Day One Hundred-Thirty-Nine: What Is A Hero?

Memorial Day is almost upon us and we have chosen this time to honor the men and women who have served in our nation's military and who gave their lives in defense of us all. Naturally, we all are reminded that there are heroes in our midst who are deserving of our respect and our gratitude. There is no question that these men and women are American heroes. Giving your life for a cause greater than yourself is an act of ultimate heroism. The question then arises, what makes a true hero?

We throw around the term "hero" a great deal. It has almost become meaningless by the casual and thoughtless way the term has been bandied about. There are many for whom the term hero has been attached and I am here to say that they are not deserving. Sports superstars, actors, rock stars and t.v. personalities are not heroes. There is nothing heroic in doing something that you love and becoming rich doing it, no matter how extraordinarily talented you may be. The media can label these people heroes until the cows come home; if it don't have thorns, then it ain't a rose!

So then what is a hero? A hero is someone who does something extraordinary under difficult circumstances. A solider saving the life of another solider while under fire without regard to his or her own welfare is a hero. An aid worker who lives in the slums of Calcutta among the diseased and impoverished to bringing medicine, food and hope is a hero. An ordinary citizen who pulls someone from the front of an oncoming speeding subway train in the nick of time is a hero. These seem obvious. Beauty among tragedy is always heroic.

There are also everyday heroes. The carpenter who donates his time to build a house for the homeless is a hero. The mother or father who work long hours and sacrifice their own wants and needs to make sure that their kids are fed, clothed and educated are heroes. The volunteer who sits with the lonely just to make some one's day better is a hero. There are heroes all around us and they are rarely acknowledged. It is these types of heroes who are deserving of our accolades, our admiration our respect. We should not be so quick to label those less deserving.

This Memorial Day, look around you and find a hero that should be thanked. I'm sure that the dead we are memorializing won't mind at all. In fact, I think it is that kind of America that they lived and died to preserve.

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Eight: Dreams Deferred

What are the things that you always wanted to do but haven't found the time, the gumption or the courage to do? I got thinking about this today. I have been spending some time reflecting on where I am and where I want to go. The destination is not very far. I only want to to be at peace with myself. I yearn for both complete self acceptance and gratitude for the simple fact of being. I have started on a spiritual quest, I suppose, and it is no coincidence that I am also fast approaching both middle age and menopause. I hear these stories of women who, once reach their 40s and 50s, become empowered, comfortable in their own skin, more of who they were meant to be. I some ways, this is true, but in others I have found it is not. So, I think that looking to the dreams I had and still hold but remain unfulfilled might hold some clues as to where this journey should take me.

1. Paris I have wanted to visit Paris since I was in high school. As a matter of fact, the only reason I took french was the promise of a senior trip to Paris. The promise was made, but unfortunately, the year we were scheduled to leave, the US bombed Lybia and all travel to major airports became unadvised. Hence, the trip was cancelled and I visited Cape Cod instead of Paris. (That was not much in the way of compensation, I might add.) This remains a simple dream that should not be too hard to accomplish. Somehow, life always seems to get in the way. There never seems to be enough time or enough money to take the trip to Paris. Saying it out loud now feels very flimsy, like I haven't taken this yearning seriously enough. Hmmm. Maybe the idea of Paris is much better than Paris itself. I don't know for sure because I haven't been. (A Freudian psychiatrist would have a field day with this...) I wonder what else I have been denying myself for no good reason. No one likes a martyr and they sure as hell don't have much fun.

2. Writing Ever since I tried out the legal profession and found that it didn't fit me, much like clothing from the back of my closet, I had in mind pursuing my interest in writing. I have moved out on the proverbial limb as far as maintaining this blog, but that's all. I have thought about sending out copies to magazine for publishing, about writing a book, about taking writing workshops. That is about as far as I have taken it: I've thought about it. There is something soothing in dreaming about success without actually trying to achieve it. The fear of failure, rejection, criticism is at the root of my stalemate. Life is moving on and fear is the coward's way out. It's time to stop dreaming and start doing. (Isn't there some cliche about finally getting down to writing that novel...) The worst that can happen is that I try and fail. It is certainly better than not trying at all. That would be such a waste of inspiration.

