No Harmless Joke

We used the f-word all the time. We threw it at each other like teasing darts, meant to sting and leave a mark. We also knew other people who used the f-word to make others feel less than human, a filthy sub-species that wasn't worthy to bask in the same circles or sunlight as them. 

That may seem dramatic, but it was more than true, going all the way back to grade school for me and my friends. The usage became especially prevalent in junior high and high school. It continued for years after high school as well. It was about men minimizing other men, to demasculinize each other. When we used it against each other, we never thought about its origin or why it was ultimately offensive. And when it was between us, we were only joking with each other. 

It was only a harmless joke. C'mon.

The f-word I'm talking about is faggot. Including any derivative or tangential equivalent like "you're so gay".

Let's go back in time. According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the morpheme comes from the French fagot, which means a small bundle of bound-together sticks to be used as kindling. 

By the mid-16th century, the word had become associated with the burning alive of heretics and was used in callous phrases such as "fry a faggot." 

By the 1800s, the term was also being used to refer derogatorily to women. The modern term may have come from these origins, but the etymology is in dispute.

The Oxford English Dictionary cites a 1914 reference in a book of criminal slang as the first modern American use of faggot as a slur for a homosexual male.

Today the term is listed in most every dictionary as derogatory or offensive.

When I read about the high school incident in Visalia where I grew up, I was disappointed and angered. It was my rival high school when I was a teenager, but that was decades ago and nothing like this happened then that I remember. 

A group of senior students, some who were part of the ASB student leadership, spelled out a homophobic slur with the t-shirts they were wearing. 

According to the news reporting, the picture of them doing this was taken during school hours, immediately following a senior class photo shoot. In the senior photo, the shirts spelled out "Class of 2026 Always Legit," before they rearranged the letters to say the derogatory word.

It seems to have been prompted by the fact that the seniors were leading an eight-grade orientation on when some ASB leaders reacted to two middle-school boys holding hands. Then later in the day, a small group of eight ASB students – male and female, made shirts to spell out “2 FAG6OTS” while seating next to each other on the bleachers.

Student leadership did this. During school hours. In front of the entire student body, teachers, and administration. 

The Visalia Unified Superintendent said, "This is unacceptable behavior and this matter is being thoroughly investigated and appropriate action will be taken."

He added, "Every student deserves to feel respected, protected, and valued on our campuses. We will continue working to ensure our schools are places where dignity, belonging, and accountability guide our actions."

I also read that one of the students' parents was quoted anonymously that "we will deal with them; they didn't mean any harm".

I ask the parents of these kids -- then why did they do it in the first place? Why did they think it was okay? The problem with privileged circular logic is that some of them probably do believe it was a harmless joke. 

When some of my friends in high school egged another friend's house, him and his parents were very hurt. My parents were very upset and disappointed in us. I was upset and disappointed in us. But some of the other fathers didn't care and chalked it up as harmless teen fun. 

Back in the day, my friends and I also rationalized it as harmless joking amongst ourselves. We thought we were pretty good guys who just teased each other relentlessly. It took many years after high school for us to understand how cruel and offensive it was using gay slurs, ethnic slurs, female slurs, etc., and we finally changed our behavior. We never spelled out a slur with our t-shirts at a school function, but that didn't make our behavior any less hurtful if others knew what we said.

Many of us went on to have families of our own. My wife and I have two daughters, both in high school now, and our youngest identifies as non-binary and is gay. Something they knew since they were in the 4th grade. Something we've accepted fully because we love our children and fully support them in being who they are and becoming happy and healthy adults. I believe that's true with most parents. 

We now live in a country whose leadership openly and unapologetically practices discrimination, humiliation, cruelty, misogyny, and harassment of historically marginalized populations. Masked in the guise of equality and unity. Thankfully most of us pushing back against the offensive and dehumanizing rhetoric and actions.

So again, I ask the parents of the students who spelled out the homophobic slur at the school function, and the students themselves who did it (some of whom were ASB leaders): Why did they/you do it in the first place? Why did they/you think it was okay? What should the consequences be? What's the learning opportunity here, the empathic growth opportunity for all involved? 

It's no harmless joke, kids. Everyone deserves to feel respected, protected, and valued. Even those we don't like and disagree with. No one deserves their humanity and rights minimized based on gender, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or religion. As the parents and the adults in the room, we can and should do better for our kids. For all the kids. 

