The Tooth Fairy Replies.

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Not the Tooth Fairy / Photo by KidZond.

 

Dear Kayla,

As you know, your little sister lost another tooth. She is a very inquisitive child and wrote me a letter. I saw that you also wrote me a letter, even though you have had your adult teeth for some 12 years now. But even though you are 24 years of age, soon to be a mother yourself, I figured it would be okay to break protocol and respond to your letter.

Do you remember me?

Yes I do. I remember every child I have collected baby teeth from over my many magical years of service to humanity. Losing baby teeth is part of a childs journey into adulthood. With each tooth a little piece of their childhood is relegated to the past and they begin taking steps to becoming an adult.

Parents celebrate this passage by calling upon my services. I am a marker of time, a reminder that these precious moments are fleeting, and those pictures of gap tooth smiles, will too soon be replaced with pictures of other firsts. Pictures with a full set of adult teeth shining back.

I heard you’re giving out $2 now, what is that about? I got 50 cents and no letter!

Times change, prices change, children change. Your father received a quarter. You received 50 cents, your sister $2. Not every child gets $2, some get nothing. Life, is anything but fair.

In the grand scheme of things monetary gifts for a baby tooth comes under the category of It is the Thought that Counts. To carry on the tradition keeps me in the hearts of children, it gives them the power of imagination. That, is an awesome power. Without that power, humanity would never move forward. As silly as a Tooth Fairy may seem to you now that you are an adult, I, along with my other magical comrades, have a lasting impact on you. Even after I have faded from your personal beliefs.

You don’t write or call anymore.

No, but I will visit you one day. I will come to you in around 8 to 9 years hence when you must do your part of my job. It is a bargain we made, that I will exist in the hearts and minds of your children, and you will do the physical labor of my job. You may not find it fair, you may question if it is worth it for me to visit. Yet it is. I will bring a joy to bright little eyes, opening up a world of possibilities and of…Magic.

For in life, it is the dreamers that set the pace for humanity. They are the ones that ask the greatest question…What if? They will be the ones that discover medicines that will alleviate humanities ills, they will push the boundaries and reach for the stars, they will seek out solutions when others doubt solutions will ever be found. Dreamers are the ones who seek equality for the human condition. They are the ones that remember me the most. They believe that anything is possible.

While yes, in time, I will be relegated to the fond memories of childhood. Lose my magical abilities and be forgotten in the adult mind. It is the lasting impression, and that little smile on your adult children’s lips when they find the teeth that you requested I give back to you, in a small box, that you have kept as a keepsake. For in that moment, magic will once again be real, and they will know that I will be there for their children.

 

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Across the Thin Blue Line.

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A home with Blue Lights Photo by Jenelle Kendrick

By Js Kendrick

 

 

I have noticed something different about my city this week. Many of the standard white porch lights have been replaced by blue porch lights.

I first noticed this on my drive home from work at night, one here, one there. At first I wasn’t exactly sure of the reason. I knew that a tragic event had happened involving a Police Officer, yet I knew nothing of the blue lights.

As far as I can find out, the concept of the blue porch light to honor fallen officers began in 1989. It was started by Mrs. Dolly Craig who had lost her son-in-law in the line of duty on June 5, 1986 and her daughter in a car accident in August of 1989. The couple had left behind six children that were now without parents. Mrs. Craig wrote to the organization Concerns of Police Survivors that she was going to put two blue candles in her window that holiday season to honor both her son-in-law and daughter.

The idea caught on and candles were replaced by blue porch lights.

Then in 2014 a Virginia man, Daniel Jessup, came up with the idea to create a Blue Light Week, beginning January 1st 2015 till January 7th. It became an idea to show support for Law Enforcement, which at that time period, had been experiencing negative media coverage for incidents involving police shootings.

When the Major of my city, Tom McNamara, had the lights over a bridge changed to blue. It started the movement in my city. Soon people were buying blue lights left and right. So much so that stores ran out of stock. He wanted to show respect for the fallen officer, asking people to put up blue lights, and ordered the flags in our city flown at half mast.

