The mind is magnificent - it controls both actions and words. Yet, kind words or great deeds are no stranger to a ruthless heart that rules the mind.
The heart provides the will and the mind is but a servant of the heart, hidden away from the curiosity of prying eyes.
The heart can be a thief or a murderer, a villain or a coward, yet actions and words can provide a pleasing disguise to those unwilling to look beyond the thin veil to the darkness inside.
Schoolyard Bullying
Teasing and bullying and other harassment in the schoolyard is a continuing and growing problem in Australia and mainly due to two things, if I can be simplistic and blunt.
Firstly, inadequate parenting. This is caused by a number of factors including, but not limited to, poor education standards of the parents, time constraints due to longer working hours and busier lifestyles (or single parent families taking on double the workload), lack of discipline in the household, reliance upon the electronic babysitters (TV, video, computers all provide input to the learning of behaviour) etc. If a child does not learn appropriate/inappropriate behaviour in the home then it will learn elsewhere.
Secondly, inadequate social teaching by schools. The fact is, rightly or wrongly, the school has become the next best place to teach children moral and social values and behaviours. This has become more so over the past few decades due to the issues related to point one above.
I'm not promoting that the education system should be the delivery system for the teaching of moral and social values, but inevitably because of the failing of some parents and families to take this responsibility seriously, the onus unfortunately falls upon the education system to act as a safety net. That is a difficult situation when our education system is already so drastically under resourced that it is failing to produce a decent average grade student in many instances.
Bad behaviour and poor values (and I may be unfairly judging them against my own western agnostic values) start within the home environment. They are replicated and enhanced in the school environment and are pretty much cemented by the age of 7 or 8. After that point it takes extra effort to change a child's behaviour.
Bullying, teasing and taunting are learned behaviours. It takes time and a willingness (from the adults and the child) to change those behaviours. Ultimately a child needs positive teaching from their parents and family as well as from their teachers and other adults & children that interact with them in their lives.
We cannot legislate against the poor upbringing of children or the difficulties that lead to those situations, however we can be supportive of social change that will hopefully, one day, mean that families are less stressed, more involved with child-rearing, and ultimately producing respectful and civil-minded children, adolescents and adults.
[+/-] show/hide this post
Separated Parenting
Being a non-custodial parent is, I am sure, no more difficult than being the custodial one. However, it is different, it operates under different rules and it provides very humbling experiences at times.
For the most part I manage to cope well with our situation. I see my daughter, Sophie, every second weekend and we have a flexible arrangement so that we can change weekends at a moment's notice if either household has a change of plans.
The flexibility has sometimes meant that there has developed a sense of "it's ok not to go with Dad this weekend if you want to do something else", which has been abused a couple of times.
2 days a fortnight makes for a difficult opportunity to maintain a relationship. Telephone calls are no compensation. Even more difficult is discovering that your child was in a school play or had a sports carnival and no-one bothered to tell you! *sigh*
As some of you might be aware from previous postings, the problems that do arise are usually issues between my ex and myself, often brought about through the interference of my sister (gotta love to hate siblings!).
Inevitably, the major problems have revolved around money - child support is a necessary responsibility, but when there's no money to give the other parent's lack of empathy can seem like a hurricane of greed motivated by the "financial burden" of raising a child. My answer has always been that if it is such a burden, I would gladly take custody and not ask for a dime in child support! The hysteria swiftly ends upon the realisation that the value of having custody transcends any monetary gains.
Other issues have centred around the activities that Sophie enjoys with us compared with what she does with her Mother. I take Sophie to the museums, art galleries, and movies. We've had nights at the theatre and the ballet. Often we will go out to a cafe for an arvo break or have dinner in a restaurant. These are things that Sophie's Mum cannot afford or probably wouldn't choose to do.
In the past, my ex has complained that Sophie is too disruptive on her return home. Perhaps because she has to settle back into a new environment with different rules, or perhaps because she has been excited and wants to relay what she did this weekend.
Occasionally (last weekend being an example) we also have Sophie's half-brother with us for the weekend. That makes a nice change for everyone - allows my ex and her hubby to have some time to themselves (or run a garage sale like they did last weekend) and also changes the dynamics of our household for a short while.
I don't approve of some facets of how Sophie is being brought up, but looking at the big picture they are minor issues and I try to counteract them as best as I can. I think Sophie has benefited from learning to adjust accordingly under the two households.
Being a separated parent is harder on ourself than it is on the kids. They adapt very quickly and, as parents, we tend to put on the brave face and protect them from the disruption and the hurt caused by the separation.
Sophie turns 10 in two weeks time and I'm starting to think about how we will handle access arrangements in her teens, when she starts playing weekend sport or wants to socialise with her friends more than she does presently. New compromises will have to be negotiated, I'm sure.