All These Things Can Lead to Grace

We had watched Serpico together, the real-life story of a NYPD office who went undercover to expose corruption in the police force from 1960 to 1972. Our family always watched police dramas together, nonfiction and fiction alike. My sister and I were in high school, and at that time, our father was a police detective responsible for forgery and fraud, and our mother was the police dispatch supervisor. 

After watching Serpico, I remember asking my dad if there were any bad cops in our hometown police department. He paused, then gave me this answer:

"Well, son, there are good cops, and there are bad cops, just like there are good bakers and bad bakers. Unfortunately there are always some who don't play by the rules and hurt others. But for us, yes, there are mostly good cops."

I responded, "But bad bakers don't kill other good bakers, or other people."

My dad smiled and nodded. "You are correct, son. You are correct. They do not. Not usually."

They never do. They just go out of business, I thought.

Our dad wasn't without his own biases, or our entire family for that matter, but time and again while he was alive and after he passed away, and after 32 years on the force, good guys and bad guys alike couldn't help but like him. He taught us a lot empathy, inclusion and forgiveness, even when it wasn't intentional. Our mom did the same. They both loved their families and God. 

And then in the summer of 2012 he was gone, and four months later she was gone. It's hard to imagine them here today, in the middle of pandemic with all the health issues they used to have, of what we'd have to do to care for them. 

But I do want them both here today -- I know my sister does as well. I want my dad to be here and to tell me why there are still bad cops doing the wrong things in our communities. Why they hate so much and keep using such excessive force killing black and brown men and women. Why supposedly good cops stand by and do nothing. Why so many of them are never arrested or prosecuted. Why so many police reforms are never sustained. Why the normalcy of racism in this country continues.

The recent killing of George Floyd by a white police officer who kneeled on his neck until he stopped breathing, has incited protests and violence across the U.S. This because George Floyd, an unarmed African American had supposedly tried to use a counterfeit bill at a convenience store. George Floyd, one more name in a sea of names that, when I think about, I couldn't name, other than Ahmaud Arbery. He was another unarmed black man who was jogging and then chased by two white men and gunned down because they said they were trying to make a citizen's arrest, when there is no such thing. 

Thankfully there are those who help us remember, like the daughter of an old friend from high school who created a poster with all the names. 

I want my dad (and mom) here today to help answer the why questions, because I struggle to answer them for my own daughters. My wife and I have be teaching our girls about slavery and how people of color have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. 

Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country for hundreds of years. Which is why, at the end of the day, my dad probably wouldn't be able to answer them either, no matter how hard he tried. White supremacy is the legacy of the modern day police force and it needs a bigger condemnation than "good cops and bad cops," and more serious reforms than have fizzled out to date. Don't get me wrong, I love my dad, I just wish we would've gone deeper on this subject together. 

The other day I told my daughters about George Floyd and what's been happening in our country. They didn't know because we don't watch the news with them. 

"I don't understand why skin color matters!" said Beatrice, after I finished.

"I know," I said. 

"They just need to get over it!" said Bryce.

"Who?"

"White people." 

Wow, Bryce. Sadly, that's the argument made by too many whites today, that they have nothing to do with racism, that black and brown people have more rights than they do, that they need to get over it, especially if all they're going to do is burn everything down. This continues to be the dividing sentiment of the day. 

Thankfully my wife works for Kidpower and I'm so glad that Kidpower community reminded me of their commitment to safety and justice for all: 

At Kidpower, we believe that everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. We are heartbroken about the suffering and tragedy caused by racist attacks and discrimination against people of color in our communities, at our borders, and around the world. We will continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. 

Yes, continue to speak out and take action to protect and empower all people. Always.

But then I also keep thinking about the Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. quote someone posted on my Facebook wall that ended: 

Riot is the language of the unheard.

I am privileged. I am biased. I am white. I am male.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

Everyone has the right to safety, respect, peace, and justice. 

I hope that Minneapolis police officer is prosecuted and locked up for the rest of his life, and that the officers who were with him are arrested as well. 

I'm tired of the commentary that includes, "Well, I don't like what happened to that black man, but I don't agree with violent protests."

I don't agree with them either; our family has been a part of many peaceful protests. Those committing the current violence in our communities and looting and destroying businesses should also be held accountable. So many business were already on the brink of bankruptcy because of COVID-19. And one of my employees and his wife and family live not more than a mile from the violence in Minneapolis. 

My sister was also a police officer for many years, and we both still have friends and family who are in law enforcement, good people who's lives are now in danger.  

