Chicago Moms Blog

Tragedy at Fort Hood

My parents are civilian survivors of war.  They grew up in World War II torn Hong Kong seeing the horrors firsthand as children.  As an adult, I now realize the stories we were told life during the war were mostly about being in hiding, seeing the casualties being carried away every morning and the liberation of Hong Kong by the British troops and life after the war. As an adult my father became a Royal Air Force Reserve.  He had dreams of flying but his vision thwarted that so he worked in the machine shop, fixing aircraft. That would turn into a 40+ year career as a machinist with United Airlines which he worked for until his death in 2005. More importantly, the people we grew up around, thousands of miles away in San Francisco, were childhood friends of my parents from that era in Hong Kong.  They had built a support system that would last them a lifetime and I suspect that is what got them through as adults, watching the horrors of war yet again, this time, on another continent, via television.

When I was growing up, the Presidio of San Franciso was still an active military installation. As a teenager, it was the worst place to get caught driving through after curfew. Not only did you fear the MP's but the call the MP's would place to your parents if they decided it was necessary (never necessary thankfully). The Presidio, in all it's beauty, and admittedly the fastest shortcut home at times, was still an armed military installation and their rules were to be followed, not toyed with. Those rules were meant to keep us safe--all of us, civilians and military alike, and they did.

Explaining the Ft. Hood Tragedy

Cross posted from our sister blog, DC Metro Moms Blog.

I grew up in a military family.  My father was a career Air Force officer, as was his father.  My brother joined the Army a few years after high school and served two tours in Bosnia before he got out.  Of course then he gave my mother a heart attach by turning around and joining the Ohio National Guard.  Thankfully, he returned from a tour in the Middle East late last year. My husband spent 20 years in the Navy - 3 on active duty and then 17 in the Navy Reserves.

I also happen to live in the Hampton Roads area of Southeast Virginia, home to one of the largest concentrations of military and veteran families in the country.  I'm actually hard pressed to think of a close friend in the area that isn't associated with the military.  

In my professional life, I'm the New Media Director for Blue Star Families, a non-partisan, non-profit dedicated to empowering and supporting military families.  My community, online and in "real" life, is the military community and my community is hurting right now.

We don't know what caused Major Nidal Hasan to open fire in a soldier readiness facility on the U.S. Army's largest facility.  I don't want to speculate.  Besides, the reason for Hasan's actions is largely irrelevant to the Ft. Hood families affected by the tragedy.  For them, and for many of us, the tragedy is incomprehensible. 

But what I do know is that military families across all of the services are stressed beyond belief.  While I no longer have to deal with the threat of activation and deployment, I've watched friend after friend try to hold things together for 6 months, a year or 18 months at a time, only to do it all over again a few months after a service member's return.  Deployment after deployment is hard on a family, particularly families with children.  And when a soldier, sailor or airman (or woman) comes home, nothing is immediately easy.  Families have to readjust, learn new routines, and all too frequently help a service member cope with injuries.  Families also deal with the unseen wounds of war such as post-traumatic stress disorder, traumatic brain injury, and even secondary PTSD, a form of post-traumatic stress disorder that can affect care givers (such as spouses, nurses and doctors) constantly dealing with the trauma of others.

Read the rest of this post at the DC Metro Moms Blog.

Local Option

Preferential seating at Millennium Park for Chicago residents? Really? That's what Alderman Eugene Schulter pitched at City Council budget hearings. He claims "You have people from the suburbs who get there earlier and glom on to all the seats..."

I get the argument that Chicago taxpayers footed the bill, why don't they get first dibs on seats. I do. The reality is...Chicago taxpayers made up about 57%, while private donors picked up the other 43%. That aside, if folks from the suburbs want to drive in and plunk down their hard earned money to park and enjoy a free show, what kind of a message does it send to them (or any other tourist) if they have to wait for locals to get preferential treatment?

Rules of the Road

There's a storm on the horizon, a battle brewing between motorists and cyclists, and it promises to be ugly, if not deadly. I'm not sure when bicyclists went rogue, when it became a badge of honor to cut off (and flip off) any motorist in their path, but suddenly I feel under siege by these two-wheeled renegades.

Don't get me wrong, I like bike riding as much as the next woman. I was thrilled when my youngest finally joined the ranks of bike riders this summer. Personally, I was an early and avid rider and, even during my most aggressively anti-exercise phases, I have always enjoyed a spin on the old two wheeler.