3. Being An Inspiration I want my life to mean something when all is said and done. I want my presence on earth to have left it better than it was before I got here. Who doesn't, really? When I really think about it, what I want most in life is to inspire others; to be the best they can be, to be happy with themselves, to be a creative, dynamic and also inspiring. Paying it forward, if you will. For me, this is what we are all here on earth to do. Find what we love most and inspire others to find what they love. This is richer than wealth, more meaningful than fame more important than commercial success. So far, I cannot say that I have found the way to be truly inspiring. Sitting around, contemplating my own place in the universe and seeking that which cannot yet be named is hardly inspiring. If I get out of my own way and figure out where my passion lies, I can act upon it. Action is what is inspiring. The mere act of contemplation is not.

Yes, it's now official. I am in a full blown midlife crisis. It's not so bad, really. I had images of botox, mad shopping sprees and lots and lots of bottles of wine. So far, that is not it at all. I think that when it comes right down to it, a midlife crisis is all about taking stock of where we have been and where we are going. Some avoid taking stock at all costs, that's when the botox, the shopping and the wine come into play. I enjoy taking stock of where I have been. It has been an interesting journey. I have covered a lot of miles and made a great deal out of my life so far. I have traveled a bit, I have studied with great relish, I continue to seek out ways to learn, I have a loving and fulfilling life partner, I am raising 4 beautiful children, I have run my own business, I run a large household, I have made long and lasting friendships and I continue to seek ways to better myself and to grow. I am on the right path. Maybe contentment comes from seeing the journey laid out in front of you. Yes, I can do it all, just not all at once. I am doing it over a lifetime. One step, one goal, one dream at a time. Not too shabby.

Where have you been and where are you going?

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Seven: The Circus

I just took the boys to the circus yesterday. I was a small traveling circus, called the Piccadilly Circus. I do not recommend it. I figured that since it was put on by the producers of the Ice Capades, that it would be fun for the kids. Well, it was fun for the kids, sort of. It was a very low budget, low rent show. Granted, the tickets were not very expensive, so I should have remembered a maxim that I live by; You Get What You Pay For.

When we walked into the arena, my bags were immediately searched for food. Nope, can't bring in outside food. I had to leave my tote bag of snacks with security. I was immediately confronted with concession stands packed with junk toys for $8- $15 bucks a pop. Not a cheap proposition with 4 kids. I shouldn't have opened my big mouth on the way over and told them they could each get 1 snack and 1 toy. Big mistake. The snow cones were $5, the cotton candy was $5, the drinks were $4, etc., etc. I had to look around to see if I was trapped at my local movie theater. Nothing feels as good as being coerced into buying stuff at hugely inflated prices. I consciously tried very hard not to say anything, because I didn't want to spoil any of the enjoyment for the boys with useless complaining.

Alas, the circus itself was a bit lame and the sole clown wasn't very funny. I was by impressed with the acrobats. The feats of skill and strength was straight out of the Olympics or Circ de Sole. Unfortunately, the audience wasn't much impressed, as evidenced by the tepid applause. I just started exercising, so I know first hand how physically impossible most of what these men and women were doing. I started to wonder why people weren't more entertained. I think that the inundation of super-duper special effects in movies, action t.v. shows and video games has made many of us immune to real physical feats of skill. After all, most of the special effects are computer generated, so unless there people actually shot themselves out of a nuclear cannon or jumped off a 50 story building, I don't think many people are going to be impressed. I started feeling quite bad for the performers.

Upon leaving, we walked by a man holding a toddler and visibly agitated. Upon meeting my eye, he immediately started ranting and raving about what a rip off this circus was. The boys stared at him, I tried to politely ignore him and we awkwardly moved on. The boys wanted to know why he was so mad. I just changed the subject. What I do think that the reason he was so angry, in part, was expectations set too high. I also think it was because of the high sell aspect of all the concessions; the toys, the photo ops, the face painting, the food. Clearly the only way these people made any money was from the sale of concessions. I wasn't happy about the pressure to buy, especially with 4 consumer oriented boys in tow. Then, I put myself in the place of the workers on this circus tour.