But, imagine being subjected to 400+ years of institutionalized systemic racism and violence. Of being afraid of walking down the street and being harassed by the police because you're a black or brown male. 

Then imagine bringing a bazooka or an assault rifle into a sandwich shop or a state's capital building. Of law enforcement not doing a thing about it because you can, and because you're white. 

I want to be part of positive change. I don't want my city burned down.

I empathize. I sympathize. I fight the good fight. 

And I miss my mom and dad. I miss talking with them about life and current events that affect us all, even if we didn't always agree on them. Our girls didn't get a chance to know them like I wanted them too, since they were so young when my parents passed away. 

What we did agree on was the fact that positive change starts with our children and grandchildren. That we should teach them compassion, empathy, forgiveness, inclusion and understanding. All these things can lead to grace, a new normalcy desperately needed today. 

The Sharp N

"F-you, I'm America's son
This is where I come from..."

–Gary Clark Jr., This Land


She said she knew what the N-word was. We recoiled a bit, not quite visibility, but we definitely sat up straight inside ourselves. I don't remember there being any precursor context, or it ever coming up before, just the fact that one day our oldest Beatrice said she heard it and knew what it was.

As the girls have gotten older, obviously the realities of the world, and the power of words, both good and bad, have made their way into their consciousness. And, as each year of their lives progress, my wife Amy and I talk with them about what they're seen and heard around them.

Except that, in this case, it wasn't the same N-word we were thinking of.

"Where did you hear it?" we asked.

"Some kids at school said it," Bea said.

We hesitated, and then asked. "What did they say?"

"The N-word."

"What is that?"

She hesitated. "N-ucker."

Nucker? What? Oh wait, right. Rhymes with...

"Beatrice, thank you for telling us. But that's not what the N-word is. You're thinking of the F-word, which is also a really bad and demeaning word."

That's when, for the first time, we started talking about the current state of racism, what the real N-word is and means, and what it was and why it was. We have be teaching them about slavery and how black and brown people alike have been treated poorly throughout American history since they were little. Both girls listened and ask legitimate questions like "why would people do that" over and over, questions that aren't hard for us to discuss, but hard for us to answer being a white family who have not experienced systemic discrimination like non-whites have in this country and elsewhere.

We have read I am Abraham Lincoln, I am Harriet Tubman and I am Rosa Parks, all children's books tackling the subjects of slavery, racism and civil rights. We also read a book about Martin Luther King Jr.'s life. We also have a children's book about the American Presidents through President Obama, and his story is one of their favorites.

Then the girls got interested in a Netflix show called Family Reunions this year, a family comedy about a black family living in Atlanta. There was one show in particular that dealt with systemic racism and again prompted a dialogue with our girls.

Then it was recommended I read So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Oluo. It opened my eyes more than ever before about what it's like being black in a white supremacist patriarchal society. So many big and little biases that we perpetuate over and over again that leave their marks like repetitive cuts that never heal. I highly recommend you all read it.

Then we went to Washington DC and Amy took them to the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History & Culture to continue their education. After that, we went to Mount Vernon and learned more about the beginning of this country and the slaves that worked for George Washington and his family. What affected me the most emotionally was the unmarked graveyard where the dead slaves were buried. No mark of humanity. Nothing. Just like visiting the Holocaust Museum with our girls, it was all very moving and made us think of who we've been and who we still are.

Hundreds of years of slavery, oppression and death. According to the Tuskegee Institute, 4,743 people were lynched between 1882 and 1968 in the United States, including 3,446 African Americans and 1,297 whites. More than 73 percent of lynchings in the post-Civil War period occurred in the Southern states.

And our children ask why. Why would people do this to each other? Why would they hate so much? Why would people this they are any different or better than any other person. Not to mention the history of Latinos in this country, Asian people, Middle Eastern people, Indian people, and of course the indigenous people of North America.

I can appreciate so much better now when a friend of mine, a black father of two who shares posts activities with his kids, just like I do. Like his latest of them bringing home a Christmas tree, and saying and none of us got arrested today, that it was a good day. He's not joking either. That's not something I ever say.

And then just this morning I shared with Beatrice that our city had its first African American mayor. She thought that was great, especially in a city where less than 2% of the population is black, which she doesn't realize, and I'd bet most community members don't realize. And he had been one of the two first black city councilmembers elected to city council.