The sad reason for all this happened on November 5th, 2017 at 1 a.m. in the morning during a routine traffic stop.

Two men, who most likely had never met before, were to meet. And before too long both men would be dead. Leaving family and friends, and a city, grieving and wondering what had transpired to cause this tragedy.

Officer Jamie Cox, just 30 years old, a Veteran of the U.S. Army National Guard and who had previously worked for the Illinois Department of Natural Resources, had joined the Rockford Police Department in 2016. He had been on the job as a police officer for just 11 months.

He had pulled over 49-year-old Eddie Patterson, a father and grandfather, a man who had for the last 14 years worked at a local event center in my city. He was driving a pick up truck with plates that didn’t match the truck.

What we do know at this time is very little. For reasons unknown Mr. Patterson decided to drive off. Officer Cox became entangled in Patterson’s truck and discharged his side arm killing Mr. Patterson whose truck crashed two blocks away from the original stop. Officer Cox was mortally wounded by the impact. He was able to call for assistance and was transported to a local hospital where he died a short time later.

There wasn’t a dash camera in the squad car, nor was Officer Cox wearing a body camera. As of this writing, no eye witnesses have come forward to give the police additional information. A Task Force has been assigned to determine exactly what transpired that night.

As the news and information came trickling out, many took to social media to ask how this could happen. Why did Mr. Patterson drive off? How did Officer Cox become entangled in Patterson’s truck? What caused this tragic event?

Unfortunately an added component to this tragedy is the factor of Race. Officer Cox was White. Mr. Patterson was Black. In an era of exacerbated racial tensions, this component wasn’t lost to those on social media. That Officer Cox shot Mr. Patterson, who to our knowledge was unarmed, and that Mr. Patterson drove off with Officer Cox attached, has the community asking questions. It also has the community taking sides.

Those on both sides of the argument who are rushing to judgement to lay blame are doing a grave disservice to the memories of both Officer Cox and Mr. Patterson. The only people who truly know what happened that night are them. And sadly, neither one can tell us their story.

There is a Task Force that is investigating this incident. Yet others are asking for the Federal Government to investigate this incident. Concerns that the Police department would not be forthcoming. Another sign of our times, trust is a rare commodity these days.

Personally, I feel the story will end with the simplest of reasons. Human error, on both sides. For some reason Mr. Patterson panicked, and Officer Cox tried to stop him from driving off. Sadly, this human element of our nature, will most likely be the root cause of this tragedy. Yet, this is just my opinion, and all the facts are not known yet. And everyone should do the oddest of things, we should wait. Be patient.

In this day and age of instant information, being patient has become a problem with our society. We rarely have to wait for anything anymore. The world is at our fingertips, and news cycles usually exceed the facts. Facts take time, they take patience. People have become unaccustomed to waiting for information. They want it now. Yet this is not reality. Investigations, especially of this sort, take time. Rushing to judgement only polarize communities and creates an air of distrust and cover-up. None of which seems to be the case in this incident. The police are taking time, keeping silent, and going over the facts in a painstaking way. Social Media doesn’t really care for that. They want to know, and know now.

 

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Photo by Jenelle Kendrick

 

Till we know the full story, let the investigations play out, blue lights will adorn the porches of my city, Rockford Illinois, for the month of November. To honor the fallen Officer. Yet in a larger sense, it should stand as a reminder that two men lost their lives that night. That try as we might to be perfect, and not to make mistakes, we are only human. And that waiting, is truly the hardest part of this process.

 

 

 

Sources: http://www.nationalcops.org / http://www.sun-gazing.com / http://www.rrstar.com/news/20171106/

And then there is this.

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MAIRANAS ISLAND — Boeing B-29 Superfortress “Enola Gay” landing after the atomic bombing mission on Hiroshima, Japan. (U.S. Air Force photo)
By Js Kendrick

I’m in Okoboji Iowa today for a wedding. Very nice place, a little gem nestled away in the northwestern part of Iowa. 

The wedding will be the second I’ve been to this year. A busy year for me and my family. Two weddings, two family reunions, and three funerals. 