How hard must it be to make a living on a low rent circus tour? There was at least one family of aerial performers (mom, dad, son, daughter) and another set of brothers. I noticed that they all came out to hawk photo ops and face painting at intermission. To spend your life perfecting your physical skill and artistry and then be forced to take part in the shameless nature of cheap consumerism must be, at the very least, frustrating, if not entirely soul sucking. Its a hard way to make a buck and even harder way to raise a family. I stopped feeling annoyed and felt only compassion for the people working so hard to entertain.

In the end, the dad who was pissed off had every right to be. It was not much of a circus and it was crazily expensive if you were guilted into buying the crap they had for sale. In this day and age, its pretty hard to be impressed with a traveling circus. You are better off waiting for a big name circus in a big arena or renting Circ de Sole in Vegas on video. That's the battle these performers are waging, and they are clearly losing. I didn't express any of this to my kids, but they felt it none the less. The two older ones were complaining of being bored at various times during the performances. Still, the 2 younger ones loved it. Maybe the magic of the circus is only left for those innocent enough to be taken in by the center ring, the spot lights and the sparkly costumes. It was nice to see such unabashed innocence on their faces for an hour or two. I still can't help but wonder, how do these performers do it day after day? How can you not feel bad for them? Walk a mile in those shoes and the complaints don't come so easy.

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Six: No Phone Zone Pledge

The newest movement for safe driving is getting people to pledge not to talk on a cell phone or text while driving a vehicle. Maybe you have heard of Oprah's "No Phone Zone" Pledge, maybe you haven't. She started a crusade of awareness after her show featured many parents who lost children, both big and small, to distracted driving. One example was of toddler was run over and killed by a teenager who was texting while driving. We all know that it is extremely stupid and dangerous to text and drive. The point is more than driven home. (You can see the full episode at: http://www.oprah.com/oprahshow/Watch-the-Full-Hour-Americas-New-Deadly-Obsession-Video. This is the only Oprah show that is available on the web for viewing.) Many celebrities as well as hundreds of thousands of ordinary people have signed this pledge. It would be wonderful if these signatures could be used to create and enforce legislation that makes texting and driving a criminal offense, just like drunk driving. The danger is exactly the same, if not more so. If you aren't watching the road, you are a mindless, roving lethal machine.

So, I get it with the texting. That was easy for me. I can't even text while sitting on my couch concentrating with the intensity of a cancer researcher. I'm not so good about the talking. I find that the only time I have to myself is while driving. Even with a van full of kids, I get some "alone" time while driving. The kids are either watching a movie, reading a book or playing with toys, so I am virtually undisturbed while tooling down the highway. This is when I have the impulse to call whomever I haven't spoken to in a while. I have learned that this is incredibly dangerous. I have to adjust my mindset while driving. Simply because I have the time to talk, doesn't mean I should. Let me remind you, that whenever I have a quiet moment in the house and the phone rings, my children come running from all four corners to grace me with thier arguing, whining and complaining as soon as I pick up the phone. Giving up this habit is not going to be easy.

I see moms from my neighborhood everyday, most of the day, driving around in their SUVs and minivans talking on the phone. They obviously have the same impulse I do. If that is the case, I am sure that many people who work are multitasking while driving. Answering client calls, placing orders with suppliers, scheduling appointments and doing all the things that used to require an office and a desk. If I find it challenging to stop using the phone while driving, the pressure must be ten-fold for those used to getting so much done behind the wheel. Time is money right? Not if you just killed yourself in the process.

When did it become so important to do so many things at once? I thought the whole point of technology was to free up our time to do other things, not to make us feel as if we have to do it all at the same time. This is a clear case of when the benefits are being outweighed by the drawbacks. It wasn't so long ago that people viewed driving as a pleasure, a way in which to relax. Remember the term cruisin'? The biggest distractions while driving used to be singing too loud or cursing at your most provocative talk radio show host. Now drivers are looking at video maps, texting, dialing and talking all while speeding down the road. It is a wonder more people have not been killed. Put that gadgets away and drive! It is better to get there safe than not at all.

