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 Others to Each Other

"Music is a world within itself
With a language we all understand
With an equal opportunity
For all to sing, dance and clap their hands..."

–Stevie Wonder, Sir Duke

The middle of the road still holds. Or at least, it felt that way. This was more than evident than ever during our city's latest holiday parade. People smiling, clapping and waving on either side of Pacific Avenue, closed for the parade, individuals and families from all walks of life and all parts of the socioeconomic and political spectrums.

Considering how divisive the state of the political, social and culture wars still are, locally and globally, it's refreshing to have moments of peaceful community assembly and transitional healing. Especially for all our children watching the parade and participating in the parade. Children who become collateral damage of unsettling change. Children who become catalysts of transformative change.

Bryce, our youngest, just wanted to watch the parade with her mom. Amy, my wife, said she'd take Bryce down towards to the end of the parade route. She really wanted to see the flag girls in the various school bands that would traverse the parade route. Later, when Beatrice and I met up with them, Bea wanted me to march with her band, it was fascinating to watch Bryce transfixed by the flag girls (and boys -- yes, there were boys flagging too).

"Bryce," I called out to her.

She turned. Her and her older sister were standing on the street a few feet in front of us.

"You want to do that someday?" I asked.

"Yes!" she said with a big enthusiastic nod, and then went back to watching the parade.

I looked at Amy and we both smiled big. From flag girl to astronaut, dream big my daughter. Be whatever you want to be, I thought. 

Earlier, Amy and Bryce dropped Beatrice and I off at the start of the parade. Bea's been playing the flute this year, after changing from the trombone the year before, and is now in intermediate band. She loves it and has been mentoring beginning flute players as well. Her school's band combined with another to march together in the holiday parade and they all practiced so hard for weeks. One time when I picked up Bea from band practice after school, I got to watch them practice marching and playing their instruments. For those who have never done it, it isn't easy. I struggle talking and walking at the same time. Their awesome band teacher teaches both schools and truly inspires the kids.

In between talking with some of the other parents while we waited for the parade to begin, I watched Beatrice interact with her bandmates and her teacher. I was so proud. She was so much more comfortable in her own skin than I was at her age. Plus, her and the rest of the band sounded great, and watching them practice with the middle school band and the award-winning high school band before the parade started increased the parental pride even further.

"Bea, you should totally stay in band through middle school and high school. The high school has won a lot of awards this year," I said. "The more you play the better you get."

"I think I want to," she said.

"You like playing the flute, right?"

"Yes, I do."

"There you go."

Then we were off marching along the parade route, Bea's combined-school band alternating between Dr. Rock and Jingle Bells, each rotation seemingly sounding better than the last. Or, maybe I just wanted it to sound better, with the community around us cheering the kids on.

All us parents who traveled along with the band took multiple pictures and videos. The continuous rain we'd been experienced since Thanksgiving thankfully took a break. The community clapped and waved, we clapped and waved, some danced in the street like Bryce and even the chief of police, and for a couple of hours the local social spectrum shone like a rainy day rainbow. All the colors lighting up the kids faces, including our own, with the hope of diverse cohesion without denying the necessary friction of potential positive change our differences can make. In other words, civility doesn't have to be a weapon used to keep others down. It should celebrate the awareness of all the others, because we are the others to each other.

As Santa brought the holiday parade to an end, I cheered for the catalysts of transformative change.

Like Pinches of Empathic Cinnamon

She touched Angel Cakes and cried out. She had tried not to touch her by pulling her sleeve down over her hand, but her hand slipped out as she grabbed the elf named Angel Cakes from a shelf to move her to a chair.

"Oh no!"

Beatrice froze after she said it.

"What's wrong?" asked Bryce.

"I touched Angel Cakes!"

"Are you sure you did?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Dad, I need cinnamon!"

"Why?" I said.

Now, at this point I was in the middle of something semi-important on my computer and not really paying attention.

