How do we push through? How do we make it when neither the body nor the spirit are feeling motivation to move into action?
When our bodies are physically exhausted, there is caffeine, there is a walk around the blog with the dog, and there are naps. These things can refresh us, sometimes only for a moment, however physical exhaustion, is just that: physical. Like a cut that is bleeding, or a bone that is broken, there are things that we can do the address the physical exhaustion that like the rain only seem to spiral us further into inaction.
Mental exhaustion is something different. It’s that feeling when you are typing a paper, or writing an important email and your brain isn’t putting the words together and the process of transferring impressions into sentences feels staggered and forced. If it’s drudgery that is making our brain move at a lower gear, a break, a snack, and change of activity can often bring us back to a moment of creativity.
There is another kind of mental exhaustion that feels more debilitating because it effects the spirit and soul. It’s a tiredness that dampens your spirit when that guy says another thing that is racist. It’s when you confront traditional gender roles with your choice of t-shirt. It’s being the only person of color in a room, and feeling like it’s taking all that you have in you to positive and social.
We all have a limited about of grace, and “taking the high road,” when handling things like this in life, and I was up to my limit last weekend. Dealing with a sexist car salesman, and having to unpack how one more choice we were making, buying a minivan, was emasculating me in the eyes of many men in our culture was draining. I’m proud to be me, and do things that some men do not consider “masculine,” but every time I make these choices, it takes effort to be authentic in this way. I wanted so much for something in my life to be free of an ‘-ism, but alas, this is America.
Saturday, I didn’t feel great dealing with this car stuff. Add in Saturday night, which was a bad night of sleeping for Ethan which was followed by an early morning of Ollie singing Disney songs, and I was left physically exhausted. I got all the kids fed, and managed some breakfast for myself, and while I felt physically better, I still didn't feel great.
There was frustration getting Ollie over to a birthday party. We left the house late, I got lost, and I was just not in the mood to push through, but we made it. As we pulled in, I noticed the store next to the part location. It was Michaels. I remembered something in that moment. The day before Ollie got the idea to make a snow globe. He had cut up little pieces of paper into a plastic container and asked me to fill it with water. When he shook it and we both watched the paper swirl, he asked if we had any glitter. We didn’t have any in the house.
“Ollie, after the birthday party do you want to go to Michaels, and pick out some glitter for your snow globe?” Before I finished the sentence, Ollie enthusiastically screamed “yes” and started bouncing in his car seat in excitement. As I held Ollie’s hand walking through that parking lot, I started to feel better about the world.
Look, I got to deal with all kinds of stuff, and I can’t control all of the crap society has created that makes myself and people I care about feel less then. However, I can make my son feel good about his interests, his passions, and himself. I can make sure that he hears from me how awesome it is that he is making a snow globe. I will keep telling him this and buy him glitter to make sure he knows that I love everything about him. I love him when he hugs me, when he is angry with me, and when the best thing I can do to show him my love is go to Michaels.
In this moment, I felt stronger, and more in control. Proud of my son, and feeling all that he through his finger holding my hand as we walked.
Monday, July 29, 2019
Friday, July 26, 2019
The Islander – Part 7: Alice's Cigarette
We sat down on the back porch next to each other in silence as the chill of the night air encouraged me to pull my arms across my chest. Alice pulled the oversized hoodie over her knees as she brought her legs up close to her. Out of the font of her sweatshirt, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She snapped them down violently, and I asked her what she was doing. She smiled and explained that this helped pack the tobacco down. I felt embarrassed for a moment but then she gently closed her eyes and smiled assuring me that she found my question endearing.
I watched her hands move through the ritual of lighting a cigarette. Her fingers moved with a choreographed elegance as the lighter appeared with the sleight of hand of a magician. I watched the fire ignite a deep orange glow as she inhaled gently through the end of the cigarette. There was something knowing and confident about the way that she smoked, but also revealing and vulnerable.
Cigarette ash broke off as she flicked the back of the cigarette with her thumb. It trickled down off the porch and disappeared into the darkness of the backyard. Slowly she raised her chin up, and gently blew up the smoke into the air in commune with the night air.
I first noticed Alice during a basketball game, sitting in the corner of the bleachers reading a book. As a senior, I had learned to love playing in the pep band. So, when I saw her sitting down away from the band cradling a marching band horn and reading a book, my instinct were to try to get her involved.
