No - and Yes!

When Ronald Reagan began his presidency in 1981, his wife Nancy took on a campaign of her own to reduce the use of recreational drugs.  She first introduced “Just say no” thirty years ago in a school in California, and it became her marquee platform during her time as First Lady.  “Just Say No” clubs were formed in schools, and Reagan even appeared in Diff“rent Strokes to spread the word.  When asked about the campaign, she said, “If you can save just one child, it’s worth it.” 

I’m not sure if any of those clubs are still in existence here in Ohio, but if they are, I know a little girl who wants to join.  Our granddaughter, the lovely Madelyn Simone, is firmly entrenched in the land of no.  I attempted to put her in her car seat, only to be met with a blood-curdling “nooooooooo,” flailing arms and an arched back.  When we got back home, I tried to take her out of her car seat and heard the same refrain – “No.”  Let’s put your shoes on.  No.  Let’s take your shoes off.  No.  It’s time to go potty.  With this one, she looked me straight in the eyes, put on her mean face and blatantly said NO. 

Since we were on quite a roll, I tried another tactic.  Do you want a freezer pop?  Yes.  So much for reverse psychology.  Yet as frustrating as her behavior is for her parents and grandparents, Madelyn is doing exactly what she should be doing at age 2.  As developmental psychologist  Erik Erikson would suggest, it’s all about autonomy.   She’s developing a sense of personal control over physical skills and seeking independence.   

Observing this particular stage of life from the perspective of a grandparent is fascinating to me, especially because I don’t need to deal with it 24/7 – she can go home!  But it has challenged me to think about the role of “no” and “yes” in our daily lives.  Just as some have “the glass is half empty” perspective on life, some of us may be stuck in a Madelyn time warp, where a “no” comes to our lips much easier than a “yes.”  I’m not sure that’s a healthy or happy place to pitch a tent.

Recent Harvard grad Adrienne Lee explains: “It’s a mindset that says that when offered the opportunity to enjoy a valuable new experience, or to enrich a social relationship, I will try to prioritize such an opportunity.”   While it may be a great tool for a college student exploring the possibilities for the future,  “yes” remains an important word for just about any age group – at least when it comes to the positive choices in our lives.

While it may be healthy for Madelyn to use “no” to seek her independence, I’ve decided to put more “yes” into my life.  I want to say yes to trying something I’d normally avoid (but not skydiving), tasting a new food (but not sushi), or listening to a different genre of music (not going to offend anyone with this one).   Instead of the default setting “no,” I can choose to say yes unless I have a strong reason to say no.  Now, please do not give my number to your favorite telemarketer - I do need to draw the line somewhere.

 As for Madelyn, getting in the car seat is non-negotiable, so a “no” simply isn’t acceptable, but if she wants to walk around with one shoe on, well, go for it, girl. But I also want her to have more “yes” in her life, so it’s time to introduce her to one of her father’s favorite books – Mercer Mayer’s All By  Myself. I can kick my ball, I can roll on the ground, I can put on my socks - all by myself.  Yes, you can, Miss Madelyn.

Ashland Seminary’s long-time professor Dr. Jerry Flora often prays, “For what lies ahead, we say ‘yes.’”  That’s what living fully, living in faith, is all about.  So despite our very different stages in life, here’s hoping Madelyn and I can both join the “just say yes” club – at least until she becomes a teen-ager. 

I Hadn't Thought About That

I’ve been reminiscing about the childhood rhyme today: Ricky and Lucy, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.  First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in a baby carriage.  If memory serves me correctly, this song was belted out when a “tween” couple was discovered holding hands on the school bus.  Its message was one of expectation and order, as that first touch could lead to a first kiss, and the first kiss to love, marriage, and baby, hopefully in that order.  

Marriage, family, love, commitment, relationships – they’ve been on my mind a lot over the past few weeks.   I’ve attended weddings and celebrated new babies, caught up in the joy of hope-filled beginnings and the fragrant scent of baby powder.  But the price paid when love goes sour has caught my attention over and over again as well, in the novels I read on the beach, in the lives of people I care for deeply, and in the murders of two Ashland woman as a result of domestic violence. 