My brother-in-law lost both his parents this year. In the space of two months. Incredibly heartbreaking for him and his side of the family. Three months before my sister-in-law joined our family, her mother passed. Her mother would have missed her daughter’s wedding if not for my sister-in-law’s foresight to have a private ceremony beforehand. 

But today, we are at a wedding. A celebration of two young people who are about to commit to each other for the rest of their lives. Today, while it may be a little chilly, a tad overcast, and some rain, will all be forgotten or looked upon with silly nostalgia years from now. Today, will be a great day. October 21st, 2017. They will not forget this day.

And then there is this. I have not forgotten this day for the last 20 years. Today, 20 years ago, my father died. This is a grand day for some, as it should be. Yet it is a bitter day for me and my siblings.

Often I am asked, does it get better? Doesn’t…as the adage goes… time heal all wounds? No, it does not. Time puts things in perspective. It takes you from a fresh cut, to a scar that you always remember where it came from, and when you got it. A constant reminder of the pain you once endured.

As I had written in an earlier blog ‘Everything’s, my older brother Jay and I discussed everything one Saturday night. One of those topics was our Father. In what was probably not the nicest critique of our Father we were at least honest, and forthcoming in our thoughts. I do believe we would have told these observations to our Fathers face. Yet it was nice not to hear the “what do you know?” part. And in truth, he probably would have had a good point.

I knew my father, so did my brothers and sister. Yet in that classic statement, do we really know anyone? No, not really. Try as we might each of us are, in reality, our own little universe. Like scientist who constantly push the boundries we look at someone from the outside, only catching glimpses of who they really are. To say that parts of my father’s life are still an enigma to me is an understatement. 

If I could go back in time, I would ask him a million questions, things I would hope he would answer. Why, for the love of God, could he not hold a job? Three years, I think it was three years was the longest job he had ever held when I was growing up. He stayed in the same field, was good at his work, very knowledgeable. Yet still, the politics of business vexed him. It made growing up hard. 

He had a love of country like no other. The picture I chose for this blog was not some random picture. My father was on the island of Tinian, he saw the Enola Gay in person. That time of his life was very formative. It would shape a young man who grew up during the depression, who had very few skills and turn him into a mechanical engineer. He would be able to provide for his wife and four children. Rising in his career to become a Vice President of a company. Yet I believe that time also taught him a disdain for authority.

He believed firmly in classes of people. Not on racial lines but on social-economic lines. He felt people never rose above their classes, even though he himself rose above his. A point that he dismissed when I noted it to him. 

My father a man that valued his intelligence, yet looked down upon those who were ignorant on certain subjects. Had less tolerance for those who stubbornly believed they were correct even though the facts differed. I believe my brother Jay and I inherited that quality. 

After 20 years I still question things about my father. Questions I will most likely never get answers to. Yet, with this scar that is so clearly visible today, I do have perspective. He wasn’t a perfect person, maybe not a perfect father. Yet to me he was. To me, he was the best damn father a boy could ask for. And while I try to be like him in some respects, better than him in others, I wonder most, especially after that talk with my brother Jay, what will my children say of me? 

Being a father is not about perfection, but doing the best with what you have. The try is worth it’s weight in gold.

 

 

Monsters Under The Bed.

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One way to defeat the Monsters under the Bed is to sleep on the couch with some good friends and a book. / Photos by KidZond.

By Js Kendrick

 

When I wrote my tagline for my blog I  had a very specific incident in mind. Chasing monsters from under the bed since 1991 has meaning to me. For one, I became a father for the first time in 1991. When that happened, monsters came with the duties of being a parent.

The first monsters were mine, those that every new parent has, am I good enough? Do I know what in the heck I am doing. What if I break her? What if she stops…

Yeah, there are a lot of fears when you become a parent. You quickly learn that you have very little control over most of your fears. Dealing with those fears becomes your priority. You learn to manage those you have some semblance of control over, and to let those you don’t have any control over, to wander the recesses of the back of your mind. Hoping they stay there.

