Ordinary Woman, Extraordinary Life

This morning I will load up my car with all the goodies I bought at Target and such, and head down to school to start preparing my room for the new school year.  I will be walking into a mess of boxes, furniture and unopened supplies which, within a few hours, will begin to look like a place of learning and engagement.  It has been a wonderful summer, and I still have another glorious week, but the teacher-beast in me is awakening, yawning, stretching and proclaiming, “Another school year, bring it on!”  Maybe there is something wrong with me, but I can’t wait.

In June, I am usually done.  That’s it, I have nothing left to give, school is over just in time because I’m shutting down from the inside out and top to bottom.  I have just spent ten months planning and implementing a year’s worth of academic, social and emotional growth with a mass of squirmy youth.  It takes it all out of me.  It will be a couple of weeks into July before I start feeling human again.  I am not exaggerating- September to June is a locomotive train running on caffeine and pure adrenaline.  It’s a fine ride, but when it’s over I am truly out of gas.

Once I am in full summer mode, I coast for a few weeks, busying myself with all of the acitivity I have no time for during the school year.  Deep cleaning, and organizing the closets; visiting friends and relatives; helping hubby with his business;  shopping; museums; hiking, rollerblading and running; beaching; writing; it’s a more laid-back busy-ness but it feels like a fulltime job. I’m not asking you to feel sorry for me.   When the Back-to-School stuff goes up on the shelf and the ads begin at the end of July, I find it irkesome and irritating- I’m nowhere near ready to even begin to think about school.

But something starts to happen to me in the middle of August, even while I am embroiled and embroiling in summer actitivites.  I start to get a little tickle in my stomach, and I start to think a teeny tiny bit about September.  I try to push it away because I want to enjoy my days and evenings to the fullest, resting up my body and mind for another round (Round 30 to be exact, a milestone year!).  But it starts sneaking in anyway.  I find myself really looking at the little ones I see everywhere-the beach, the town, the friends’ pools, the stores; watching them closely and  thinking about their actions and their words, and I begin to get a teeny tiny bit excited about another school year.

And now it’s August 27^th, my new babies will soon be running in, dragged in crying, pushed in shyly, walking in confidently or, in a few cases, carried in and dumped into the classroom.  I want it to be ready.  I want the room to be a warm, welcoming, reassuring place that will grow into a second home.  This is kindergarten- the very first year of a twelve-year journey through the public school system.  This is the year that will point the direction for the rest of that journey.  In my opinion, it is the most important year because the kids will either learn to love school and learning, or…I shudder to think…hate it, and then spend the next twelve years fighting it and spiraling into unhappy waters.   You can think I am being over-dramatic, but the kindergarten year is just like a first impression of someone you meet.  You either like a person from the beginning, or at least feel neutral about her or him, or you feel dislike and discomfort everytime you meet.  That’s kindergarten, only you are there for 180 days, and then for the next twelve years you dread each morning.  Horrible thought.  Big responsibility.  Can’t wait- here I go!

“I’ve come to the frightening conclusioin that I am the decisive element in the classroom. It’s my daily mood that makes the weather. As a teacher, I possess a tremendous power to make a child’s life miserable or joyous. I can be a tool of torture or an instrument of inspiration. I can humiliate or humor, hurt or heal. In all situations, it is my response that decides whether a crisis will be escalated or de-escalated and a child humanized or de-humanized.” – Dr. Hiam Ginott

I have been asked by more than one avid blog reader/friend how I come up with almost daily personal essays to publish.  Here’s my secret:  strong opinions, and the gift of gab, and time.  That’s it in a nutshell;  but of course it’s not that simple.  It takes me almost an hour to write the first draft of these few paragraphs.   I have no problem coming up with the ideas- everything I do, see, hear, taste and smell becomes fodder for writing.   In fact, this is the easy part for me.  I keep a running list which I update as soon as the idea occurs, or else it will be lost in the mental ether.  Thank goodness for cellphone notepads!  For me, the challenge is fleshing out the skeleton so that it makes sense, all while trying to keep it interesting for you, my audience.