"Because I touched Angel Cakes. She'll lose her magical powers if I don't sprinkle cinnamon around her!"

Again Bryce tried to make her feel better. "Are you sure you touched her? Maybe you didn't."

"I did, Bryce! I did!"

"Beatrice, look up where the other spices are for the cinnamon," I said.

She looked. "Dad, I don't see it. We have to hurry!"

"Bea, the elf will be okay, just keep looking."

Of course, Mom had to be the one to come downstairs and find the cinnamon, which was actually in a place neither of us would've looked, which I realized afterwards was where we always kept it and I should've known. But again, I was doing something semi-important on my computer (making a new Christmas music playlist actually -- hey, that's important).

We had just gotten back from Thanksgiving at my sister's house and the shelf elves had appeared again in our house, coming out of elven hibernation at the North Pole since last Christmas. According to shelf-elf lore, or our daughters' version of the lore, you can't touch the red shelf elves with your hands or they'll lose their magical power. The others you can touch with bare hands, just not the red ones. Which is why you have to sprinkle cinnamon around the red elves, so they can get their magical powers back. The cinnamon is like a super-vitamin. After a little research, though, I didn't tell the girls that they must also write an apology letter to Santa Claus if they touch one of the elves. It's stressful and creepy enough that the elves move around every night with all our shelf-elfing shenanigans. No need to stress out the girls about being in hot water with Santa.

Even after that semi-traumatic shelf elf event, what I'm the most happy about are two things. The first is the fact that my family loves the holidays and we're all in with decorating and the festive and loving sentiments of the seasons. Even Bryce who fights it a little here and there when she'd rather be playing Minecraft, Roblox or watching silly YouTube videos. And I even broke our decorating tradition this year by hanging lights outside before Thanksgiving. Mercy me. That nearly caused a rift in the space-time continuum, but then we sealed the deal, or unsealed the universe, by listening to Christmas music before Thanksgiving in addition to decorating early. Also, Beatrice just calls out to Alexa, "Alexa, play classic Christmas music!" Right on, Bea. In my defense, however, we're having a string of winter storms now, which we need, and I wouldn't have been able to decorate outside right after Thanksgiving like we usually do. They both also helped pick out gifts for a family experiencing domestic violence that we're again adopting this year.

The second thing I'm most happy about is the fact that our girls long to be with extended family and friends, to share continuous friendship, love and gratitude without selfish agenda or emotional baggage. Well, sometimes there's a selfish agenda when gift-getting is involved, but hey, they are still kids. However, they don't have the purposeful and painful distancing that comes with time and experience, when relationships can and do go awry and forgiveness is conditional. And although we are those adults with those experiences, we continue to foster positive growth and compassion for all, to be aware of our own feelings and their fluid context, as well as those of others, and encourage our girls to do the same. Our daughters remind us to look at extended family and friends and see wonderful human beings, people doing their personal best or trying to (including us), even if we don't always see eye to eye (and we sure as hell don't always see eye to eye), and every day our hearts and souls are a little fuller with them in our lives.

Even if it's only in little dashes year after year, like pinches of empathic cinnamon to keep our magical powers intact.

Love Letters

"Hold on, nothing's the same
Tell me why I feel this way
Life wouldn't be worth living without you..."

–Santana, Hold On

I wasn't sure what I did wrong. But I did something, because she was mad.

"Dad, why don't you listen to me the first time!"

That was Beatrice, our oldest daughter.

"Rude, Bea-Bea. Just rude."

That was Bryce, our youngest daughter.

I had picked them both up from school after their musical theater class where they were rehearsing a Frozen Sing-Along for Christmas.

"Dad, didn't you hear me the first time!"

Ah, right. I didn't listen to her. That's what I did wrong. Thinking about work after I had asked her about her day.

"Sorry, Bea. Just tell me again, please."

Silence.

"Come one, Bea. Just tell Dad," said Bryce.

Bryce has become my champion of late, and Beatrice champions Mom.