We all need to stop talking and driving. All drivers, all ages, all experience levels, all type of traffic on all types of roads. Studies have shown that talking while driving is the equivalent of driving drunk. This movement needs a great deal of momentum so a majority of the people understand that it is a real danger to every single one of us. Just think of the cargo that you drive around: your kids, your lover, your pet, yourself. Are the lives of those that you love worth that phone call? This was the message of Mothers Against Drunk Driving: Is one more for the road worth a life? I hope that the message gets through sooner rather than later. I don't want to find out the hard way that distracted driving will cost someone I know a life.

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Five: Fashion Police, Again!

Okay, I know that I have blogged about this before, but from the looks of things out there, there needs to be a not so subtle reminder about the basics of spring fashion. I am magnanimously performing a public service in the hope that someone, somewhere out there will actually get a clue and stop blinding me with the hideous fashion faux paus that drive me absolutely over the edge!

It is spring in New England and that means that many pasty white, cabin fever induced couch potatoes are hitting the sidewalks and streets with an exercise frenzy. Good for you! Not good for us when the exercise attire resembles this unfortunate gentleman. Spandex is from the 1980s, and like most things from the 1980s, they need to stay in the 1980s. Barring that, unless you have a body that resembles Heidi Klum, Billy Blanks or the equivalent of their love child, leave the spandex at home and opt for cotton that fits generously, very generously!

This is my fashion downfall. I have the clothes. I have the shoes. I even have the makeup (even if you haven't seen me wear it in about a decade). What I don't have is the patience to actually do something with my hair. You can spot me out and about on just about any given day with a horrendous cotton scrunchy holding up my straggly ponytail. This look is fine for exercise, toilet cleaning and sponging a child's vomit out of the hall carpet. It is not an acceptable look for anyone over 13 while out in public. When you see me sporting this fashion crime, feel free to dope slap me. I deserve it and so do you if you are following in my less than glam footsteps.

I don't care how old you are. I don't care how fashioned challenged you are. Wearing colored socks with sandals is the fashion equivalent of beating puppies and small children. Or, beating puppies with small children. This is a crime with the only just punishment being a good flogging. Unless you are caught in a flash fire while reaching for your pants, do not ever go outside looking like this. Yes, this mean you, Dad.

This monstrosity is my all time pet peeve (besides making that horrible sniffing/sucking up snot noise during a crucial test). If you are wearing open toed shoes, sandals or flip flops, for the love of God, take off the chipped toe nail polish! You don't even have to paint them again, just don't wear your feet like this in public now that there is warm weather. You look like crap no matter what else you are wearing. Period. No excuse. In the words of the impeccable Tim Gunn, "You may have on at $1,000 runway dress, but if the grooming is a 'hot mess' then it really doesn't matter." Excellently stated, Mr. Gunn.

Muffin Top. It must stop. It must stop now. Look in the mirror before you leave the house. With warm weather, the t-shirts come out to play. There are no longer the bulky, long wool sweaters that hide a multitude of sins. This looks horrible. You look much fatter then you actually are with a big, ole' muffin top. Even if you are not fat. Not pretty. Not pretty at all.

Here are a few more rules before I let you go:

Short shorts are a trend for size 0 college girls. If you are not a size 0, if you have cellulite, if you are over 22, do not wear short shorts.

* In the words of my favorite fashionista, Carson Kressley, please, please, please get rid of pleated khakis. This goes for men, women, the thin, the fat, the young the old, the long, the short. No more pleated khakis for anyone, ever.

* Never use anything that changes your skin a color not seen in nature. Not a striped, orange, day-glow self tanner. Not a sparkly bright blue mascara. Not a skunk pink hair dye. Unless you are Lady Gaga. Even then, it still sucks, but at least she has made it into a multi-million dollar making image.

With these hard and fast ground rules, you should be able to navigate the warm weather without offending anyone and embarrassing yourself beyond measure.

Go forth and be fashion forward!

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Four: Political Correctness

I was a huge proponent of the politically correct movement. During law school, I took it upon myself to introduce the concept of gender neutral language to the school's board of trustees. I proposed that since Franklin Pierce Law Center billed itself as a progressive, nontraditional law school, they should implement a gender neutral language police campus wide. This proposal was embroiled with controversy. And this was back in 1992. I was called "The Thought Police," "Femi-nazi" and other names I chose not to remember. I squared off as a first year law student with a debate with many members of the third year class as well as several law professors. I was baptized with fire and have the burn scars to prove it. Ultimately, the board overwhelming adopted my proposal, as this was not new; most every other University, College and higher learning institution had already adopted such a policy. Still, I learned the hard way that to believe in something passionately ultimately meant that you needed to make personal sacrifices to accomplish anything worthwhile.

