Voting for better options

June 23, 1995 Comments off

I’m a U.S. voter who will be voting third party for president this year.

If you, too, are a U.S. voter, you’ve likely heard at least dozens of times how you must vote the lesser of two evils; how anything else is dumb, unethical, or even itself evil. You’ve had a knot in your stomach as people have shouted at you that you must vote, that voting is your civic duty, right before then indicating how you must vote. Read more…

Categories: FYI, politics Tags:

Politics, stories, and lies

I wore this yay-Obama shirt for almost every 2009 pregnancy picture. BARF.

I wore this yay-Obama shirt for almost every 2009 pregnancy picture. BARF.

In November 2008, I leaped from my seat in my third-floor one-room bedroom apartment in Long Beach, California when Barack Obama was named the next president of the United States.

I whooped and hollered out my window, pausing only briefly to wonder why people of color–the majority, by far, in my neighborhood–were silent. Why was I, the lone white woman in my building, shouting exuberantly about the election of a person of color to the highest office in the United States when everyone else in my neighborhood was silent?

The United States was poised for change. I wasn’t sure exactly what change, but I knew it was gonna be great. I mean, just listen to the man talk!

And if not great? Obama couldn’t be worse than George W. Bush.

It’d take the opposite of a miracle to be worse than Dubya.

In November 2012, I was a rare Democrat amongst Republicans at my office.

While the Republicans around me assured each other it was a good day to be a Republican, I marveled how disconnected they appeared to be from polls not aired on Fox News.

I wasn’t thrilled to be voting for Obama, whose presidency hadn’t brought any change so notable I celebrated it on election day, but I knew Democrats were The Good Guys. Obama was a Democrat. I was voting for Obama. Therefore, I was a Good Guy. Maybe the good guys weren’t great that year, but hey. It was better than being a Republican Bad Guy. Read more…

Prescribing Joy: Finding Their Victories

Heather (To Teach Hope) surprised and delighted me when she sent in today’s post. Years ago, a martial artist named Heather contributed to my For This I Am Thankful guest post series. Her site disappeared, as did–for different reasons–her guest post from my blog. (D’oh!)

To confirm this Heather and that Heather are one and the same warms my heart. It’s a gift and a joy to know where to find her now, and to see where she’s been the last few years; for her heartwarming post in this series, I am profoundly grateful.

prescribing joy

Finding Their Victories

I wearily slip behind the wheel of my car, finally done with work. Pausing at the edge of my work’s driveway, I consider my options. Turning right would take me home, and for a moment I am tempted. I’m tired, exhausted, and irritable. Surely, it would be best to go home – right?

But no. I turn the wheel to the left. I drive to my second home instead.

When I arrive, I retreat to the locker room to change. I step into my white uniform, feeling almost as if I’m stepping into another world. Around my waist, I loop the black belt twice around my waist before tying it so that my rank, name, and my school’s Master’s name stand out proudly. It’s taken me years to earn this belt.

But it’s not the belt that brings me joy. It’s not the rank that brings me back.

As I step out of the locker room, a little girl continues a game she created: she gives a loud yell as she sees me. “Oh no, oh no! She’s going to get me!” Then she turns as if to dash away – but not before checking to see if I took the bait.

A few minutes later, a boy tackles me with a hug. Another child grabs my belt from behind and starts tagging along behind me. Two other children join the line, creating a train behind me as I walk through the lobby.

Play ends as the classes change; it’s time for these children to take class, and time for me to start helping.

I shift gears, walking behind the lines of students as they go through basic drills. I tap on this student’s hand to remind him to keep it pulled to his side, ready to punch. That student, I mock-glare at her knees and until she grins and fixes her stance. I show several students that ridge-hand blocks need the thumb tucked in. I stay near another student who struggles with focus, gently redirecting his attention back to the head instructor.

A balance drill leaves most of the students hopping, wobbling, and tumbling to the matted floor. One student gives me puppy-dog-eyes as I walk by, and complains: “This is HARD!”

I solemnly nod. “Yes, it is. But you know what? You’re that good! You can do it. Try again.” I wait, watch for a moment when the balance clicks for the student, even if only for a split second, and then I grin. “THERE! You got it!”