When I sit down to do my blog for the day, I first open up my list of possible topics.  As I go over them, one or two will usually jump out at me as something I feel like expanding upon that day.  I choose the topic that captures what’s on my mind at that moment.  It always strikes me that as soon as I make my choice and start writing, the words seem to spill out of me as if they come from somewhere or someone else.   I know this happens to a lot of writers.   My students tell me all the time, “I can’t stop now, I’m on fire!”  I know that feeling well- that’s where the time issue comes in. I have to have the quiet, uninterrupted space to at least complete a first draft.   

Once I get in the groove, I usually just let it happen;  then I go back to revise and edit.  For a long, long time, I composed my initial thoughts on paper.  I felt that paper and pencil, with its crossing out, arrows and asteriks, was a more organic way to write.  I now feel very comfortable composing on the computer- cut and paste, delete, thesaurus,  spellcheck, all at my fingertips makes me feel even more in control of the writing process.  When I am on the go, however, I still often carry a notebook just in case my muse shows up and hits me over the head.

When I am “done” I usually walk away for a few minutes before tackling revision.  It is hard to revise and edit your own words!  I need to step back and hope that I can come to view the writing as freestanding, so I can find places that don’t flow or an error that will get me smacked with a rubber ruler by the grammar police.  Sometimes I come back and I am really happy with what I wrote.  Other times I come back and delete almost the entire thing- what the heck was I thinking when I wrote that?!

Finally it’s time to cut and paste the day’s entry into the blog and hit “publish.” There is always a small moment when my finger hovers over that button and I think, “am I sure I want this out there?”  I go over in my head who will be reading it, and try to imagine their reactions.  My “audience” drives the final decision about what goes on the blog.  This is one reason I love your comments, whether public or private.  I need to know if I was successful in entertaining, informing, and sharing. 

Well, I never need to answer the question about how I write almost everyday again! I can now just refer any curious reader to this entry.  Hope I didn’t bore the rest of you…

I think about everything- all the time.   I’m one of the those people who replays my days (and nights) over and over in my head, picking them through and rehashing conversations, body language, movies, news stories,  parties, anything is fair game.   I’m not sure why, but I have always been this way.  I mull, contemplate, ponder, consider, chew over- you name it.  This is a double-edged sword that caused me some problems when I was younger.  But in the end, I get to live everything twice (or three or four times) so it’s all good.  Well, mostly good anyway. 

When I was in my twenties, B.C. (Before Children), we would attend social functions all the time.  Okay, we partied a lot.  And at those parties there were many,many other people our age.  Sometimes there was drinking and stuff.  And a lot of off-the-wall conversations happened that are better forgotten.   Those conversation were often heated debates that ended in either a toast or a fight.  It was all the same to us then.  But when I would get home, in the stillness of the night, I would begin to think about something that was said to me, or even that I overheard someone say.  I would  think about it as if it was happening real time and I would think about what I would have, should have, could have said.  In the morning, poor hubby would have to listen to me rant about some inane comment that he either did not hear or forgot about.  He taught me as quickly as he could that picking things apart after the fact and then getting upset about them was an exercise in futility.  I used to get insulted by this, but realized over time that he was right.

For the most part though, re-thinking is a beneficial and valuable use of my down-time.  I always say that when I am a batty old lady (I’m thinking around the age of 114), I will be sitting on a porch in a rocking chair chuckling to myself over all the things I’ve done and seen.  Guess I’ve already started.   I catch myself going off into memoryland, and I’m sure if I was being videotaped, I’d have a gamut of expressions on my face as I go deep into it.  During these thought-full times, I often come up with just the line I wish I had said when the conversation first happened.  I am not always good at instant come-backs.  But hours later, oh look out.  Snap!  The perfect response!  If I called the person to whom I wish I had made this amazing retort and said, “By the way, boom!”, they probably would have no idea what I was talking about.  Oh well, in my thoughts I got them back but good.  I also spend time thinking about having  conversations with people that will never happen the way I hope.  I’m in my head that much.