We must ask ourselves:  are these recent deaths (as tragic as they are to the families involved) only a statistical blip, or do they point to a need for intervention within our community?  Can we do anything to make our marriages and homes safer, to provide people with tools to work things out before they get ugly and dangerous?

My “gotta do something” spirit suggests that there is much that can be done to raise awareness and to provide people with the means to improve their marriages, and to help those who can no longer stay together  separate with a semblance of respect and safety.  But before we run out and create the next “Save Our Marriages” non-profit agency, we may benefit from some directed conversation on the subjects of marriage, divorce, abuse and domestic violence. 

These conversations have been happening in counseling offices, in coffeeshops, and in the aisles of Walmart as we wonder how to strengthen marriages and to protect those in difficult relationships.  That conversation will continue at the Kroc Center on Thursday evening, August 23 (7 p.m.), as the Ashland Women’s Counseling Center and the Salvation Army host Barbara Roberts, an Australian who’s written extensively on marriage, divorce and abuse, particularly from a biblical basis. Complemented by her delightful Aussie accent, her presentation and discussion will help us dig deeper in our on-going conversations on these essential topics.    

While I’m hoping our continuing dialogue will remind us of what we believe about love and marriage, I recognize that it’s not a new conversation.  As a community, we celebrate the longevity of marriages as noted on the pages of the Times-Gazette, and hopefully will be reminded to whisper a prayer of thanks for their faithfulness.  As another example, the pastors of the Ashland County Ministerial Association have an on-going commitment to prepare couples for marriage in a comprehensive way.  That can help.     

But here’s the challenge.  One of the themes we hear is that some people want to make their marriage work but they just don’t know what to do.  When visiting my mother recently, we watched an episode of I Love Lucy, one of the funniest series in the history of television.  Ricky and Fred were in trouble with their wives (a typical plot of the show), and Fred asked Ricky what he was going to do.  Ricky replied, “I’m going to tell her the truth.”  Fred’s answer was classic :  “I hadn’t thought about that.”   

Perhaps one small part of the response to our community’s heartbreak is to offer tools to people who want to make their relationships work but who, like Fred, simply haven’t thought about how to do that.  The tools are here – well-trained counselors, the resources of Ashland Theological Seminary, the wisdom of our elders, the focus of the Center for Non-Violence, the availability of the Rape Crisis/Safe Haven Domestic Violence Shelter, the mediation and circle training through T.A.L.K., the compassion of more than 100 churches in the county – the key is to connect the resources with those who so desperately need them.  That, my brothers and sisters, is the challenge we face – before it’s too late for another Ashland area family.  

These Boots are Made for Walking

We recently had the privilege of spending a week in Maine, and yes, as predicted, Madelyn and I played in the sand with our shovels and our bling-encrusted buckets.  However, I discovered that at age 2, she was most interested in moving sand from one place to another, not in building a sandcastle.  Maybe next year. 

We walked everywhere in that seaside town.  We walked to the beach, loaded down with beach chairs, umbrellas, towels and sunscreen, and we walked home from the beach, pulling the wagon up the hill.  We walked to the Seaside Pavilion for an encore performance of the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.  We walked to the corner store for milk, and we walked to the Pier in the evening, sampling the fries, the pizza, and a mouth-watering cheesesteak – thanks, Hoss and Mary.

By the time I got home, I was humming along with Nancy Sinatra, “These Boots are Made for Walking,” and anticipated a positive result when I stepped on the scale.  To my disappointment, the pizza and fries won out over the walking.  Well, it was vacation . . . 

So, fresh from the Maine shore, where everyone strolls around in bathing suits, I made the trek to the Kroc Center spraypark with Madelyn in her wagon, but I did feel rather self-conscious walking down East Liberty Street dressed for the beach.  However, once we arrived and donned our sun block, we fit right in among the kids and adults frolicking in the water.