As children get older, they develop their own fears. Some are practical fears. Like those of strangers, going to the doctor, the first day of school. Then of course there are the unfounded fears. Like the time Werewolves and Vampires began lurking around my eldest two daughters bedroom.

I’m not to sure how werewolves and vampires got into our house. Could have been from a friend, or one of their older cousins. Yet they arrived and I was asked repeatedly about them. Telling my children, one 6 the other 4, that werewolves and vampires do not exist and that people created those legends for entertainment… those facts did not work. So thus began the Summer of the Monsters. What a great movie title that would make.

One night, around 11 p.m., the light came on in their room. I heard the noise of soft crying and got up to see what was the matter. Both girls were hugging their knees, blankets pulled up tight in their respective twin beds, staring at the bedroom window in fear.

I suddenly became afraid myself. Did someone try to get in? Was there some intruder lurking outside waiting for a opportunity to enter their window? My fear seized me. One of my fears hidden in the recess of my mind had found a door and ran up front to give me a scare. Then rationality came back. The intruder would either have to have a nice step-ladder or be 8 feet tall. Yet I peeked out the window. The backdoor porch light, which was always on, showed me that no one was around. I took a deep breath and looked at my frighten daughters faces.

“What’s going on?” I asked. They pointed to the window. My fear jumped up and down waving a red flag.

“What if a werewolf comes through the window?” I was asked. My fear dropped his flag and with his head hung low, walked back to the recess of my mind.

“It’s not their season, they’re down south this time of year.” I said. I had tried the ‘they don’t exist’ shtick for a good month or so, tried to use logic, explain myths, everything I could think of. Now moved on to ‘kid logic’ that I hoped would work. So far it had.

“Vampires?” was the next inquiry. I gave the same answer. Then tucked them back into bed and turned the light off. Making sure the nightlight was working. They settled down and I, to help my own fear, went out back for a walk around to make sure there wasn’t any vampires lurking about. The moon wasn’t full so I figured I was safe with werewolves. I also didn’t find any signs that anyone passed through our yard either.

Then I was awaken again, the light on again, now sobbing. I was a tad irate. Okay, actually I was mad to be awaken again by monsters. So I walked in and saw them now sitting on their beds sobbing.

“What now?” I said in a terse tone.

What followed was a sobbing mess of a tale about vampires and werewolves in their bedroom, hiding in the closet. Possibly playing with their toys, not sure. I was torn between laughing and yelling at them. I opted for some bizarre story to end this.

“There aren’t any vampires and werewolves in your bedroom, it’s your imagination.” I hesitated on ‘they don’t exist’ because that had failed miserably before, so I improvised.

“Listen, the werewolves are dead. They all got rabies and died, the vampires were so upset they staked themselves. So there are not in your room or outside the window, they are all dead, happened many years ago.” I said looking at them.

They stopped crying immediately and looked at me. Two sets of bright blue tear filled eyes, staring at their father. They had calmed down immediately, their seriously little faces now staring at me. They had totally believed my story.

Crap.

“Really? They’re dead? All of them?” I was asked. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, should have told you before. Happened a few years back. So you have nothing to fear.” I said doing my best to hold this tale together.

“Oh, um, can you leave the light on?” I was asked.

“Okay, but you need to go to sleep, no playing, okay?” I said. And the miracle happened. The monsters under the bed, those in the closet, or outside the window, were gone. Dad and vanquished them with a fantastic fable. Yet it eased their minds.

Was this the best way to handle it? I am sure there are therapists and psychologist that would tell you no, never lie to your children. Just make them understand that such creatures do not exist. So probably not. Yet the vampires remained staked, the werewolves without rabies shots, paid the ultimate price. And two little girls went to sleep and never worried about those monsters again. Psychology be damned.

They of course would find other monsters. But then again, don’t we all?

 

 

 

 

Remember the Magic words, Please and Thank You…unless you’re Autistic.

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Alexis and BenBen / Photo by KidZond.