No matter which way you look at it, being the non-custodial parent can be more difficult personally when having to say farewell for a two-week stint every cycle. I'm ever hopeful that an alternative arrangement is required in the future. I want my chance as a full time parent too.
[+/-] show/hide this post
Battle of the sexes
Whilst trying to support gender equity, Tracy (who I appreciate dearly and consider a friend and confidante) has fallen into the trap of using stereotypes and perpetuating the myth that men and women are so different that they can never appreciate the value of each other.
It reminds me of the many times that I've had women complaining to me about men ... and then adding the disclaimer "oh, but not you, you're gay!" as if my sexuality somehow made me immune to the fallibility of maleness and put me on the same level (or at least a closer level) to the infallible femaleness.
I support equality, equity, justice and fairness for all and I share the values of humanity in aspiring to reach those goals. I don't believe that women (and especially 'womyn') have a monopoly on the "right way". Complaining about negative "male values" whilst praising positive "female values" does nothing to promote goodwill between the genders.
We've all dealt with this 'logic' many times before ... "refugees are queue jumpers", "Muslims are terrorists", "Abos are welfare bludgers", "queers are paedophiles", "If you have AIDS then you must be queer or a drug addict".
Imagine if I were to protest about the "money-hungry values of the Jewish people", or complain of the "Islamic taste for murder through suicide bombers"! Vilification doesn't have to be overt to be wrong.
Please don't perpetuate the gender-war by using stereotypes and unfair generalisations.
Humanist first, feminist second.
[+/-] show/hide this post
Position yourself behind what you believe in!
From Peter Oborne's interview with Liberal Democrats leader Charles Kennedy in The Spectator, Sept 21:
I suggest to him that, if he was serious about power, he should shift Liberal Democrat policy to the right of Labour and the left of the stumbling Tories, and mop up.
For the first time Kennedy gets angry.
"That's exactly what we should not do. In politics you should position yourself behind what you believe in and articulate it. Then see if that's what the voters want, and if it's not what they want, well, that's democracy."
Understanding the angry young boy
Well .. this has been an interesting day to say the least. I've just finished writing this message and having read over it I realise that it is very intense, but I don't apologise for that. I've had a stark realisation and its been quite an emotional awakening that I thought it was worth sharing.
It's not entirely on topic but it just goes to show that even as adults we can learn from each other about kids and, remembering that we were all children once, we can learn about ourselves.
And a big thanks to Fi ... I think you've given me the knowledge to understand why I am who I am and how I used to be.
I just happened to be clearing out some of my emails when I came across a reference to Stephen Biddulph. That made me track down the thread (this one) and read what I'd missed.
Fi, ... I told you I skimmed this thread - mainly because it was addressed to Vicki. I wish I hadn't ... and so glad I came back to it.
I was also a very very angry young boy. I'd always put it down to being the smallest in my classes and getting picked on. Reading the excerpt from that book (thanks Fi for posting it) highlighted a very important point for me.
My most aggressive times were early primary (2,3,4) and also years 8,9. My Mother's Dad died when I was in year 2 and my Mother's Mum died when I was in year 8. All of my Father's family live in New Zealand and NSW so my Mum's parents were the only family I had regular contact with.
I was too young to really remember my Pop, but I have a strong memory of sitting on his knee while he made his cigarettes in a tin case, carefully laying out the paper and the tobacco on this leather strip inside the case. Then upon snapping the case closed out would pop a rolled cigarette. I thought it was magic! I also remember the smell of his pipe. I still love that smell of pipe tobacco.
Pop had a stroke and was in hospital for a number of days and we had come up from the country to stay with Nanna. I remember the telephone call that Mum got whilst we were there and my Mum bursting into tears and running outside to see Dad. They just stood there holding each other and I knew something was terribly wrong. I also still remember the nightmare that I had for days after.
I didn't go to the funeral. I never questioned it, or at least I don't recall questioning not going.
My Nanna died in 1982, when I was at the end of year 8. I have a lot more memories of her. We were living in the country again and had a police officer come around to tell Mum & Dad the sad news because we didn't have a phone (hard to imagine that now).
Mum & Dad went to Perth for the funeral and left us kids behind with friends. They were gone for a few days. I pleaded with them to let me go with them and to go to the funeral but they said I was too young. I was 12.
I had a teddy bear that I'd owned since I was born and had loved so much that the soft fur had almost all come off and only small patches were left intact. My Nanna had knitted a complete cover for it (yellow wool with new button eyes and black wool mouth and nose) when I was about 6 or 7 to protect it. I cried myself to sleep each night while hugging that bear and that bear is still my most precious possession.
I have never really forgiven my parents for not allowing me to go to the funeral. I've told them that, though not so bluntly. They still believe that they did the right thing at the time - I can't argue with what they thought best, but I knew differently.
