My mother, Wanda McClanahan, deserves all the best things this Mother's Day. I've been wracking my brain trying to think of what to give her. David, the husband, always useful, suggested that what she would like most would be a poem or something written by me. I'm not much in a poem writing mood, mom, so I'm writing you a blog post.
My mom and I have not always had the best relationship. Once I hit puberty, she probably wanted to send me far, far away. And as I recall, I would have happily gone far, far away. I have to confess, I wasn't much better as a daughter when I hit adulthood. I had a lot of issues, none of which are her fault. But I spent a good many years thinking she was at fault. I'm sorry. That was unfair.
However much I complained, fought, blamed, my mom never gave up on me. She always supported me in every way, never told me to go to hell (which would have been perfectly understandable and deserved if she had), and always told me how proud she was of me.
Here are some of my best memories of life with my mom. My earliest and favorite memories of my mom are of curling up next to her while she read to me. And she read to me a lot. I had this one book about a silly witch who had a haunted house and some people bought it and turned it into a tea room. I loved that book, along with the one about the muskrat children who didn't get along and Miss Twigglie's Tree (I think that was the title). These memories are cozy, warm, and loving. What a great thing to give me. Thank you mom.
My mom was an efficient production unit, sewing all our clothes, canning food she either grew or picked, and doing all kinds of community work. I remember really early on, when we lived in New York, she would go sew sheets or something for needy people. I got to tag along because I wasn't in school yet. Later on, I tagged along when she went to every farm within 50 miles and picked corn, beans, berries, and all kinds of yummy food to be canned at home. I'm sure I complained a lot about that, but looking back, it is a good memory. I especially liked picking wild berries with my mom. She never let a berry bush go by unpicked. We picked gooseberries, chokecherries, raspberries, everything. She transformed these into delicious jellies we ate all year long. I'm sure I complained about all the icky home canned vegetables, but now I wish I had paid more attention and learned how to do it myself.
I have fond memories of coming home after school in August and September to the smell of pickling spices. It's a very vivid sensory memory.
Because we lived in the country, Mom had to drive me into town for every thing I did. Swimming lessons, band practices, girl scouts, everything. This she did willingly. I know I was glad for the day I got my driver's license, and I'm sure she had mixed feelings of relief and terror at the thought of me driving myself along those windy roads into town.
My mother tried to provide the stability and safety to her children that was lacking in her own childhood, and I never understood this until much later in my life. She doesn't talk much about the hardships she faced growing up, but I admire her tenacity and the choices she made to make a good life for her own family.
We did have a good life. In those days, moms told their kids after breakfast to go outside and play. When your playground is a national park, that's the best. We spent all our summers playing outside, hiking, pondering, mulling, and otherwise occupying ourselves. It was the best.
When it was time for me to go off to college, I wanted to go out of state, and to a private school, no less. At first my parents weren't sure that scheme was feasible, but Mom eventually realized it was what I needed, and she supported me in that choice. I'm sure it was a hardship financially. But they did it. When I wanted to transfer after the first year, my mom's main concern was that I not drop out. She really wanted me to graduate from college, because she did not. Thank you mom.
I am not an easy daughter, and I wish my mom had had a daughter who was kind, respectful, easier to raise, and appreciated her more. All in all, though, I feel that my mom gave me a great start in life, and I think I'm pretty okay. After 48 years, I find myself appreciating my mom more and more all the time. And I just wanted to let you know. There have been times when I've been downright horrible to you, mom, and you did not deserve that. I am sorry for those times. I hope the good things have overshadowed those times. These memories are precious to me and I hope to you as well.
I love you. Happy Mother's Day.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Friday, March 25, 2011
Let Me Just Say This About That
So, most of you who know me know I went on a cruise to the Bahamas last week. Sounds glamorous, right? Not really. I have to, in all fairness, state right up front here that I was biased against cruising before I even went. I've never, ever felt interested in going on a cruise. (So why, then, did I go on this one, you ask? Well, it was all paid for and it was with a group of people with whom I volunteer, and we got a ton of great information during our meetings.)
My idea of a great vacation/trip is one in which I can be far, far away from other people. Ideally, I should not see another person besides my family. Barring that, I should see minimal amounts of people. Or at least have somewhere I can go to get away from the madding crowds. In short, I'm not fond of vacationing with hundreds, or thousands, of others. Cruising is like the antithesis of that. You cram 3,000-4,000 people on a floating high rise hotel, complete with disco, casinos, bars, shops, coffee, and liquor. You see them everywhere, in all their horribly touristy glory. You see them in their spring break drunkenness--so attractive. You see them in their leathery-from-spending-too-much-time-in-the-sun skin, sagging out of the bikini they wear to show off their multiple tattoos. You see them stuffing their faces with endless piles of always-available food. If you aren't a little sick right now, then I guess you might like cruising.
Another element I like in a good vacation is plenty of peace and quiet. Preferably with the sounds of the natural world all around me. Again, cruising does not equal that ideal. I mean, you might imagine that you'll have the sounds of the waves, the breeze blowing through the palm trees, or the call of some native bird. No. What you get is constantly piped in bad 80s music. Unless, of course, there's live music, which is usually louder and worse. I wanted to sit out on the deck drinking my pina colada (okay, there are some nice things on the cruise, namely tropical drinks) and reading my book. But the live band was so loud, there was nowhere on deck you could escape from the booming bass. Even when we spent the day at the beach, piped in music and/or live music (which was a little more tolerable, since it had steel drums and a reggae beat, which at least felt somewhat in the spirit of the surroundings). The only place I could get away from this constant drone of bad music was in my cabin (more on why that was not pleasant soon) or on the fabulous sea kayaking excursion I went on. Now THAT was my kind of thing. Out on the water, no music, lots of sea life. I wish the whole trip was like that. (And yes, I am strongly considering a return trip for just that purpose, minus the cruise.)
I was hoping that getting off the ship at Nassau would be a delightful moment to see what a real Bahamas town was like. Oh, so naive. Can you say tourist trap? We walked through a port area with so many people hollering at us to sell us water, photos, tours, hair braiding, and total junk, it almost made me cry. A local friend showed us to the straw market, which is supposedly one of the really cool things in Nassau. Why? I don't know. It's a giant tent spanning about a city block. Inside are hundreds of vendors with products piled up to the roof, and they are all hawking their wares at you, all at once. The aisles are only wide enough for one person to pass through, so it is slow going--all the better to sell you something. Most of the items are pure junk. This is supposed to be special?