By Js Kendrick

 

I had a little eye opener yesterday at my daughter’s therapy session. We were discussing her habit of not saying ‘Please’ or ‘Thank You’. I found it rather odd that she seems to refuse to say these common niceties. The reason behind her refusal has always eluded me.

I was raised saying Please and Thank You, my Mother had always demanded courtesy from us, and it would even go so far as to not pass a dish at the dinner table because I didn’t say ‘please’. This was how I was raised, and of course, this is how I raise my children. Even my eldest daughter has carried on this courtesy with her children. I wouldn’t say our family is obsessive about it, but good manners usually opens doors in life. People appreciate being treated politely.

So it shouldn’t be a surprise at my consternation when my youngest daughter would refuse to say those words. She has had this habit for as long as I can remember. When she was younger, I didn’t put much thought into it. Four year olds tend to forget, so you remind them. However it was around seven that I noticed she refused to say Thank You. Please would only come out on rare occasions. I worked with her, withholding items till she said the magic words, but she only did it begrudgingly.

It was last year, when she was eight, that the problem became more than learning, more than some sort of joke to her. She wouldn’t say it for the life of her. Alexis seemed more upset that I wanted her to say Please and Thank You, than I was she didn’t.

“Alexis, if you want me to get you a glass of milk, say the magic word.” I would say. Then one day she looked at me and said the magic word.

“Abracadabra.” She said. I laughed, probably shouldn’t have, but it was funny. That became her ‘Please’. She started to use the magic word every time.

I still worked on Please, even discussed with her that while Abracadabra is the ‘magic’ word it wasn’t what I meant by magic word. But to Alexis, Abracadabra is the factual magic word. 

The term “Magic Words” came from my mother. When my sister Karen was going to Kindergarten there was a sign above the classroom door.

“Remember the Magic Words: Please and Thank You!” 

My mother, always into manners, remembered that phrase and quoted it often. My mother was no Miss Manners, but she did believe in being polite. Until she was mad, then it was best to run. politeness took a backseat for a bit.

I’m not sure how my mother would have handled Alexis’ refusal to say Please and Thank You. Probably would have driven my mother mad I’m sure. I know Alexis drives her sister Jenelle mad by refusing to say those magic words. My grandson BenBen says Please and Thank You, as with other niceties, even as he is being a holy terror. Yet as he holds a bag of potato chips, that he had just dumped on her floor, he will say “I’m sorry”. Jenelle and BenBen are still working on those connections with being polite and acting polite.

Yet while in therapy, when Alexis refused to say Thank You when offered a page from a coloring book, I mentioned this peculiar habit to the therapist.

“Well it’s not literal. If you stop and think about it, why do we say Please and Thank You? It’s an emotional response, a social niceties, but it has no practical value.”

The therapist then went on to ask me if she says Please for specific items. Alexis will say Please for wanting specific things. Yet those are more built into our language. She knows to say Please if she wants us to buy her a toy, or to go to restaurant. However Thank You is harder. Because why do we have to say “Thank You”? What value is that phrase?

In reality, Please and Thank You have little value. Unless you look at it in the terms of socialization. We say these phrases, along with a host of others, to be nice to each other. Many of those phrases aren’t even practical. When you ask someone ‘How’s your day going?’ Rarely do you wish to know how their actual day is going. It’s just a common phrase we use as a greeting. You may exchange a few words, but a detail accounting of their day’s events isn’t expected as an answer.

If you have ever dealt with persons to whom English is a second language, even worse, American Slang as second (practically third) language. You have just had a taste of what it is like to talk to someone with autism.

Alexis isn’t being rude, it’s not like she doesn’t “Know Any Better”, it is simply that she finds such phrases and niceties absurd. Why? Why do we say Please? What is the value of Thank You?

For me, it may be a consternation. Raised with a mother who valued manners, who valued the Magic Words, and now with a daughter that finds such words absurd.

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Apples from a friend.