I’ve walked to church, to the seminary, and to the store for a gallon of milk.  I’ve walked to mail a letter, to visit a friend, and to get an ice cream cone with the lovely Madelyn Simone.  I haven’t walked to the library yet, afraid that I’ll pick out too many books for the journey home, but it’s on my list – I’ll just have to remember to take a heavy-duty bag with me.

It’s strange to write about walking as an accomplishment, because as a child, that’s how we lived.  Often my dad worked out of town all week, arriving home on Friday evening, so with only one car, we were without transportation during the week.  But I don’t remember that being a problem.  If I wanted to go somewhere, I’d either walk or ride my bike.  Our car’s main function was to take my dad to work, not to serve as a taxi for the kids. 

 Now I don’t anticipate that I’ll be hiking the length of the Appalachian Trail anytime soon, but I think I could get used to this.  Walking gives me a chance to look at the houses of my neighbors, enjoying the landscaping and noting a home or two that could use some sprucing up.  I can pray as I walk, for the neighbors, for the kids who will soon be walking to school on this sidewalk, and for the postal carrier and meter reader who daily walk through my neighborhood.  I can touch the purple ribbons that still grace some of the trees on my street and remember.

One quiet evening last week, I slipped out of the house and walked over to the Kroc Center to visit the labyrinth.  This path, designed with an ancient pattern for walking, praying and remembering, is nestled in the far corner of the property, at the top of the hill under an ancient maple.  Its twists and turns force a slower pace, a rhythm just right for contemplation.  While a suggested pattern is to release, to receive (in the center) and to return, there’s no right or wrong way to walk the labyrinth.  The labyrinth welcomes our sorrow and our joy, our questions and our resolve.  I like that.

Whether at the labyrinth or on the streets of the neighborhood, Elizabeth von Armin understands: “Walking is the perfect way of moving if you want to see into the life of things. It is the one way of freedom. If you go to a place on anything but your own feet you are taken there too fast, and miss a thousand delicate joys that were waiting for you by the wayside.”  A walk, anyone?       

Olympic Reflections

While it may not reach the dramatic heights of Storage Wars, the games of the 30^th Olympiad have shown us the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat over the last two weeks.  Who will be the fastest man, the fastest woman in the world?  Who will win tonight?   Good thing the games are over this weekend – this could become addictive.

 I’m going on record: that was one bizarre opening celebration.  I couldn’t figure out why Abe Lincoln kept showing up, discovering later that it was actually British actor Kenneth Branagh portraying Isambard Kingdom Brunel , instrumental in the early days of the Industrial Revolution. 

I do have a pet peeve about the television coverage of the ceremony – I know that commercials are needed to broadcast the games, but couldn’t they suspend them for the athletes’ entrance to the stadium?  Family members and friends around the world tune in for one glimpse of their beloved athlete, only to go to commercial break when they’re next in line.  Reminds me of the year our son was in the Rose Bowl Parade.  

London 2012 was a far cry from the opening ceremonies at the London Olympics in 1948, which featured brass bands, the entrance of the royal family, and (probably) long-winded speeches.  It was Lord Burghley who set the tone for the XIV Olympiad, the first to be held after the end of World War II, believing that the 1948 Olympics would serve as a "warm flame of hope for a better understanding in the world which has burned so low.” 

How times have changed since 1948.  As highlighted in the recent Title IX series on the sports pages of the Times-Gazette, the doors for women in sports have gradually been pried open since 1948.  One favorite of the 1948 games was the Dutch sprinter Fanny Blankers-Koen, nicknamed "The Flying Housewife."  This 30-year old mother of two children won four gold medals in athletics, and it’s likely she would have racked up gold in the long jump and high jump as well, but female athletes were limited to participation in 3 individual events in those days. 

In 1948, 3714 male athletes competed in the Olympics, with only 390 female athletes involved in the games.  Now, in 2012, 4862 female athletes joined the 6098 male participants, and nearly all the events have categories for both men and women – only rhythmic gymnastics and synchronized swimming are female only.    

