A "Yes" to Life

On Tuesday and Thursday mornings, I deliver the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday to Tiny Tots Nursery School, where the unflappable Mrs. Porter reminds Lizzie and her eleven three-year-old classmates of the importance of making green choices, not red choices. In her second full month of school, Lizzie is getting the hang of the daily routine, washing her hands, matching the letters of her long name, and sitting criss-cross applesauce when it’s circle time. 

Her adoring Nana is getting the hang of the routine as well, handing off my little charge to her teacher so I can escape to my nearby house and start – or finish – my weekly T-G column before it’s time to pick her up. 

About half of the dropper-offers appear to be well past child-bearing age. I overheard one grandfather asking his granddaughter where they should go for lunch. “Steak and Shake, of course,” she answered, as they made plans to enjoy their Tuesday date together. One woman told me she’s the great-grandmother. My immediate (but unspoken) reaction was, “I’m going to have to do this for another generation?” Oops, I meant, “I’m hoping to be privileged to do this for another generation!”

It’s hard to believe I’ve been riding the smitten grandmother wave for eight years, and based on the demographics represented in the nursery school lobby, I’m in good company. For some grandparents, it’s a limited-time relationship, tucked in between work schedules and leisure activities. For others, it’s an economic necessity, as child care costs in Northeast Ohio are estimated at an average of $177 per week for a preschooler, easily vying with a mortgage payment for the highest expense in the family budget. 

In comparison, Nana Daycare tends to cost the provider money, for TD Ameritrade found that grandparents spend an average of $2,383 each year to benefit their grandkids. We only have two littles, but a trip to the store can sure be expensive. Lizzie nearly had me talked into buying a small package of Hatchimals, only $9.99. How dare I deprive her of these magical creatures nestled inside colorful speckled eggs, just waiting to hatch so they can sing, dance, and play games with her. I’m not giving up my Nana role to some self-hatching robotic bird. 

My care for Elizabeth and her older sister, the lovely Madelyn Simone, is a labor of love. I’m glad to be able to provide a consistent presence in their lives, and save their parents a few bucks, for the good news is that I can return them to their parents’ care at the end of the day. Not so for many other men and women my age and older. According to government data, there are about 2.7 million children being raised by grandparents or other family members, a number that has grown with the opioid epidemic. And 20% of those families have incomes below the poverty line. Ouch!

The federal government is paying attention to the challenges faced by these custodial grandparents. Given the struggle to find any common ground of bipartisanship in D.C. these days, I was pleased to see the House and Senate passed the Supporting Grandparents Raising Grandchildren Act, a bill co-sponsored by Republican Susan Collins and Democrat Bob Casey. 

Casey noted that this second round of parenting presents its own challenges, such as “delaying retirement, navigating school systems, bridging the generational gap, working through the court system to secure custody and finding mental health services.” The SGRG Act will establish a resource bank for these guardians. Hopefully it provides support for third grade math as well.

As Charles and Ann Morse recognize, “A child needs a grandparent, anybody’s grandparent, to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world” Whether hundreds of miles away, around the corner, on 24/7 guardian duty, or filling in for a neighborhood child, the value of a grandparent’s care is incalculable. Lesley Stahl describes her experience: “I am convinced there is a gramma gene that disables the word ‘no.’” I’m accused of having that gramma gene, but in a world swimming with “no,” I want our little ones to find their own “yes” to life, a yes rooted in a grandmother’s love.  

Charge It!

Larry and I were fresh out of The Salvation Army’s Training School in 1978 when we got our first credit card together. Our initial purchase was a chest freezer that is still performing its faithful duty in our son’s garage. What little savings we had prior to entering the seminary had been used up by student loan payments and school expenses, and so a credit card cushion those forty years ago seemed like an awesome gift to us. 

We’ve kept that same credit card all these years, and we recently received correspondence from them, beginning with this line: “We’re excited to tell you about . . . a new feature of your account.” They ended their cover letter: “As always, we hope to be clear and helpful in explaining the changes to your account.” The following six pages (yes, I read them all) left me feeling like I had just tried to help the lovely Madelyn Simone with a third-grade math problem.