Does everyone do this?  Based on what I see, I think many people don’t stop and think at all.  Ever. About anything.   I believe a fair amount of people are thought-full though.  I have lots of conversations that seem to show that I’m not the only one who spends time musing over things.  I apologize publicly to my children, who have all inherited this character flaw, if it is a flaw.  Let me think about that. 

This relatively new phrase seems benign, and even seems like the answer to relieving a lot of our stresses.  “Which movie do you want to see?” Whatever.  “Are you upset about something?” Whatever. “Should Romney disclose his tax forms?” Whatever.  It seems that now, when you ask someone for an opinion or a choice, “whatever” is the most prevalent answer.  It takes away responsibility from the responder, and makes her or him seem laid back and easy-going.  But I would argue it causes more problems than it solves.   In my opnion, this one-word verbal shrug masks an alarming and growing apathy among us.  A refusal to take a stand on anything, big or little, may feel good for a second; but the consequences can be huge.   It can leave you feeling resentful: didn’t the other person realize that when I said “whatever” I really wanted him or her to read my mind and figure out what I was thinking??  The attitude behind this common utterance can also lead to social, political or economic consequences.

At this point, my kids, if they are reading this, are rolling their eyes.  Uh oh, she’s on the “your generation is so apathetic it’s ridiculous” kick again.  Don’t worry, darlings, you are in good company- my generation is dropping the ball too.  We are all so overwhelmed with our own daily lives that big things seem out of our control; so we just blow off tackling them.  Many of us have come to embrace the “I’m just a little fish in a big bowl; what can one person do?”  line of thinking.  Where is the outrage over political decisions that affect us on a daily basis? I think we all feel that pronouncements from “above”  are out of our control or ability to change.  So we mumble our disgust over drinks, and go on with our lives. Or we stage small, aimless, basically useless protests that get laughed at or ignored by the media.  In the 60’s the draft program gave energy to the Vietnam War protests that helped end that war.  I’m a little afraid of what it might take to change our current course, which in my opinion is a fast track to some serious and unforseen consequences.  Sorry if I sound like an alarmist, but you have to see my point.  There is a shit storm going on out there, and we are sticking our fingers in our ears and closing our eyes and hoping, like two-year-olds, that if we can’t see or hear it then it doesn’t really exist or matter or affect us.  Here is a recent article that illustrates this well, and is worth reading all the way to the end: http://news.yahoo.com/americans-tune-afghan-war-fighting-rages-185225577.html

Wow, I really went off there!  Just sayin’ how I really feel…but back to that wonderful “W” word- Whatever happened to stating how you feel and what you think, and communicating and negotiating to a satisfactory result?  I just read that last sentence again and realized it contains a sort of pun, if you read with a period instead of a question mark :).   We abdicate a responsibility to ourselves if we stop working towards compromise or participating in making a choice.  I think unless you really don’t care and are sure that you won’t feel resentful, you should not use this word in social decision-making.   It is way overused these days.   What do you think?  I know some of you, in your mind, are saying “whatever.”

What is this?!  People behind the wheels of two-ton steel contraptions taking out their anxieties and anger issues on total strangers by using said contraption to endanger their lives!  Would these same people walk up to you in a grocery store and threaten to punch your lights out if you are pushing your cart too slow?  I don’t get it, but unfortunately with the thousand-mile-a-month commute that I have to do I see it all the time and have been the victim on way too many occasions.  Who hasn’t read in the news about such things ending with violence and even death?