I took off on my own after that. I did see a really wonderful museum exhibit on slavery. I saw the many historical buildings, some beautiful churches, and the Nassau public library, which had once been a jail. The parliament, supreme court, and other government buildings were all a pastel pink color, which I thought quite amusing. But then I stumbled back into the fray of tourist-town, where shopping was the name of game, and duty free was the theme. I tried to get away again, finding myself walking through vast stretches of very depressing, empty or burned out buildings. Aside from the touristy crap, what I saw of Nassau was really sad. Now, of course, there's a whole lot more to the city than that, but I would venture to say it is not pretty, which is why tourists don't get there.
My lifestyle has never been about luxury accommodations, and I'm just as happy in a bunk in a yurt as in a resort suite. So our broom-closet-sized cabin did not bother me. It was actually kind of fun to see how small they can make a bathroom and have it be still functional. (Answer, about three square feet. I suppose I exaggerate a bit. Maybe four square feet.) The nice thing about our room was QUIET. Room service was fast and tasty. (And free, with our group package.) Everything about it was fine, except for the lack of window and the smell of mildew. (which might explain why I am now sick after returning home.)If I am going to sleep on a hard surface with no space to spread out, I might as well be in a tent in the mountains, preferably next to a river.
Finally, my life is so not about stuff. It's more about experiences. (And let me tell you, this was some experience.) So it really turned me off that every three seconds, someone is trying to sell you something. Whether it's an upgrade, a drink, a tour, a bingo card, or whatever. Even my massage (which I did indulge in--see experience) therapist wanted to sell me hundreds of dollars of products.
Another turn off was the sense of being in a herd of cattle, from the line to check in on board to the safety drill to the disembarkment routine to the buffet line. I felt like just one of the many other cows being guided into the corral.
Despite all this, I had a wonderful time. Why? Because of the exceptionally fabulous people I was with--the SCBWI regional advisors and others. What an amazing, creative, funny, and hard working group. It was all worth it. And we did enjoy making fun of the oddities of life on board.
The one day I dreaded most of all--the private island belonging to the cruise line--turned out to be the most fun. We sat around no the beach chatting, then kayaking, all the while finding it odd that bulldozers were planting palm trees, which are not native to that island. It was surreal.
I probably won't be cruising again anytime soon, but some sun and sand was a welcome respite from days like today, with gloomy skies and sleet. And meeting all these wonderful new friends will be something I will always treasure.
My idea of a great vacation/trip is one in which I can be far, far away from other people. Ideally, I should not see another person besides my family. Barring that, I should see minimal amounts of people. Or at least have somewhere I can go to get away from the madding crowds. In short, I'm not fond of vacationing with hundreds, or thousands, of others. Cruising is like the antithesis of that. You cram 3,000-4,000 people on a floating high rise hotel, complete with disco, casinos, bars, shops, coffee, and liquor. You see them everywhere, in all their horribly touristy glory. You see them in their spring break drunkenness--so attractive. You see them in their leathery-from-spending-too-much-time-in-the-sun skin, sagging out of the bikini they wear to show off their multiple tattoos. You see them stuffing their faces with endless piles of always-available food. If you aren't a little sick right now, then I guess you might like cruising.
Another element I like in a good vacation is plenty of peace and quiet. Preferably with the sounds of the natural world all around me. Again, cruising does not equal that ideal. I mean, you might imagine that you'll have the sounds of the waves, the breeze blowing through the palm trees, or the call of some native bird. No. What you get is constantly piped in bad 80s music. Unless, of course, there's live music, which is usually louder and worse. I wanted to sit out on the deck drinking my pina colada (okay, there are some nice things on the cruise, namely tropical drinks) and reading my book. But the live band was so loud, there was nowhere on deck you could escape from the booming bass. Even when we spent the day at the beach, piped in music and/or live music (which was a little more tolerable, since it had steel drums and a reggae beat, which at least felt somewhat in the spirit of the surroundings). The only place I could get away from this constant drone of bad music was in my cabin (more on why that was not pleasant soon) or on the fabulous sea kayaking excursion I went on. Now THAT was my kind of thing. Out on the water, no music, lots of sea life. I wish the whole trip was like that. (And yes, I am strongly considering a return trip for just that purpose, minus the cruise.)
I was hoping that getting off the ship at Nassau would be a delightful moment to see what a real Bahamas town was like. Oh, so naive. Can you say tourist trap? We walked through a port area with so many people hollering at us to sell us water, photos, tours, hair braiding, and total junk, it almost made me cry. A local friend showed us to the straw market, which is supposedly one of the really cool things in Nassau. Why? I don't know. It's a giant tent spanning about a city block. Inside are hundreds of vendors with products piled up to the roof, and they are all hawking their wares at you, all at once. The aisles are only wide enough for one person to pass through, so it is slow going--all the better to sell you something. Most of the items are pure junk. This is supposed to be special?
I took off on my own after that. I did see a really wonderful museum exhibit on slavery. I saw the many historical buildings, some beautiful churches, and the Nassau public library, which had once been a jail. The parliament, supreme court, and other government buildings were all a pastel pink color, which I thought quite amusing. But then I stumbled back into the fray of tourist-town, where shopping was the name of game, and duty free was the theme. I tried to get away again, finding myself walking through vast stretches of very depressing, empty or burned out buildings. Aside from the touristy crap, what I saw of Nassau was really sad. Now, of course, there's a whole lot more to the city than that, but I would venture to say it is not pretty, which is why tourists don't get there.
My lifestyle has never been about luxury accommodations, and I'm just as happy in a bunk in a yurt as in a resort suite. So our broom-closet-sized cabin did not bother me. It was actually kind of fun to see how small they can make a bathroom and have it be still functional. (Answer, about three square feet. I suppose I exaggerate a bit. Maybe four square feet.) The nice thing about our room was QUIET. Room service was fast and tasty. (And free, with our group package.) Everything about it was fine, except for the lack of window and the smell of mildew. (which might explain why I am now sick after returning home.)If I am going to sleep on a hard surface with no space to spread out, I might as well be in a tent in the mountains, preferably next to a river.
Finally, my life is so not about stuff. It's more about experiences. (And let me tell you, this was some experience.) So it really turned me off that every three seconds, someone is trying to sell you something. Whether it's an upgrade, a drink, a tour, a bingo card, or whatever. Even my massage (which I did indulge in--see experience) therapist wanted to sell me hundreds of dollars of products.
Another turn off was the sense of being in a herd of cattle, from the line to check in on board to the safety drill to the disembarkment routine to the buffet line. I felt like just one of the many other cows being guided into the corral.
