Getting my gray on...

I thought it was a good day to review the power of gray-haired women.....


  Jill Stein


Christine Lagarde


  Janet Yellen

Dear Hillary

Dear Hillary,
I'm so sorry.  I never wanted to be writing this letter.  But, I wanted you to know how much you have meant to me. Ten years younger than you, I grew up looking up to you, watching you.

In 1992 I took my not quite 1-year-old son to see you and Bill as you traveled across Pennsylvania following the convention.  I drove a couple of hours on a hot August day because I wanted my son to be a part of something I believed in.  It was exciting to see the crowds turn out for the Clinton Gore bus tour.  You even gave my son a little pat.

I admired you as you fought hard for health care reform, fought to find a voice as First Lady.  I admired you even more as you struggled to work through marital problems in the public spotlight.  Now that I have faced similar struggles, I can imagine the pain and loneliness you felt as your decisions and choices were second guessed by people who had no idea.

I voted for you to be my senator in New York state. I heard about your vacations down the road in  Skanaeteles. I enjoyed the New York State Fair, just as you did. I shook Bill's hand when he was the commencement speaker at Syracuse University where I was teaching.

As Secretary of State you traveled the world representing the United States, but, more importantly, representing women.  You fought for the rights of girls and women around the world--rights to education, to health care, to contraception, to independence.  You spoke eloquently at Syracuse University in 2012 about your passion for women's rights.

Your bid for the presidency was the culmination of a life spent caring about the concerns of others, often, I'm sure, at the expense of your own needs. I'm sorry you lost. I'm sorry for you, for myself, and for my country.

I am fortunate to have many strong, passionate, caring women in my life.  These women will not forget what you have done, will not forget the lessons you taught.  I will work even harder to show those younger than me that women's voices matter, that their voices matter.

You have left an enduring legacy, and I'm forever grateful to have had you in my life.

Chris

Learning to Read

Wow, where has the summer gone?  Just in time for the new school year I have a new post.

Growing up, I wanted to be like my older sisters and do whatever they were doing.  I wanted to ride a bike, go down the big slide, ice skate.  But, mostly, I wanted to read.  

I come from a family of readers.  My father reads 3 or 4 books at a time. My mother wasn’t much for books, but she read 4 daily newspapers front to back.  She knew everything that was happening in and around our little Indiana town.  Books were everywhere and bedtime stories were a ritual. Reading seemed like a magical skill, something that only grownups could do, and I so wanted to be grownup.

I went to kindergarten before kids were expected to be able to read at age 5. As I recall, our days were filled with the smell of paste, the taste Salerno butter cookies on our fingers, and the thrills of "Duck, Duck, Goose." But, In my kindergarten classroom, the teacher had put labels on everything--desk, chair, table, door, clock. One day we were talking and I told her I wanted to read.  

She said, "But Chris, you already know how to read!"  She pointed to the sign on the desk, "what does that say?"  

"Desk."

She pointed to the sign on the chair, "what does that say?"  

"Chair."  

"That, is reading!"  

Wait, THAT is reading, that's all there is?  I was expecting to learn some secret language, to have to learn to unlock some complicated code. For me, at least, reading was easy.

In first grade I encountered my first basal reader, My Little Red Storybook.  The first story starred Tom and his wagon. (We were not a Dick and Jane school, but a Tom and Susan school. Of course, Tom got top billing over Susan, but that's another post....)

See Tom.

See Tom ride.  

Ride, Tom, ride.

Ride, ride, ride.  

WOW, with that introduction to the wonders of stories I was off and running.  I sailed through My Little Red Storybook, my blue Storybook, my green and yellow storybooks. Until, one day, I received my first HARDCOVER reader, The Little White House.  I was in Heaven. I was also always in trouble because I couldn’t stop myself from reading ahead. I couldn't get enough and read and read until the teacher threatened to take my book away.

Not everyone caught on so quickly.  Sally Pugh was not a reader.  She didn’t seem to be able to make heads or tails of the printed words.  Sally  lived on the wrong side of the tracks, literally, in our little town.  She had old clothes, her nose was always runny, and she smelled.  We called her Sally P-U. One thing Sally did have was blond hair in short little pigtails, they really looked like pigtails.

Our teacher, thinking to solve two problems at once, sent Sally and me into the hall.  I would listen to Sally read, help her figure out the code.  We sat side by side in the hall and she stumbled through a story.  When she made a mistake, I reached over and pulled her pigtail. Hard.  I don’t know how many times that happened, at least once, maybe 2 or 3.  At some point the teacher came out and saw Sally in tears and sent us back to our seats without a word.  Sally lived in our town for a few more years, she never excelled in school, and then moved away.

What possessed me to do that?  Was I mean? Was I guarding the secret of reading from someone I felt didn’t deserve it, wasn’t worthy? Was I just being a stupid kid?  I still wish I could go back and tell Sally I’m sorry, to show her the magic of reading and let her feel the same joy I had when I learned to read.

