(This post is dedicated to the lovely Helen and Hugh Davis, who, years ago, taught me that political differences can be discussed in a civil way—as a vehicle to learning, not to winning an argument.)
Our next Presidential election is 34 days from now. Do you know how you’re voting? Have you convinced everyone to vote like you because you, and only you, know the answer to the woes of the world?
Seems like everyone is a political genius these days, doesn’t it?
As a rule, I don’t like to get into political discussions. For one thing, no one really wants to hear my opinion. (Yours, either, dear sir or madam...unless they agree with you. People want to spout their own opinions AND convince you they should be yours as well, don’t ya know?)
Another reason I steer clear of talking ‘tics: I’m far from well-versed on all the issues. I take our political system seriously enough that I want to be sure what I share is true. And that’s no small task any time, but especially these days.
But the main reason I tread cautiously on talking politics? My big fat mouth almost cost me a dear friendship years ago. I made a snide remark about a newly elected President that wasn’t appreciated. The clincher? The clever remark wasn’t even one I originated. It was one I heard from some pundit who makes a living spinning sound bites for the rest of us to repeat when we’re sharing personal views and want to sound particularly pithy. And don’t kid yourself. These pundits come in all flavors—conservative, progressive, and plenty of places in between.
Back in the day, I was taught not to discuss sex, religion, or politics. Seriously. Imagine my surprise as a newlywed, when Rice and I befriended Hugh and Helen Davis, a couple who loved nothing more than discussing politics. They each belonged to different parties, but they shared their views respectfully. Our discussions didn’t always change my mind, but they certainly broadened my thinking.
Now days, it’s way more common to discuss politics. Sex and religion, too. But political discussions are no longer about sharing ideas and learning. They’re about beating down and winning. Let me share an example.
A FaceBook “friend” posted personal observations following the Democratic National Convention in August. I took offense, not because I didn’t agree, but because I found his comments incredibly rude in tone. He always seemed like such a nice guy, so I commented on his wall: “I get that you’re not a fan of Biden or Obama or Harris, but this is just mean-spirited. I’m disappointed.”
Yes, go ahead and cringe at my naivety. I suppose I deserve that in this political climate.
Anyway, “friend” responded to tell me that personally he found rioting and the media mean-spirited. But, he pointed out, he never used that word; only whiners did.
Okay, if you didn’t already cringe at this whiner's gullibility, here’s your second chance. Because, yes, I replied to him. Again. I asked him to reconsider not what he thought, but how he shared it. “Our children and grandchildren are listening,” I said. “They deserve better.”
Immediately, a “friend-of-this-friend” responded, posting to tell me that I support the party of HATE and intolerance...lies upon lies...and by the way, do I share the Democratic platform of murdering babies with my grandchildren?
Wow. And a big fat shame-on-me because, yes, I responded again. Two more times. Once to suggest we stop with the labeling and chastising. Then again to say I had hoped to generate thoughtful dialogue but would leave his page so he and his friends could enjoy their sharp monologues while I kept us all in my prayers.
(Before I continue, please know I don’t think all conservatives are mean-spirited--dare use that word?--like some of the ones on this “friend’s” page. I also believe that talking smack happens on both sides of the political aisle, and I try to call it out when I see it, regardless which side it’s coming from. I’m also trying extra hard to stop doing it myself.)
What I share below is a sampling of additional comments I received from my “friend” and his followers...all in response to my suggestion that we work toward improving our civil discourse:
Jan, you have not presented anything to think about.
Jan , your party talks about being inclusive...and in fact is the most racist and exclusive of parties.
Jan, would you feel safe walking your grandchildren through liberal run cities? Wake up.
Jan, your party is ACTIVELY supporting abortion on demand!
Jan, your party founded the KKK.
Jan, at this point in time, the Conservative party is the party of truth.
Jan, the Democrat party has become the party of elite libs that do not know history and cannot put together a sentence.
Jan, the Democrat party [is made up of] self-serving vipers that have been in bed with China for decades.
Jan, my party and friends are turned off by the bitching, moaning, and rioting; that is what the libs have to offer.
Jan, here’s another fine democrat for you: “Bill Clinton Receives Neck Massage....”
Jan, suck it up, cupcake. Life is mean-spirited.
Did I open a can of whoop-ass or what? Oh, before I forget, here’s one more, possibly my favorite:
Jan, go to a liberal democrat state and pray for those children being exposed to pedophilia and drag queens. Pray for the civilized people in those same places that must walk themselves and their children around syringes and feces on the public streets! You should actually watch and read real information about your party of filth and fakery before saying “friend” and his friends including myself are mean-spirited. Honey, you look like you should be old enough to know better than to have swallowed the bong water.
These days, I don’t shy away from sharing which candidates I support. But I don’t try to convince others they should agree with my politics, and I appreciate the same courtesy in return.
Rice and I have a rule that politics should be left at the door when entering our home for extended family gatherings. Our kids’ and their spouses don’t all share our views, let alone each others'. That’s how we roll. That’s how our country rolls.
So, yes, I have a Biden-Harris sign for my yard. And yes, my eight-year-old grandson has seen it.