But lo those many years ago, when first I learned to pedal, we were taught that bike riders had to follow the same rules of the road as did motorists. While those rules vary from state to state and community to community, we all know the basics: obey traffic signs and signals, ride in the same direction as traffic, yield for pedestrians, school buses and emergency vehicles, and generally follow the rules and etiquette of right of way. 

Suspended American Girl Boycott For Charity

My child is savvy. When we planned her birthday party last month the issue of presents came up and we had a long talk. Considering she has over 30 children in her class and all of them are invited, I felt that we should suggest a book donation for charity in lieu of presents for the birthday girl. When I made her the offer, I paused and looked confidently in her eyes. C'mon, show me that all of our conversations about humanitarians made a difference. Be the bigger person. Say you are game. 

She paused for a moment and said "Of course. That's a good idea." Exhale. "Can I look at the books before we give them away?" she quietly inquired. I was so amazed by her candor and acceptance. Pride swelled within me. That is, until her next question. "Seeing as though I am not getting any presents at my party, may I choose a special present for my birthday?" she asked, innocently enough, but I sensed a catch. Filled with such admiration for her generosity, I blindly agreed. 

"Then I will have my birthday dinner at American Girl Place and buy a doll to join us." the words came out like she was a prosecutor that had just been given special evidence linking the defendant to the crime. Now she glared into my eyes with what seemed like bravado. I was familiar with the thoughts swirling around her head. Be the bigger person. Say you are game.

The Naked Truth About Swimming in PE Class

Back in the 1950s when my dad  was a student in a Chicago Public School, the naked truth was that the boys went swimming in the buff during PE class. As Mark Brown described in a recent column in the Chicago Sun-Times, "This was an organized school activity where gym teachers would order their students to take off their clothes and get in the pool for swimming instruction."

I remember my father telling my brother and I such things every time we drove past Lane Tech on the North Side. As a modest child, skinny dipping sounded odd enough, but swimming naked alongside your classmates? Unthinkable.

Open Letter to the Palo Alto School District

 

To Whom it May Concern:

A week ago this past Monday, the community of Palo Alto (California) lost another child.  When I heard the news, I was thousands of miles away in my kitchen, in Chicago, IL, just yards away from the multi-line tracks of Metra (our Caltrans), Amtrak and freight.  As I read the email, a Metra train rolled by. How ironic, how reality jarring.  In the two years, living a block from the train station has never bothered me aside from getting used to the noise. Now it does.

In six months, there have been four successful suicides from the same school. Four successful suicides, in the same manner, on the Caltran’s tracks just minutes from Gunn High School and all four students, members of the Gunn High School community. As a Bay Area native who grew up just miles away in San Francisco and attended parochial school and college in the immediate area, I have an idea of the pressure cooker the kids at Gunn are under. Growing up in the ‘80’s in the area, I have a very good idea of the pressure their parents are under in tough economic times and how that resonates into family life and can potentially affect your children. 

Another Gang Rape: What Happened to Conversations About Right and Wrong?

My heart broke when I heard about the 15 year-old student who was gang-raped for hours as 20 or so people looked on and participated in various ways at a homecoming dance last weekend.  Here in Chicago, we have an epidemic of teens killing other teens because human life is just not respected.  What has happened to our sense of right and wrong?  Lately, it seems as if someone who believes in "right and wrong" is accused of being "too judgmental"  and effectively, the conversation is shut down.  It hasn't been directly about life or death, but I have experienced this in my personal conversations and online where (G-d forbid), I have questioned another mother's choices.  Of course, mud slinging is not productive, but real conversations about right and wrong need to take place among parents, without the "j" word shutting it down.

A while back, I wrote a story of how I was considering calling the authorities when I found out about a child who was left home alone.  Many people angerly accused me of "judging" this mother and thought it was ridiculous of me to think about following up on it.  Eva, my elementary schooler has been taught that the difference between "telling" and "tattling" is that it is considered "telling" when someone's safety is involved.  "Tattling," on the other hand, is telling on someone just so that person gets in trouble.  In the case of the child home alone, no one chastising me online seemed to consider that I was genuinely worried about the safety of a child.   I was shamed for questioning another mother's choice.  Similarly, I was accused of being too judgmental when I expressed my belief that it is wrong to put a toy gun in the hands of a child because I believed it glorified violence.  I was told to "lighten up."  But I don't think anyone dared to tell that to the parents of the Columbine shooting victims.  Well, I think it is about time we all start thinking and talking about right and wrong.  After all, no parent is perfect, and won't we all benefit from such discussions?