I haven't thought much about this episode in my life over the years. Then, one day, not too long ago, I had occasion to revisit this issue with a brand new perspective. I was pumping gas at a local gas station. At a nearby pump, a very elderly man was shuffling along toward his car. The attendant was clearly frustrated with this man, and his tone of voice conveyed it clearly. Apparently, he had trouble with the concept of pay first, pump after. Anyway, I watched him for a few moments and had the urge to ask him if he wanted any help. After all, the attendant was just rude to him and he was clearly slow, frail and old. Still, I stopped myself. What if asking him if he wanted me to help him offended him? I thought of my grandfather, my Papa, when he was that old. He was able to do for himself until nearly the end of his life. He was stubborn and proud. I don't know if he would have wanted to look like he needed help. On the other hand, he loved any attention from younger women, and that, at the time, meant just about all women. I hemmed and hawed until the man was well on his way pumping his own gas. At that point, with a last glance his way, I was off to the next errand.

This incident stayed with me for a few days until I figured out why. My staunch belief in politically correctness hampered my ability to be randomly and spontaneously kind. I was more worried about offending this elderly man than I was about helping him. Don't get me wrong, political correctness is still something I believe is necessary. After all, I did stop to think about this man's feelings. I think that is the whole point of politically correct language. It is a tool to help us overcome our prejudices, our stereotypes and our fears. Using "she" instead of "he" during law school lectures empowered all of us to visualize women as lawyers, legislators and judges. Using "African American" instead of "black" allows us to see people of color as another mosaic in our melting pot instead of defining them by the color of their skin. Using "handicapped" instead of "retarded" or "crippled" allows us to see these people as human and not as defective. These are just a few examples of why the push for gender neutral language a necessary and effective tool for change.

Just as there are positive reasons to use and embrace politically correct language, there are valid reasons why people reject it. Mandating anything in this country smacks of unconstitutionality. There is free speech for a reason. The marketplace of ideas should not be squelched of any ideas, no matter how abhorrent they many feel to some, many or most. If someone wants to believe women belong in the home and not the courts, if they believe people should be categorized by skin tone and physical and mental ability, that is their right as an American. It is not my right to mandate their thoughts. However, as a part of an educational practice, encouragement of certain ideas, ideals and values are taught. Using politically correct language is a powerful tool to accomplish those goals. Just as in my experience, simply because it became the policy of the law school, it didn't mean that everyone bought into it. That is the give and take of both free speech and the educational process.

Because of this seemingly innocuous incident more than 2 decades later, I more fully appreciate the danger of "The Thought Police." I should have felt very comfortable asking this man if he wanted help. He was capable of politely saying no. I shouldn't have been so afraid to offend him that I didn't try to help him. That is the downside. Many of us are afraid to offend. We are afraid to ask if people who are different want or need help. African American in New Hampshire? Shouldn't we ask they are new to the area? Strick up a new neighbor type conversation? Struggling with a door while in a wheelchair? Shouldn't we ask if I can hold the door or help? Old and having trouble with the gas pump? Shouldn't we ask if we can do it for him? It is one thing to empathize with someone's difference, need or unique situation. It is entirely another to ignore it out of fear. I never believed before that day at the gas station that I could have been wrong in any way all those years ago at the lecture in the main lecture hall. I still think I fought the good fight, the fight that needed to be fought, but I think there were some valid points from the angry male mob that I could have actually considered. I guess we really do never stop learning.

Day One Hundred-Thirty-Three: Half the Sky

Women Hold Up Half the Sky

-Chinese Proverb

I just joined another book club, this time comprised of women I know and like, so it seemed like a no brainer. One morning a month, we decided to get together at a local book store, without children, and talk about a book that we read over the past month. I was chosen to select the second book. I always find this challenging. Taste in books is like taste in music or clothes or food; it is extremely personal and subjective. What interests me might not interest someone else. As a mater of fact, in this day and age, what interests me might likely offend someone else. Not exactly the tone I want to set in a book group made up of the mothers I will be spending time with over the next 18 years of my life.