"I'll just wait and tell Mom," Bea said.

"Beatrice, just tell me again. I'm listening."

Silence. And then:

"Okay. Today I..."

Thinking about work again. So much to do. Big year coming in 2020.

"Dad, did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Say that again."

"Dad! C'mon! You're not listening to me!"

"Dad, you need to listen to Beatrice."

Even Bryce couldn't have my back this time.

"I'm sorry, sweetie. Please, tell me again."

Silence. Bea wouldn't talk with me the rest of the way home. Bryce tried to play with her, but got no response.

The ride home was less than 10 minutes, but the last few minutes were forever, because I did feel bad that I had disappointed. I do try to be present for my kids and sometimes it doesn't always work out that way. Sometimes the adulting in progress sweeps you away by worrying about the past and the future. Like driving your kids home, when you have to check the rearview mirror and keep looking forward in order to get everyone home safely. That shouldn't mean you compromise the present by not being present, but until a car is fully robotic and self-driving, then you definitely have to watch the road.

Still, no excuse for not listening to my daughter when I'm thinking about other things as well as driving. Productive multitasking may not be a scientific reality, but the idea of it is still a parental one. We got home and Beatrice fumed for awhile, not willing to talk about much, even with Mom. We all ate dinner together and then shortly after that, when Bryce and Mom went upstairs, Beatrice walked over to me.

"I'm sorry I was mad, Dad," she said. "I'm thankful for you."

She gave me a hug. My heart swelled and lifted me into the air. Sometimes this little human is mature beyond her years with an empathic awareness that so many adults woefully lack today.

"Thank you, Beatrice. I'm sorry I didn't listen. I'm grateful for you."

In fact, we've all been practicing purposeful thankfulness for well over a year now, where each week we make time to share compliments, gratitude, appreciation and "noticing" -- something nice we notice about each other and/or ourselves that we share as a family. Where we detach from our egos and empower the now again of mutual respect, love and understanding. We also write them down in a family journal as a remembrance of our gratitude.

Nothing will ever be the same again today or tomorrow or the next day. I will no doubt not listen again to my girls, and we all will have future misunderstandings, and yet, each and every day with my family is a love letter I mail to my heart, open with glee, and read again and again and again. Amen.

I am so grateful for them.

A Life-Lesson Letter for My Daughters

Dear Beatrice and Bryce,

I’m writing this letter for your future selves to read, to talk about a very serious subject for when you’re both young adults. 

Your mom and I hope you never experience what too many women, and men, still experience in the world every single day – being harassed, bullied, sexually assaulted and/or raped. Whether by a stranger, or more likely, by someone you know. A significant other, a supposed friend or family member, a classmate, a neighbor, a co-worker or a boss. Unfortunately, the list goes on and on, multiple iterations of the same tragic story. You may even have friends who have experienced one of the above. 

Yes, I said it was serious, and we hope we’ve helped arm you with the awareness, confidence, safety skills and courage to not allow anyone to overpower you because they want to. Especially because you are women, and especially by men (although women can harass other women, too).

It can all start simply enough, with someone bugging you repeatedly that’s demeaning to you over time, who attempts to put you in your place, that you’re not good enough or smart enough, and never will be. Or, someone who pushes you to do something without your consent because they say they like you and think you’re attractive. When it’s repetitive harassment and/or physical assault, it can eat away at your psyche, your very heart and soul, until there’s nothing left but chronic fear and unhappiness, depression and the rock bottom of self-worth. 

If you let it. You don’t have to let it, though. Ever. Whomever is doing it do you, you can use that Kidpower Mom taught us all those years ago and say “Stop!” Then you throw away those intentionally hurtful words and actions and you get yourself in a safe space. Whether at home or at work, you do not have to accept it, even when it’s enabled by others around you who say “but that’s just the way he/she talks to others; it’s the way he/she expresses love; he/she doesn’t really mean it; don’t take it personally; just deal with it, because that’s life and you need this job.”

