Choosing To Do Is How It's Done

"You may be right,
it's all a waste of time.
I guess that's just a chance I'm prepared to take,
a danger I'm prepared to to face,
cut to the chase –
what kind of difference can one person make?
Cut to the chase..."

–Rush, Cut to the Chase

As we drove by, the strikers were gathering again for another day of protest. Soon their numbers would be in the hundreds to over 1,000 people, the UCSC graduate students working as professors’ teaching assistants demanding a cost-of-living raise. They would also again block the intersection of the main campus entrance, one that we use everyday to take our girls to and from school.

"What are they doing?" Beatrice asked.

I was taking our oldest to school. Our youngest, Bryce, was home sick.

"They're protesting for more money, to be able to afford to live and work here. Sometimes we have to speak up for what we want, what we believe in, to take a stand on something, to make right something that's wrong, and that's what they're doing," I said.

"Oh," she said. "I hope Bryce feels better."

And there you have it. She's still a kid in the pre-tween shadows, Bryce even more so, neither truly comprehending the weight of the world's problems yet. As it should be, because they'll come soon enough.

They feel them, though. The strike has impacted the way we take them to and from school, sometimes having to circumvent side streets. They also live with two parents who have chosen to speak up and we've also taken them begrudgingly on the women's marches, science marches, Martin Luther King Jr. Day marches, Walk a Mile in Her Shoes Marches, and community awareness and prevention events I've helped organize called Transforming Together. We talked about racism and and sexism and harassment and bullying and how the skills taught in Kidpower can keep them safe.

We've given them our rational within simplified contexts as to why we've spoken up for what we want, what we believe in, why we've taken a stand on things, to make right things that are wrong. And someday they'll develop their own rationale to speak up and for what, or not. That will be a choice for them as they move from childhood to young adulthood and beyond.

We hope they choose to speak up and give voice to those who feel they have none, and to do things that others tell them couldn't be done. Maybe Beatrice will do it with writing, like her dad, and someday combine art and writing and create a series of graphic novels for kids and teens, helping them to understand their lives and the complex and sometime unforgiving world around them. Maybe Bryce will be the astronaut she now longs to be and the first person (not just a woman) to land on Mars someday, inspiring other girls and boys to reach for the stars.

We want them to get off the ground, activate, participate and make a positive stand happen, and to encourage others to do so. We want them to understand one person can make a difference in their own life and the lives of others. And while not doing anything is always a choice, choosing to do is how it's done.

Safe and Kind Kids

We were watching Zombies 2 when the lesson ensued. Really, we were. If you're not familiar, Zombies and Zombies 2 are Disney movie musicals about high school life where humans, zombies and now werewolves live together. Our girls love them, the messages are positive, and the music is toe-tapping, light-rapping, poppy-smooth, cheerleading and monster-movie fun. Yes, cheerleading.

There's a part where Zed, one of main characters and a zombie, runs for student body president so he can change the rules and take the girl he likes to the prom (monsters can't go to the prom). The person he's running against, the popular cheer captain named Bucky, is quite the narcissist and doesn't care for the zombies; he only cares about himself.

They prepare to have a presidential debate, but the campaign posters hanging in the room have been altered. Zed's have been changed to make him look like a monster. You see, the zombies turn into real brain-eating zombies if they don't wear their electronic bracelets that keep their inner monster contained. So, the posters look like the zombie Zed is without the bracelet on, which freaks the humans out. Yes, a cheer captain named Bucky did it with the help of his popular human entourage.

"Wow, that was mean," I said to Beatrice and Bryce.

"I know," Bea said.

"That happened to me in high school," I said.

"Really? What happened?"

I told them that when I was in high school, I ran for student body president. One day when I arrived at school, there was a huge banner hanging from the second floor of one of the main buildings right in the middle of campus. The banner read something like "Kevin Grossman for President -- ha, ha, ha -- what a joke." Lots of ha, ha's that I remember, actually.

"They were teasing me, but it wasn't very nice."

"Did you cry?" Bryce asked. My family knows I'm a cryer.

"No, but it made me feel bad."

"That's mean," Bea said.

Yes, it was, I thought. I was a nice enough guy in high school. Kids from all kinds of backgrounds liked me and I also liked to be liked. Who doesn't? It also doesn't mean I didn't make mistakes with friends and hurt their feelings, and ex-girlfriend feelings, since they were the ones who made and hung up the banner at school that day. The banner was only up until school started that morning, but it's something I've never forgotten.

Our family proceeded to finish the movie. Our girls seem to get it, though -- that there's a difference between inclusive teasing for fun and intentional teasing to taunt -- and a lot of gray in between (that they'll have experience for themselves throughout teenage-land and beyond). They also have a Kidpower education, to throw hurtful words away, to walk away from teasing to stay safe and sane, and get help if needed.