Despite all this, I had a wonderful time. Why? Because of the exceptionally fabulous people I was with--the SCBWI regional advisors and others. What an amazing, creative, funny, and hard working group. It was all worth it. And we did enjoy making fun of the oddities of life on board.
The one day I dreaded most of all--the private island belonging to the cruise line--turned out to be the most fun. We sat around no the beach chatting, then kayaking, all the while finding it odd that bulldozers were planting palm trees, which are not native to that island. It was surreal.
I probably won't be cruising again anytime soon, but some sun and sand was a welcome respite from days like today, with gloomy skies and sleet. And meeting all these wonderful new friends will be something I will always treasure.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Benign Neglect as a Parenting Strategy
I realize there are as many parenting styles as there are parents. And of course, we usually think ours is the best approach. I can definitely say as the parent of three kids that one method does not necessarily work for every child. My three children are all cut from their own cloth and respond to things quite differently.
Overall, I think I've been a pretty good parent. Some probably think I'm way too lenient. I think they're way to strict. Some think I let my kids run all over me. I think I listen to them. In the end, the measure I use is this: as my children move into adulthood, do I like them? Do I want to hang out with them? Are they the kind of people I respect? Are they good, compassionate, helpful, kind? And here's the other piece: they all seem to want to hang out with me. Now, I'm not stupid. I realize that this is in part because they need money. But it's more than that. We have forged a relationship that holds meaning beyond the parent-child spectrum. We genuinely like one another. (Most of the time.)
I have often described my parenting style as one of benign neglect. Or laziness. Benign neglect sounds better. But here's the thing. It basically boils down to letting the kids deal with whatever consequences arise, unless I think they are putting themselves or someone else in serious danger. (Which has never happened yet.)
So when my child wants to stay up all night, I merely ask that they keep it quiet so I can sleep. They will discover tomorrow that they are tired, don't feel well, can't stay awake in class--whatever. And they almost always learn they don't enjoy that. Same with drinking a gallon of soda. I don't lecture them on nutrition. They've heard all that before. But when they don't feel good the next day--they know why. I've never censored television, books, movies, music, or anything else. They have proven that they have enough sense to self-regulate. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that most of tv is just trash and not mentally satisfying in any way. So they give up watching it.
I know friends who think I'm a wuss. Who think I'm not willing to stand up and be a real parent. Who think that I should learn that I can't be their friend. But here's what I notice. They are the ones struggling with their children. They are the ones whose kids continually go down the path their parents don't want. They are the ones who can't get their kids to talk to them.
My main goal as a parent of teenagers is to be the kind of parent who is approachable, who they can talk to about anything without being afraid they are going to get into big trouble. I would rather know where they are and who they are with and what they're doing so that I can help if things get to the point where someone is in danger: drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever. If they won't talk to me, they could get into big trouble that is difficult to find your way out of. Those things are way bigger than if they stay up too late at night or get a bad grade in a class.
My children know the expectations, though. They know that if they commit to something, we expect them to honor that commitment. They know we expect them to take school seriously--but not too seriously. Peter, our 14 year old, has some pretty awful grades right now. Instead of grounding him or lecturing him, we talk to him about it. He already felt bad, already made a plan to bring up the grades. We knew they were mostly a result of missed assignments, and that it will all come out in the wash by the end of the quarter. Peter knew he wouldn't get in trouble, so he knew there was no reason to hide his grades from us. He knew we expected better, and what's more important--HE expected better of himself.
That's really why I find my benign neglect strategy to be the best one for us. Our kids learn to think, plan, make mistakes, redo, and try again. They don't respond well to lectures or punitive actions. And I thinks that shows that they already know if they messed up, they already figured out what to do about it, and they know that for the really big mess ups in life, we are here to help them out.
I'm not putting this out there to say my way is better than yours. I'm just saying that I'd rather make sure my kid, say, uses birth control than have her be afraid to ever talk to me because she's worried I'll just ground her or something. I'd rather have my kid talk to me about drugs than to find him shooting up in the alley because he's worried I'll kick him out (for example).
And it seems to be working. None of my kids hesitates to talk to me about all manner of things. And none of them engages in dangerous behaviors. Why? I think because they only have to look around at their friends' lives to see how messed up drugs make you, or what crappy jobs their non-college-degreed friends are stuck in. They've mostly learned to think for themselves, rather than doing only what they know won't get them in trouble. I value that very highly.
Overall, I think I've been a pretty good parent. Some probably think I'm way too lenient. I think they're way to strict. Some think I let my kids run all over me. I think I listen to them. In the end, the measure I use is this: as my children move into adulthood, do I like them? Do I want to hang out with them? Are they the kind of people I respect? Are they good, compassionate, helpful, kind? And here's the other piece: they all seem to want to hang out with me. Now, I'm not stupid. I realize that this is in part because they need money. But it's more than that. We have forged a relationship that holds meaning beyond the parent-child spectrum. We genuinely like one another. (Most of the time.)
I have often described my parenting style as one of benign neglect. Or laziness. Benign neglect sounds better. But here's the thing. It basically boils down to letting the kids deal with whatever consequences arise, unless I think they are putting themselves or someone else in serious danger. (Which has never happened yet.)
So when my child wants to stay up all night, I merely ask that they keep it quiet so I can sleep. They will discover tomorrow that they are tired, don't feel well, can't stay awake in class--whatever. And they almost always learn they don't enjoy that. Same with drinking a gallon of soda. I don't lecture them on nutrition. They've heard all that before. But when they don't feel good the next day--they know why. I've never censored television, books, movies, music, or anything else. They have proven that they have enough sense to self-regulate. I mean, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that most of tv is just trash and not mentally satisfying in any way. So they give up watching it.
I know friends who think I'm a wuss. Who think I'm not willing to stand up and be a real parent. Who think that I should learn that I can't be their friend. But here's what I notice. They are the ones struggling with their children. They are the ones whose kids continually go down the path their parents don't want. They are the ones who can't get their kids to talk to them.
My main goal as a parent of teenagers is to be the kind of parent who is approachable, who they can talk to about anything without being afraid they are going to get into big trouble. I would rather know where they are and who they are with and what they're doing so that I can help if things get to the point where someone is in danger: drugs, alcohol, sex, whatever. If they won't talk to me, they could get into big trouble that is difficult to find your way out of. Those things are way bigger than if they stay up too late at night or get a bad grade in a class.