 

Take these apples in the picture above. As I was writing this blog, Alexis came in to show me them. The young neighbor girl brought over apples from their backyard tree. These two are for my son and grandson. As Alexis handed them to me, being very specific as to tell me which apple was for whom, I said…

“Did you tell her Thank You? Because that would be nice.” Alexis smiled at me like I was a half-wit. I could see her thinking ‘Why should I say Thank You? She gave them to me, I give her things too, we’re friends, that’s what we do.’ She just looked at me and walked off. I went outside to tell her friend ‘Thank You’ to which she replied ‘You’re Welcome’. Alexis looked on disinterested in this little exchange.

The Magic Words, as with many of our social niceties, open doors in life. They let people know you care, that you have empathy for them. From, “I’m sorry for your loss” to “Congratulations!” we use these phrases to let other know we care. Alexis cares, but finds our language to be a ‘bit much’.

So, I continue to look for the Rabbit Hole, hoping to find it. If for nothing more than to have her say those Magic Words.

It Would Take a Million People…

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Statue of Liberty (Liberty Enlightening the World). / Photo by Wikipedia Commons.

By Js Kendrick.

 

Sometimes the news can be disconcerting for children. I usually have the news on my T.V. for background noise. Something in the morning to catch up on the day’s events at a glance, or late at night to keep me company while I write. On occasion, funny stories about pets, or local events, catch my children’s eye. They will point to the T.V. and tell me to look! or to rewind it back to see the story again. My children rarely pay attention to the news, and often ask if they can change the channel.

The news has been a bit serious lately in The United States of America. One story that came to the national spotlight was the story of Charlottesville, Virginia. A tragic story that opened up old wounds many of us had hoped had healed, yet found out painfully, they haven’t yet.

In the aftermath of that tragedy, many took to peaceful protest, some did not. It was the not that caught my youngest children’s attention. A group of protesters pulled down a statue in Durham, North Carolina. I was asked the simple question “why?” by my son, who is 6 years old.

Try having a go at explaining a Civil War, Slavery, and the Civil Rights Movement to a 6-year-old. If you read my last post, I had a helluva a time just explaining the eclipse. This was far more complicated and full of pitfalls. I am doing my best to raise my children to think of Humanity as One Race, which we truly are. That the minor differences in our species are just like frosting on a cake. Lick the icing, and we are still all cake inside. So after a quick explanation, I punted the question down the road.

I think I made a mistake on that.

I had no intention to write on this subject. Everyone else was, the news was full of stories on the subject of race relations, civil war monuments, etc.  My blogging was intended for fun family stories, little anecdotes to let you know that, yeah, everyone screws up as a parent, especially me, and together we can laugh at it. It wasn’t intended for discussing hot topics of the current news cycle, nor political / social controversies. Others could do that far better than me. So I didn’t write about it after my talk with my youngest children.

But you know? Life throws you a curve ball once in a while. Enter the Unwitting Racist.

It was at work, talking to a driver, that I started to form an opinion on a subject I originally wished to ignore.

We were commiserating on the conditions of our respective semi trucks, both in need of repair. Then he told me that his companies mechanic…well lets just say he repaired the drivers truck not using proper methods. Jury-rigged is the polite and proper term, an old nautical term actually. Yet he didn’t use that term. He used a term I had not heard in years. A term loaded with racist overtones. I think my expression lead to his backpedaling.

After explaining to me that he has two granddaughters who are ‘half-black’ and that to use that word to describe something or an object, as he used it, was fine. He went on to say he would never use it toward a person. I believed he was sincere on that point. Yet I let him know I disagreed with the use of the word.

We talked some more, falling off the subject that caused the tension and onto drivers in general. He talked about encountering drivers from our area in distance locations. That happens in trucking, it’s a little reminder how small the world really is. Yet the person in his chance encounter was a hispanic woman that he first met in a local store. She had her kids with her. They were very well-behaved he said, unlike other hispanic children that are usually wild in stores…because, well “You know what I’m talking about right?” was the quote. I let him know, with a raised eyebrow, that my kids are not hispanic and act up in the store too. Our conversation ended.

Although I thought about it that night, I didn’t want to blog about it. Figured, like me, he was up there in years. My generation, the Baby Boomers, have many carry over attitudes and phrases we inherited from our parents and grandparents. We were children during the Civil Rights movement. We witnessed it first hand. We had to adjust our opinions that were taught to us. The next generations will, thankfully, drop these leftovers into the trash as time marches on. No need to blog about that.