That's where the story goes south. Because the other black city councilmember was one of the two councilmembers (the other is white) this year in my city (Santa Cruz) who had substantiated claims of disrespectful workplace conduct, harassment and bullying by five female city staffers including the outgoing city mayor. Claims that the black councilmember said were false and their fault, because they were white and he was black, and it was their racist beliefs that drove their claims. This was something I was smack dab in the middle of being the chair of the City Commission for the Prevention Against Women (CPVAW) earlier this year and our pushing for a public reprimand of the two men, which never happened.

Now, when I had a conversation about this with someone recently I know well, another woman, a white woman, a women who herself has experience traumatic workplace bullying and sexual harassment, her immediate reaction was: "There it is, someone playing the race card again. I'm so sick of that."

I was quite conflicted about this, because my point was in context to what I knew had transpired above -- these men, one black and one white, had multiple complaints against by five women. To me, it had nothing to do with black or white. It had to do with patriarchy and abuse of power in the workplace.

"Well," I said to her, "systemic racism is still pretty prevalent today. This was a specific context of him turning his behavior back around on the women as a defense mechanism."

"Well, maybe," she said.

No epiphanies from this conversation other than the latent prejudices we all carry with us. Social change is hard, and as equality incrementally increases for those who had it suppressed for so long, those in power for so long begin to feel oppressed, and claim reverse discrimination, which is absurd.

Even I got caught up in it, though, because although I stand by everything we did, the backlash of the councilmember supporters and the polarization and politicization of it all overwhelmed me, and I felt compelled to resign from the commission. And then after all that, the same black councilmember came after me online with untrue derogatory comments.

So what does all this mean? Someday I'll want to tell my girls the story and reconcile my past for their future as women, and what could happen in the workplace by the hands of other men, regardless of race or ethnicity. But there is still the complexity of systemic sexism and racism that intertwines in this ongoing narrative known as America, as well as the rest of the world. The more we understand our own shortcomings and biases, the more we can be a positive agents of change.

Like the hard C (the C-word) of sexism and violence against women I wrote about over two years ago, the N-word is the sharp N, and it's cut is as deep and mortal as it's been throughout our history. And history wields a multi-edged sword, where only the larger awareness of race, class and gender intersectionality can help us better understand and acknowledge our differences, and maybe, just maybe, stop the bleeding.

The Weight of Hate

"Girls and boys together
See what it is we lack
Boys and girls together
Let's paint the mirror black..."

–Rush, War Paint

Mom pointed it out when I was in sixth grade. Part surprise and part shame, she wanted to let me know that I had a little belly. A little belly that was too big for my size, a skinny asthmatic kid who was always active, but had recently began working in the school cafeteria at lunch. And when you worked in the school cafeteria at lunch, not only did you get your lunches for free, you also got second servings for free. Sometimes more.

For a few months I had carte blanche to eat as much as I wanted while I worked in the cafeteria. I didn't think anything of it, even if I was putting on weight. At that time my mom was married to our crazy scary first step-father, and my sister and I never had sweet treats or snacks of any kind at home. He wouldn't allow it and our mom was fine with it, just because she felt that it was healthier for us anyway.

But then I got a little belly, and Mom pointed it out. She grew up with a family that was more than direct (and shaming) when it came to body image, something she struggled with her whole life. She recommended at the time that I shouldn't eat so much at lunch. I was mortified. When the cafeteria work was over, I quickly and thankfully went back to my skinny asthmatic self.

When I look back, who knows how many girls (and boys) and women (and men) I made fun of and shamed (behind their backs) over the years because of the way they looked. I was a pretty decent kid overall, but the shame you share always find its way to those you make fun of, and they feel it, even if they don't hear it directly.

When I hit my mid-twenties, my high school beefing up for football began to balloon on me. I got big. Real big. An unhealthy, unhappy, anxiety-ridden big. Plus, I smoked cigarettes back then, so I was the total toxic time-bomb. Who knows how people made fun of and shamed me (behind my back) during those years. No one ever said much to me back then, not that I remember, not even my ex-wife.

Eventually, years after that, I got back to my fighting weight (within the margin of error year after year since) and quit smoking, but also began to understand a positive body image was more about a positive personal image -- spirtual, emotional and physical. These were the things that mattered, to be true to yourself, to be yourself, to be comfortable, healthy and happy with yourself, and to be in relationships where the reciprocity of all things true to self were of utmost priority. But never at the expense of others, no matter how they treated you, and also never as a bystander and watch it happen without speaking up.

