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.