I realized this when he approached me, respectful and a little shy, to say, “JJ, 11-Alive News says Biden’s doing some things that aren’t good.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“They’re saying he wants to close down the hospitals.”
“That’s not true!” I exclaimed.
He looked back at me, embarrassed. I felt ashamed for jumping all over him for stating something he thought he heard. He was testing his understanding in what should be a safe place.
“I’m sorry I over-reacted,” I said. “I want you to feel comfortable to raise questions and voice concerns, about politics or anything else. It’s probably better if you talk about these things with your parents. But please know the hospitals are not being shut down no matter who wins the election.”
He back-pedaled a little and said he wasn’t sure he heard the ad correctly. I told him that’s okay. A lot of us have trouble hearing the truth through all the noise. (If I had to guess, perhaps he heard an ad about how defunding the police could cause five-day delays for a 9-1-1 response. Those ads are intended to scare. And what an effective job they've done. They scared an eight-year-old little boy.)
When I talked to my daughter, she was surprised her son had seen the ad and commented about it. I wasn’t. Kids are sponges. His mom and dad say they “aren’t very political.” I beg to differ. Everyone’s political. Everything is politics, whether we like it or not.
Here's what I was trying to say to my FaceBook “friend”: Let’s teach our kids and grandkids to think critically. Let’s set an example for them to express their opinions and concerns with care. Let’s encourage them to leave the name-calling on the elementary school playground. Or better yet, to stop it altogether.
After all, they are listening. Don’t they deserve better role models? Ones who can talk politics like civil adults?
(This one’s for everyone muddling through this hot mess of crazy, also known as the beginning of the 2020/21 school year. God love us all!)
Ahh, the beginning of the school year. It used to be one of my favorite seasons. Not this year, though. This year I’ve got the blues. The back-to-school blues.
Once upon a time when I was a kid, back-to-school time meant new outfits, fresh school supplies, and the excitement (mixed with some dread) of learning who my teacher would be. I loved it all.
As a parent, back-to-school time represented an opportunity for fresh starts—for the kids and for me. I counted my blessings that my kids enjoyed school, and I didn’t feel too guilty about how much I reeeeeally loved the sanity of separation school provided both mother and child. I thought every parent felt that way, but soon I learned otherwise.
One of my first hints came when it was time to check out preschools for our youngest. I discovered a school that ran from 9 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. “Yay,” I cheered, “three days a week with no lunchtime fuss and muss at home.” “Ooooh,” a neighbor countered, “I’d hate to miss lunch and snuggles with my little those three days.”
It got me thinking. Was I Mommie Dearest or something? Or maybe just one of the Bad Moms ahead of my time?
Over the years, I’ve had plenty of moments to feel like a less-than-stellar mom. During the kids’ school years I second-guessed myself (and sometimes Rice and I butted heads) about everything from bedtime to screen time to study time to leisure time. Never mind homework and grades. We fretted over extracurricular activities, too. I’d spent my childhood involved in lots of activities. Rice hadn’t. I thought kids needed more down time to breathe. Rice didn’t. I suppose we were a good mix. He loved the camaraderie of being a team dad. While he liked to carpool and coach, I cringed at the snowballing competitive frenzy of it all.
One of the nicest things about not having school-aged kids for me has been feeling free of competitive pressures. Yes, in hindsight plenty of these pressures were ones I put on myself. (I’m lucky Pinterest hadn’t been invented yet; it probably would’ve sent me over the edge.) It took me a long time to realize I could be a decent mom even if I didn’t agree to be room mom, team coach, PTA prez, scout leader, art assistant, car pool queen, and primo party planner. I wasn’t a bad mom if I didn’t help build A+ dioramas or ribbon-winning science fair displays. I could be an A-okay mom even if I did serve processed foods, forget to pick a kid up from a club, fail to send in lunch money (twice in a row), or even—oops—drop the F-bomb.
It’s been years since I’ve had to worry about school-aged kids and the “mom” challenges they bring.
Until now. As of two weeks ago, our third-grade grandson has been attending school (via a quasi-Zoom session) from home. The catch? Our grandson’s parents aren’t at home to oversee this. They have to report to jobs, on site, with no telework options. An interesting irony? “Mom” reports to a public school to teach her own kindergarten students, who are also learning remotely. So yup, our third-grade grandson has been reporting to JJ and Big Daddy’s house, or to his Nana’s, to pursue his remote education. Each and every day of the school week.
For the record, I’m not second-guessing the district’s decision to go remote. Nor am I blind to the fact that so many families have much bigger concerns with all this. I get it. We’re among the lucky families with nearby retired grandparents able and willing to pick up the slack.
All that aside, I’m not loving this full-time remote-learning thing. It’s not exactly the retirement some of us had envisioned. Sure, in a bit, after I’ve finish this post, I’ll try to return to some Polly-Janna positive thinking and reframe all this. There’s always a silver lining, right? For instance, I am getting to spend more time with my grandson.
For now, though, let me vent.
I don’t like to see my “mom” insecurities returning. (I have even less energy and patience now than I had years ago.)