The first funeral I attended was a very dear friend of the family when I was 22. A lovely old Italian woman who practically adopted my family when we were neighbours. We were always a part of their celebrations - every engagement, wedding and baptism. I grieved at her funeral, not only for that loss, but also for my grandparents for whom I never had the chance to say farewell.
Reading the quotes Fi posted struck a chord with me. Yes .. that is exactly what I had felt. The anger and the hurt and the frustration.
Finally I could start to understand the angry young boy. What a relief. What an awakening.
I guess that is why I was so set on taking Sophie to the funeral of my Uncle (Dad's brother) in NSW. Sophie was 3 and I carefully explained what had happened and why we were going to Newcastle. I took her to the chapel and she saw Uncle Peter laying peacefully in the coffin and she blew him a kiss goodbye.
It was just so perfect of her to understand and not be scared.
As we were sitting in the chapel during the prayer service (typical catholic formalities ... not even at the funeral yet) I was obviously looking a bit soulful and Sophie jumped off my Mum's knee and came over to me, gave me a big hug and said "Uncle Peter's safe now" and then she had a cry with me.
I wish I could have had that opportunity when I was young.
Thanks, Fi, for helping me discover a part of myself.
It's not entirely on topic but it just goes to show that even as adults we can learn from each other about kids and, remembering that we were all children once, we can learn about ourselves.
And a big thanks to Fi ... I think you've given me the knowledge to understand why I am who I am and how I used to be.
I just happened to be clearing out some of my emails when I came across a reference to Stephen Biddulph. That made me track down the thread (this one) and read what I'd missed.
Fi, ... I told you I skimmed this thread - mainly because it was addressed to Vicki. I wish I hadn't ... and so glad I came back to it.
I was also a very very angry young boy. I'd always put it down to being the smallest in my classes and getting picked on. Reading the excerpt from that book (thanks Fi for posting it) highlighted a very important point for me.
My most aggressive times were early primary (2,3,4) and also years 8,9. My Mother's Dad died when I was in year 2 and my Mother's Mum died when I was in year 8. All of my Father's family live in New Zealand and NSW so my Mum's parents were the only family I had regular contact with.
I was too young to really remember my Pop, but I have a strong memory of sitting on his knee while he made his cigarettes in a tin case, carefully laying out the paper and the tobacco on this leather strip inside the case. Then upon snapping the case closed out would pop a rolled cigarette. I thought it was magic! I also remember the smell of his pipe. I still love that smell of pipe tobacco.
Pop had a stroke and was in hospital for a number of days and we had come up from the country to stay with Nanna. I remember the telephone call that Mum got whilst we were there and my Mum bursting into tears and running outside to see Dad. They just stood there holding each other and I knew something was terribly wrong. I also still remember the nightmare that I had for days after.
I didn't go to the funeral. I never questioned it, or at least I don't recall questioning not going.
My Nanna died in 1982, when I was at the end of year 8. I have a lot more memories of her. We were living in the country again and had a police officer come around to tell Mum & Dad the sad news because we didn't have a phone (hard to imagine that now).
Mum & Dad went to Perth for the funeral and left us kids behind with friends. They were gone for a few days. I pleaded with them to let me go with them and to go to the funeral but they said I was too young. I was 12.
I had a teddy bear that I'd owned since I was born and had loved so much that the soft fur had almost all come off and only small patches were left intact. My Nanna had knitted a complete cover for it (yellow wool with new button eyes and black wool mouth and nose) when I was about 6 or 7 to protect it. I cried myself to sleep each night while hugging that bear and that bear is still my most precious possession.
I have never really forgiven my parents for not allowing me to go to the funeral. I've told them that, though not so bluntly. They still believe that they did the right thing at the time - I can't argue with what they thought best, but I knew differently.
The first funeral I attended was a very dear friend of the family when I was 22. A lovely old Italian woman who practically adopted my family when we were neighbours. We were always a part of their celebrations - every engagement, wedding and baptism. I grieved at her funeral, not only for that loss, but also for my grandparents for whom I never had the chance to say farewell.
Reading the quotes Fi posted struck a chord with me. Yes .. that is exactly what I had felt. The anger and the hurt and the frustration.
Finally I could start to understand the angry young boy. What a relief. What an awakening.
I guess that is why I was so set on taking Sophie to the funeral of my Uncle (Dad's brother) in NSW. Sophie was 3 and I carefully explained what had happened and why we were going to Newcastle. I took her to the chapel and she saw Uncle Peter laying peacefully in the coffin and she blew him a kiss goodbye.
It was just so perfect of her to understand and not be scared.
As we were sitting in the chapel during the prayer service (typical catholic formalities ... not even at the funeral yet) I was obviously looking a bit soulful and Sophie jumped off my Mum's knee and came over to me, gave me a big hug and said "Uncle Peter's safe now" and then she had a cry with me.