I’ve been awed by the performances of the athletes but not inspired to take up boxing or marathon swimming.   However, my 6 and 8 year old nephews caught the Olympic bug, perfecting their dives (jumps) into the pool and convincing their uncle to drag Grandpa’s ping pong table from the basement to the garage.  Both born in Korea, they plan to claim dual citizenship and beat China in 2024!  

As the athletes proudly marched into the London stadium two weeks ago, many had their eyes on the prize, the gold at the end of the rainbow, yet most will go home empty-handed.  All that training, all that sacrifice – all for naught.  That certainly is one way to look at it. 

But ask Sarah or Oscar about that.  Sarah Attar ran for Saudi Arabia wearing a hijab, finishing last in her 800 meter heat to an ovation from the crowd.  Oscar Pistorius, aka “the Blade Runner,” competed on artificial limbs in the 400 meter race, making it into the semi-final.  Sarah and Oscar may not be bringing medals home, but their courage will glow long into the future of the Olympic heritage.   

While their stories are in the headlines of the Olympic world, each athlete who enters the stadium for the closing ceremonies on Sunday has his or her own story of dreams and disappointments, of tears of frustration and tears of joy.  But in the festive gathering at the close of these Olympic games, they’ll pose for pictures with new-found friends, exchanging the challenge of competition for the camaraderie of the broader Olympic story.  For them, and for us, the Olympics have provided “a warm flame of hope for a better understanding in the world.”  Just think, only 4 years ‘til Rio! 

Walk in the Door

Advice from the Ashland Area Convention and Visitors Bureau:  “Walk in that door you always pass.  Slow down.  Be a tourist in your own town.”  As a semi-recent immigrant to Ashland (starting year #7), I began my days in Ashland with a tourist mindset, stumbling upon many Ashland treasures in the early months of my immigration.  But when the Kroc Center development whirlwind hit, I didn’t take enough time to smell the roses.  So now, with a change in the rhythm of my days, I’m checking out the flowers of our community.

I began with a visit to the art exhibit in the Coburn Gallery at Ashland University.  The photos displayed there were created by local artists, and I was excited to recognize some of the names, including a couple of young friends – wonderful work.  It’s free and open to the public – no lines, no crowds - just art.

My next stop was the seminary.  Did you know that for a minimal charge, local residents can become guest patrons of the seminary and university libraries?   Why do I want to live in Ashland?  This is a community with three libraries and I can access them all!  Yes, I do have one of those new-fangled electronic book devices, but there’s still something about curling up with a real book that’s in my blood.  So I was excited to walk out of the seminary library with one borrowed book and a huge stack of new finds from their on-going book sale.  I’m one happy camper.

Speaking of book sales, one of the regular dates on my calendar has been the quarterly library book sales.  I usually make a morning visit, but poor planning on my part brought me to the doors of the Ashland Public Library with less than 30 minutes to go.  All those books, so little time.  But the trade-off was that I could fill a bag of $1.  I may just end up making two trips to the October sale.

 Other scheduled commitments kept me from visiting our downtown area on the day of the recent car show, but there are many open doors nestled in our downtown blocks that remain open even when no special events are planned.  Home Hardware has so many treasures tucked away in its aisles, and offers a number of services that we may need from time to time.  Don’t forget about 2^nd Street and South Street if you’re taking a walk – many of the small businesses of our community offer unique services and merchandise, as well as friendly conversation, both in the downtown area and scattered throughout the community. 

I confess – I am – we are –so programmed to hop in the car and head out-of-county to shop that we often forget what’s right under our noses.  I’m not quite ready to give up my bargain-hunting visits to Marcs, but I am limiting those to the days I’m on baby-sitting duty in Canton because I’m committed to trying Ashland first.         