I view a book a bit differently than most women, at least I think I do. Yes, I want the companionship and the camaraderie that can only be found when a group of women get together. If that is the only thing I am looking for, however, I will organize a "Wine and Whine Night." Those evenings can be more cathartic than all the therapy in the world! What I am looking for in a book club is a group of women who are willing to read something a bit out of their comfort zone so that the give and take of the discussion helps with the understanding of the book itself. Realistically, I am looking for a college level course on whatever the topic is, but short of that, I think that a book group is a great way to exercise the dormant intellectual muscles of mothers with toddlers. I will soon find out if this is what the others in the group had in mind when they agreed to this undertaking.

I have a long, abiding interest in women's issues. This dates back as far as I can remember. I took up the issue most seriously in college and then again in law school. I often regret not heeding my urge to pursue an advanced law degree in Women in the Law so I could teach that very same subject. Because of my passion, I found that the most fulfilling job I held during my legal career was as a prosecutor of Domestic Violence cases. Doing that work taught me a great deal about the power structure between men, women and the law. It is not neat and tidy, but a messy, emotional and complicated process to bring these cases into a court of law. I liked the intellectual challenge, the drawing on the practicality of my blue collar roots as well as the need for forceful persuasion. Because this book, Half the Sky, bills itself as a look into many women's issues as human rights issues (i.e. not just a "feminist" issue), I wanted to both read it and discuss it. It harkens back to the days of doing important work and learning things new, controversial and meaningful.

The book is written by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn, a married journalistic team with a Pulitzer Prize under their joint belt. The books premise is simple: the systematic brutality and neglect of (mostly) third world, poor women is the most urgent, important and far reaching human rights problem of the modern age. They give plenty of statistics as evidence, but more importantly, they give first hand accounts of women all over the world who have been victims of sexual slavery, medical neglect, maternal mortality, domestic abuse, including honor killings, systematic use of rape in war and denial of access to education. The first hand accounts give real names and real faces to the horrors of everyday existence for millions of women around the world. It is hard not to be shocked, moved and angry upon completing this book. I thought I heard it all. And, yes, I had heard these stories before. But never in such an unrelenting succession to bring home the vast and overwhelming nature of the global problem.

The best part of this book is that it calls all of us to action in esay, practical ways. And action is most sorely needed. There are many prominent people who view this problem as paramount including U.N. Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon, U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and Melinda Gates of the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation just to name a few. There are two international pieces of legislation that seeks to quantify the problem into an international criminal code, just as other human rights violations have been over the years. There is the International Violence Against Women Act. The American version, The Violence Against Women Act, granted federal money and resources to York County so that D.A.'s office could fight domestic violence. It is the money that gave me my job. Thus, legislation can have real teeth if we want it to. There is also UnITE- Sec. Gen. Ki-Moon's call to end international violence against women. There are dozens of ways to show support both through action and monetary donations. These can be found at www.halftheskymovement.org. This website is the natural outgrowth of the book; the practical call to action that will help transform the globe and how we all view "women's issues."

I invite you to read this book and to take a look at the website. Woman or man, conservative or liberal, Muslim or Christian, white or black, you will be educated, enlightened and moved. You will care about the plight of Third World Women not because you are a bleeding heart, but because you will understand how letting this problem fester and grow will impact the lives of us all, even in the Developed World. The only way to help stop the spread of disease, domestic violence and poverty in our own country is to join the international movement for fundamental recognition of the human right to medical care, education and self autonomy. In the words of every religious teaching I know of, to uplift the poorest and most vulnerable members of our community is to uplift us all.

So, for these reasons, I am glad to have chosen this book. I am still unsure whether my choice will be welcomed. Some may chose to spend their time on more relaxing pursuits in the form of lighter reading fare. I too am interested in these types of books, as I read them often. But every once in a while I want the challenge of something new and something compelling and something real. I can't think of anything more compelling or real than the state of women around the world. We may have "Come a Long Way, Baby," but there is still a very, very long way to go.