Then I was at school yesterday, eating lunch with my daughter Alexis, something both me and my wife do during the school year. At the table was a little girl, bright, funny, very polite, said something that put it all together for me. Here she was, but 9 years of age, a nexter generation talking to a group of nexters generation. The discussion was about family sizes, then she blurts out:

“She has a large family, because she Mexican, and Mexicans have a lot of children”.

I couldn’t help myself, and let out a chuckle. I told her that large families aren’t the result of ethnicity. There are lots of reasons people have large families. Although she nodded understanding my point, and since I wasn’t speaking in a admonishing way, she had no idea what she had just said. Not one bit. She had no clue she had just made a generalization about a group, some of her friends, those same friends sitting next to her. Who nodded in agreement with her observation about mexican families.

I was compelled to blog.

Right now, everyone in the United States has concerns about Neo-Nazi’s, the KKK, the Alt-Right and a slew of other groups that despise others for the silliest of reasons. Simply because they look different from the person they see in the mirror every day. We fret, we argue, we jump up and down over every little thing concerning race. We tear down statues we deem offensive. Because many of us believe is would be for the best to remove these reminders of a painful time in our country’s past. Objects that they see as glorify that time in our history. Others worry about history being forgotten. I personally believe that both points are valid.

Yet we ignore the elephant in the room.

Racism is rarely blatant. And if it is, we shoot it down (verbally) pretty quick. Those racists groups who marched in Charlottesville were a bunch of nutcases. Sorry folks, but those people were carrying Tiki Torches, and wanted to be taken seriously. No one took them seriously at first. Yet it ended tragically. And it proves that it only takes one nutcase to turn the world on end. We do need to take it seriously.

But they are obvious. We can spot them a mile away. They refuse to be polite to anyone who differs from them, from what they deem as ‘normal’ or ‘correct’ in their warped view of the world.

Yet they are not the problem. The problem is the unwitting racist. Those, like that semi truck driver, who believed nothing he said was incorrect. That it was okay to use a term that is morally repugnant to everyone else. Or the little nexter girl who makes a generalization on ethnic groups without even having a clue she did so.

This is the racism we need to worry about most. Not those groups who protested the removal of a statue. These modern-day jokers are looking for attention any way they can get it. People who think wearing white sheets and giving themselves names like ‘Grand Wizard’ make them cool. They are the symptom to the disease.

We like to think of ourselves as more evolved socially than our ancestors. To a degree we are. Yet not as far as we think. You’ve been on social media right? Seen some of those comments from opposing views? I’ve been waiting for Facebook to add a pointing finger emoji with the word ‘Witch!’ on it. I think it would get a lot of use.

People don’t go around being racist. Most people, even myself, don’t think they are racist. Nor do they think they harbor any thoughts or beliefs that are racist. We don’t actually, yet then again we do. It’s the little things, those minor points that we take for granted that are the most damaging. They add up and find their way into our culture, our schools, our work, and yes, even our homes. That need for generalization, for conformity, the need to assume because Johnny behaves this way. All Johnny’s must behave the same way.

We do this not just with race, but with shape, with dress, with speech, with gender, with sexuality, and even political views. Our need, as humans, to categorize everything into neat little packages and say ‘Well this is how it is’, has done more damage to societies than any political figure could ever do.

 

It would take a million people…

 

After explaining, badly, why people tore down the statue of the Confederate Solider in Durham North Carolina. My son looked at me, then glanced at the T.V.

“I hope they don’t tear down the Statue of Liberty, I like the Statue of Liberty, she’s beautiful” He said. I smiled at his concern.

“I don’t think anyone is going to tear the Statue of Liberty down Nick.” I said to him, still smiling. I liked the fact he was worried about a symbol of American Unity. That no matter where you came from, we are One people. The great melting pot.

“Yeah, that would take about a million people I think.” He said to me. “Maybe more, maybe everyone in the whole country!” He said.