My children know the expectations, though. They know that if they commit to something, we expect them to honor that commitment. They know we expect them to take school seriously--but not too seriously. Peter, our 14 year old, has some pretty awful grades right now. Instead of grounding him or lecturing him, we talk to him about it. He already felt bad, already made a plan to bring up the grades. We knew they were mostly a result of missed assignments, and that it will all come out in the wash by the end of the quarter. Peter knew he wouldn't get in trouble, so he knew there was no reason to hide his grades from us. He knew we expected better, and what's more important--HE expected better of himself.
That's really why I find my benign neglect strategy to be the best one for us. Our kids learn to think, plan, make mistakes, redo, and try again. They don't respond well to lectures or punitive actions. And I thinks that shows that they already know if they messed up, they already figured out what to do about it, and they know that for the really big mess ups in life, we are here to help them out.
I'm not putting this out there to say my way is better than yours. I'm just saying that I'd rather make sure my kid, say, uses birth control than have her be afraid to ever talk to me because she's worried I'll just ground her or something. I'd rather have my kid talk to me about drugs than to find him shooting up in the alley because he's worried I'll kick him out (for example).
And it seems to be working. None of my kids hesitates to talk to me about all manner of things. And none of them engages in dangerous behaviors. Why? I think because they only have to look around at their friends' lives to see how messed up drugs make you, or what crappy jobs their non-college-degreed friends are stuck in. They've mostly learned to think for themselves, rather than doing only what they know won't get them in trouble. I value that very highly.
Monday, February 14, 2011
My Love Story
Happy Valentine's Day.
I don't need big diamonds, fancy dinners, or weekend trips to romantic beaches (although I would not turn down any of these) to know how much my husband loves me. He shows me in a hundred different ways each day. Like when he makes a quick trip to the grocery store because he knows I hate grocery shopping. Or when he empties the dishwasher to surprise me. He has been the primary breadwinner in this household for nearly 27 years. Wait, I take that back. For three of those years, while he was in law school, I was. But I digress.
I know Valentine's Day is mostly inhabited by those of us in the throws of young, excited, blooming love. That is a wonderful time of life. I feel more deeply in love with David all the time, but it is not always that fluttering heart kind of love. It's a love that knows anger, heartbreak, hurt, sickness, depression, and pain. It's a love that has been forged in a fire of living. Raising three kids. Making dumb financial choices and having to dig ourselves out of it. Muddling along together as a team, as partners. The kind of love that "does not alter when alteration finds." (I hope I quoted that correctly. I'm too lazy to look it up right now. If you catch me in a mistake, please comment with a correction.)
So I feel compelled today to tell a little of the story of my love affair with David, the man I've loved for 33 years. (Yikes.) Just a little.
My first memory of David is from second grade. That's right. We grew up in the same tiny South Dakota town of Hot Springs. My first day of second grade, a new kid in school, I remember seeing him across the room. Then I don't remember him at all until sometime around middle school. Our families went to the same church, so we were in youth group together. He also played flute in band--poor little thing. He was not a very good flute player. And he had to compete with me!I remember jr. high youth group trips when he and his friend Doug Tinaglia would sit on the bus or the van or whatever we were in and recite Bill Cosby routines. (Reminds me of my son, Peter, who now does the same with today's comedians.) They would pull silly pranks in restaurants. And in general be typical middle school jerks.
Another good friend of David's was Al Twocrow. We were all in debate, band, and almost everything else together. When there's only 400 kids in your whole high school, everyone has to be in everything. So we knew each other very well before we ever dated. In sophomore biology class, I could tell David kind of liked me because he sat right behind me and he would tease me. How mature. But it worked. I took notice.
I remember our first date. It was a dance in the city auditorium. I had spent the day downhill skiing and was really tired and sore. Dancing was not really what I wanted to do. But we went. He was very nice and asked if it was okay if he danced with other girls since I was too tired. I said okay. But I really didn't want him to. Despite that rather lackluster beginning, we went to many more dances, movies, and whatever else one could find to do in Hot Springs--some of it not so wholesome.
We ended up being debate partners our junior and senior years. We made a really good team. And we won lots of tournaments. I think I first knew I loved David when we were at debate camp in Denver. Spending two solid weeks together, even if was in such an academic environment, was wonderful.
David and I have always liked to joke about who is smarter. I was a valedictorian of our high school class. I had straight A's. He had one B in all of high school --in shop class no less. I studied harder, but he probably was more genuinely brilliant. He became a National Merit Scholar.
We started out at separate colleges, but I ended up transferring to Carleton where he was. Yes, mostly because he was there. Sounds sappy and hopelessly romantic, but I've never been good at being apart from my other half. Carleton was a wonderful place where we got to be total academic geeks and theater nerds. We got married two weeks after graduation.
That was nearly 27 years ago. It's really unusual for high school sweethearts to still be married. Although I have to say, it is probably because David is a practical and reasonable person, while I am more ruled by my emotions. I wanted to get married after high school, but he wanted to wait. Obviously, he was right. Who knows if we would still be together had we married at 17 or 18? But here we are.
There is so much story that goes with our lives together, but the main one is this: I love David because he is an honorable, loving, kind, considerate, smart, and noble person. Heaven knows why he loves me. I feel very lucky. He always has a comment to lighten the moment with humor, and that has made a huge impact on our lives. If we can laugh at ourselves and our situation, then we can probably get through it.
Happy Valentine's Day to my adorable, funny, loving husband.
I don't need big diamonds, fancy dinners, or weekend trips to romantic beaches (although I would not turn down any of these) to know how much my husband loves me. He shows me in a hundred different ways each day. Like when he makes a quick trip to the grocery store because he knows I hate grocery shopping. Or when he empties the dishwasher to surprise me. He has been the primary breadwinner in this household for nearly 27 years. Wait, I take that back. For three of those years, while he was in law school, I was. But I digress.
I know Valentine's Day is mostly inhabited by those of us in the throws of young, excited, blooming love. That is a wonderful time of life. I feel more deeply in love with David all the time, but it is not always that fluttering heart kind of love. It's a love that knows anger, heartbreak, hurt, sickness, depression, and pain. It's a love that has been forged in a fire of living. Raising three kids. Making dumb financial choices and having to dig ourselves out of it. Muddling along together as a team, as partners. The kind of love that "does not alter when alteration finds." (I hope I quoted that correctly. I'm too lazy to look it up right now. If you catch me in a mistake, please comment with a correction.)
So I feel compelled today to tell a little of the story of my love affair with David, the man I've loved for 33 years. (Yikes.) Just a little.