I don’t like the gosh-darned daily reminders that my computer skills are remedial.
I don’t like the tug-of-war between Rice and me to “oversee” B’s remote classroom. We both have first-born sensibilities. We both like to be boss. We figured out long ago we could either run a business together...or stay married. But now there’s this.)
I don’t like seeing my grandson lose interest because remote learning is not his thing.
I don’t like the huge burdens our teachers face...learning new technology pronto, getting to know their students by remote, trying to provide extra help to students who need it. This is particularly true for kids who have special needs or who speak English as a second language. But truth be told, don’t we all need extra attention from time to time?
And at the risk of sounding terribly self-focused, let me tell you what I don’t like the most:
I don’t like that my joy as a grandparent has been diminished. I hate to say that. But dammit, it has.
Grandparents shouldn’t have to set up an in-home learning center for a kid. Grandparents shouldn’t have to eavesdrop on a kid and narc him out to his parents when he tells the teacher he “forgot” to do an assignment. Grandparents shouldn’t have to chastise a kid because he’s not working up to his potential. Grandparents should be able to do what they do best: dote and spoil.
So, yeah. We all have our own challenges right now. Our coping mechanisms and tolerance levels are different. Some days we find it easier to stay positive than others. Some days we’re better about being kind and gracious with ourselves when we slip. And, God love us, some days we just have to wallow in the muck. And then do what we can to re-frame this whole thing.
There’s a phrase meant to remind us we should cherish the good times in life while remembering the bad times are not permanent. It is: “This too shall pass.” Some say it comes from the Bible (“...and it came to pass”). Others say it originated as a Persian adage, passed down through the ages, embraced by many, including Abraham Lincoln (“How much it expresses!”).
I, too, am a fan of the phrase. I use it. Often. And I believe it.
Another phrase comes to mind, too. It’s one I remember hearing from my late mom, a three-time widow who raised five daughters. I can’t remember her exact words, but I think the gist was to put on the big-girl panties and get over it.
Touche, Mom. I’m trying.
But dammit, 2020! Get on with it, won’t you, please?
I’m tired—oh, so tired—of singing the back-to-school blues.
Shooby dooby doo.... I mean, cheers ~ Jan
(This one's for the man who tolerates me year after year and acts like it's his greatest delight. Rice, thank you for all the love and laughs. This one's for you.)
Oh, 2020, you just keep on giving, don’t you? At the international level, you’ve given us COVID. Here in the States, you’ve laced that with social unrest and economic woes. In Georgia, everyone’s supposed to determine their own rules to beat the pandemic. Or at least interpret the rules their own way.
In a way, it seems wrong to write light and fluffy when the world is a mess. But here’s the thing: It’s July, and that’s what I do. I take the month to dedicate a post to Rice, the one I said “I Do” to forty-one years ago this month.
That’s a bit of awhile, no? It’s been a good journey for sure, but I’m not gonna lie. The road has had its share of potholes, 2020 being a big one. This was supposed to be our year, the year we both retired. The year we started to travel and really live. Instead, 2020 holds us captive. We’re unsure of how to navigate this new normal. And we’re ticked at each other that we can’t agree on what this new normal should even look like.
I confess, in some ways I'm making light, focusing on first-world problems. I realize the seriousness of the virus and health disparities, job loss and hungry children, subsequent evictions and foreclosures. I know that some relationships won’t survive this pandemic.
Still, the toughest days beg a question: Would I say “I Do” again if I had it to do over? Even in 2020?
My answer? Yes.
Here are 41 reasons I’d say yes again, in no particular order, just one for each year we’ve been married.
Who else could make me feel so...
understood
loved
funny
important
attractive
valued
joyful
intelligent
nurtured
spoiled
like my voice matters
like I’m a better wife, mom and gram than I probably am
like there’s more good than bad in me
Who else could tolerate...
my cussing
my superior skills at Scrabble
my obsession with crime shows
my love affair with the water
my horrendous sense of direction
my inability to remember events in history
my incapability to tell a story in a linear fashion
my lack of love for sports, documentaries, and museums
my failure to appreciate his finely honed micromanagement skills
my sense of curiosity about why he sorts the laundry the way he does
my (and everyone else’s) inability to hold back the groans over his puns
my call to write, even when it requires hours of isolation (for him as well as me)
my inability to be anyone but myself
Who else could’ve taught me that...
kindness is not a weakness
old dogs can learn new tricks
old dogs need to stretch more before attempting new tricks
we should never talk about money when we’ve been drinking
staying open-minded is a gift...to myself as well as to others
we can have disagreements without getting ugly
taking each other for granted is not acceptable
forgiveness is one of the highest forms of love
travel is fun (sort of...except for the flying part)
learning new things together can be fun
wealth isn’t what I used to think it was
I should speak up if something matters
keeping the faith is everything
Mostly, though, here’s why I would say “I Do” to Rice again:
He. Gets. Me.
Trust me, that’s no small thing.
So Riceman, here’s to us. May God continue to bless our love, and may I write about it again in July 2021.
Cheers – J