Mistakes are Made

I don't like making mistakes.  Does anyone?  Mistakes--from burning the garlic bread under the broiler to offering someone a job that doesn't exist--upset me, pretty much equally it seems.  I used to pride myself on my organizational abilities.  I could keep track of the obligations and belongings of multiple people in and out of my household.  Now, I find myself making little errors.  I forgot to renew the registration on my car. I forgot to check my passport's expiration until 10 days before an international trip. I forgot to mail a birthday card. For a few years, I blamed such mistakes on the distractions created by personal turmoil, moving to a new city, starting a new job.  What's my excuse now....age?

What bothers me is that these failures, these mistakes, challenge what I view as a fundamental aspects of my being--I am competent, I am capable, I am organized, I can be depended upon. Mistakes call into question those key understandings. What am I if I'm not those things?  Who am I if I'm not competent and capable?

I'm a human.  That's what and who I am. Like any real person, there are gaps in my competence. I make mistakes.

Today I was reading through the recently released textbook authored by one of my colleagues, "Principles and Practice of Psychiatric Rehabilitation."  Early on are these words, "Failure, however, is a part of life. Everyone better understands the bounds of existence through the experience of falling short."  My bounds are feeling pretty tight today....

The Thank You's

I will say upfront that I'm a sucker for praise.  I don't have to have it, but I love to hear it!

This time of year, at the end of a semester and the end of an academic year, I'm touched by the comments I hear from students.  Now, maybe these are just thinly disguised last minute bids for a better grade, but I like to believe they are sincere.

Hi Professor,

Attached is my final paper.

Thank you for a great semester,

Here is my final paper. Hope you have a great summer!

I hope all is well. Attached is my Demographic Profile paper ...Thank you for a fantastic class! I thoroughly enjoyed it. It was fun and I learned a lot. I'll be using this in my future business endeavors after college! Thanks again and have a wonderful summer!

Attached is my final country profile report. It's been a fun semester; I hope you continue to teach! I wish you the best!

Those are the ones I get through email and doesn't include the students who stop by to personally hand in their paper and thank me.

I know I like to hear these words, so I'm sure they do, too.  I've long been in the practice of writing individual students after the semester to acknowledge their work, their participation, or sometimes only their presence in my class. 

I saw a quote the other day that went something like this...To the world you may only be one person, but to one person you may mean the world. Few of these students will remember me in a few years, and, to be honest, I will remember few of them. I doubt I'm changing lives in my demographic methods and models class.  But the accumulated feeling of being appreciated hopefully will last much longer for all of us. 

So, go out today and say "thank you" to someone.  I think it will make you both feel good.

"Maybe I should just go live in a hut in the woods."

A couple of months ago my son had his wallet stolen from his gym locker at college.  It contained only about $5 in cash, but, of course, that was not the biggest loss.  He quickly notified me and I canceled our joint credit card.  Replacement cards came overnight and I sent him one the next day.  He got a new student ID that day. His bank did not have a branch in his college town, so he called to get a new debit/ATM card.  Unfortunately, he didn't realize that it would be sent to our old address, a place where we had not lived for over a year and from which mail was no longer forwarded.   Fortunately, he had his passport so our trip to Puerto Rico was unaffected and he was able to visit the bank on his way to the airport and change his address and get a new debit card.

The last item to replace was his driver's license. He had a NY license. Neither of us had seen a reason to change to an IL license when I moved.  He spent more time in New York than Illinois and who knew where he would land a year from now when he graduated.  He was able to apply online for a temporary NY license and a new permanent one would be mailed....again to the old, no longer living there, no mail forwarding address. Okay....time to get an Illinois license.  He is home for spring break in March, his temporary license is good until the end of March, we will get this all taken care of.

To get an IL license you need to prove your identity, your social security number, your signature, and...your residence.  He has a birth certificate, he has a social security card, he has a credit card.  To prove residency he needs government mail, a college bill, a utility/insurance/rent statement, a bank statement or any of a variety of other documents.  He has a college bill.  He has a brokerage account statement (joint with me), he has his filed state and federal tax returns.  He does not have enough. He cannot prove he lives here.

Bank account, a bank statement with his IL address would suffice. Given the problems with getting his new debit card we had considered opening up a Chase bank account anyway.  We go to the bank.  There he doesn't need to prove residency, but he does need to prove identity.  Major way to prove identity.... a DRIVER'S LICENSE.




He can't get a license because he can't prove his residency. One way to prove residency is to have a bank account, which he can't open because he can't prove his identity.

He is a man without a place.

That's when he said..."Maybe I should just go live in a hut in the woods."

(On a more serious note, this saga made me really think about the complications faced by those forced to move frequently, those who have trouble maintaining or securing documents, and those who daily struggle with establishing their place in our society.  Coincidentally, just a few days before this comedy, I heard a radio story about the problems released prisoners face obtaining state ID cards in Illinois.  The point was made that the state was convinced enough of their identity to incarcerate them, the least we could do was supply them with ID upon their release.)