That Which Does Not Kill Us...

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING....SENSITIVE TOPICS HEREIN.

Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And if you gaze long enough into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you. – Friedrich Nietzsche

So, there is a registered sex offender living next door. All that separates our house from where he lives is a hedge and the driveway into the cemetery. I know he is there because we received the mandatory letter from the police department with most of the relevant information. I looked him up on the registry and, to get the more unpleasant details out of the way early, this is what I found out: he is a violent offender whose victim was 12 years old. He is a level 3 risk and was charged with forcible compulsion. Quick searches online revealed that he plead out, which explains why he only received five years. He will be 34 this month. He is mandated to attend anti-violent and anti-aggression counseling. He is prohibited alcohol and is not allowed to drive. He has a curfew.

This particular type of crime repulses me to no end. I would wager than any decent human finds it be one of the worst things we can imagine. The violation of a child and the utter destruction of that child’s innocence are beyond our ability to comprehend on any rational level. Regardless of how horrific his own background might have been, there seems to be no possible way to excuse his behavior. It wasn't a mistake, as a drunk driver might say. He didn't do it to feed his starving family, as a thief might say. He wasn't a mislead youth, as a vandal might say. It wasn't self-defense, as a murderer might say. His behavior is the action of a depraved human being who – at our kindest – we can say has an illness of the brain. None of the public documentation indicates this to be the case at all, but I am willing to concede that it is possible. Even that, however, is not enough for me to feel anything but disgust. As a woman living in a rape culture, as a human being with a heart, as someone who was once a child…I just cannot shake off the utter revulsion I feel when I consider what he did. I try not to.

All of this leads me to an interesting place of discussion. Our justice system is a flawed thing, no doubt. But it is the system that we have and I’m not sure I have a better system in mind to replace it with if I could. So, we have to fight it when it is unfair, and we have to make do with what it gives us. This man is on probation and living next door in a neighborhood where the school bus stops directly across the street from his residence. Young girls, female runners, and countless walkers flow through the cemetery steadily as it is a great place to get away from roads and traffic. This is frightening to me. All of it. Our justice system says that he has paid his dues. He should be, in some ways, just another citizen with a couple of extra hoops through which he must jump. But even the documentation identifies him as having a “high risk of repeat offense” and acknowledges that “a threat to public safety exists.” The recidivism rate of sex offenders has always been thought to be high. This is public information. So, what do we do?

I don’t mean on a personal level. I am always careful of my person and now will be more so. I’m fairly certain that JDB won’t actually run him over with the car. His house is easy to avoid and foreknowledge is forewarned. Not for nothing, this is why they tell us he is there. For our protection and the protection of our children. 

But, (if you are feeling up to it), spend a few moments reading the comments on this kind of story anywhere on the Internet or listening to people discussing a crime of this nature and the barbarism is truly shocking. So many terrifying things come from those who are angry and feel helpless when encountered with a story of the abuse of a child, sexual or otherwise. When society isn't victim shaming, its collective heart breaks and its blood boils to contemplate, in any way, crimes of a sexual nature.  It is a truly damaging crime that is all too prevalent and under-reported in a culture that seems steeped in factors that feed it. But the violent threats and suggestions of how to solve the problem of the rapist are rarely palatable and often are disturbing in and of themselves. That said, I also firmly believe that the people who let such suggestions enter their public discourse could never actually follow through. It is a coping mechanism. I have heard it as such, I understand it as such, I have even had such thoughts myself.

But that does leave us with the very real dilemma borne out of a general quandary regarding what we actually can and should do. On one hand, he paid his dues (regardless of whether or not I think it was enough) and as long as he continues to do what he is supposed to do, he should be allowed to continue on unmolested. That’s what makes people like us better than people like him. We can rise above our primal instincts which call for him to suffer unendingly for what he has done. We have to believe in the system of a civilized society where we understand that if we gaze too long into the abyss, we eventually become one with the abyss itself. 

But, that leaves us with the problem of what to do. He must work – but who will hire him? He has to live somewhere, but who wants him as a neighbor? And if he is repeatedly and continually ostracized by society, isn't that more likely to drive him to more criminal behavior? What about the conundrum of Broward County, Florida? In 2009, a registered sex offender was begging to be arrested again because there was absolutely nowhere for him to live that was within the confines of his probation. Protecting the public is paramount…but don’t we, as human beings with hearts, have some duty to other living creatures? No matter how reprehensible their behavior has been? When a dog is rabid, we euthanize because we cannot cure what ails him. Problem solved, albeit painfully. Where do we draw the line? Especially since, no matter what your views on capital punishment are, a death sentence has collateral damage that is often overlooked.