My first memory of David is from second grade. That's right. We grew up in the same tiny South Dakota town of Hot Springs. My first day of second grade, a new kid in school, I remember seeing him across the room. Then I don't remember him at all until sometime around middle school. Our families went to the same church, so we were in youth group together. He also played flute in band--poor little thing. He was not a very good flute player. And he had to compete with me!I remember jr. high youth group trips when he and his friend Doug Tinaglia would sit on the bus or the van or whatever we were in and recite Bill Cosby routines. (Reminds me of my son, Peter, who now does the same with today's comedians.) They would pull silly pranks in restaurants. And in general be typical middle school jerks.
Another good friend of David's was Al Twocrow. We were all in debate, band, and almost everything else together. When there's only 400 kids in your whole high school, everyone has to be in everything. So we knew each other very well before we ever dated. In sophomore biology class, I could tell David kind of liked me because he sat right behind me and he would tease me. How mature. But it worked. I took notice.
I remember our first date. It was a dance in the city auditorium. I had spent the day downhill skiing and was really tired and sore. Dancing was not really what I wanted to do. But we went. He was very nice and asked if it was okay if he danced with other girls since I was too tired. I said okay. But I really didn't want him to. Despite that rather lackluster beginning, we went to many more dances, movies, and whatever else one could find to do in Hot Springs--some of it not so wholesome.
We ended up being debate partners our junior and senior years. We made a really good team. And we won lots of tournaments. I think I first knew I loved David when we were at debate camp in Denver. Spending two solid weeks together, even if was in such an academic environment, was wonderful.
David and I have always liked to joke about who is smarter. I was a valedictorian of our high school class. I had straight A's. He had one B in all of high school --in shop class no less. I studied harder, but he probably was more genuinely brilliant. He became a National Merit Scholar.
We started out at separate colleges, but I ended up transferring to Carleton where he was. Yes, mostly because he was there. Sounds sappy and hopelessly romantic, but I've never been good at being apart from my other half. Carleton was a wonderful place where we got to be total academic geeks and theater nerds. We got married two weeks after graduation.
That was nearly 27 years ago. It's really unusual for high school sweethearts to still be married. Although I have to say, it is probably because David is a practical and reasonable person, while I am more ruled by my emotions. I wanted to get married after high school, but he wanted to wait. Obviously, he was right. Who knows if we would still be together had we married at 17 or 18? But here we are.
There is so much story that goes with our lives together, but the main one is this: I love David because he is an honorable, loving, kind, considerate, smart, and noble person. Heaven knows why he loves me. I feel very lucky. He always has a comment to lighten the moment with humor, and that has made a huge impact on our lives. If we can laugh at ourselves and our situation, then we can probably get through it.
Happy Valentine's Day to my adorable, funny, loving husband.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Random Musings
My mind is in a whirl the last few days, so I am going to unload here. If you want cogent, thoughtful commentary, I suggest you look elsewhere. However, if you want an insider's view of a crazy person's mind, keep reading.
Okay. For starters, 14 year olds are difficult to raise. I'm in the midst of that with Peter, who is usually an even-keel kind of person. But he IS 14. As such, he has his moments. The last few days have been one giant moment. As far as I can tell, there is nothing of any major catostrophic urgency that is wrong, but that doesn't matter when you're 14. It's ALL catostrophic at this age. Thank goodness he is my last child. I am getting too old for this. I am sympathetic, and at the same time annoyed. Patient, but agitated. My children don't seem to realize that long after their problems have resolved, a mother's heart still carries the hurt for a while. We will get through this and many other times ahead, I know. It just sucks when you're in the middle of it.
Speaking of sucking and being in the middle of things, we have officially become the sandwich generation. David's dad has been in the hospital for a month with pneumonia. He was in ICU for two weeks, and finally this week, things seem to be going in the right direction. His white blood count continues to fall, he has a little more energy every day. David and his siblings have taken turns flying out to Oregon to help out. David is on his second stint this week. I hate having him gone. I have been very lucky in life that my husband has not had a job requiring travel. He is almost always here. And even for mundane things like teacher conferences or dentist appointments, he has always been available. I hate having him gone. Did I say that already? Oh. It's because I hate having him gone. Oh, I manage okay and stuff, but we are such a team that it's very hard to lose half your team for a week. He will be home Sunday. And I don't begrudge his dad the attention and care of his children; certainly he needs to be with his dad.
So my dad's birthday is next week. Wow. (So is David's dad's birthday, actually. Their birthdays are two days apart.) Happy birthday!
Living in a very conservative state like Idaho can be tough when you're a liberal like me. Frequent letters to the editor will use the word communist or socialist to desribe anyone more to the left than the right. I don't care if you're a centrist, independent; in Idaho you are a commie. Which makes me realize that my opinions are confirmed; most people don't think. At its base concept, communism is just the idea that everybody puts into the pot and everyone gets out their fair share. It's not really intended to be a centralized form of government. It works better in small community situations--kind of like Jesus and his disciples. Feeding of the 5,000 was communism. Living in community strikes me as a great thing. Really, that's what a family is. Out of five of us, only one makes a livable wage. The rest of us throw into the communal pot what we have. But we all get out what we need. Very fair and rational.
When you think about it, what is the system we have now. We all pay in taxes, varying levels depending on our income. Those taxes go out to various places, often in the form of someone's level of need: medicare, medicaid, welfare, social security, education. I'm okay with that. What is so bad about us all chipping in to make all of society better?
Then I think about facism. In my understanding, that is where the corporate world pretty much owns the government. Hmmm. Think it's not how it is in the good ol' U S of A? Think again. Look at all the lobbies in Washington. Who's lobbying? Monsanto. Tobacco companies. Pharmaceutical companies. Look at how many former Monsanto employees now work in the agricultural agencies of the government. Coincidence? Not at all. Look at the votes congressmen and women are making, then look at who is contributing to their campaigns and try to tell me with a straight face that the government is not beholden to the corporate world. We in the US like to think of ourselves as so wonderful and advanced, but we're not. I think most of the rest of the westernized world has a better grip on things than we do. Of course, we have a huge country and they don't. But still. I would rather have individuals paying taxes to help out fellow citizens than have my government owned by the corporations. If that makes me a communist--why, then, hello comrades.
I don't even want to get started on our own state government. It is so messed up I have lost all hope. Our superintendent of public education, whose name I will not print here in order to keep a little dignity on my blog, is such a lunatic that he wants to force high school students to take two classes a year online--not by choice, but by mandate. He thinks this will improve education. Yikes. Guess who contributed to his campaign? Educational software and related companies. Hmmm.