According to one large study, the following percentages of middle schools students had experienced these various types of bullying: name calling (44.2 %); teasing (43.3 %); spreading rumors or lies (36.3%); pushing or shoving (32.4%); hitting, slapping, or kicking (29.2%); leaving out (28.5%); threatening (27.4%); stealing belongings (27.3%); sexual comments or gestures (23.7%); e-mail or blogging (9.9%).

And Beatrice starts middle school this fall. Mercy me.

Research indicates that persistent bullying can lead to or worsen feelings of isolation, rejection, exclusion, and despair, as well as depression and anxiety, which can contribute to suicidal behavior.

Bullying sucks. And it's a slippery slope to go from inclusive teasing for fun, to intentional teasing to taunt, and to bully for control and power and to intentionally hurt. This starts when we're young and extends into adulthood, the workplace, and all facets of life. Saying it's okay to say whatever you're thinking or feeling when you're thinking or feeling it, especially when it degrades someone else or a group of people you don't like or agree with, only empowers and emboldens bullying further. Adding that we need to just toughen up and deal with it when bullying happens doesn't help either.

Protecting ourselves by not letting those words or actions affect us (throwing them away and/or telling the perpetrators to stop and/or getting help) is a much more appropriate way to handle them. And no, toughing up to just deal with it and/or punching back are not the same things. Raising safe and kind kids is where it starts for zombies, werewolves and humans alike.

Some Place to Feel Safe

"Dorothy? Dorothy? Where are you? It's me, Auntie Em! We're trying to find you! Where are you?"

–Auntie Em, The Wizard of Oz

Year after year it scared me. Year after year it made me feel so completely alone and scared. I knew it wasn't real and I knew the story overall it had a happy ending, and yet, every time I watched it seemed to mirror what I was feeling at the time.

First, the tornado: even as I grew into my teenage years, The Wizard of Oz movie tornado was such an ominous presence of dark, destructive power. I never lived in an area with real tornados, so this was the closest thing I had ever seen, with the exception of a strong dust devil once in awhile. So the part where Dorothy tries desperately to open the storm cellar door and enable to do it with Toto held tightly under her arm always freaked me out. Then she tries to find shelter in the house, which we all know gets swept up into the tornado. It gave me such a feeling of helplessness, and black and white film beginning added to the grim reality that there was nowhere for Dorothy (and me) to go.

Second, the race against time when Dorothy is trapped by the witch: after the creepy flying monkeys capture her and take her to the Wicked Witch of the West's castle, Dorothy is so scared and alone and she imagines Auntie Em is calling to her from inside the witches crystal ball. But then the witch appears mocking Auntie Em and Dorothy, and the sands of time are running out in the hourglass...

When I watch it today, it still gives me chills. And I still cry at the end when she clicks her ruby slippers together and says, "There's no place like home..."

Because there really is no place like home. Decades later my wife and I are grateful every day that we have our own lovely little family. One where love, empathy, honesty, support, safety and stability are the pillars we surround ourselves with. At a time when cultural, political and hateful -ism twisters abound, and things we find repellant and absurd are flying around overhead and snatching away what were once grounded sensibilities and morals, we're thankful that our daughters are still young enough not to ask too many questions about current events.

Because soon they will, and then we'll have to start explaining things like why a conservative radio personality and long-time racist and misogynist received a Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is usually given to men and women who have made an especially meritorious contribution to the security or national interests of the United States, world peace, cultural or other significant public or private endeavors.

And what's even more conflicting for us is that there are millions who felt he was quite appropriate and deserving. By contrast, my wife was just watching the moment when Dr. Maya Angelou -- an American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights activist -- received the same Medal of Freedom in 2010. Maybe there were millions of people who felt that wasn't appropriate either. What a world we live in today.

Then a family member reminded me to focus on what matters the most -- family and friends and the good things that do happen in our lives and good deeds we do for others in our lives. And then Deepak Chopra reminded me in his latest podcasts how to be a karma yogi and only say something when it’s useful, kind or helpful. And then Matthew 5:43-48 reminded me that “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others?” 

Yet, like the old scene out of And Justice for All, when Al Pacino's character lights up the courtroom and rants "You're all out of order!" -- I feel like some are quite "all out of order," and it's scary and frustrating, like a tornado heading for me and my family and there's no where to go.

But there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

Years ago I remember telling the girls about the movie version of The Wizard of Oz. They sat riveted while I told them about Dorothy, Toto, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion, the Wicked Witch and the flying monkeys. The flying monkeys and the Wicked Witch freaked them out a bit, and at the time, were not quite ready to watch the movie classic just yet, or read any of the fabulous L. Frank Baum Oz books from which it is based on. But hearing pieces of the story transformed them into their own animated storytelling mode, when they used to play with cut-out felt people, objects and shapes on a felt board to create their own Oz-like fables of brave princesses battling dragons then drinking refreshing rainbows.

"Why is Oz only two letters?" Bea asked way back then.

"Because it's that simple, Bea," I answered, not aware then of how wrong I was.

