A Photograph of Emotions

I was surprised to receive this photo in the mail the other day from a distant relative. My dad’s cousin, Marilyn, pictured three from the right in the front row sent it to me with a lovely note about recently receiving two copies of the photograph and thought I would like one. She mentioned that she wasn’t sure of the year, which led me, the youngest in the photo, to quickly try to figure out. 

My train of thought went something like this….my parents were still married, so it had to be before 1985, my brother looks the same as a photo I have seen many times over the years of him after an accident that happened in the early part of summer 1984, but his leg cast is off, my hairstyle matches that of my 4th grade school photo, taken later in 1984. Must be 1984! 

The train then switches tracks….wow, that would make me just a year older than my daughter is now and my son just a year older than my brother was. 

Next track….oh my G-d we are ALL in the same photograph! ALL meaning my mom, dad, brother, sister and I. This may very well be the only photo I have of us all; my mom was always the one taking photos and my dad was never quite fond of being in photos. 

The train, remaining on the same track veers…oh my G-d we are ALL smiling! Of course my parents aren’t next to each other, but we are ALL smiling! 

After analyzing this photo deeper it occurs to me that this one photo, possibly the only photo of the five of us shows my family just as it was/is. My sister, the firstborn, has her arm around my mom, touching her, laughing, showing how close the two of them have always been, friends. My brother, in the middle, just as in birth, is a balance between our parents, trying not to rock the boat. Then there’s me, the baby of the family, sitting on my dad’s lap, smiling, happy to be with him, happy he is there. 

Not only is a picture worth a thousand words, but many emotions as well. What a gift to have arrived in my mailbox, many miles and years away.

Imagine awakening very early for a 15 hour road trip home; after about eight hours you are stuck in bumper to bumper traffic and see THIS! Thanks to said bumper to bumper traffic I was able to ask the driver for a quick explanation. “I am an artist and I use them in my installations. I took them camping.” I would love to see his “installations” and his campsite neighbor must have had a plethora of interesting stories to bring home.

Been stuck in traffic for a LONG time!

A Parent’s Legacy

On Saturday I ran a half marathon. It was my fifth one, but each race is different. It had been a year and a half since my last half marathon and up until 11 weeks ago I had no plans to run another race of that distance. But than I heard about this race and what it was all about. Before I tell you the name of the race, I want to share with you the cause; because the catchy race name is not what drew me in. This inaugural race was founded by the daughter of a man who committed suicide two years ago. All money raised would go to a local organization/charity by the name of “Joe Was Just Joe,” named for another family’s son, who also committed suicide. http://joewasjustjoe.com/index.html The organization spends its money and time toward educating teenagers and young adults about suicide prevention. We’ve all had bad days, but imagine, and maybe you don’t even have to, if that day was so bad, or one of many so bad days that you believed the only thing that could make you happy again was if you were dead. 

People ask why I run and the answer is always the same. Because I can. Because, I have legs, because I am healthy, because I want to be healthier, because I feel great when it’s done, because I want to be a positive role model for my kids, and all kids, because I’m alive. Honestly, I run because I can. Because my body and mind are able to. So, on those training days I didn’t feel like running, because there are always days like that I thought about the cause of the race I was training for and I thought about how depression makes the simple task of getting out bed feel like you have a ton of bricks sitting on your chest making it impossible to get out bed. I ran because I could.

After spending two weeks on the injured list and not running, due to bruised ribs, and feeling a cold coming on the night before the race, I woke up early and went to run for all those whose lives were lost to suicide. I thought about the people who fought through depression by lacing up running shoes, or those who were running their first race or first half marathon that day and I showed up at the starting line.

I could tell you about how my knee started hurting at mile 8, or how I almost forget to pin my race number on, but instead I want to tell you about the woman I ran beside for just a short while whom I will always associate with this race. The back of her shirt said she was running in memory of her father, who likely had committed suicide. She motioned that she wanted to pass me and I said, “Go ahead you have more inner strength than I do.” She replied, “I’m not sure about that.” I smiled and said, “Your shirt tells me you do.” and she smiled back. I caught up to her just a few steps later and asked her if she minded if I asked her a question about her dad, she nodded. I asked her is she thought her dad would be proud of her or think she was crazy for running a half marathon. Now, this may sound like a rude question to you, but many people who do not run think runners are crazy, especially long distance runners. She smiled and said “he would be proud, definitely proud” of her. She then went on to share with me that he lived in La Crosse and was a runner who had run on this very same trail many times. I said, “Yes, he would be very proud then.” She said many of his nieces were running as well. My comment was, “It’s his legacy.” She smiled and her eyes lit up, I think she liked the sound of it. We went our separate ways, but she left me thinking about my own mother and how I consider her writing to be her legacy and I thought about how I hadn’t posted to this blog in a long time and for the next mile or so I thought about how I wanted to get back to writing more; for my mom. After the race was over I saw several people wearing a shirt that matched hers and they piled into a van (or SUV) with a Minnesota license plate…..they honored her dad by driving to run a race near where he lived to run on the same ground on the same trail he had run years before.