That ain't easy either, but that's what my wife and I work to instill in our daughters today, because that's how we feel and live our lives. When you have children, you experience all over again the many things you experienced as a child, just through the retrospective lens of that sometimes painful experiential learning. Which is what caused me angst when our oldest began to grow a little thick in the middle, just as much as she was growing taller. Teaching your children healthy eating habits is important, while acknowledging to yourself that their bodies will change as they get older and hit the pre-tween shadows, adolescence and early adulthood.

But we would never say anything to my daughter, not like my mom did to me. Instead, we just focused on healthy eating habits and staying active (although, she did bring it up to her mom, not from being made of, just being self-aware). However, what I worry about even more are those girls and boys that might make fun of her and shame her (behind her back -- and in front of her, too). She's active and growing and her body keeps changing like many other girls her age (and boys a few years later). Someday she'll be a young woman, both girls will be young women, and the more they go in comfortable with their true beings, and not at the expense of others no matter how they act, the better.

Sadly, when we shame others unabashedly and repeatedly, we usually do so with spite. We either lack empathy, or we push it way the heck down. We know nothing about their circumstances or their true beings, and yet we'll judge them solely on appearance and differences based on our own fears, to make ourselves feel better because of our own inadequacies. This is the well-worn path to indifference, prejudice and hate.

Nearly every week I post my beach workout pictures from Natural Bridges State Park with usually positive song quotes and the hashtag #BigDaddyPower (as well as #BhivePower for my family). But it's no longer the weight of age or the daddy belly I struggle with. I'm good with all that. No, today it's the weight of hate I struggle with, and I hope you and your families join us in shedding it.

This Idea, America

We live in America, land of the free and home of the brave, where all men (and finally women) are created equal. That was the idea, at least. 

Here in America today, we just want our girls to be safe and sound, armed with safety and self-defense skills we hope they'll never need. 

In America, we just want them to embody peace and love for all peoples and races, not anger and hate, and to denounce bullying, harassment and assault wherever and however it appears.

We just want them to grow up pushing for their own equality, to break through the patriarchal walls that have been so entrenched around us for thousands of years, but not at the expense of other marginalized groups, or even other men, along the way. 

We just want them to be citizen activists of goodness and fairness, to help those who otherwise wouldn't have an opportunity to better themselves, or a voice to ask for one. 

But we also just want them to be kids for now.

Because soon they won't be, and all these adult American considerations will eventually crowd out much of their childhood sensibilities. 

God, I'm such a buzz-kill sometimes.

These are the things I think about, a lot, and I thought of all these things (again) this past week, especially after spending a weekend with lifelong friends and talking about toxic masculinity. It was the weekend of the women's march, and Martin Luther King Jr. Day. In the past we'd all marched together locally for these events, but this time I was with my friends, and then I worked on Martin Luther King Jr. Day while my wife took our two girls to the local march.

Like we'd done in the previous year, the girls made their own signs. Bryce's said "Peace" and Beatrice's said "You Dream Big."

We're an American family that, for the most part, have been thankful that we've provided a loving, supportive environment, as well as financial stability, for our children. Yet, we haven't had to look over our shoulders our whole lives like many people of color have had to do in America. We haven't experienced prejudice or racism like too many have in this country. A country of immigrants actually, by choice and by force, most of us at any rate.

We've talked to our girls about these topics, and they do have some understanding of what it means to discriminate against others because they're different. We're also the very people who can help make a difference, who's children can pass on a legacy of empathy and positive activism for all. 

This idea of America is in danger, however. Blatant racism has again raised its hateful multi-headed hydra (although it's always been there). Women are standing tall, while unfortunately their rights are being rolled back decades when it comes to domestic violence and assault. White patriarchy is holding on with all its ugly might. And yet, my heart bleeds with endless hope.

We just want our girls to be kids for now. And safe. And to embody peace and love and dreaming big.

But this idea of America is in peril. This idea is impermanent. 

This idea is so complicated. This idea is still celebrated.

This idea is a deliberate dream.

This idea is hated. This idea sets us free.

We the people, do ordain.

This idea, America.

The Differences that Are Sure to Come

He couldn’t stand Cesar Chavez. Every time he was in the newspaper or on TV news, rallying Mexican immigrant farm workers to unite, my dad would curse under his breath. He called Chavez a troublemaker.

I didn’t get it at first, especially in the late 1970’s. I had just turned 12 when my mother married my second step-dad, the man I would always celebrate as my dad from that point on. But I didn’t quite get why my dad felt the way he felt, at least early on. I didn’t know a lot about the world at that age, and why adults did the things they did, why the felt the things they felt. With the unfortunate exception of experiencing domestic violence and sexual abuse prior to that.