She smiled and then both Bea and Bryce continued their storytelling with the felt boards. I watched them both, Bryce gesturing even more so with her hand and arms while she spoke, while Bea laughed and played along, adding her own commentary.

Years later, Beatrice is again doing musical theater after school and this time they're doing The Wizard of Oz (Bryce is taking a break from this one). Bea wanted to be Glenda the Good Witch, or the Wicked Witch of the West, and instead she's going to be Auntie Em. And she's very happy with that part (plus, she gets another smaller part in the middle, too).

These days I feel like we're the ones trapped in the witch's castle, the adults in the room that feel helpless and scared, and in the crystal ball both Beatrice and Bryce are calling out "Mom? Dad? Where are you? It's us, your kids! We're trying to find you! Where are you? You're going to be okay; we're going to be okay."

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home. 

Someday soon we'll do our best to answer the questions we struggle to answer ourselves. Someday soon we'll know if we've empowered them to fend off and even take on the evil -isms that rip through communities far and wide, leaving nothing but angry heartache and hate in their wake. And no matter what, that they'll love their enemies and always be useful, helpful and kind. Because there's always somewhere to go. Some way to feel good and to do good. Some place to feel safe.

A New Dog's Life

"It seems to me

As we make our own few circles ’round the sun
We get it backwards
And our seven years go by like one..."

–Rush, Dog Years



We used to have to take him outside in a bag. It was cumbersome, but there was no other way to keep him out of view, especially from the apartment manager who lived on the property. Our dog put up with it, too, since each time it was his opportunity to run free and go to the bathroom in the Lighthouse Field next to our apartment building.

I don't think we fooled many of our neighbors, though. And even the manager found out eventually we had a dog. Of course, we didn't get rid of our little black and white Shih Tzu named Joshua. My ex-wife and I had found him abandoned nearly a decade previous, and my then soon-to-be wife Amy and me kept him.

Amy also had two cats from the same litter, Charlie and Chelsea, since they were kittens. Chelsea was a beautiful Calico and her brother Charlie was white with back patches. Together we made a little family, even if the cats did not like the dog at all (eventually they just put up with him). And it was all wonderful, even having to take our dog out in a bag to go outside for walks and to go to the bathroom.

Until it wasn't wonderful anymore. Pets like people get old, and Joshua was the first in our little family to get really old and unwell. For years he suffered seizures where he'd fall over on his side shrieking and pee. It was so hard to watch and we never found out what exactly what was wrong. He also became arthritic over the years and in his last few years he had trouble running and then even walking was difficult. We even got doggy acupuncture for him at one point, which seemed to help for a little while. We never knew exactly how old he was, but according to vets over the years, he was at least 16-18 years old at the end of his life.

And then shortly after Amy and I got married, we had to put him to sleep. That was followed by Charlie, who we found was diabetic and just got sicker and sicker in his old age, and then Chelsea, who actually lived to be 21 years old. Chelsea lived to see our new house, and our girls, Beatrice and Bryce. Bryce doesn't remember, because she was a newborn at the time, but Bea remembers. She used to pull Chelsea's tail and shriek "Kitty!". In the end, Chelsea couldn't clean herself very well and she began to track dirty litter everywhere, including our bed.

After 21 years of life, we had put Chelsea to sleep, and our little pet family came to an end. We loved them all, but swore there would be no pets again for years and years to come. Especially no cats or dogs.

Until the girls worked and worked on us in the years since, and we gave in. First, to a fish. And then to another fish. And then to two guinea pigs and a bunny (that we ran a science fair project with).

We still have the bunny, named Dragonlily. All the other kid pets are now gone. We still swear there will never be any cats in our family again. And we still wanted to swear there would be no dogs for years to come.

We did. Until we didn't, and then Amy had a great idea: if we all really wanted a dog (after all these years), then the girls would have to research dogs, how to adopt a dog and the process and costs (we'll only adopt a shelter dog in the end), the feeding and care costs, how to crate the dog at home, walking the dog every day, who could help take care of the dog when we traveled, and so much more. And who would pick up the dog poop -- everyone including the girls -- no matter how much Bryce has already protested.

Beatrice has done more of the research to date, but Bryce is helping as well. Amy has been searching them for shelter dogs online, and recently took the girls to see one the other day named CC. She was sweet, and she could've been a good dog to us, but that evening the shelter called to say she'd been adopted.

That's when my old dog Joshua's life flashed before my very eyes. From the first moment the shaggy little muppet dog ran excitedly up to me with a tiny pink tongue poking out, to the all the years in between running and playing and barking through Lighthouse Field, to all the snuggled up lap-time, to the thousands of trips in and out of our apartment in a bag, to witnessing all his painful seizures, to the end days when he slowed and seemed to be in constant pain, to when I held him close as the vet put him to sleep forever, tears pouring down my face.

It's been over 16 years since we've had a dog. And someday soon, a new dog's life will flash before our very eyes, and we'll do it all over again.