Bobby has a marble collection with 198 marbles. He then buys 44 more. He lost interest in his marbles, so he decides to switch to Legos and share his marbles with his 31 classmates (quite generous of Bobby). Estimate how many marbles each child gets. Why would I estimate? Why not just figure out the answer? Why is this so confusing? How do I explain this to an eight-year-old? I excelled in algebra and calculus back in the day, but by the time we get through these demon-designed word problems, I’m losing my marbles.

Here’s the deal, credit card company. You’ve already raised my APR by two percentage points over the last two years. After reading all your information, I still have no clue as to why I’d want to use your new “flex plan” if that interest rate is even higher than my regular one. 

Consumer credit card debt is a big deal in the United States. According to NerdWallet (what a great name!), the average credit card interest rate is 19.36 percent and the average household pays a total of $1,332.80 in credit card interest each year. Other figures from the Fed’s survey of consumer finances done in 2016 showed that in 2013, 38% of U.S. households had revolving credit card debt, and by December 2016, that had risen to 44%, with an average balance of $6081. 

There’s much to be said about credit cards and consumer debt, but I’ll leave any more analysis for the economists in our midst, who actually understand how the Federal Reserve, the stock market, and the consumer price index really work. What I do understand is this: confusion serves a purpose. Whether through payday lenders, credit card companies, or student loan services, the voluminous fine print of contracts and terms of enrollment can scare us off from being fully aware of our financial situations. 

But the strategic use of confusion-causing verbiage doesn’t stop there. It floods our television screens with advertisements for the medicine of the day, guaranteed to improve our lives in extraordinary ways, unless we happen to get one or more of the long list of potential side effects. And dare I mention the political ads that put a spin on “the other guy” in such a way to convince us the opponent is the spawn of the devil? Confusing for sure.

How do we figure out what’s legitimate? Back when people did anything to get their child a genuine Cabbage Patch doll, my friend’s daughter opened her gift on Christmas day. Initially, she was thrilled, but then devastated to discover it was counterfeit – no belly button. My friend had found an unreliable source – the trunk of a disreputable man’s car. 

In finance, in medical treatment options, in politics, and even in third grade math, the words of Isaac Newton help: “Truth is ever to be found in simplicity, and not in the multiplicity and confusion of things.” Consider the source of your information. Read the fine print, and ask questions if you don’t understand. And if, in the end, you still feel a bit confused, it’s not the end of the world. Robert Frost adds perspective, “I’m not confused, I’m just well mixed.”

As the Fog Descended

It had been a long week, marked by early mornings, the painful mockery of sexual abuse victims, the subsequent triggering of memories for myself and those I love, and the hope that the delightful and determined Elizabeth Holiday would keep her big girl panties dry on my watch (only one little “accident”). Since Larry and I were already in Ashland for a meeting on Friday, we decided to set our worries aside for a few hours and head to Community Stadium for an Ashland Arrows football game.

It was a perfect night for football. The earlier showers had subsided, and excitement was in the air as we splurged for reserved seats on the fifty-yard line. Purchasing our supper at the concession stand, we greeted a band parent friend, doing his duty for his youngest child. Climbing into the stands, we greeted other friends who had gathered to enjoy the Friday night lights of Northeast Ohio.

We picked a great night to come. With Halloween just around the corner, many of the high school students were participating in costume night. The AHS cheerleading squad was augmented by a hundred or so energetic little girls, getting a chance to cheer their Arrows on with great enthusiasm, even if they paid little attention to the game. Eighth grade musicians joined the AHS band for the night, ready to try out their chops on the gridiron, and the halftime show welcomed the Ashland University band to the field as well, as the combined bands filled the air with a brilliant sound that reverberated into the night.

Our hometown Arrows struggled through most of the game, but made a valiant effort to come back, taking the lead for a bit before Mansfield dug deep and finished a run to victory. Except for that last-minute defeat, we couldn’t have asked for a better evening. 

And yet.

Ever since our terrifying encounter with a frightened bat swooping around our living room at our Walnut Street house, I’ve been uneasy in their presence. Friday night’s bat seemed content to circle the stadium lights, but I still shivered, watching her beady eyes glisten. I never should have watched Hitchcock’s movie, “The Birds” back in the day. The body remembers. 