Lest I come off as uber curmugdeonly, let me say that I am heartened almost every day by the spirit and effort, mostly of young people to make their world better. I am heartened by my dogs' tail wagging every time they see me. I am proud that my city gave us all enormous recycling bins so that I can fill it up and leave my own garbage can barely filled at all. I am heartened by the aborist who came out to tell me how he could make my trees healthier and his love for what he does. I am thrilled that Emily loves her gas-saving car. I like working for people who believe in small, local businesses and making connections in that community. And I am in awe of the farmers and local businesses who deliver me a bunch of delicious stuff every week and every month. People right here, down the road a ways, who I can talk to if I want. Real faces, not corporations. See, I'm not really that much of a downer, am I?
Of course, I haven't opened today's newspaper yet. Don't even get me started....
Okay. For starters, 14 year olds are difficult to raise. I'm in the midst of that with Peter, who is usually an even-keel kind of person. But he IS 14. As such, he has his moments. The last few days have been one giant moment. As far as I can tell, there is nothing of any major catostrophic urgency that is wrong, but that doesn't matter when you're 14. It's ALL catostrophic at this age. Thank goodness he is my last child. I am getting too old for this. I am sympathetic, and at the same time annoyed. Patient, but agitated. My children don't seem to realize that long after their problems have resolved, a mother's heart still carries the hurt for a while. We will get through this and many other times ahead, I know. It just sucks when you're in the middle of it.
Speaking of sucking and being in the middle of things, we have officially become the sandwich generation. David's dad has been in the hospital for a month with pneumonia. He was in ICU for two weeks, and finally this week, things seem to be going in the right direction. His white blood count continues to fall, he has a little more energy every day. David and his siblings have taken turns flying out to Oregon to help out. David is on his second stint this week. I hate having him gone. I have been very lucky in life that my husband has not had a job requiring travel. He is almost always here. And even for mundane things like teacher conferences or dentist appointments, he has always been available. I hate having him gone. Did I say that already? Oh. It's because I hate having him gone. Oh, I manage okay and stuff, but we are such a team that it's very hard to lose half your team for a week. He will be home Sunday. And I don't begrudge his dad the attention and care of his children; certainly he needs to be with his dad.
So my dad's birthday is next week. Wow. (So is David's dad's birthday, actually. Their birthdays are two days apart.) Happy birthday!
Living in a very conservative state like Idaho can be tough when you're a liberal like me. Frequent letters to the editor will use the word communist or socialist to desribe anyone more to the left than the right. I don't care if you're a centrist, independent; in Idaho you are a commie. Which makes me realize that my opinions are confirmed; most people don't think. At its base concept, communism is just the idea that everybody puts into the pot and everyone gets out their fair share. It's not really intended to be a centralized form of government. It works better in small community situations--kind of like Jesus and his disciples. Feeding of the 5,000 was communism. Living in community strikes me as a great thing. Really, that's what a family is. Out of five of us, only one makes a livable wage. The rest of us throw into the communal pot what we have. But we all get out what we need. Very fair and rational.
When you think about it, what is the system we have now. We all pay in taxes, varying levels depending on our income. Those taxes go out to various places, often in the form of someone's level of need: medicare, medicaid, welfare, social security, education. I'm okay with that. What is so bad about us all chipping in to make all of society better?
Then I think about facism. In my understanding, that is where the corporate world pretty much owns the government. Hmmm. Think it's not how it is in the good ol' U S of A? Think again. Look at all the lobbies in Washington. Who's lobbying? Monsanto. Tobacco companies. Pharmaceutical companies. Look at how many former Monsanto employees now work in the agricultural agencies of the government. Coincidence? Not at all. Look at the votes congressmen and women are making, then look at who is contributing to their campaigns and try to tell me with a straight face that the government is not beholden to the corporate world. We in the US like to think of ourselves as so wonderful and advanced, but we're not. I think most of the rest of the westernized world has a better grip on things than we do. Of course, we have a huge country and they don't. But still. I would rather have individuals paying taxes to help out fellow citizens than have my government owned by the corporations. If that makes me a communist--why, then, hello comrades.
I don't even want to get started on our own state government. It is so messed up I have lost all hope. Our superintendent of public education, whose name I will not print here in order to keep a little dignity on my blog, is such a lunatic that he wants to force high school students to take two classes a year online--not by choice, but by mandate. He thinks this will improve education. Yikes. Guess who contributed to his campaign? Educational software and related companies. Hmmm.
Lest I come off as uber curmugdeonly, let me say that I am heartened almost every day by the spirit and effort, mostly of young people to make their world better. I am heartened by my dogs' tail wagging every time they see me. I am proud that my city gave us all enormous recycling bins so that I can fill it up and leave my own garbage can barely filled at all. I am heartened by the aborist who came out to tell me how he could make my trees healthier and his love for what he does. I am thrilled that Emily loves her gas-saving car. I like working for people who believe in small, local businesses and making connections in that community. And I am in awe of the farmers and local businesses who deliver me a bunch of delicious stuff every week and every month. People right here, down the road a ways, who I can talk to if I want. Real faces, not corporations. See, I'm not really that much of a downer, am I?
Of course, I haven't opened today's newspaper yet. Don't even get me started....
Monday, December 13, 2010
Christmas Letter, Blog Style
So high everyone I never seem to have time to write actual cards and letters to:
Merry Christmas and every other day of the year.
What is the Jensen family up to these days? Well, let me tell you, it's a fantastical, fun, and immenently dull life we live, so I'll try to spice it up a little.
Okay: Kids first.
Melissa is a junior at Boise State (yes the football place, go Broncos!). She is majoring in history. You're shocked, I can tell. Who would have thought history freak would actually major in her favorite subject? She seems quite enthralled with it, and she hopes to minor in art history. Melissa was thinking of teaching, but when faced with the incredibly banal curriculum ed majors have to endure, she opted to forgo that option. She is thinking of going to graduate school, but still has gobs of time to figure that out. I encourage her to stay in school as long as possible, since there are no jobs out here in the real world anyway. Melissa moved into her own apartment where she happily lives with herself. No sharing, no scheduling the showers, no having other people eat the food in the refrigerator. Her only burden is an intense fear of the smoke detector being ignited by any and all smells, temperatures, and steam from showers/stoves.