It’s truly frightening when it happens.  Last year on the way to work, I was driving down I-684 in moderate traffic.  A little background info: the speed limit is 65 on this highway, but only landscaping trucks and little old ladies actually drive at this speed, and they mostly stick to the “grandma” lane.  The speed in the “sandwich” lane tends to be between 65 and 72-ish.  In the “hammer” lane, all bets are off.  If you are not passing at around 80 or 85, you are a problem.  I’m just saying.  So I was tooling along in the fast lane, and got behind a man in a small car who was going way too slow, probably the speed limit.  I gave him a quick “hey move over and let me by” flash of my brights, and that was a big mistake.  He gave me a glance in his rearview mirror and hit the brakes.  I was not tailgating, so I had plenty of time to slow down, which I did.  Having experienced road rage before, my antennae went up.  But I was not ready for this guy.  He slowed down to almost a complete stop.  In the fast lane.  During morning rush hour.  My heart pounding, and checking my rearview to make sure I would not get rear-ended, I slowed down and tried to move to the right. He saw me and jumped in front of me, and slammed on the brakes again.  Every time I tried to get away, he jumped in front of me and slammed on the brakes.  This went on for miles. We got onto the Hutchinson River Parkway, driving in the left lane, and all of a sudden, he veered off to the right, crossing three lanes of heavy traffic and coming to a stop on the shoulder.  I breathed a shaky sigh of relief.  Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shoot back across the other lanes and come in behind me.  He pulled up so close on my tail, I could count his eyelashes.  That was when I reached for my cellphone and called 9-1-1.  I reported what was happening and told them I felt truly threatened.  They claimed to be on their way, but fortunately this lunatic got to his exit and with a lot of not-nice gestures, he got off. I shook for quite a few minutes after reaching school.

This is not the first time, nor the last time that I have either been a victim of road rage or seen it happen to someone else.   Often the aggressive driver is a man, but according to statistics, women are quickly catching up.  In fact, to my surprise, I found statistics saying that women with children in the car are among the drivers that respond to an aggressive driver with the strongest response- in other words, if you mess with me when my kids are in the car, you’re playing with fire.  Now, I do get the protective instinct thing; my own is very well developed, and to this day if someone upsets my adult children I would come after them.  But in the car driving along at high speeds is not the time nor place for this- instead of protecting your children, you are actually the one endangering them.  So moms, please, do what AAA says, and ignore the aggressive driver!  Statistics also say that although the majority of road-ragers are men between the ages of 24 and 35, there are plenty of middle-aged people out there apparently just looking for trouble.

My mother tells the story of an older woman she works with who admits that she road rages often.  This is a person with a sweet, kind, benign character; but once she gets behind the wheel, she becomes a demon!   I think people feel anonymous when they are driving among strangers and lose their normal sense of courtesy. I know this is true of all of the anonymous commenters on websites who hide behind some pretty strange monikers and say horrible things they would never dream of saying, or get away with saying, to someone’s face.

Someone I know personally proudly tells the story of coming to a toll booth next to a driver that had been making her nuts on the road.  She says she calmly got out of her car, opened the guy’s hood, reached in and ripped out the distributor cap (or some such part) and chucked it across the road before getting back in her car and driving away.  I wasn’t there and can’t vouch, but it’s a pretty good roadrage story.

I drive a lot, and I am not shy behind the wheel of my car.  I drive far and I drive fast, and if you are in my way, please move over and let me through.  My husband does not like to drive with me most of the time because I have no patience for traffic jams or idiots on the road.  I’m working on this really hard.  But I’m smart enough not to purposely engage with other drivers, except for the reminder flash of brights now and again.  Especially in certain nearby states, where I believe you can buy a driver’s license at Target.  On sale, cheap.  I just wish everyone knew how to drive well and safely- it would make my commute so much better.  I’m almost looking forward to those new cars that I’m hearing about that do not allow you to get close enough to another vehicle to cause an accident.  It may take away some of my control, but it will probably save a lot of angst and maybe even a life or two.