That’s all bullshit. Sorry, but it is. And no matter how much you think you like someone, if they bully and harass you, or try to force you to do something sexual you do not want to do, then it’s time to get out, to get away to safety. You have the power to say “stop” and “no” – even if you first say yes.

This also means reporting it if it’s at work or calling it out if you have friends or people you work with who are experiencing it. Or reporting it to the police when it’s a crime against you or someone you know. Don’t try to hide it because you’re ashamed or look the other way when you witness it elsewhere, because someday you could be in a situation where you’ll need the support of others to help shine a light on it. Looking the other way is one of the ways that empowers abusive behavior.

This isn’t easy to do and standing up for yourself and others can sometimes come with heavy social, emotional and psychological costs. You could lose the very people you thought were your friends. You could lose your job. You may want to quit your job. You could be fearful of intimacy for a long time to come. You could be socially chastised by those who support the very individuals who have harassed you, and this is a life lesson I want to share with you both. 

You probably don’t remember, but years ago I was on the Santa Cruz City Commission for the Prevention of Violence Against Women (CPVAW). Your mom encouraged me to apply for the commission, because I had already been an advocate for violence awareness and prevention. 

This commission was all about preventing sexual harassment, sexual assault and rape in our community and holding those accountable who perpetrated such activities. I was only one of two men on the commission during my tenure. I learned a lot and was proud of the work we did and even served as chair during the last year I served. 

But then our commission got swept into local politics, something we never intended to happen. There were five women – three city staff employees and two city council members – who had come forward and filed multiple workplace harassment complaints against two other city councilmembers, both men. And one of the five women was also the city staff coordinator for our commission.

The city paid for an investigation that did substantiate there was in fact a pervasive pattern of workplace harassment and bullying by these two male councilmembers, along with a contingent of their supporters who worked with and for them. While the investigation concluded that there wasn’t any gender bias in these workplace harassment complaints, all who came forward were women, and none of the complaints were found to be false. 

Now, imagine multiple city council meetings where men and women in our community repeatedly blamed and shamed the women who had come forward, accusing them of the wrongdoing, that is was there fault that these two male councilmembers were being accused because they just wanted the men removed from office. Their supporters were vocal about various conspiracy theories of why these women had come forward in the first place, that it was all political in the end. And that because one of the men were black, it became about race as well. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Our commission experienced the same community backlash because the majority of us continued to stand by the five women. We pushed for what’s called censure, a public reprimand of the two councilmembers, but one in which the council majority didn’t pass. 

We were still berated over and over again with hateful rhetoric. That we were wrong to support these women and that we should only support women who are sexually assaulted and raped. That we should leave workplace harassment and bullying for the workplace itself to deal with. 

We were also literally threatened that they would “come after us” if we continued to support the women who had come forward. Especially me, being the only male and the chair. The Commission for the Prevention of Violence Against Women being threatened with violence because of women coming forward about workplace violence. Can you believe it? Egregious and absurd, but it happened.

The harassment continued online, and sadly, one of the two accused councilmembers wrote slanderous posts on his Facebook page about the commission and me personally. 

But even after all of that, all I could think about after being threatened by them was you two and your mom. Would my family be in danger now? Would they continue to harass us incessantly like they did to those women and their families who had come forward? 

What if either of you had something happen to you someday and then you come forward so those who hurt you could be held accountable, and this was the hateful backlash you received? That it was all your fault? Because there was no way those you accused could do something like that?

No wonder so many who are harassed and abused or worse don’t come forward. Also note that false reporting happens only about 2%-10% of the time, and that’s probably high because of those who actually don’t report. 

While I’ll always stand by all the work the commission did back then, at that time I had had enough of the harassment and bullying and had to step down. It adversely impacted our family life and my work life (again, you probably don’t remember how stressed I was back then, but your mom does). Of course, my personal woes were nothing compared to anyone who’s been victimized repeatedly, sexually assaulted and/or raped. 

