Chapter Seven: Patriot

Chapter Seven

This is what I have tried to teach my daughter. When we are full of love, we feel empowered within ourselves…nothing to prove, clear, confident, calm. When we are full of fear, we feel powerless within and seek external power. To gain that power, we will take all manner of desperate actions…some that result in permanent damage to ourselves, our environment and/or other people. Rape is an act of fear. Greed is an act of fear. Physical assault is an act of fear. Hatred is an expression of fear.  Violence is an act of fear. Belittling others is an act of fear. Avoidance is an act of fear. Jealousy is an act of fear. And so on. What counteracts fear? Love. First self-love, then love extended outward.
What breeds fear? The unknown, the misunderstood, the conditioning of behavior by society and parents. What breeds love? Love. Acceptance. Faith. Seeking to understand. Feeling connected. Shared experiences.

The presidential election of 2016 has shaken me. My first thought in the face of the shocking result when I awoke on November 9^th was, “What the hell am I going to say to my daughter?” I’ve taught her values that have just been disregarded nationally. My first words to her were, “Honey, I’m so so sorry.” To which she said, “For what, Mom, it wasn’t your fault.” But it is. In part, at least, I feel sure that I have been contributing to the collective liberal disdain for our country’s flaws. I don’t own an American flag. I fantasize about moving to Europe. I complain about our American culture’s lack of a sensible approach to food, transportation, the environment, parenting, education, housing, homelessness, crime and especially health. I live my life embracing a different way of approaching these aspects of culture. I don’t own a television, eat at franchise restaurants, shop at big box stores, follow football, use a car…the last time I spoke the word “Patriot” was in the ninth grade when I cheered for my high school, whose mascot was the patriot. That was almost 30 years ago.

So I looked it up. What does it mean, anyway? Patriot is defined as

1. a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her country and its interests with devotion.
2. a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, especially of individual rights, against presumed interference by the federal government.
3. (initial capital letter) Military. a U.S. Army antiaircraft missile with a range of 37 miles (60 km) and a 200-pound (90 kg) warhead, launched from a tracked vehicle with radar and computer guidance and fire control.

I’ll admit, none of these definitions resonate or appeal to me. I feel that if the first one read, “a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her planet and its interests with devotion,” then my reaction would have been warmer. So I think that herein lies the problem, as I struggle to take my portion of personal responsibility for what has just happened in our country. I have not lived my life claiming, owning, loving my country. I have taken wonderful things for granted, while busy growing disgust for many elements of our culture that I find juvenile and ignorant. So what are the wonderful things?

Space, opportunity, freedom to be creative, freedom to speak my mind, freedom to grow, freedom to travel, freedom to work and learn and earn more money than my parents. Freedom. This is personally a huge value of mine. I am adamant in my life to feel unobstructed by barriers externally reinforced. So, why have I overlooked this positive element of our country, for example? Well, because my other values include food, transportation, the environment, parenting, housing and health. And no, I’m not going to pretend to be impressed with us in these areas. Yet, like a child to her parents, I feel an unmistakable connection to the country that birthed and raised me. If not, my reaction to this election would have been more neutral; I wouldn’t have really cared. But I do care.

So when my 7nth grader texted me before homeroom to ask if she would be punished for refusing to say the pledge of allegiance, I had to really think about my response. I answered that I don’t know what the school rules are on that, but that she should do what she feels and thinks is right. I also told her to consider that the United States of America does not equal Donald Trump, so that if it is Trump’s behavior that she wants to protest, rejecting our country would not be the answer. I said, “That’s YOUR flag, Eva, so you may want to think hard before giving it up so easily.”

And this is what brought me to tears. As usual, it is through mothering that my own needs, flaws and desires are revealed. I think that, unless or until I am ready, willing and able to set up life in a different country, I need to claim this one with more confidence and ownership. I need to find the patriot within me, my version, and march her right out into the light. I think if we liberals all waved the American flag with pride for our freedoms and gratitude for our opportunities, then those things would gain momentum and accelerate our progress. Maybe liberals are a bit too passive when it comes to practicing nationalism our way, which is by focusing on the positives so that those are the elements that grow.

May my daughter grow into a woman who is valued in her society for her brain, compassion, kindness, creativity and dedication to a meaningful life. May she see women earn positions of power and be rewarded appropriately for their efforts. May her boundaries always be respected. May she never be objectified or demeaned or abused. May she never be bullied. May she never be powerless, apathetic, or oppressed. May she always be able to walk tall and proud and help others on her journey.  May she proudly claim and love her country. May she be a patriot.