I walked over and tried to encourage her to cheer with everyone else. She looked up from her book, looked down at the space next to her inviting me to sit down. Completely ignoring my first overture she said, “Hello, my name is Alice.” As I sat down and stumbled through my own introduction, she interrupted calmly, “I know who you are.” She wasn’t like any other freshmen I had met, or any other girl I had met. She was confident, calm, and seemed to have it all figured out even though by most people’s standards, her life was a train wreck.
The most amazing thing about her is that she saw the true me more than I saw myself and she never let me be anything but honest and real with her. At the same time, she challenged my ideas, my assumptions, and my reality.
The dominant narrative of what was right and wrong, bled into my understanding of who was good and bad. The -isms implicit in the DARE program of my middle school years and how different systems of oppression used drugs as a way to maintain a destructive status quo were not understood in my 17 year-old mind. However, this didn’t mean that this influence was not reflective in my world view.
The message was that drugs were bad, drinking was bad, and smoking was the gateway to destructive behavior. Only certain types of people did these things in teenage years, but there was Alice. A freshman soon to become my best friend. She challenged all of this with her grace, her authenticity and a cigarette.
I watched her hands move through the ritual of lighting a cigarette. Her fingers moved with a choreographed elegance as the lighter appeared with the sleight of hand of a magician. I watched the fire ignite a deep orange glow as she inhaled gently through the end of the cigarette. There was something knowing and confident about the way that she smoked, but also revealing and vulnerable.
Cigarette ash broke off as she flicked the back of the cigarette with her thumb. It trickled down off the porch and disappeared into the darkness of the backyard. Slowly she raised her chin up, and gently blew up the smoke into the air in commune with the night air.
I first noticed Alice during a basketball game, sitting in the corner of the bleachers reading a book. As a senior, I had learned to love playing in the pep band. So, when I saw her sitting down away from the band cradling a marching band horn and reading a book, my instinct were to try to get her involved.
I walked over and tried to encourage her to cheer with everyone else. She looked up from her book, looked down at the space next to her inviting me to sit down. Completely ignoring my first overture she said, “Hello, my name is Alice.” As I sat down and stumbled through my own introduction, she interrupted calmly, “I know who you are.” She wasn’t like any other freshmen I had met, or any other girl I had met. She was confident, calm, and seemed to have it all figured out even though by most people’s standards, her life was a train wreck.
The most amazing thing about her is that she saw the true me more than I saw myself and she never let me be anything but honest and real with her. At the same time, she challenged my ideas, my assumptions, and my reality.
The dominant narrative of what was right and wrong, bled into my understanding of who was good and bad. The -isms implicit in the DARE program of my middle school years and how different systems of oppression used drugs as a way to maintain a destructive status quo were not understood in my 17 year-old mind. However, this didn’t mean that this influence was not reflective in my world view.
The message was that drugs were bad, drinking was bad, and smoking was the gateway to destructive behavior. Only certain types of people did these things in teenage years, but there was Alice. A freshman soon to become my best friend. She challenged all of this with her grace, her authenticity and a cigarette.
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Facial Hair: Masculinity, Racism, & The Mirror
It’s the one thing guys have left.
Traditional markers of masculinity have been socially acceptable for women to take on as expressions of their identity. Women can wear pants, have tattoos, have short haircuts, participate on the high wrestling team, play football, be sports fans, love whiskey, and find other women sexually attractive. There’s a lot of judgement and resistance for women to do all of these “manly,” things and more that I didn’t state here. However, many of these things are no longer signs of being a “tom boy,” they are just things that women do as well as men…and women are excelling at many of these things doing them better than men.
It is important to note that this does not mean that the patriarchy isn’t firmly in power in almost every aspect of society. While women can wear pants, have a short haircut, and drink beer, they still face many limitations in business for example, because of institutional sexism.
The one thing that men have left as expression of masculinity, that women do not embrace is facial hair. Male facial hair and beards are on the rise in popularity. My theory is that because in this time where the false dichotomy between masculinity and femininity is beginning to break down, men need something to hang on to. Facial hair is one thing men still got that is clearly manly as other markers of what it means to be main down collapse under the pressure of progress.