This is something I feel uniquely sharply because one of my greatest strengths is also one of my greatest weaknesses.  Empathy.  I kill no creatures if I can at all help it and I often find myself pulled into the emotions of others to the point where I run the risk of drowning in them. When I don’t drown, it is a good thing not only for me but for whoever has leaned on me in a time of need. When I do find myself slipping, it can be heartbreaking, exhausting, and agonizing. It also makes me feel this whole topic rather keenly. Wasps can kill me – as I said in my last blog – and yet I won’t kill one. I’ll capture it and put it outside. If it were to sting me, I would know that it was just engaging in its own nature. As long as we avoid one another, that nature can continue, unabated and unharmful for both parties.

But what about my neighbor? Is the letter from the police department the cup placed over the wasp?  Do we simply  live and let live? Hope he doesn't repeat offend? Find comfort in the litany of restrictions placed on him? Trust the system? Especially since the recidivism rates may not be quite as bad as public opinion thinks they are? Does the percentage even matter? I cannot put any other sort of cup over him and let him outside, so I have to learn to be safe.   I cannot engage in self-torture by dwelling on his crime and I cannot sentence him for one he has not yet committed.   We must, for the moment, co-exist.  Some small voice, however, knows the guilt will sit heavily on me if that next crime should come to pass. Not because of any rational sense of wrong doing but simply because of a zone of proximity that will leave me feeling as if there must have been something I could have done.

In the meantime, I will simply say that I don’t have the answers. I just know I’m more careful and I have added another bullet to the pro column of reasons to move to the country. Which will not solve the larger problem; it will only make it not my problem. Because that is what we do when we don’t have the answers.  If there are too many wasps, we run.

Christmas Shoes...

Yesterday afternoon, when my long day of conferences had ended itself satisfactorily, I headed to the mall to run an errand or two. I wanted to exchange a shirt J had gotten for his birthday (he is just “& Tall” without the “Big” part and that can make sizing interesting) and I wanted to get the gifts for the Angel I took off the Angel Tree at school. It’s not often I get to shop for a little girl and it seemed like a nice soothing way to spend an hour or two. Down time.


I wandered around looking at all sorts of things and ended up picking two pants and jacket sets that were made of the same kind of fuzzy material as my favorite blankets. I also found a stuffed Clarice from Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer – complete with the little bow on her ear. When I took my items up to the cash register, I struck up a conversation with the young lady who was ringing up my purchases. It was the sort of throw-away conversation we often have in such situations. She commented on how one of the fuzzy outfits was adorable and I agreed, adding that it also looked warm and cozy. I said that if the little girl was poor, she could probably use some warm clothes. And I explained who I was buying for and why. She nodded and made sympathetic noises. Up until that point, it was just the sort of casual conversation you have with the people who briefly pass into your life as you briefly pass into theirs.


Except then it wasn’t anymore.


She mentioned that a school had asked if she would like to be ON their tree and she declined. She said that they were on Food Stamps, but they weren’t poor, they just needed a little help. She wanted to save the space on the Tree for the people who really needed it. Then she smiled a little and said “I’ve got three boys, see.” All the while, her hands were moving, folding little clothes and ringing up my sale. That casual moment of small-talk politeness turned into a heart-felt conversation about the necessity of helping those who are less fortunate that we are and, then, in a moment or two, I was walking away, her attention already diverted to a woman who kept saying “boys slippers?” in the middle of our transaction. I was still thinking about her words as I made my way out into the chill air and on to a hot meal and a warm house. I just kept thinking about how she didn’t want to take more than she needed, and all she needed was a little help.


So many of us could learn from this woman’s quiet wisdom. She seemed to think nothing of discussing with a stranger that she is careful to not take more than she needs, even as she is clearly working hard to make life better for her three boys. Her simple statement of appreciation for what she has is something that I wish everyone would stop and realize about their own lives. We should all look at life this way – acknowledging blessings, being thankful, taking only what we need, helping those who have it worse. We should all strive to create a world where this conversation wouldn’t be so remarkable. We can do this – we can start with our own hearts, start by being generous, being kind, being helpful, being humble, being joyful, and being thankful. We can make the world a better place.