Oh and the name of the race? Mini Donut Half Marathon, named for Oly who according to his family (the organizers of the race) was at his happiest when he was making and selling mini donuts.

How to be a Parent?

Back in the spring I completed a training to become a facilitator for the ACT (adults and children together) Raising Safe Kids Program. I’m in the process of recruiting parents for my first 8 week session. Parenting classes have a negative stigma attached to them, but how does anyone really learn how to be a parent? This course focuses on a different topic each week* and all I keep thinking as I’m preparing to facilitate my first program is that this comes pretty close to teaching the foundation for parenting. 

But back to the previous questions, “How do you learn how to be a parent?” I am a strong believer that we learn how to parent from our parents first and foremost. You learn and choose what you want to do and what you don’t want to do, based on what they did or didn’t do while raising you. Secondly you learn from the parents around you, relatives, friends, even strangers you witness parenting. You learn by observation, just as our children learn how to behave by observing you and everyone around them. Parenting is also learned through trial and error.

But think for a minute, what if the only thing you learned from your parents was to provide food, shelter and clothing? Now, what if the only reason you learned that from them is because that’s what they didn’t  provide for you? How do you teach a person who was neglected or abused as a child how to be the parent they, as a child, needed?

* Week 1: Understanding Your Child’s Behavior

Week 2: Young Children’s Exposure to Violence

Week 3: Understanding and Controlling Parents’ Anger

Week 4: Understanding and Helping Angry Children

Week 5: Children and Electronic Media

Week 5: Discipline and Parenting Styles

Week 6: Discipline and Positive Behaviors

Week 7: Overcoming Barriers to Change and Making it Last

The Date of the Last Day of School

Today, June 4th, is the last day of school for my 2nd and 5th graders. I just brought them to school, my oldest for his last day of elementary school. This is not a post about being sad. They have both, once again, ended the school year making me proud with many accomplishments, both academic and social. They are leaving behind teachers who are proud of them and I believe their words wholeheartedly when they say they loved/enjoyed having them in their class. 

No, this is a post about the actual date of the last day of school. Here, in Wisconsin one day was already factored into the school calendar for a snow day, or cold day as it was used. There were no additional days added on, usually there are just a few, so today, June 4th, is their last day of school. They started after Labor Day and had a short spring break, but I still can’t help but compare it to my last day of school, my senior year. Fellow DHS 1993 graduates know what I’m talking about. It was the year graduation was held on June 30th, teaching us all that it was the last “legal” day in CT that school could be held, giving us the bragging rights of the last graduating class in the state. If it rained and graduation couldn’t be held on the football field no one knew what the effect would be. I don’t remember the speeches, I apologize to those who worked tirelessly writing them, but I remember seeing a great friend’s smile across the field of chairs and a gray cloud overhead hoping it didn’t produce rain (which it did not). There was major construction on the school, over winter break asbestos was found so break was lengthened, the blizzard of ’93 hit in April resulting in yet more days off of school. Then, ironically, we had several days cut short because it was too hot in the building. I still remember that if it was 80° and 80% humidity on the 5th floor of the science building (it was a big school) by noon we’d have an early release. (If I remember correctly 22 years later).

The last day of school. June 4th?! Single digits of June?! Yep, not in my childhood, but in my adult life, and I’m good with that…..bring on the last day of school traditions!!! For us, it starts with a trip to the ice cream shop, what are your last day of school traditions?

Maybe this photo was taken on June 4, 1993?

I Am. I Do.

A newly recognized goal in life of mine has recently been met. The other day an acquaintance-friend of mine reached out for help after discovering bruises on her children; suspecting abuse. When we spoke on the phone she explained that she didn’t know what I did (for work), but knew I was the right person to ask for help and guidance based on things I post on Facebook. See, I only post things on Facebook that I believe in and support. For the past 13 1/2 years I have been an active member of the Coulee Region Child Abuse Prevention Task Force, even in the years that I was a stay-at-home mom; I believe I was the first “community activist” to be a member. I have four years of volunteer experience at a domestic violence shelter and another five years working as a children’s advocate for another domestic violence shelter. I am now a licensed school counselor who is in her third year working, on paper, as the mental health consultant for Head Start in four counties. To parents and staff alike I changed my title to School Counselor. 

I continue to be active in the fight against child abuse and when she asked me, “What DO you do?” it actually made me smile and it was then that I realized that I would much rather be known for who I AM than what I DO.

Love Wins and Kindness is Warm

On January 28th I replied to the following post on Facebook.

We Are Newtown shared Newtown Pride FC's photo.

January 28 at 10:56am ·

We NEED 26 volunteers to help spread warmth in every community we can touch by helping us give away SCARVES! If you would like to help all you need to do is inbox us or Newtown Pride FC your name and address. We will send you a #newtownpridefc #wearenewtown scarf & you can give it to someone who needs it. Let's spread some warmth. #giveback #spreadwarmth #todayweplayfornewtown

I immediately sent the following message to We Are Newtown:

I grew up in Brookfield and Danbury and would love to help spread warmth here in Wisconsin where winters can be frigid.

You can mail me one at: XXXX and I will make sure it helps keep someone warm who needs it.