I am not asserting that men with facial hair are holding back feminism, or that growing a beard is somehow anti-women. What I am asserting is that some men are searching for a new masculine identity, and facial hair is helping. For some facial hair has nothing to do with the changing waves of gender roles. However ,it is undeniable that there is something going on here with the rise of bushy beards in our society.
This is one reason why for the past two weeks I’ve grown out my facial hair. I’m curious about what this means to me as a man. Does it make me feel more manly? Will it make me feel older? What is this thing that some men are so obsessed with, and other so strongly identify with as part of their gender expression?
Mixed in with these wondering is racism.
I have been told all my life by East Asian people (China, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, Korea etc), non-Asian people, and popular culture that East Asian men do not grow facial hair well, and should not bother trying. The argument is that is comes in too patchy and most likely you will end up with “Fu Manchu.” It’s really messed up that both East Asian and non-Asians alike use a horrible racist character that played on the worst of Asian stereotype (oh, and so much yellow-face) to describe East Asian male facial hair.
This is why I’ve NEVER gone more than two days without shaving since puberty.
Guys brag about facial hair, discuss it as a topic, and it symbolizes so many different things. I remember singing a Russian song “Salvation Is Created,” in college. The director wanted us to sing with a darker tone. He told us to think of ourselves being Russian in the cold, dark, winter singing this song, while stroking our thick beards. The facial hair aspect was a visualization used to get us to sing with a more manly tone. So beards = being strong and masculine, and East Asian men are told not to grow beards…and we are also stereotyped as being less sexual, less muscular, having smaller genitalia, and being more submissive. The message that I received to not grow facial hair, because I couldn’t, was just one more way that society emasculated East Asian men.
This sucks, and feels horrible.
I’m growing out I’m trimming up as a hair on the chin, little soul patch and a mustache. When I look in mirror and I don’t know what to think. It looks different, it doesn’t feel right, but I’m not sure why.
The standard of beauty across the world is white. Skin lightening creams are really popular in African countries, and all across Asia, people die their hair brown or blond and get plastic surgery to look more Caucasian. It’s not a big jump of logic to conclude that the standard of what male facial hair should look like follows the same pattern.
Good facial hair is based on Caucasian styles of facial hair. A Chinese person can dress white, but a Chinese person can’t make their facial hair look like a Norwegian’s beard. I can’t grow a beard and look like Thor. The fact that my facial hair cannot reach that standard is expression of being less than. I probably judge my facial hair largely based on Caucasian standards of beauty, so what would happen if I somehow based my facial hair on something different?
I’ve found many images of East Asian guys with facial hair, and a lot of them look different than what many white guys look like with mustaches. It’s patchier, but at the same time it can really suave. I don’t know what looks good, and I’m doubting my instincts because I know they are mixed with racist messaging. It makes me really sad to realize how much this has affected the way I view something as seemingly inconsequential as facial hair. What else am I seeing through this racist lens about myself?
So I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking I’ll shave it off, but I’m not sure. That feels like giving up. I feel I want to keep it to explore what all of this means, but I’m not enjoying the mental dissonance that happens every time I look in the mirror and are reminded about the racism inside of myself, and how the world continues to view Asian men.
Like with many things, racism, puts us in a lose/lose situation. So we just make a choice, feel the pain, breathe deeply, then hold our heads up high and keep our eyes on the prize.
Traditional markers of masculinity have been socially acceptable for women to take on as expressions of their identity. Women can wear pants, have tattoos, have short haircuts, participate on the high wrestling team, play football, be sports fans, love whiskey, and find other women sexually attractive. There’s a lot of judgement and resistance for women to do all of these “manly,” things and more that I didn’t state here. However, many of these things are no longer signs of being a “tom boy,” they are just things that women do as well as men…and women are excelling at many of these things doing them better than men.
It is important to note that this does not mean that the patriarchy isn’t firmly in power in almost every aspect of society. While women can wear pants, have a short haircut, and drink beer, they still face many limitations in business for example, because of institutional sexism.
The one thing that men have left as expression of masculinity, that women do not embrace is facial hair. Male facial hair and beards are on the rise in popularity. My theory is that because in this time where the false dichotomy between masculinity and femininity is beginning to break down, men need something to hang on to. Facial hair is one thing men still got that is clearly manly as other markers of what it means to be main down collapse under the pressure of progress.