We just need a little help. 

I Will Survive...

First, a disclaimer.  I don't know as I have all the facts just right in the following blog -- but I know the overall picture is accurate, and that is what matters most for what I'm trying to say.

For no particular reason, this blog is going to be about one of those people I consider a good friend; although, to be honest, I really do not know her that well. That being said, however, what I do know never ceases to amaze me. She is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and is the kind of person who would agree with, and not be offended by, that statement. For the purposes of this blog, I shall call her Rosie, after the iconic image of female strength, Rosie the Riveter.

Rosie has made mistakes in her life – as have we all. Her life is also, from the sounds of it, very different than mine. I had a very sheltered upbringing in a lot of ways. I knew there were wild youth around me, but I was not one of them. I knew that there were smokers and miscreants, but my life never really intersected with theirs. I’m not sure I ever thought about sex in any direct way, let alone experimented with it. But Rosie, well, Rose could have been a classic story of teen pregnancy had she been less of the woman she is. Her life was a rocky from what little I really know – her mother setting only by negative example what a good mother is, her father raising his daughters alone. Rosie almost seemed doomed to a life unfolding in dark places into which the successful do not peer. But, not really. Her family was a loving one, and while it is true that she herself had a child too young – it was by the grace of her own father that the father of her child was not jailed for his part in the events. The two of them had their child, a beautiful baby boy – but perhaps too beautiful to stay with us. Within 6 months, he was gone. His resting place is one I pass by often as I walk through the cemetery behind my house. Always I dream of what it must have been like to know him, to love him, and then to lose him. He is, in some ways, a representation of the child I will never have. 

Anyway, Rosie suffered, as would any mother. In fact, I think it near impossible for anyone who has not felt what she felt to ever truly know the keening agony she continues to endure even today, though perhaps muted by time and life and the miracles that both can bring us. She gained weight, took up smoking, and from there, I lose track of her story. The details don’t really matter, though. She appeared in my life some time later, a vivacious student with a ready smile and a streak of fire. A student. She was fixing her life by going to school and doing wonderfully at it – being one of those students that any dedicated teacher will not soon forget. She has since finished with us and is now working on her Bachelors while serving as a Home Health Aide. And all the while, she has been with the same beau, though they are both older and wiser and now betrothed to one another. She has toyed with vegetarianism, talked about gastric bypass, tried to quit smoking, tried again and is currently succeeding. She is watching what she eats and the weight is sliding off. As I’ve said, I was not in her life for the darker moments, for the most part, and so I have the unique joy of watching how, like a phoenix, she is rising from what could have been the ashes of her life. She has suffered while I have known her, it is true – the heart of another child that she did not know she was carrying stopped beating and began to slowly poison her, the loss of a beloved grandfather, the frustration of her fiancé’s family not seeing her for the beautiful woman that she is. Any of these alone would be enough to at least temporarily bring even the strongest of people to their knees. But she has pulled through – sometimes raging against the world with language that would make a priest blush – but always she has pulled through.

I have not suffered as she has. I have not struggled as she has. I have my own demons, certainly, but they pale when I look at what she has endured. Her strength, her smile, and her sense of focus are amazing to me. Rosie the Riveter shows us her muscular arm, cocks one eyebrow defiantly and tells us that we can do it. And looking at my own Rosie, I believe it. She has told me countless times that I have touched her life and I have helped her by being a friend and a mentor. But I’m not sure she realizes just how much she has done for me. I don’t precisely admire her mistakes – I wish she had chosen different paths in her life – but, that does not for a moment diminish my respect for her strength to rise above them, to set her sights on a distant goal, and then work to achieve them, with a loving heart for most and a quick word full of vinegar for any who might stand in her way. Stand tall, my friend, despite your insecurities.  Rosie, this one’s for you.

“Just don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong.” – Ella Fitzgerald

Live and Let...

This is perhaps the first time I’ve been compelled to write about something controversial. If you don’t agree with me, well that is certainly your right. I do not apologize for my views, I am only sorry that we do not see eye to eye. Perhaps it is because I’m about to celebrate my anniversary that I feel the need to blog on this….or perhaps I just care enough to speak out.