My dad had been a police officer and detective for 32 years when he retired in 1994. He was a tough, bourbon drinking, cigarette smoking (which he quit in 1984), very personable and pleasant matter-of-fact pragmatic cop who always lived in the conservative right, but was tethered to centrist sensibilities, like a padlocked box of assault rifles bound tightly atop a slow-moving station wagon.

We grew up in the Central Valley of California, the one that still “feeds the world.” The one that mostly embraces conservative Christian ideals. The one that battles over building a wall between the U.S. and Mexico. The one battles over whether or not we’re in a drought. The one that wants to own guns of any size and caliber because the 2nd amendment of the U.S. Constitution says we can. The one that still needs immigrant Mexican farm workers to work the fields because no one else will do that back-breaking work.

Throughout high school and college as I began to understand my world better, I would challenge my dad and my mom, who also shared much of his world view and prejudices. My parents wanted order in the world, so any person who disrupted order, the status quo, no matter the reasons why, were nut jobs, troublemakers and criminals. It especially didn’t help if they were non-whites and not Christian, but even then, my parents were equal-opportunity and orderly conservative Christians (which they became more of over time together). Any social upheaval was one upheaval too many, no matter who the rabble rouser was. My dad simply didn’t like bad guys or girls, those who broke the law. He was a cop for goodness sake.

But I always took them to task and took the alternative perspective on various issues, my more liberal education channeling a different social perspective on the world than they were familiar with. I was also more liberal than my sister, who eventually became a cop herself, something my dad fought, then supported fully. He knew how tough it was going to be on her as a woman. And it was. Plus, he had three daughters from a previous marriage, our step-sisters, and I’ve always believed that this is what birthed his moderate heart.

What my family didn’t realize throughout my formative years, at least consciously, was that they helped me find my voice. My value. My world view. My ability to listen, to comprehend, to analyze and to make somewhat informed decisions, both good and bad. They helped shaped the inquisitive mind I have today. We were like TV’s The Goldbergs, except we were a Christian cop family growing up the Central Valley of California.

My parents took the time to listen to us, were patient with us, although my dad wasn’t shy about calling foul when I had no idea what the hell I was talking about. I was able to do the same with him. Any social more, politics, economics, race, gender, sexual orientation, AIDS, the environment, terrorism, crime, gun control – you name it – we could talk about almost anything and agree or agree to disagree. It didn’t mean we were always civil, or without some name calling, but we worked through it nonetheless. And yes, there were some big bumps in our relationship road that took time to fix, but fix them we did.

My parents were loving people and good Christians in the end who did care about those victimized and those less fortunate than most. But they had their prejudices, that’s for sure. (Don’t we all?) I don’t recall my dad ever coming to terms with Chavez’s important and highly disruptive social and economic impact. Until the end of his life, he still didn’t like liberal “troublemakers” no matter what. That would never change. I would never agree with this take either, and that was okay with him.

My parents cared enough to let us think for ourselves. To encourage us think for ourselves even when that was at odds with their beliefs. To encourage discourse and accept the differences. This is why with a heavy heart I’m so disappointed with too many of my peers I grew up with who are parents today, some of whom are old friends or professional acquaintances I’ve met over the years.

Those who are blatantly spewing hatred on all sides of the political and social divide. Those who without pause go for the jugular and cut it wide open. Those who get nasty personal without regard for the other person’s values or viewpoint, who even go as far as threatening and doing bodily harm to one another. Those who don’t do any of this anonymously either, who just fill up their Facebook feeds and Twitter streams with uninformed idiocy and hatred and who just don’t want to hear an alternative perspective no matter what. No room for productive discourse or compromise.

We’re either all libtards or facists. And all the while their children and ours absorb it all. That's what perpetuates a country and a world divided. That's why solutions escape us.

Sure I can use my Kidpower throw-away and walk-away powers, and I do. And thanks to the Mama, who is amazing, we’re instilling the same in our girls, who have yet to experience the hateful rhetoric poisoning the wells of collective wisdom around the world.

We will still work hard to help our children find their voices, their values and their world views, while accepting the differences that are sure to come. We can only hope that other parents will continue to do the same.

Miss you Mom and Pop. Everyday should be Mother's and Father's Day for those who make a positive difference in this spiteful and complicated world, regardless of the difference or divide.