My dear daughters, I implore you to always believe those who come forward and help be a voice for those who struggle to find theirs. Sexual assault and rape are horrific crimes, but don’t discount all other forms of controlling harassment and bullying just because they’re not rape. Many times, it’s this very behavior that’s a precursor to other forms of abuse and violence and can have just as much of a lasting traumatic effect. I grew up with domestic violence and sexual abuse, and so I know firsthand the lasting effects. That’s another story I’ll tell you someday. 

I’m no hero, but I do want both of you to know that my commitment to preventing violence of all kinds against women, men, girls and boys, including harassment and bullying, has never faltered and never will. I know you will continue to be committed as well. 

I love you both very much. 

Dad

Hearts Wide Open

It wasn’t the fact that she had played better than ever during the first ever night game. That was truly a pleasure to watch, especially after her playing for four years and now playing against other girls who were much faster and much better at dribbling and passing the soccer ball.

No, it was what happened after the game. What happens after every game when we’re leaving.

“Great job, Beatrice.”

“You almost got one, Beatrice.”

“See you later, Beatrice.”

And more of that sentiment, from her teammates and the parents. This is still recreational soccer, mind you, but the level of play now at the U12 level is more competitive than I ever saw coaching U8 or U10 girls soccer. Of course, Beatrice responds in kind, thanking her teammates and saying good job and see you next time.

It’s a testament to her coaches and her teammates, and the parents, too, supporting their girls at every game.

But it’s also a testament to Bea’s big heart. She’s compassionate, confident, loving, diplomatic, empathic, understanding, and it really shows in every relationship she has. Her teachers concur. Her friends concur. Her sister concurs. Her parents concur.

Unfortunately she also stresses about things like I did when I was her age, where she internalizes her angst after fixating on something that is stressing her out. Like math and reading, where she struggles academically. The stress keeps her up at night and she can’t sleep, just like I remember doing, and still experience today sometimes.

She can now articulate her angst, though, much better than I ever could. And she doesn’t like feeling that way either, like she has fever that spikes that she longs to break and be free of. We share these blue genes, but she doesn’t like to wear them at all, while I grew used to wearing them (out) over and over as my defense mechanism growing up, battling periodic depression as a reaction to stressful situations. Resulting sometimes in panic attacks that are thankfully a hazy distance these days.

Regardless, Bea certainly doesn’t shy away from trying new things and giving it her all. Like playing flute in intermediate band now. Last year she played the trombone, and then changed her mind, wanting to play the flute instead, to share in the melody instead of the bass back beat. We told her that she’d have to probably start in beginning again unless we got her lessons over the summer, and she practiced, which we did and she did. Then we encouraged her to talk with her band teacher and to “try out” for intermediate band, which she did, and had learned enough to earn her spot. She's pretty good too, but she didn’t stop there. The band teacher likes to have kids from intermediate band help mentor and practice with beginning band, and it’s something Beatrice asked to do. Loves doing it in fact.

And then there’s after-school musical theater, where both her and her younger sister Bryce have been participating in for the past two years. And then there’s the environmental club that Bea wanted to join. And then there was being a recess monitor. And who knows what’s next.

It’s not that Bryce doesn’t jump in feet first as well. She actually dives in head-first from the high dive singing her favorite song as loud as she can. And, when she doesn’t want to do something, she’s just as animated. And loud.

But Bryce hasn’t had the developmental delays her big sister has had to overcome and constantly compensate for. Something that is a continuous feedback loop that we’re all involved in, especially my wife Amy. Amen for that amazing mother, wife and friend, that’s for sure.

Proudly I watched my daughter play better than ever at our very first night soccer game. For a few minutes, she was completely alone at her end of the field under the lights, and it was then I remembered how we used to think she’d never play more than one year of soccer. How we worried about how well she’d adapt to everything the farther along in school we got. How much she would struggle with certain subjects. How well she’d fair socially and if she’d have friends. How maybe she’d completely withdraw and not participate in anything.