Sometimes I worry.  I worry about little things like whether the milk will last for tomorrow morning’s coffee.  I worry about medium things that are out of my control, like the weather.  I worry about big things like how the people I love are dealing with their various issues, and what is happening in the world.  See how, to me, world peace and my family’s lives are equally important?  Can’t help that…

I don’t feel unease all of the time,obviously, or I would not be able to function.  In fact, most of the time I am able to shut off the anxiety by telling myself with utter confidence that everything will be fine and this too shall pass.  But sometimes I worry.   It doesn’t help.  What it does is rob me of sleep, and of my good reasoning faculties.  It is a useless emotion since it does not motivate me to make changes due to the fact that when I am worrying it is almost always two o’clock in the morning when the stores are closed and my peeps are asleep.  In thinking about this topic, I searched the internet for interesting quotes.  Here are a few, and my thoughts on them…

“Worry never robs tomorrow of its sorrow, it only saps today of its joy.”  ~Leo Buscaglia

Go, Leo, guru of assertiveness and self-love from the 70’s!  True words, these.  When I spend time and energy thinking about what might happen, I am not making the best use of that time and energy.  It makes me moody with anxiety and does not allow in the sun.  Keeping this in mind reminds me that each day is a treasure not to be wasted.

“You can’t wring your hands and roll up your sleeves at the same time.”  ~Pat Schroeder

It is not proactive to fear unknown possibilities.  In fact, it can be paralyzing, and it can do the exact opposite of what I need to do- which is either find a solution for my problem, or forget about it.  This is where the serenity prayer comes in:  what part of this, if any, is in my control to change?  I have to remember to let go of things that are not in my control, with a promise to deal with them in some productive way.

“Worry often gives a small thing a big shadow.”  ~Swedish Proverb

How many hours have I spent fretful about something, and then when it happens, it’s a piece of cake?   Every September for the first twenty-five years of my career, I would have anxiety dreams about my class and my students.  In many of them, the kids would be physically huge, towering over me and refusing to listen to me.  Sometimes I would dream that I was walking through school with no clothes on, just waiting for someone to scream, “She’s naked!”  These anxieties would keep me up nights before each school year started, and then once I was there everything worked out fine (Okay, after a few tears. Mine, not the students’.) 

That the birds of worry and care fly over you head, this you cannot change, but that they build nests in your hair, this you can prevent.  ~Chinese Proverb

Once again, the serenity prayer says the same, and I wonder if it may be based on this proverb.  Accept what I cannot change, change what I can, and be smart enough to recognize the difference.  This has helped calm me down innumerable times in my life with both big and small issues.  It seems like common sense, and maybe it is to other people.  For me, this is an area that needs constant attention.

“Do not anticipate trouble or worry about what may never happen.  Keep in the sunlight. “ ~Benjamin Franklin

Ben was a genius.  No, really.  Did you know he spoke five languages; created our country’s first fire department, police department and hospital; coined many of the electrical terms we use today;  and played several instruments?  This is one guy I would go back in time to hang out with.  He was also known for his kitschy words of wisdom, and this is definitely a good one.  Anticipating troubles actually creates more problems than it solves.  It causes issues in your relationships, and makes you forget about pressing issues that can be taken care of.  I have to consciously remember this when I catch myself.

If it sounds like I worry all of the time, I don’t.   Most of the time I live in the present, going along and getting along just fine.   My days are focused on getting things done, distracting me and keeping me busy.  If worries try to creep in, it’s not that hard to push them aside when I am otherwise occupied. Of course I always always always have my kids on my mind, and wonder at various times of day and night what they are doing or thinking.   I wish that I never worried ever about anything, but is that even possible?   Maybe it is, if you don’t care about anything.   That’s just not me. 

Ringaleveo 1,2,3…1,2,3…1,2,3!  This was a war cry that could be heard almost every day of the week when we had no school- teams of kids from the age of 6 to 11 roving the dense streets of Queens on the prowl.  This game was the predecessor to Manhunt, involving capturing and hauling competitors who were hiding on garage roofs or in basement window wells to “jail.”  In the 70’s, we were on the streets every minute that we were not in school.  While eating our sugar-sweetened cereals early in the morning, we listened for the first calls to “come out and play”, and off we went.  Most days we would be gone until we got hungry; then a quick grilled cheese sandwich and back out until dinner.  We roamed for blocks collecting as many as three dozen kids and then, game on.