As a deepening fog descended on Community Stadium during that fourth quarter, I was reminded of the pall that seems to be slipping over our country in these days, where clarity is difficult to ascertain. Even in the midst of a high school football game, I couldn’t shake the sense that we are living in a twilight zone of sorts. 

Leaving the stadium on Friday night, I had no idea that this football game would be remembered not by the band show, the squealing mini-cheerleaders, or the exciting fourth quarter action, but by bananas left in a locker room. Here’s what I understand happened. Because bananas are a good source of potassium, many long-distance runners swear by them as a remedy for depleted electrolytes. The AHS cross country team uses the visitor’s locker room during the week, and when they have bananas left over, they leave the fruit for the visiting football team. The presence of these bananas was seen as a racial taunt by some Mansfield football players and coaches. Spurred along by all kinds of postings on social media, calls for a full investigation from political candidates, and reporting by the Cleveland television stations, now a Google search for bananas and cross country yields stories about Ashland and race relations. 

Jason Goings, current Ashland High School assistant principal and athletic director, was tasked with responding, explaining the source of the fruit and noting the before-the-game apology to the Mansfield team. Goings recognizes the dilemma: “What we thought was a gesture of kindness was understandably not perceived so.” 

It’s easy to take offense on either side, and tempting to stir the pot with rumor and dissension. Yet might there be a different way? Even when foggy, could we courageously move deeper into the pain of racial struggle and the hard work of racial dialogue? Might we find a way forward so that leftover bananas yield the sweet fruit of reconciliation in our small corner of the world?

Truth or Consequences

Bob Barker, a name synonymous with American game show history, hosted a nearly twenty-year run of “Truth or Consequences.” His tag line was familiar to his faithful television viewers: “Hoping all your consequences are happy ones.”

His sentiment matched the theme of his show, where contestants performed silly stunts and were rewarded for their efforts, even by a reunion with a long-lost relative or military personnel serving overseas. But in real life, not all consequences are happy ones. In fact, we live life knowing that while there may be rewards based on good behavior, there are unwelcome consequences to behaviors that harm another or break the norms of our society – consequences that reach far beyond the individual actor.

Think of Bill Cosby. We served in ministry just blocks from where Cosby grew up in Philadelphia, and remember well Cosby’s familiar words: “Hey, hey, hey, Fat Albert.” We even had one of his comedy records at our house. Now, this iconic actor, whose portrayal of the affable Cliff Huxtable charmed millions of households in the 80s, has been convicted of sexual assault and sentenced to prison for his actions.

In reading about Cosby’s show, I discovered that Cosby wanted Vanessa L. Williams cast as his screen wife, Claire Huxtable, but because Williams had recently been selected as Miss America, the pageant officials wouldn’t allow her to be in the television series. Williams soon faced her own set of consequences when Penthouse Magazine published nude photos of Williams, taken when she was a photographer’s assistant two years previous. The photographer assured her at the time that the photos would never leave the studio, but that promise was famously broken and she was forced to resign her crown. 

Ironically, in William’s case, Playboy Magazine reportedly took the high road and declined to publish the photos. According to Playboy mogul Hugh Hefner, “the single victim in all of this was the young woman herself, whose right to make this decision was taken away from her. If she wanted to make this kind of statement, that would be her business, but the statement wasn’t made by her.” 

In thinking about these two situations, it’s clear that even outside of the legal punishment that Cosby is facing, consequences run deep. With Cosby, as witnessed by impact statements at his sentencing, many women have suffered under his unwanted and potentially criminal attention for many years, and a country’s admiration for Cosby has been forever tarnished. And while Williams has been successful in her career, she’s never escaped the whispered reminders of her disgrace. Her family and friends, along with the greater African-American community, were devastated when the first Black Miss America was stripped of her crown under such ugly circumstances. 

Yet here’s a challenge: one protest sign after William’s forced removal repeated the words of Jesus: “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.” Dig deep enough into our personal history, and there’s something we’ve done, something we’re ashamed of, something that’s hurt someone else, even if from many years ago. 

Knowing that, where does forgiveness fit in? Can people be rehabilitated? Teachings of faith speak of the restorative power of God. Should we have to pay forever for something done as a teen, under the influence, or at a moment of knuckle-headed stupidity? 