 

I lost my smile at that point.

 

The Day the Moon Melted.

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The total eclipse of the sun. Art by Nick / photo by KidZond.

By Js Kendrick

 

In case you missed…and I have no idea how you could have…we had an eclipse this past Monday. For those of us who live in the contiguous United States it was quite a show. Passing from the west coast to the east coast. The eclipse was all over the news and throngs of people went to view the eclipse, to be in the path of totality.

There was also the scary bit about the moon melting. Oh? did you miss that part on the news? I’m sorry you missed it. It was a big deal here at my house. Because when the moon goes in front of the sun, well, come on! It’s the Sun! The moon was definitely going to melt. Or burn up, either way, the moon was toast.

Despite that little thing called Science, to a 6-year-old boy, the whole idea of the moon blocking out the sun is a tad concerning. Simply because he lacked perspective. Actually that has been going around a lot lately, but I digress. My son Nick had a concern which I needed to address.

Being 6, and fairly smart for his age, and me being very childish for my age, he had me puzzled as to how to explain it. I showed him diagrams, even videos, explained the Sun is approximately 93,000,000 miles away from Earth. And that the Moon is around 239,000 away…so we had a good 92,750,000 miles and some change, comfort zone. Nada. Just didn’t compute. He could not grasp the concept.

I would have to say his concern wasn’t exactly real. He didn’t break out the tinfoil and fashion a hat. Nor did he carry water jugs down to the basement. But he did ask if it was going to rain ‘moon drops’ when the sun melted the moon. I just narrowed my eyes and wondered if he was pulling my leg on all this.

What Nick lacked was understanding of the science. What was going to happen when the moon passed between the earth and sun? He just couldn’t fathom how it wasn’t going to be a catastrophe. Yet Mom and Dad were not panicking, nor were the neighbors packing their bags and heading for an underground bunker. So he knew that, yet it didn’t quite make sense to him.

Then, on Sunday, out on our front deck I had an epiphany. Nick was standing against the railing as I sat in a chair and I realized I couldn’t see the mail box. He was blocking my view.

“Hey Nick.” I said.

“Yes?” He said knowing dad was going to try to explain this eclipse thing again.

“Come with me, I want to show you something.” I said getting up and taking him to the mailbox.

Our mailbox is on a wooden post that stands about 5 feet tall. Nick isn’t there yet, he’s about 4 foot 5 inches. So, I used the post as comparison. Then took him back to the deck and I had him sit in the chair.

“Can you see the post?” As I stood where he did. Blocking his view.

“No, but you’re taller.” He said, got me there. I scooched over.

“Can you see our neighbors door?” I asked. He frowned. The door was taller than me, wider too. Yet I blocked it. He frowned then smiled.

“No.” He said. I pointed to our neighbors door and told him that is the Sun, and then at myself and said I was the Moon.

“I’m on earth?” He said. I nodded. Then I pointed to the sky.

“You’ve been on a plane before right? The plane is pretty big, bigger than a school bus, but when you see one up in the sky how big is it?” I asked.

“Little.” Full smiles now as the wheels turned in his head.

“Yeah, you can block it with your hand, and you known that the plane is bigger than your hand. So, see? That’s why the moon won’t melt, it’s perspective, how you see it, compared to what its actual size is. The Sun is really far away, too far to melt the moon.” He nodded, seemed to grasped the concept and went off to play, content that the moon would not melt. Although disappointed it wasn’t going to rain ‘moon drops’.

So we had an eclipse on Monday. The moon passed between the earth and the sun. The moon is still there, didn’t melt a bit. And I was able to explain perspective to my son.

The moral of this story is Perspective. In life, we often encounter problems that seem disastrous. Overwhelming and beyond our control. Yet often it is simply a matter of perspective. It may not be as severe as the Moon being melted by the Sun, and yes, at the time the problem can cause great distress and be daunting beyond belief, but years later, we tend to look back at those hiccups in our lives, placing them in perspective, and realizing that as bad as it was then, it could have been worse. You know, the Earth could have melted.