Another favorite of ours was Stoop Ball.  It was only much later that I realized most kids did not grow up with stoops and therefore had no idea about this one.  One kid would chuck the spaldeen or pinky ball at the stoop while the rest of the group had to try and catch it as it bounced back over their heads.  We would spend hours perfecting the hits off the stoop; sometimes there were just two of us, sometimes half a dozen.  Often younger siblings were coerced into playing fielder as the older one practiced. I am pleased to see that the kids at the school where I teach play this at recess- it really takes me back.

Spud was another game we played a lot.  Every player had a number.  “It” threw the large playground ball up in the air as high as she or he could, and yelled someone’s number.  That kid had to run in and catch the ball and yell “stop.”  Everyone froze, and the new “it” had to throw the ball from where she or he caught it, and try to hit another player.  We played this one for hours.

“Red rover, red rover, send Maureen over,” invited one kid from the opposite team to try to run and break through the hand- chain of the team. If I broke through, I went back to my team and it was our turn. If I couldn’t, then I had to join their team and call the next kid.  It made you feel like such a traitor.

Stickball, handball, dodgeball, cops-n-robbers, hopscotch…we played them all day and into the night.   We made up games like Freeze Tag and TV Tag when we got bored.  But we always came back to our favorites in the end.  Those games, played with no adult supervision or intervention, taught us survival skills, social skills and physical skills; problem-solving, planning, strategies and how to deal with losing and winning.   Injuries were ignored or wrapped up in dirty t-shirts until the hurt one finally went home to mecurochrome or iodine and a bandaid; injured feelings were often dealt with in the same way.  The games were tough teachers, and the players learned how to deal.  Teasing and bullying were part and parcel of the life of a city kid (as I have said- not proud of that but can’t change the facts), and we clawed our way up the social ladder during every game.   It made us all a bit lean and mean, taught us that adversity was just part of life; and probably helped me develop my “work hard, play hard” mantra.

Looking back, I can’t believe we survived our games, physically or emotionally.  It could often be brutal and bruising.  We were mostly first generation American kids, coming from a variety of cultures who shared one set of values: life isn’t fair, the strong survive, whining gets you nowhere.   It seems cold and cruel now, but that was just the way it was…

There is a video series that highlights the street games from New York City in the 70’s.  I highly recommend it for more information:  http://www.newyorkstreetgames.com/home.html

Everyone is so busy these days, including me.  Sometimes it feels like I am on a rollercoaster ride or a treadmill that never stops except when I sleep.   I touch base with friends and relatives via text messages or Facebook, or a quick drink or meal.   It’s pretty rare for me to get enough alone time with girlfriends and really get into talking about things that are on my mind.   And as much as I love talking with my hubby, most of the time he is distracted or too tired or just doesn’t get what I am trying to say (or isn’t a woman- we just seem to do more talking in general).  Sometimes I think about hiring a therapist, just to get things off of my chest and get my thoughts untangled.   I haven’t done it yet mainly because I’m too busy (!), but I think about it…

I don’t think there is anything wrong or shameful about seeing a therapist.  What is a therapist after all, but a paid best friend- someone who is not emotionally connected to your life and has to listen to you.  If you get a good one, she or he will even offer useful advice.  I have recommended them many times to friends who just seemed in too deep.  They are trained to be good listeners and to show empathy and compassion. Your therapist cannot judge you or decide to stop being your therapist just because she or he does not share the same values.   Hmm, this is sounding better and better.

Before I became a full-fledged adult (or as I tease my own children, “a fully formed human”), I had time or I made time to just hang out with girlfriends and talk.  Visits could take all afternoon or all night; phone calls could last hours.  We would just talk about any- and everything; our thoughts, our feelings, our worries, our problems and our solutions, politics, world issues, nothing was sacred or held back.  These were friends, after all, and even when we didn’t agree it just led to some really fun and passionate discussions that ended when the sun came up.  We bonded over those marathon talks, and those relationships have stood the test of time.