One June 24, 2011, something historic happened in New York, and it makes me proud to be from this state – even if my own Senator did not join the four brave Republicans who helped make it happen. I consider myself an Ally -- because despite that some would call me a feminist, I’m really just a humanist. I don’t care who people love – as long as they love honestly, sincerely, mutually, and fully. As long as their love hurts no one else, why should the gender of the couple be of concern to me? People, in general, deserve to be given the same rights as everyone else. As long as people are not hurting others, I fail to see why society needs to expend so much energy in concerning itself with who loves who and actively trying to stop those people from sharing the same rights as others who love one another. It’s amazing to me that so many people are concerned with the hearts of others. I just find it so depressing and unfathomable how people can be so blind to the heartache that must come from being denied rights simply because of who you are. We fought a war to stop that. We rioted to stop that. We watched men and women be beaten, arrested, even lynched because they dared drink from a fountain, look at a pretty woman, vote in an election, sit in the front of the bus. And now we want a woman to be denied health insurance because she keeps the house while her female partner of 20 years works to pay the bills. We want the bereft partner of a soldier who died in Iraq to be left penniless and without aid simply because he, too is male. We want to bar same-sex partners from being at the bedside of their hospitalized loved one because they cannot be named next of kin. There are something like 1,400 state and federal rights bestowed on married couples and those opposed to same-sex marriage want to deny their fellow taxpayers every single one of them whilst still reaping the benefits themselves. All because of chromosomes. I just can’t help asking myself why we care so much about denying others the freedoms that this country is built on. We came here to be free – and yet, we are not one of the 10 countries that allow same-sex unions.

Two quotes keep going through my mind that really drive home how strange this all is…

• “If you’re against gay marriage – don’t have one.”
• "Decades ago we told blacks they had to marry their own kind – now we are telling gays that they CAN’T marry their own kind. Bigotry is confusing.”

So many people have pointed out the troubles with those who are most loudly opposed to gay marriage – the conservatives who have cheated on their wives, engaged in inappropriate behaviors, and then lied about their indiscretions even as they railed loudly about the sanctity of traditional marriage and the risk gay marriage poses to family values. I do not understand. Especially when divorce rates are skyrocketing, people marry more often than they move, and children are growing up in ‘broken’ homes and in front of video games and glued to their text messages.

To some of these dissenters, I should not be married any more than a gay couple – and neither should anyone who suffers the agonizing pain of being infertile. Marriage, they say, is one man, one woman, so that they can bear children. My husband and I have made a conscious choice not to have children; others dear to me are unable to do so – are we, too, undermining the sanctity of marriage? Or are we allowed a pass simply because we have the right anatomical makeup to have children, even if we are unwilling or incapable of doing so?

The true irony here is that the bigots who are so concerned with the lives and doings of others that they cannot mind their own affairs are one of the reasons I choose not to bring children into the world.

In going back to recent events in NY, it is interesting that in order for the measure to pass, the Assembly added an amendment that protects churches from discrimination lawsuits if they refuse to perform same-sex marriages. Fine. I take no issue with this – churches are built on their own beliefs and while I wish that it were different, this is not a blog on religion. Protect the churches – I’m fairly certain that most gay couples would not want to be wedded by such a church as it is.

That amendment leads to my If I Ran the Zoo moment. If I were put in charge, I would ask the government to get out of the marriage business altogether. I would rescind my marriage license in favor of a Civil Union license and ask all other married folks to do the same. Gay, straight, bi-racial, childless, or parenting – have the government only issue civil unions and be done with it. Those who wish a marriage can seek out the spiritual institution most aligned with their belief system and go through the rites and ceremonies if they so choose. All would have the same rights, all would be equal – if we will not allow gays to be married because of the word 'marriage' and what it means in the Bible, then have the government stop using the word for ALL formal, right-giving unions. Leave marriage to the churches if you want to define it using religion. Something tells me, however, that this would be seen as ‘giving something up’ and it would be no more welcome than gay-marriage. They won’t give up what they see as their right, but yet they won’t give those rights to anyone who is not like them. Sigh.

Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. We need to stop making gays – and others -- focus on the endless pursuit while never achieving the actual happiness.