Thank you for continuing to spread love and positive experiences in the aftermath of the tragedy.

Yesterday in the mail I received a warm, thick Newtown scarf and with it the following note: “Thank you for volunteering to help us spread love & warmth! Please pass the scarf along with LOVE to someone in need. We really appreciate it! People like you willing to go the extra mile make anything possible! We just ask that you capture a picture with yourself or a loved one holding the scarf or the recipient! Inbox the picture to @WeAreNewtown or @NewtownPrideFC & we will share the gift of warmth!”

Scarf and note.

My son modeling the scarf in case the recipient didn't want their photo taken.

My daughter modeling the scarf in case the recipient didn't want their photo taken.

I knew just how and where to distribute the scarf, but what I didn’t know was how I was only going to hand out ONE scarf. We have a warming center in town that is open from November 1 - April 30 that provides a safe and warm location for local people over 18 who are homeless. This year the warming center moved out of a church where they had room for 15 people to a building downtown that has room for 34 people, a washer and dryer and shower facilities. The center is open from 7:00 pm - 8:00 am. There was no doubt in my mind that this is where I would find the recipient of the Newtown scarf.

I explained to my kids about the tragedy that took place at Sandy Hook Elementary School two years ago. At this point I had not mentioned many details to my children about the event because I did not want to scare them and I wasn’t sure my heart was ready to have the conversation with them without breaking. I explained that the town of Newtown has chosen not to let this tragedy define their town and instead to use this tragedy to spread love and kindness and has adopted the slogan “Love Wins”. 26 lives were lost that December day in 2012 so off we went to Walmart to buy 26 scarfs to give out along with the Newtown scarf.

On the way to the warming center we talked more about the tragedy and at 5:30 with the temperature in the single digits I expected to see a line of people waiting to get inside the warming center. Instead what I saw was an open door welcoming people in out of the cold “early”. My husband, two elementary kids and I walked in and were asked by a volunteer if we were here for the training. I said, “No, we are here to donate scarves.” I was not sure what to expect or how I was going to go about the distribution, the only thing on my mind at that moment was the hope that I had enough scarves. What happened next surprised even me.

We walked into a crowded room of about 25 - 30 people sitting around tables and in a loud voice I said that I was looking for the coldest person in the room. See, I was hoping that the recipient of the Newtown scarf would “jump out” at me, but nobody did. A few people laughed and pointed to a guy. With a lump in my throat I explained about Sandy Hook ES and that we were chosen to share the warmth and love of the scarf and that we brought an additional 26 scarves in honor of those who died at the school. One man asked if he could have the scarf. People were grateful and excited to choose which scarf they wanted. I tossed them across the room like I was throwing t-shirts into the stands at a baseball game. 

Some of the 26 scarves we bought and donated.
People were excited to choose a print or color that suited them.

He wanted to show all of his green (hat).
He also put the flimsy scarf he already owned on top of his head. 

He was hamming it up for the camera; almost like doing "jazz hands".

I asked the man I gave the Newtown scarf to if I could take his picture and he said yes and hammed it up for the camera. He wrapped himself in the love and I could see how much he had needed it and how it brightened his day. He said that all the guns should be taken away, no one should have guns; instead we should give everyone chocolate he said. A man after my own heart. He asked my quiet husband to say something and told him, with a tear in his eye, that he was a good dad. He could tell because he was there. He shared with us that he has two daughters and that he isn’t there for him and thanked us for bringing the kids because it reminded him of his own kids. I told him sometimes you have to take care of yourself before you can be there for your kids and I offered him a hug and he gratefully accepted it. I held his hand which was much warmer than mine and smiled and announced that the warming center works! 

Another man sitting near me said it wasn’t about the guns, but the need for mental health services, I also agreed with him and we talked for a few minutes. He was a grateful man who eventually handed us back the fleece scarf, saying that he was allergic to polyester. He was dressed in a black hooded sweatshirt and black leather jacket, with gray hair both on his head and face. I jokingly apologized that we didn’t have a silk scarf for him and it brought a smile to his face and he laughed and said it was ok and once again thanked us for bringing the scarves. 

I enlisted my kids to hand out scarves to people. When we left there were still a few scarves left to find necks and hearts to warm. I was so thankful that we had enough scarves to share and two more people said that they were willing to have their photo taken, after I asked. Laughs, smiles and hugs were shared as we left the building.

When the man on the right said he would have his picture taken he modeled the scarf and got a laugh from me and others because I thought he was going to cover his entire face. The man standing in the background under the clock is the one allergic to polyester.

What was the hardest part about this experience? Leaving. Not so much because we had a warm home and comfortable bed to go to; but because I was sincerely enjoying spending time with these people and visiting with them. I could have spent hours there talking with them, but I also felt the need to leave them with their scarves. I hope to return to spread more love…

Thank you Newtown for sparking my family to purchase 26 scarves and donate to those who were in need of feeling loved (and warm). Thank you families of those 26 people whose lives were lost for finding a way to spread kindness and love in their memory. I  have shed tears for each of those whose lives were lost and yesterday I honored them the best I could. Love wins and kindness is contagious!