However, that’s not our Bea. No, not at all. She may feel alone sometimes in her head, but it’s her confident big heart, not my blue genes, that define her very being. I'm so grateful for that. Middle school and high school will be the challenges yet to come, and our entire family welcomes them, hearts wide open.

The First Astronaut

"Lit up with anticipation
We arrive at the launching site
The sky is still dark, nearing dawn
On the Florida coastline..."

–Rush, Countdown

"I'm going to be an astronaut," she said.

"That's awesome," we said.

This after our visit to the Kennedy Space Center over the summer. Both our girls loved seeing all the rockets and the Atlantis space shuttle that day, and it was especially poignant that we were there on the 50th anniversary of the Apollo 11 launch. But it was our youngest Bryce who really fell in love with the idea of space travel. So much so that she begged us to buy her an astronaut suit and NASA hat to wear while we were at the space center.

After some negotiation with Mom and Dad about how much she would spend out of her allowance "spend" money and how much we would cover, we bought the space suit. It was a muggy 95+ degrees outside in Florida that day, and she wore that suit the rest of the afternoon. Shortly after that, she made me promise that come Halloween this year, I'd go as her space shuttle.

I loved the idea of space travel when I was her age. I remember I took a summer astronomy class when I was 10 and the teacher let me each take the telescope home one night. I stayed outside for what seemed like hours, looking at the planets and the stars, until my mom told me it was time to go to bed.

Two years later, Star Wars came out, and that's all she wrote for me. I dove in so deep I've never looked back since. Neither Bryce nor Beatrice have taken to these movies like I have, but there's still time, considering there are many new Star Wars stories to come.

Then came the first space shuttle launch in April of 1981. The space shuttle Columbia was the first space-rated orbiter in NASA's Space Shuttle fleet and such an amazing feat of engineering, science and technology. My favorite band Rush would be inspired to write a song called Countdown about this very launch, a song that still gives me chills today. This inspiration would come after NASA invited Rush to be part of a select group to view the first launch of a space shuttle. So very cool.

This October came and went pretty fast, metaphorically at the speed of light, with work and family trips consuming over half of it. When we returned from these trips, Bryce reminded me of the space shuttle, and I had to quickly get to work on it to complete it before the Halloween events commenced.

I love being creative when I can, and I had lots of cardboard, a roll of white paper, rope, packing tape and marking pens to work with. In less than two hours I created a really simple representation of the space shuttle Columbia, complete with American flags that Bryce made for the shuttle. When she said she was only going to draw three stars, I asked her why, and she said "because". Fair enough. Maybe she was channeling the three band members of Rush. I can dream at least.

We also showed both girls some of the the video of the two female American astronauts who recently took part in the first all-female spacewalk. They'd been tasked with replacing a power controller, and had ventured out of the International Space Station. So awesome to watch. It was also so much fun when I showed the recruiting team at Jet Propulsion Laboratory, one of many organizations that participate in the Talent Board candidate experience benchmark research program I run, the picture of my daughter and I dressed as astronauts and space shuttle. In fact, they said they're hiring!

Bryce was so happy and proud to have me as her space shuttle Columbia at every Halloween event we went to this year, including the Halloween parade at her and her sister's school that all the students participate in. I got a lot of orbit miles out of that cardboard space shuttle in just under one week.

"I'm going to be the first female astronaut to go to the moon," Bryce has told us over and over again.

We of course agreed and, who knows, we may just see her do that someday. And while I don't ever want to take away anything from her about being the first female to go to the moon, to Mars and to who knows where else as the future becomes now again, we long for the day when we can just call her the first astronaut, because.

"Excitement so thick, you could cut it with a knife
Technology high, on the leading edge of life
Like a pillar of cloud, the smoke lingers
High in the air
In fascination with the eyes
of the world we stare..."