Is this a sign of the times that I believe a counselor could be helpful?   Probably, and maybe that’s kind of sad…but in all honesty it’s not just about time.  I don’t always want to burden my overburdened friends with the gory details of my own worries.  They have enough on their plates.  And I sometimes I think my own stresses are silly and trivial, not worthy of wasting the precious little time we have to hang out.   When I am with my friends now, I just want to relax and enjoy their company.   That is therapy too.

In the end, it’s a personal and private decision to seek out the help of a therapist.  I just don’t see it as a sign of weakness.  I go to a doctor when I feel ill or have a boo boo; I go to the dentist when my tooth hurts; why would this be any different?

Bullying is unwanted, aggressive behavior among school aged children that involves a real or perceived power imbalance. The behavior is repeated, or has the potential to be repeated, over time. Both kids who are bullied and who bully others may have serious, lasting problems. 

In order to be considered bullying, the behavior must be aggressive and include:

• An Imbalance of Power: Kids who bully use their power—such as physical strength, access to embarrassing information, or popularity—to control or harm others. Power imbalances can change over time and in different situations, even if they involve the same people.
• Repetition: Bullying behaviors happen more than once or have the potential to happen more than once.

Bullying includes actions such as making threats, spreading rumors, attacking someone physically or verbally, and excluding someone from a group on purpose.

from http://www.stopbullying.gov/what-is-bullying/definition/index.html

I have very few regrets in my life. But one I have spent a lot of time thinking about is how I bullied a couple of kids when I was in elementary school.  They were really nice, benign, sweet kids who everyone picked on, and I was no exception.  I’m not sure why these types of kids got picked on.   Maybe we sensed weakness somehow and then went in for the kill.  I read the disturbing book Lord of the Flies in high school- it’s very primitive behavior.

We girls had lots of ways of doing it. Exclusion, teasing,  hair-pulling, name-calling.  One vicious bullying method was called a Slam Book- a common composition  notebook with each of our names on a page. The notebook belonged to all of us girls and we wrote nice things or horrible things about each other, depending on which side we were on.  I remember checking my page every day to see what people had written, and I remember writing some pretty mean things.

Bullying is not limited to children, unfortunately.  I was a target as a new teacher in one of the districts where I worked.   A group of teachers would stand in front of my room and invite each other to lunch, leaving me out. The same group would sit in the teachers’ lounge and loudly discuss how much fun they all had together skiing or at the bar.  Once, my lunch bag was taken out of the refrigerator and thrown into the garbage. It was unbelievable,  a ridiculous nightmare, and my husband, as well as the principal and even the superintendent of the district became involved.  I wound up leaving the building for this and other reasons.  And of course, in the news we read about incredible things like moms getting involved in Facebook bullying (http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/story?id=3882520&page=1#.UCpD8J38uSo) and (http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/headlines/2012/06/mom-chokes-bully-over-facebook-comments/).  I personally witnessed a father choking a fifth grader at morning line-up because his son was being bullied by this other child.  We have had meetings with parents and kids, also fifth graders, over cyberbullying since AIM instant messenger was popular, well over ten years ago.

Because of this, I am brutal on bullying in my classroom; pretty much like a reformed cigarette smoker.  I had a “No Bully Zone” sign on my door when I taught third and fifth grade. The smallest hint of teasing or exclusion, even in kindergarten, will lead to a class meeting and a private chat. If someone says, “Can I play?” the answer must always be “yes”.  I tell the kids you don’t have to be friends with everyone, but you have to be friendly to everyone.  I wish adults followed this rule too.  I want to think that if someone had stepped in back then, maybe I would have realized how wrong it was, and I would have stopped.  Maybe. I have to wonder if bullying is almost a Darwinian thing- I believe canines in the wild, as well as other social species, use bullying to establish a pecking order.  Still, we are supposed to be better than that.