We’d like that answer to be “no,” except for this: others will pay, others are paying. What then is our responsibility? Good counsel comes from Alcoholics Anonymous, beginning with step four, the creation of a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves. Admitting what’s been revealed to at least one other human being, asking [praying] to have those defects of character removed, and making amends to those we’ve hurt form the basis for the next five steps. Half of the twelve steps to sobriety demand this response to our actions: “This is who I am. This is what I’ve done. This is who I’ve hurt. This is what I will do as a result.” 

The laws of government bring punishment. The laws of action and reaction bring natural consequences, happy or not. Might truthfulness of heart and redemptive sorrow extend another way for us to live? 

Is Anybody Listening?

It’s that time of year again. Yes, falling leaves, hay rides, and fresh-pressed cider are staples of the autumn season, but I’m thinking instead about the sights and sounds that mark the weeks leading up to election day, especially in the even-numbered years when federal offices are being contested. 

What does a successful election campaign look like? William McKinley ran a front porch campaign for president in 1896. His campaign manager traveled the country raising money, while McKinley remained on his front porch, with 700,000 people traveling to Canton, Ohio to listen to his speeches. Imagine that!

When my Uncle Bill’s brother-in-law, Alfred Hausbeck, first ran for the New York State Assembly in 1960, his campaign was marked by strategically-placed billboards and lots of door-to-door visits – and no television ads. He depended heavily on yard signs, as Uncle Bill enlisted my dad (and me as his faithful companion) to plaster the streets of Buffalo with his name.   

In 1948, Harry S. Truman traveled more than 31,000 miles, criss-crossing America, shaking over half a million hands, long before the invention of hand sanitizer. I wonder who was responsible for counting all those hands. Yet the self-described advertising junkie Paul Suggett notes what’s changed since Truman: “No candidate would ever put that kind of a commitment [Truman’s example] into the meet-and-greet when advertising can do a far more effective job.” 

Suggett’s conclusion is likely true on the national level, but here in Ashland County, and across Ohio’s seventh congressional district, something is happening that makes me wonder if there is indeed a different way. The multi-dimensional campaign being carried out by Ken Harbaugh, candidate for congress, rooted as it is on Harbaugh’s interactions with the people he hopes to serve, is attempting to answer that question. Yes, he’s on Facebook, sends out numerous e-mails, and has now introduced television ads (one with footage from his storied participation in a demolition derby), but he and his team have also knocked on more than 40,000 doors and have made over 100,000 personal contacts. 

As I’ve watched this congressional race unfold, I’ve wondered – in this day of entrenched political positions, can Harbaugh’s approach work? Making tough decisions at the start of his campaign, he was unwillingness to take money from corporate-funded Political Action Committees (PAC). His campaign is self-described as “powered through individual donations, hard work, and the belief that our country is worth fighting for.” As a former Navy pilot and president of Team Rubicon Global, an organization that trains military veterans to aid in natural disasters, he’s tested that belief in the toughest of situations.

Harbaugh is running in an odd-shaped district, stretching from the shores of Lake Erie in Lorain county, through parts of Huron, Medina, Richland, Stark, and Tuscarawas counties, and encompassing all of Ashland, Coshocton, Holmes, and Knox counties. How can a newcomer possibly cover all that ground? As the incumbent, Representative Gibbs has the advantage of name recognition and of prior service. In 2014, he didn’t even have an opponent from the other party. Even with those odds, Harbaugh has stepped up to take on the challenge.

I’m curious – is Suggett correct about election campaigns? Given the implications of fiercely-held red and blue political positions, shouldn’t a candidate focus on raising money and buying television and internet ads, as the experts suggest? Is a commitment to the “meet-and-greet,” the time spent listening to the concerns of our neighbors across the district, wasted in today’s culture?

I’ve often asked, “Is anybody listening to the ordinary people?” I remember visiting Congressman Ralph Regula in his D.C. office in the late 90s, chatting about his farm and his grandchildren, as well as legislative issues of impact to our Salvation Army clients. His willingness to engage in that dialogue reminds me why the person chosen by “we the people” to serve “we the people” in Congress is called a representative. These 535 people are the closest thing we have to a voice in Washington. Who is listening to us? That question seems like a good one to ask as we head to the voting booth this November.