I wish I could have had that opportunity when I was young.
Thanks, Fi, for helping me discover a part of myself.
Victory of the Loud Little Handful
* Victory of the Loud Little Handful *
*by Mark Twain*
The loud little handful - as usual - will shout for the war. The pulpit will - warily and cautiously - object... at first. The great, big, dull bulk of the nation will rub its sleepy eyes and try to make out why there should be a war, and will say, earnestly and indignantly, "It is unjust and dishonorable, and there is no necessity for it."
Then the handful will shout louder. A few fair men on the other side will argue and reason against the war with speech and pen, and at first will have a hearing and be applauded, but it will not last long; those others will outshout them, and presently the antiwar audiences will thin out and lose popularity.
Before long, you will see this curious thing: the speakers stoned from the platform, and free speech strangled by hordes of furious men...
Next the statesmen will invent cheap lies, putting the blame upon the nation that is attacked, and every man will be glad of those conscience-soothing falsities, and will diligently study them, and refuse to examine any refutations of them; and thus he will by and by convince himself that the war is just, and will thank God for the better sleep he enjoys after this process of grotesque self-deception.
*Mark Twain, "The Mysterious Stranger" (1910)*
http://commondreams.org/views02/0920-01.htm
Coming Out to Grandparents
Re: a posting on a discussion forum about coming out to grandparents as opposed to other younger, more modern thinking relatives ...
I lost my mother's parents before I was 12. My Pop died in 1977 and I have only a handful of memories. My Nana passed away in 1981. I have no doubt that she would have accepted me and given me one of those delicate, loving hugs with her arthritic hands.
My Father's family live in New Zealand so we hardly ever had much contact with them. I last saw my grandparents 14 years ago when they visited us. My Grandmother died nearly two years ago without really knowing me. I think
that is sad.
I can understand the desire not to burden people with this issue, but on the flipside, why do we believe it is such a burden in the first place? Surely we are the ones carrying any burden ... and I think most of us agree that once you come out there is no longer any burden to speak of ... it is a freedom.
I can't sit in judgement - I don't have any plans to inform my grandfather, although if I ever make the trip to New Zealand, Rich will be with me and I will find a need to say something then. But maybe that day will come to late, just as it already has gone for my other grandparents.
It is a sad indictment on all of us when we promote the need for "PRIDE" and then hide it in a closet when it suits us. I'm guilty and I can't offer a decent excuse.
[+/-] show/hide this post
Labels and stereotypes
ADVICE GIVEN TO SOMEONE WHO WAS CONCERNED ABOUT NOT "FITTING IN" WITH THE LESBIAN COMMUNITY
Take the time to enjoy being a round peg in a square hole. It is well worth realising and appreciating that you are different and that you don't "fit" the norms that society imposes on us.
Remember also that being a round peg in a square hole also means that you have a bit more space around you and you won't feel so confined ;-) If we all fitted in perfectly there would be no room to move and express our own personality.
And don't think that the queer community is immune from 'norms', expectations, peer pressure and cliques. We are the worst for discriminating and vilifying those who aren't like 'us'.
Just try listing all the different labels our community has adopted ... lipstick lesbians, drag queens & kings, rice queens, potato queens, butch, leather, bears, disco bunnies, etc. Fortunately it is improving with time, but human nature will always resort to defining a person by their appearance and actions in order to put them in a 'box'.
Being outside of the mainstream society has a number of problems, but it also has a number of benefits. In time you will gain the confidence to be yourself, not the person society, your peers or family expect.
In the words of the great philosophers (Monty Python):
"We are all individuals!"
... "But I'm not!"
Evil - Disease or human characteristic?
I like to believe that a healthy human being could never abuse, torture or kill another human being in regular circumstances (wars, famine and persecution excluded). However I regularly hear about such acts of violence taking place in what appear to be otherwise normal situations. So, is it innate in our being, or is it a disease that infects the mind? Perhaps we will never know.
In the meantime I need to believe in the innate goodness of humankind and put all the crap down to an evil disease. Anything less than that suggests that evil lies within each of us and only our conscience keeps it at bay. I fear that prospect more than a disease.
In that context I hope that we all treat each other the best way that we know how, that we all be the best person that we know how. I think we all fail that test occasionally. Sometimes we apologise for our actions, other times we carry on regardless (and perhaps unknowingly) and some of us even do it on purpose against our better judgement. The question is whether we learn from our mistakes and do we feel remorse. That is something only the individual can answer.
The faithful will (apparently) be judged by their god, as will the rest of us if god(s) exist, or we will all just die and there will be no consequence of our actions on earth. Either way we will lay on our death bed full of regret or thankful for the chance to learn.
In the end we are our own judge and jury.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)