Why?  Here is the catch-22 situation for our local merchants and entrepreneurs.  Many have taken a chance on Ashland, opening a small business with limited funds for marketing.  They depend on word-of-mouth advertising, satisfied customers, and local foot-traffic.  When we’re soliciting donations for our favorite charity auction, we hit up our local neighbors and they give generously, yet we don’t always return the favor by shopping locally.  And don’t forget – a percentage of our sales tax dollars help to support our county services.          

If confession is good for the soul, then I’m on a roll. Here’s #2.  I am a football fan.  We lived in Canton for 11 years.  Yet the only time we went to the Pro Football Hall of Fame was when we took visitors from out of town.  I don’t want that to be true of my years in Ashland.  Whether it’s Grandpa’s Cheese Barn, the Parsley Pot, Local Roots, the symphony, the historical museum, the university or the Kroc Center, it’s time we’re all tourists in our own town and walk in a few new doors.  Thanks, AACVB, for that reminder.  Anyone ready for a treasure hunt?   

As the World Turns

It was a typical Friday afternoon, and “As the World Turns” was beaming its drama into many homes across the country.  Within minutes of its first commercial, the show was interrupted as these fateful words filled the screen:  “Here is a bulletin from CBS News.”   In the days ahead, we as a nation sat in shock in front of the television, grieving as Walter Cronkite fought back his own tears.  Thus the assassination of President John F. Kennedy became my first memory of a tragedy of this magnitude.

            Since then, the names and places have been many.  Some were specifically targeted, such as MLK Jr. and Kennedy’s brother Robert.  But seemingly random killings have also stained our history deeply.  Columbine.  Virginia Tech.  An Amish school in Pennsylvania.  And now a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado. 

While these public horrors have influenced how we see the world, it is also likely that we’ve each been touched by tragedy closer to home.  For me, it was Debbie, a girl in my fourth grade class, killed in her home along with her siblings by a father who then committed suicide.  For the children of Ashland, it now is the murder of two of our own daughters, Rachel Kiser and Lynn Jackenheimer, both dead in terrible circumstances.    

What do we say?  We grope for words to explain the horror to our children and to each other.  Why does someone do this?  We ask because the question shapes our worldview, and because if we can figure out the why, perhaps we can stop it from happening again.  Those close to the situation can be heard to say: If I’d only known.  If only I’d put two and two together.  Why didn’t I see the clues?

But in the end, after all the questions, after all the hand-wringing, after all the angst, the answer is simple: we don’t know why.  Millions of people have difficulty in their relationships but don’t kill their partner.  Thousands are despondent and entertain suicidal thoughts but don’t kill themselves – or their families.  Many exhibit a strange behavior or two, but they don’t stand up in a crowded theater and begin shooting the patrons.  Why one and not another?  We don’t know the answer to that question. 

We search for answers in the talking head experts of law enforcement and mental health.  They tell us that heredity and environment make a difference, and that brain scans can show areas of concern.  But in the end, we live in a culture that allows for a tremendous amount of personal choice.  We choose to take the stairs or the elevator, to scream or pout, and to love or hate.  Elisabeth Kubler-Ross spoke wisely about choice:  “We need to teach the next generation of children from day one that they are responsible for their lives . . . we can make our choices built from love or from fear.” 

Many years ago, we became very involved with a family in the church who faced serious problems.  Both parents drank heavily and physically abused each other, and the young teen-agers watched helplessly as their family threatened to implode or explode around them.  Statistics told us that at least one of the children would follow in the path of the parents, but what the statistics didn’t say was which one.  We knew that the presence of a caring adult and the support of a community of faith could make a difference.  We knew that alternatives to violence could be taught – but would it be enough?     

The reality was that I couldn’t save those kids.  I couldn’t change their life stories for them – I could only give them tools to use along the path as they chose their own way.   Turning to the wisdom of Narnia once again, “No one is told any story but their own.”

It is the youngest son of that family who sits in prison today.  I grieve over his choices and his actions.  I grieve for those destroyed by his actions.  I grieve with the parents, teachers, pastors and neighbors of those who choose violence against others or themselves.  For what could have been, and for what will never be.