Chapter Six: Empty Lap Syndrome

Chapter Six

My one and only human baby is twelve years old and rapidly forging an identity separate from mine. I admire Eva for her matter-of-fact approach to adolescence, but I also wonder if it is a way to deflect attention from things that may be really troubling her privately. She seems so well adjusted. Do we all say that just before something big breaks?

This stage has brought with it an uncertainty in my interpretations. In her younger days, I felt totally confident in my ability to read her needs. Now, I second-guess whether I’m approaching her from the right angle (the one that will keep us close, communicating and clear with each other) on a daily basis. I’m often afraid I’ll miss some small sign that needs my attention.

The fact is…she’s doing great. Her grades are high, she has nice friends, she interacts openly with her family, and she appeases her parents in all sorts of ways that she has figured out to keep herself in good standing. But there’s something underneath all that. Maybe it’s just the typical internal struggle to burst through the childhood bubble and begin to grow a woman’s wings. But I often feel something amiss. My radar is alert.

I feel like I’m always poised and repositioning to catch her if she falls. Similar to when the falls were literal as a toddler, but different in that the potential falls are abstract and emotional and have so many more life-altering implications. I do believe that a toddler should be allowed to fall and feel pain and strengthen by getting back up again, as should young girls transforming into women. So I try to relax, have fun with her, never nag, always encourage, maintain high expectation for her accomplishments, prompt mindful behaviors, and above all else, keep the communication lines juiced. I think that as long as she’s talking, I can help her move through anything that emerges in her path. Even if only by listening.

I try not to judge. At least I try not to reveal my judgments by those pesky, mamma facial expressions. She catches every single one. She knows I’m trying to influence her opinions. It’s true. I don’t want her to want to cover her beautiful face with make-up. I want her to like her naturally wavy hair. I want her to dress for movement and comfort. I want her to enjoy learning in school and be extra cool to her friends because she dares to admit it with confidence. I want her to have a conscience for social change and environmental activism. I want her to prioritize her health by eating more vegetables. I want her to love walking to school, and I want her to love riding a bicycle. I want her to value going to yoga with her parents. I want her to want all her friends to hang out at our house. I want her to want me around and feel bravely uninhibited on and off the metaphorical dance floor…and I want her to dance! Sing! Paint! Climb the tree in the front yard! I miss seeing her concentrating so beautifully on imaginative play and wild self-expression. I want her to be proud and walk tall. I want her to throw those shoulders back and burst forward knowing that what others admire above all else is confidence and kindness.

I want her to realize who she is now and to accept that as a woman, she will always be growing and changing. I want her respect, admiration and friendship! I feel as though she was chasing me, trying to pin me down, for over a decade and now I’m chasing her. I want her! But I know, her circle must continue to widen away from me. She must make herself distinct. I know she finds comfort in me at times, though it’s mysterious how and when. She must try and try again to deal independently with her internal voices, struggles and imbalances. Only after successes can she run back to me, meeting me woman to woman and building a friendship that will last us well into my cronehood.

I also know that I love her unlike any love that can be described. Since her birth, I’ve felt that a part of my body and soul was traipsing around outside of where it safely belonged. It was just a tiny feeling at first, but the more mobile she became the more pronounced was the pain of watching this piece of me roam around the earth without a visible tether. Of course, I know she’s not me. She’s a human being in her own right – separate and real. But the emotional attachment is irrational. It’s both sweet and bitter. And it’s really really big.

It seems that mothers of little ones always find each other and group up for support. Where are all the other mothers now? Soccer practice? Therapy? As I write about these uncertainties and feelings, I can’t help but crave the ability to share for a sense of relativity with others experiencing similar circumstances. My friends and I talk about our business ventures, achievements, hobbies and interests. We even still talk about relationships and romantic pursuits, but not as much. Not with the sense of urgency and big-dealness as before. But the kids? Almost never. We may share some of the more superficial information: he is struggling in math, she thinks she likes this boy, he will only wear black now, she got the part in that play, etc. But what I notice is that we aren’t really talking about our identities as mothers, how we feel, what we struggle with, and what we are enjoying.

I’ve heard the claim to “busy” like it’s a medal or a trendy handbag. Maybe it’s true that we all just busier these days. But, I tend to think that busy is a decision we make aligned to our priorities. It’s a condition of our desires and a socially accepted excuse to focus on those desires. Either way, I think I’ll be looking for a few opportunities to commune around motherhood. That is one of my desires. It is, afterall, a huge part of our identity as women. If we aren’t mothering our own, we are mothering something or someone. Guaranteed.