I work one-on-one with a student who’s struggled with his form for the past month. As he finally flows through it, his shoulders lift with pride. I can’t help but to grin, feeling proud of his progress.

Classes change, and students bring their gear in for contact sparring. Today, I stay near the older students, who are usually higher belts. I know these students; they do better with pointed, teasing remarks than they do with gentle encouragement.

“What WAS that?” I give one student a teasingly horrified look. “Do we do sparring footwork like this?” I double over my own chest-guard, running backward with hands lifted up as if scared of the imaginary opponent. Both of the students crack up, laughing – but they return to proper sparring footwork when their match resumes.

I hear giggling behind me, and turn to find two girls had stopped sparring to laugh over something. I narrow my eyes at them in a mock glare. “Giggling? There is no giggling in sparring!” Which, of course, brings a fresh round of giggles. I shake my head. “Fight!” With a last chuckle, they resume their fighting stances.

At this point, I cannot imagine having gone home instead. Beyond the fact that these students learn that they accomplish more than they believed, I see so many other victories: A child who struggles to make eye contact meets my eyes with a smile. A teenage girl who refused to talk begins to speak up for herself. A boy who seemed angry at the world starts to relax. It is in helping these students find these victories that I find joy.

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Green for Hope

Categories: Family, Love, politics Tags: , ,

Eyes on the prize

My six-year-old doesn’t like to write.

My husband and I were surprised and thrilled, then, when he asked to start a blog.

We were so thrilled, we offered him a Kindle* if he’d write fourteen days in a row.

He was so stoked, he wrote for this many consecutive days:


On Saturday, Li’l D accompanied me to the shop to have my busted Kindle repaired. After the shop deemed it irreparable, I got a credit for a replacement.

I stood in line with Li’l D and my new Kindle for a minute before revelation struck:

  • I don’t need a device. I now have the app on my husband’s old tablet.
  • Li’l D really wants a device.
  • I can use my credit to get him his Kindle!

I swapped my adult Kindle for a kids version, returning to line with one ecstatic kid.

Back in our car, Li’l D started writing the moment after he buckled his seat belt.

He’s written every day since.

Apparently, having the prize in sight makes all the difference for the reluctant six-year-old writer!

* Like his cousin’s, over which he’s swooned for months

Categories: Parenting, Writing Tags: , ,

Trust Me

“Welcome to the team!” your new manager exclaims after HR finishes its work with you.

“Here’s your office, your computer, and information about logging in for–”

“Oh, no,” you interrupt. “I have my own computing environment and email already set up. I’ll just use those.”

Read more…

Categories: politics, Work Tags: ,

Second grade

“I’m nervous,” confessed my six-year-old, Li’l D, from our car’s back seat.

As we drove toward his school, my husband and I talked to him about his nerves.

We asked, we explained, we reassured.

Li’l D grew increasingly agitated as we neared his school, but didn’t seem to be agitated about school itself.

“Oh! Is this one of those times you want us to stop reassuring you and just listen?” I asked him.

“Yes, please,” he replied.

“Okay. We hear you, we understand you, and we have total confidence in you,” I told him. Anthony nodded agreement as he navigated traffic near the school.

“Thanks,” murmured Li’l D from the back seat.

As I watched him interact with his friends and new teacher minutes later, I couldn’t help smiling.

He’ll be just fine in second grade.

A bike, a boy, and a heart-calendar

“I took off his training wheels,” my husband, Anthony, said from the other end of the phone line. “He’s doing great!”

He kept talking, but I didn’t track what he was saying. My work desk and computer fell away as I pictured the tiny baby my heart told me I just brought home sometime around yesterday.

I thought, stricken, how I wished I’d been there for my baby’s first wobbly training wheel-less jaunts. How it wasn’t time yet. He just learned to walk last week! Didn’t he?

The moment we saw each other after I got home from work, Li’l D’s experiences riding his bike like a big boy tumbled out his mouth in an almost coherent rush. Their core was: Could I watch him ride? Could I, could I? Read more…


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