Stuff…stuff and nonsense!  There sure is a lot of it in the world, and seemingly more everyday.  For every person on this planet, there is a list of things they own/want/need/love/wish for/dream of.   Some people have so much, there is no room to walk in their homes.  They even have their own television show: “Hoarders”.  Yet, some people have so very very little.  What is interesting is that people who have lots are not always happy, and people who have less can be perfectly satisfied with their lives.  This must mean something.

When my children were in high school, they participated in a program called Bridges to Community.  They traveled to Nicaragua to live among the people and help them build simple block homes.  For these residents, it was to be the first roof over their heads.  My kids worked alongside them for a week, building, cooking, playing, eating, sleeping, and generally living their lives. What touched my children deeply was the evidence that these people had happy and contented lives, in spite of the fact that the crayons and soccer balls brought by the program were the first material items they had really seen or had access to.  There was little if any electricity, and therefore little if any news of the outside world. Maybe this made it easier for them to feel fine about their lives- they weren’t constantly pounded with information about the wealth out there that others had.

Certain world cultures and certain regions of the United States pride themselves on their simple lives.  Their homes are just the right size for their families, and kids share bedrooms; they use limited motorized transportation, relying on public means or bicycles or feet; they purchase their clothing second-hand or at low-budget box stores; they camp out or visit family for vacations; they eat at home three meals a day, seven days a week;  they may or may not own a television.  These people know how to budget and stretch a dollar.  They get their money’s worth.   And it’s not even always because they have to; they may have the money.  It’s their values, it’s what is important to them.  A home-cooked meal around the family table beats a $12 hamburger every time.  Some of these people even think the best gift you can give someone is your time and attention.  Amazing.

On the other hand, there are people who live beyond their means. They are making interesting choices, in my opinion.  They purchase items for which they have no way to pay.  I’m not sure how this mindset works…”I’ll pay it off a little at a time with an interest rate that will lead to a 100% increase in the actual price.”  “I’ll enjoy it now and figure it out later.”  “I really really really want it, and I don’t care.”  “I could always file for bankruptcy protection if I overdo it.”  Now there’s a values set.  I truly just don’t get it. Someone please ‘splain it to me.  If it’s a luxury that you can’t afford, then wait, work towards it and pay for it in cash.  Is it instant gratification or impulsivity or lack of foresight?  I’m still trying to figure this one out.  I have no sympathy for this group whatsoever, unless someone proves to me that this is a sickness and therefore uncontrollable.  In that case, get therapy, for crying out loud.

It’s truly entertaining to think about the rationale behind our choices when we make them.  In Westchester County, New York, a region with a wide range of economic levels, one of the most common in-your-face items is your car.  Petite women with manicures and make-up and one child driving oversized SUV’s; enormously overweight older men stuffed into sporty convertibles; sixteen-year-olds in Porsches and BMW’s;  working Joes in old beaters;  large families in small cars; the daily auto-parade is pretty amazing. Sometimes it’s based on necessity, but sometimes it’s obviously just for show.  We also have “mc-mansions” in our area that sprang up like weeds before the recent recession hit- giant houses with more restrooms than residents.  Around here, people are really big on toys.  I’m talking about big boy and girl toys:  large screen televisions, motorcycles, boats, skis and snowboards, gaming systems, tablets and e-book readers.  Many children in elementary school sport the latest trends- baby Uggs or Merrells or North Face jackets are commonplace.  Our lost-and-found boxes house thousands of dollars’ worth of brand name, high-end jackets.  Let me let you in on a little secret: kids don’t take care of their stuff, no matter how much it cost.  Families who struggle to make ends meet may have the latest electronics.  Around here, things matter.

You can’t take it with you when you go.  That’s one popular bumper sticker, and it refutes another: “The one with the most toys wins.”  I’m going the middle ground.  I like toys a lot.  As long as our basic needs are met, and the money is come by through honest hard work, then I feel fine being a bit frivolous with it.  After all, life is for living.  You get where you are by birth luck, fortune, and hard work.  It’s yours, so make your choices where you can as intelligently as you can, and then enjoy them.