Emily graduated from Boise High last spring with something like a 4.2 GPA and with AP Scholar with Honors distinction. (Graduation night: below.)During a whirlwind of changing plans, she was planning at first to go to New Mexico Tech this fall, but then decided she needed a
year off. So then an exchange program was plan B. She was all lined up to travel to Belgium and perfect her French, but opted out of that as well. So plan C, current version, is what she is currently doing: hanging out in Boise and working while trying to finish up her pilot's license, which she started working on a while back. She thinks she might attend BSU for a year or two to learn more languages before heading to New Mexico to major in astrophysics. Having goals is important, don't you think? Setting them awfully high means being in school for the rest of her life, but hey, no jobs in the real world, etc. Emily has a boyfriend named Isaac who is very sweet, smart, and fun to be around. Which is why she spends most of her time with him.
Peter is a certified band geek, chess geek, Boy Scout geek. He is also a choir nerd. As an 8th grader this year, he is learning all the joys of digital media, video broadcasting, along with European history (they're on the Renaissance right now), accelerated algebra, earth science, and English. Plus, did I mention, band? He is a percussionist and also plays in jazz band. He earned his Star level in Scouts, did a 50 mile backpack scout trip, camped in the winter in snow qunizies, and spent a week in the Black Hills at scout camp. He is emerging as quite an effective leader in scouts, which is very good for him. He likes that role. Most nights, you can find Peter in front of the tv, with his iPod in his ears, and working on algebra problems for at least an hour. He is totally into comedians: We've seen Brian Regan and will see Jeff Dunham in January. Peter's next adventure? In six months, he'll be old enough for driver's ed. Yay!?
Okay, enough with the kids already. Now onto what's really important: the dogs. Just kidding. All three dogs are still kicking, barking, leaping, pooping, and shedding. 'Nuf said.
David is always our quick summary. Still at the same firm for 20 years, for which he received a lovely...clock. He's extremely active in scouts with Peter's troop and also mentoring Webelos as they transition up. The troop camps once a month all year long, and I think it's nice for David to get that time away--albeit with 20 teenaged boys. He also ushers at church, which involves hanging out in the back of the church chatting with his buddies.
Neysa, sigh, alas, did not get hired as a teacher. Which is probably for the best, since as you know, I'm not big on mornings. It has all worked out pretty well, however, because I went back to freelancing and have more work than I really have time for. I also am working part time in my favorite indie bookstore, which is totally fun. Writing lots,
making lots of music with lots of different people, and working on losing weight. So far, 35 pounds gone. (Melissa has lost 50. You wouldn't recognize her.)
In other life events, all of us except Emily traveled to New York to participate in a performance at Carnegie Hall, conducted by our good friend Paul Aitken. Melissa and Peter both sang in Carnegie (photo, above), plus we saw a Broadway show, played tourist, and had a great time. (Lest you think we were mean to Emily, the reason she wasn't booked into the trip was because she had been planning on being in Belgium at the time.) David and I had our 30th high school reunion--yes, we really are that old. Sigh. We've gotten out into Idaho and played in the snow, the water, and the mountains.
(That's us snowshoeing below. Okay, actually we're standing in the snow, but we were snowshoeing just seconds before.)
Oh, I'm sure there are lots of other details you'd like to know about us, but are afraid to ask. So I'll answer them for you:
1. No, we don't quite know what happened to Boise State at Nevada. They messed up. Thank goodness, the bowl game they'll be in will at least have a worthy opponent in Univ. of Utah.
2. Yes, I did forget to mention that Peter played tennis this fall. He has improved quite a bit over last year.
3. You're right, seven hours in the Met is just not enough time, but hey, you take what you can get. On the up side, the Shake Shack near the Natural History Museum.
4. It's true: David likes to sleep with the window open, and I like it closed. Somehow, we are still married after 26 years.
5. Empty nest is just a myth. Even when kids move out, they come over a lot: to do laundry, get money, complain, and sometimes even to just hang out.
6. We are so lucky to have a warm place to sleep, food to eat, clean water to keep us alive, and a loving family to support us. We wish this for all the inhabitants of the world. Yes, we CAN make it happen if we all dig our heads out of the sand, take an interest besides ourselves, and give a little of our incredible wealth to see these goals through. Sorry to go all serious on you, but that's how I roll.
Merry Christmas and every other day of the year.
What is the Jensen family up to these days? Well, let me tell you, it's a fantastical, fun, and immenently dull life we live, so I'll try to spice it up a little.
Okay: Kids first.
Melissa is a junior at Boise State (yes the football place, go Broncos!). She is majoring in history. You're shocked, I can tell. Who would have thought history freak would actually major in her favorite subject? She seems quite enthralled with it, and she hopes to minor in art history. Melissa was thinking of teaching, but when faced with the incredibly banal curriculum ed majors have to endure, she opted to forgo that option. She is thinking of going to graduate school, but still has gobs of time to figure that out. I encourage her to stay in school as long as possible, since there are no jobs out here in the real world anyway. Melissa moved into her own apartment where she happily lives with herself. No sharing, no scheduling the showers, no having other people eat the food in the refrigerator. Her only burden is an intense fear of the smoke detector being ignited by any and all smells, temperatures, and steam from showers/stoves.
Emily graduated from Boise High last spring with something like a 4.2 GPA and with AP Scholar with Honors distinction. (Graduation night: below.)During a whirlwind of changing plans, she was planning at first to go to New Mexico Tech this fall, but then decided she needed a
year off. So then an exchange program was plan B. She was all lined up to travel to Belgium and perfect her French, but opted out of that as well. So plan C, current version, is what she is currently doing: hanging out in Boise and working while trying to finish up her pilot's license, which she started working on a while back. She thinks she might attend BSU for a year or two to learn more languages before heading to New Mexico to major in astrophysics. Having goals is important, don't you think? Setting them awfully high means being in school for the rest of her life, but hey, no jobs in the real world, etc. Emily has a boyfriend named Isaac who is very sweet, smart, and fun to be around. Which is why she spends most of her time with him.Peter is a certified band geek, chess geek, Boy Scout geek. He is also a choir nerd. As an 8th grader this year, he is learning all the joys of digital media, video broadcasting, along with European history (they're on the Renaissance right now), accelerated algebra, earth science, and English. Plus, did I mention, band? He is a percussionist and also plays in jazz band. He earned his Star level in Scouts, did a 50 mile backpack scout trip, camped in the winter in snow qunizies, and spent a week in the Black Hills at scout camp. He is emerging as quite an effective leader in scouts, which is very good for him. He likes that role. Most nights, you can find Peter in front of the tv, with his iPod in his ears, and working on algebra problems for at least an hour. He is totally into comedians: We've seen Brian Regan and will see Jeff Dunham in January. Peter's next adventure? In six months, he'll be old enough for driver's ed. Yay!?