This Avenue is Paved in Gold

 I have in front of me the October 2009 issue of Michigan Avenue Magazine. I've been gazing at its glossy, stylized pages in complete and utter wonder for several weeks now, ever since it arrived, unsolicited, in my mailbox.  Who, I am trying to figure out, is this magazine for?  What is the demographic?  It's certainly not me, and it's not any of the Chicagoans that I know.

Ashley Shelton leers up at me from an ad on page 19.  I'm not very familiar with Ashley's acting and modeling career, but she wants me to know that she likes being part of the 1% that have a Visa Black Card.  She's entitled to "Luxury Gifts, 24-Hour Concierge Service," and an "Exclusive Rewards Program," and it's all part of a "Limited Membership."  I, too, can be part of the 1% for only $495/year.  Well, thank you, Ashley, I'll keep that in mind.

My Movie Moment

When I was young I wanted to be a television broadcaster.  I dreamed of investigative reporting and replaying the day's events to families at the end of the day. 

Today I was at a local television station meeting with the newscasters who emcee one of the fundraising events I manage.    While we were speaking with the male of the male/female team, someone came up and whispered something about his partner being out due to her child’s appendicitis. 

Open to my movie dream sequence….

On being present. Or not.

When my now five-year-old daughter was a toddler, I can remember many, many times when I would sit on the floor with her amidst a sea of toys and simply play with her for more than an hour.

She would interact with me or play independently and I would just sit there -- totally engaged with her and focused on the moment at hand. We could play as long as she wanted to play. I was happy to sit with her and delight in all of her cuteness.

Now, I am sad to report that such a scenario seems basically impossible. Since those one-child-only days of leisurely playing, I have added two more children and part-time work -- all of which basically require me to multi-task all day long. I feel like I have so much to do that I have to be tackling several things at a time in order to even come close to getting most things accomplished.

one mom's conflict over the H1N1 vaccine...

Yesterday I posted a question on facebook asking people to give their opinions on getting the flu vaccine as well as the vaccine for H1N1.  I am amazed at the strong and passionate feelings that were behind people's choices for and against these vaccines.  I just do not have such a strong viewpoint on what to do for me and my family at this time.

Usually I trust the opinions and advice of doctors.    Generally speaking it seems valid to say doctors have learned a lot more on the subject of health through education than I can learn by consulting the internet.  I know I personally hate when someone claims to have more knowledge of literature than I do, and my education only required an extra two years.  I can only imagine how trying it is for health care professionals to have their views questioned based on the opinions of some reactionary but strongly voiced people.  Because I try to follow the doctor's advice, I get the other vaccines that are recommended for my children at the time that they are recommended.

Deaf on the Field

Lee Woodruff has a neat way of describing her daughter who is hard of hearing:  a child with a different ability.

I was thinking of this recently as I watched my youngest kiddo on the football field during a huddle. I could see that he was straining to lipread what was being said by the team leader.  As they broke up and settled into position, his teammate quickly said something to him and he scooted further down the line.  The players moved at the snap of the ball and I watched as my youngest was pummeled back by a player much bigger than him.  My kiddo suddenly turned and let the bigger player slide past him.  He took off running and I watched in amazement as he dove and wrapped his arms around a player's legs.  The quarterback slammed into the ground-- the ball still in his hands.

This was the kid who wanted to quit football after the first week of practice.  He came home after the second practice and basically had a meltdown.

"It's too hard.  I don't understand what to do," he said. "The big kids keep knocking me down!"

My God Loves Me, Too (Wo wo wo...)

I don't often consider my religious status. Maybe it's better to say "ecclesiastic status". Specifically? My relationship with a church.

I hang out with a bunch of evangelistic Christians, and usually dodge and weave the question when raised in regular conversation.

But I realized the other day that I had to stop pretending to myself. I've been on a break with my religion for more than a dozen years. When does it stop being 'pause' and officially become 'off'?

Some weeks back, Paul McCartney was singing this old tune called "My Love" while we were shopping for produce. Because I'm a little hearing-impaired, I sometimes make up lyrics to fill in what I can't hear. Don't ask what I do to "Blinded by the Light" because you'd lock up the kiddies and have me committed.

In any event, back at the grocery store I was singing "My Lord does it cool..."

Big (he who Jay and/or Silent Bob would call my 'hetero life mate') stopped the cart. "My what?"

"My Lord?"

"Think again," he suggested.

"My God?"

"You're going the wrong way. You were at least in the alphabetical neighborhood with 'Lord'."

"But He does."