“I decided I would vote ‘yes’ if I ever had the chance to do it again and that was long before Andrew Cuomo was elected governor and it was long before anyone could predict my political future. No deals were made. I made a deal with myself and that I would be true to my heart and true to myself. That’s the deal I made…How do you say that you believe in freedom and equality and go into the workplace and see somebody that you do the same thing with and have equal responsibility with in the workplace and say we’re here we are working together but you are not equal? I am more equal than you. How do you say that?”

Sen James Alesi (R), Monroe County – First Voter

“We reached a new level of social justice this evening”

Gov. Andrew Cuomo

Looking Back, Going Forward

There are two truths in my life that may seem to be unrelated, but recently I've come to see how they link together like tributaries that eventually feed the same stream.

The first truth is that I do not want children and am not sure if I ever will. I have determined three reasons for this. The first reason is that I'm too selfish; it may sound harsh, but I can honestly say that I like my life the way it is and I'm unwilling to give that up right now. I know that having children changes everything and I'd rather not bring any into the world unless I know I'm ready to sacrifice life as I know it. I know there are countless rewards in parenthood, but that is not enough to remove this basic obstacle to becoming one. The second reason is that the world is often a horrible place and I'm not sure I want to subject a child to it. I know that's a 'big picture' reason which overlooks the microcosm of the immediate family and the smaller joys that life has to offer, but that does not change the truth of the larger world. The world makes me sad in many ways, and I don't want to give it to a child. We should be doing better for the earth and for all the people in it and until we do, I'm not ready to create another generation. The last reason is that I can't think of a reason why I, personally, should have a child. I know that for many it is an amazing and powerful experience that is filled with infinite joys and beauty, and I am so happy for those who feel this way. I do not blame others for wanting children, it is just that those joys and that beauty is not enough of a seed for me to have one myself. Unlike so many who have children and should not, or have children when they are not yet ready, I have thought long and hard about this and I know that this is the right decision for me, for now. I will leave parenting to those infinitely more suited for it, and I will support and love them and their children and celebrate the moments of joy they share with me. And that will be enough.

The second truth is that my last surviving grandparent passed away last July. Four years prior to my parental grandfather's death, to the day, my grandmother left us. I lost my maternal grandmother many years ago, and my maternal grandfather died before I was born. I've also lost an aunt, my mother's youngest sibling. I do not think I have suffered any greater loss than any other who had to say goodbye to a loved one, but these losses pain me greatly, as they do my whole family. We are close knit and not very large, so every loss leaves a deep hole that can never really be filled. We toast on their birthdays, we shed tears randomly, we hear their voices in our heads, we carry mementos with us and decorate our houses with them. Sometimes, I even fancy I see grandpa disappear around a corner or grandma get swallowed within a crowd of taller people. In short, I will never forget them because they are never really gone, though I will ever mourn their tangible absence from my life.

What ties these truths together is more than just that they are both connected to family and the precious and indescribable bonds that tie a strong family together. There is a small part of my heart that feels wistful and guilty about not having children. My sister has two beautiful sons, so it isn't that, but there's something special about giving one's parents grandchildren and carrying on the family traditions, teaching another generation what it means to be a family. This is especially true in today's world, when it seems that divorce is commonplace and tragedy strikes at every and any moment. This tiny feeling of lingering regret that tugs on my heartstrings is what brings me to my grandparents. As the older generation has slipped away from me, I feel like we are also losing our chance to explore the past that went with and before them. In my grandfather's house were stacks of yellowed newspaper clippings that chronicled the weddings, births, and deaths of generation upon generation stretching behind this family of which I am so proud. It is here that I found the means to give back to them.

This is the kernel of my legacy. Instead of continuing the family tree forward down through the years to come, I am working on building the tree backwards, filling in the branches and the missing links, uncovering the roots that brought us to where we are today. This is my gift to the future of my family, this is what I will pass down. Not the living, beating heart of a child, but the means to look down through the ages at all the branches and deep roots that created the boundless love that my sister and my cousins have surrounded their children with and network of love they will feel from aunts and uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers, great aunts and great uncles, cousins, and siblings. I will carry out this labor of love with attentiveness, with devotion, and with care. It is a gift that some will appreciate more actively than others, but it is represents something that every member of our family benefits from every day of their lives, through every word and act of love that we share.

-T