Okay, enough with the kids already. Now onto what's really important: the dogs. Just kidding. All three dogs are still kicking, barking, leaping, pooping, and shedding. 'Nuf said.
David is always our quick summary. Still at the same firm for 20 years, for which he received a lovely...clock. He's extremely active in scouts with Peter's troop and also mentoring Webelos as they transition up. The troop camps once a month all year long, and I think it's nice for David to get that time away--albeit with 20 teenaged boys. He also ushers at church, which involves hanging out in the back of the church chatting with his buddies.
Neysa, sigh, alas, did not get hired as a teacher. Which is probably for the best, since as you know, I'm not big on mornings. It has all worked out pretty well, however, because I went back to freelancing and have more work than I really have time for. I also am working part time in my favorite indie bookstore, which is totally fun. Writing lots,
making lots of music with lots of different people, and working on losing weight. So far, 35 pounds gone. (Melissa has lost 50. You wouldn't recognize her.)In other life events, all of us except Emily traveled to New York to participate in a performance at Carnegie Hall, conducted by our good friend Paul Aitken. Melissa and Peter both sang in Carnegie (photo, above), plus we saw a Broadway show, played tourist, and had a great time. (Lest you think we were mean to Emily, the reason she wasn't booked into the trip was because she had been planning on being in Belgium at the time.) David and I had our 30th high school reunion--yes, we really are that old. Sigh. We've gotten out into Idaho and played in the snow, the water, and the mountains.
(That's us snowshoeing below. Okay, actually we're standing in the snow, but we were snowshoeing just seconds before.)Oh, I'm sure there are lots of other details you'd like to know about us, but are afraid to ask. So I'll answer them for you:
1. No, we don't quite know what happened to Boise State at Nevada. They messed up. Thank goodness, the bowl game they'll be in will at least have a worthy opponent in Univ. of Utah.
2. Yes, I did forget to mention that Peter played tennis this fall. He has improved quite a bit over last year.
3. You're right, seven hours in the Met is just not enough time, but hey, you take what you can get. On the up side, the Shake Shack near the Natural History Museum.
4. It's true: David likes to sleep with the window open, and I like it closed. Somehow, we are still married after 26 years.
5. Empty nest is just a myth. Even when kids move out, they come over a lot: to do laundry, get money, complain, and sometimes even to just hang out.
6. We are so lucky to have a warm place to sleep, food to eat, clean water to keep us alive, and a loving family to support us. We wish this for all the inhabitants of the world. Yes, we CAN make it happen if we all dig our heads out of the sand, take an interest besides ourselves, and give a little of our incredible wealth to see these goals through. Sorry to go all serious on you, but that's how I roll.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Bullying
With all the different suicides in the news lately, mostly gay teens who have been treated horribly, the subject of bullying is on everyone's mind, and rightly so. Our newspaper ran an article on how to protect your kids from cyberbullying.
And here's my response:
Why not run an article on how to know if your kid is one of the bullies. Nobody wants to think about that, do they? We all assume that we are the good ones, the ones who don't bully, would never treat someone that way, would never shun, spread rumors, out someone online, etc. And certainly our kids would never do that.
Oftentimes, when bullying takes place, the very people to whom one turns for help--teachers, principles, councilors, parents--do not believe the kid being bullied. "How could Janie be bullying you? She's a very nice girl. You must be misinterpreting her intentions."
Uh, no. Very often, it's the "nice" kids who are the worst bullies. They achieve their bullying in very subtle, but pervasive ways. They spread rumors, they shun you, they give you evil stares, they treat you like a nobody. And when you complain, they act like abusive spouses act in front of the authorities: they are all nice and pleasant. And so the victim is the one who ends up being blamed.
Look to the board in your own eye first. Do not be in denial that your kids are the "good ones" who would never treat someone this way. They probably do on more than one occasion. Yes, they've probably also been on the receiving end as well, but that just means they know how it all works, and are just as happy to dish it out when the chance presents itself.
In other words, we are all capable and culpable. We all have the capacity to treat others as lesser than ourselves.
We need to teach and learn empathy. And we need to face the ugly in ourselves. This is the only way episodes will stop. Parents and teachers especially need to make ourselves familiar with the ways "nice kids" bully, and let them know it is completely unacceptable. Teach them how to do better, be better.
To learn more about this subject, I recommend the book Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls by Rachel Simmons. It is a fabulous study in the way girls bully.
Obviously, this is a big issue, and one that has multiple solutions and actions we can take. My first action is to look inward and to my own children to make sure we are not contributing to the problem.
And here's my response:
Why not run an article on how to know if your kid is one of the bullies. Nobody wants to think about that, do they? We all assume that we are the good ones, the ones who don't bully, would never treat someone that way, would never shun, spread rumors, out someone online, etc. And certainly our kids would never do that.
Oftentimes, when bullying takes place, the very people to whom one turns for help--teachers, principles, councilors, parents--do not believe the kid being bullied. "How could Janie be bullying you? She's a very nice girl. You must be misinterpreting her intentions."
Uh, no. Very often, it's the "nice" kids who are the worst bullies. They achieve their bullying in very subtle, but pervasive ways. They spread rumors, they shun you, they give you evil stares, they treat you like a nobody. And when you complain, they act like abusive spouses act in front of the authorities: they are all nice and pleasant. And so the victim is the one who ends up being blamed.
Look to the board in your own eye first. Do not be in denial that your kids are the "good ones" who would never treat someone this way. They probably do on more than one occasion. Yes, they've probably also been on the receiving end as well, but that just means they know how it all works, and are just as happy to dish it out when the chance presents itself.
In other words, we are all capable and culpable. We all have the capacity to treat others as lesser than ourselves.
We need to teach and learn empathy. And we need to face the ugly in ourselves. This is the only way episodes will stop. Parents and teachers especially need to make ourselves familiar with the ways "nice kids" bully, and let them know it is completely unacceptable. Teach them how to do better, be better.
To learn more about this subject, I recommend the book Odd Girl Out: The Hidden Culture of Aggression in Girls by Rachel Simmons. It is a fabulous study in the way girls bully.
Obviously, this is a big issue, and one that has multiple solutions and actions we can take. My first action is to look inward and to my own children to make sure we are not contributing to the problem.
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