true to yourself and your calling. Sounds like a sermon to me. The transparent curtain of religious restraint came down altogether, though, as she talked about Jesus and I think her last words on the stage were, "Praise be to God." Again, that's okay. If I were her, I'd be on my knees weeping and thanking God and everyone else for the miraculously successful run I'd just ended too. Goodbye, Oprah, I'll miss you and...you're welcome.

Still Here

Judgment Day at Jurassic Park

Lucky 13

Friday the 13th? Yeah, so what?
I crossed my hoomin's path 36 times today. My work is done.

Happy Mother's Day!!!

 

Always photogenic Sam....

Thus ended another Mother's Day - and also another camera.

Teasing Dogs

Ota Benga

Ota Benga 1883-1916, an African Congolese pygmy

There's been some buzz lately about a book called, Ota Benga: The Pygmy at the Zoo by Harvey Blume and Philips Verner Bradford. It's a fascinating story, one that I've never heard of, about an African pygmy tribesman who was captured in 1904 by a North Carolina adventurer, Samuel Verner Bradford (grandfather of one of the authors) and purchased for some salt and yards of cloth.  His hunting group had been butchered along with his wife and children. Ota was displayed in the Bronx NY Zoo as an exhibit.  The plaque on the cage read: The African Pygmy, 'Ota Benga.' Age, 23 years. Height, 4 feet 11 inches. Weight 103 pounds. Brought from the Kasai River, Congo Free State, South Central Africa, by Dr. Samuel P. Verner. Exhibited each afternoon during September." The cage was strewn with bones and grasses and Ota was expected to squat and weave things and occasionally pick up a bow and arrow and shoot it. Eventually, an orangutan was put in the cage with him and he carried it around like a child to the delight of zoo visitors. The zoo director saw nothing ethically wrong with displaying a human being in a zoo with animals and at the St. Louis fair, Ota was a popular attraction along with other human "oddities of nature" from the Philippines, Japan and South America. The one dissenting voice came from the Reverend James H. Gordon, of the Colored Baptists Ministers' Conference whose objection was to the blatant racism but also more theological in nature. He was afraid that showing a black human with apes would give people ideas of Darwinism and detract from his Christian message. The Bronx Zoo director, clueless as to the negative attention, insisted that "(Benga)...has one of the best rooms in the primate house." Ota was allowed more freedom but eventually, because of some violent episodes, he was released to Rev. Gordon's Howard Colored Orphan Asylum in Brooklyn.  Here, he learned to write a little, along with children a third his age.  He was able to work a few jobs and often paid bus fare with a wild bird egg or a rabbit. On March 20, 1916, Ota Benga, once a proud pygmy warrior, went behind his small house and shot himself through the heart. It's no wonder that this is not a well known story. It's certainly one that is easily shoved under the carpet or stored in the dusty closet of human nature. Still, while I really don't need any more affirmation regarding what some humans are capable of doing to each other and other living creatures, I'm anxious to read this book. Bitter, much? Sometimes it seems so.

Wonders Why No One Takes Him Seriously

 

I hope now that a certificate of live birth has been produced by the state of Hawaii, we can put to rest all of the ridiculous (in my opinion) speculation. It was beginning to sound like veiled racism: he looks different, therefore he must be born elsewhere. In my humble opinion, it's the worst kind of prejudice without actually using that word. Most informed folks recognize it for the ignorant comment that it was and the stupid, bigoted people spreading rumors that the president is from Kenya....well, they're the same tiresome people who (after 50 years) continue to ask me if I'm an American. I won't show you my birth certificate but I will show you an ancient Chinese hand gesture. Not really Chinese, but how would they know?