I am not asserting that men with facial hair are holding back feminism, or that growing a beard is somehow anti-women. What I am asserting is that some men are searching for a new masculine identity, and facial hair is helping. For some facial hair has nothing to do with the changing waves of gender roles. However ,it is undeniable that there is something going on here with the rise of bushy beards in our society.
This is one reason why for the past two weeks I’ve grown out my facial hair. I’m curious about what this means to me as a man. Does it make me feel more manly? Will it make me feel older? What is this thing that some men are so obsessed with, and other so strongly identify with as part of their gender expression?
Mixed in with these wondering is racism.
I have been told all my life by East Asian people (China, Japan, Taiwan, Vietnam, Korea etc), non-Asian people, and popular culture that East Asian men do not grow facial hair well, and should not bother trying. The argument is that is comes in too patchy and most likely you will end up with “Fu Manchu.” It’s really messed up that both East Asian and non-Asians alike use a horrible racist character that played on the worst of Asian stereotype (oh, and so much yellow-face) to describe East Asian male facial hair.
This is why I’ve NEVER gone more than two days without shaving since puberty.
Guys brag about facial hair, discuss it as a topic, and it symbolizes so many different things. I remember singing a Russian song “Salvation Is Created,” in college. The director wanted us to sing with a darker tone. He told us to think of ourselves being Russian in the cold, dark, winter singing this song, while stroking our thick beards. The facial hair aspect was a visualization used to get us to sing with a more manly tone. So beards = being strong and masculine, and East Asian men are told not to grow beards…and we are also stereotyped as being less sexual, less muscular, having smaller genitalia, and being more submissive. The message that I received to not grow facial hair, because I couldn’t, was just one more way that society emasculated East Asian men.
This sucks, and feels horrible.
I’m growing out I’m trimming up as a hair on the chin, little soul patch and a mustache. When I look in mirror and I don’t know what to think. It looks different, it doesn’t feel right, but I’m not sure why.
The standard of beauty across the world is white. Skin lightening creams are really popular in African countries, and all across Asia, people die their hair brown or blond and get plastic surgery to look more Caucasian. It’s not a big jump of logic to conclude that the standard of what male facial hair should look like follows the same pattern.
Good facial hair is based on Caucasian styles of facial hair. A Chinese person can dress white, but a Chinese person can’t make their facial hair look like a Norwegian’s beard. I can’t grow a beard and look like Thor. The fact that my facial hair cannot reach that standard is expression of being less than. I probably judge my facial hair largely based on Caucasian standards of beauty, so what would happen if I somehow based my facial hair on something different?
I’ve found many images of East Asian guys with facial hair, and a lot of them look different than what many white guys look like with mustaches. It’s patchier, but at the same time it can really suave. I don’t know what looks good, and I’m doubting my instincts because I know they are mixed with racist messaging. It makes me really sad to realize how much this has affected the way I view something as seemingly inconsequential as facial hair. What else am I seeing through this racist lens about myself?
So I don’t know what to do. I’m thinking I’ll shave it off, but I’m not sure. That feels like giving up. I feel I want to keep it to explore what all of this means, but I’m not enjoying the mental dissonance that happens every time I look in the mirror and are reminded about the racism inside of myself, and how the world continues to view Asian men.
Like with many things, racism, puts us in a lose/lose situation. So we just make a choice, feel the pain, breathe deeply, then hold our heads up high and keep our eyes on the prize.
Monday, July 22, 2019
Parenthood: Week 328 - The New Lion King With Ollie
I understand that it can disturb other people in the movie theater, but I couldn’t help but smile that Ollie wanted to dance in his chair and sing along to every song while we watched The Lion King yesterday. We did tell him to stop, and save the singing for home, but he was so excited that he couldn't help but sing along. This is what The Lion King film was all about for me.
My wife and I took our two children to see The Lion King yesterday. Ollie is 6 and he was super excited, and Ethan is 1 and slept through most of it. This remake of The Lion King is a big deal. Disney has been making live action remakes of many of their classic movies. Some people are vehemently against these remakes. They feel that this is a soul-less cash grab and that none of these movies compare to the quality of the originals. Others love these remakes as a way to recapture their childhood and reintroduce these films to a whole new generation. I’m pretty “meh,” about the concept. Some of these remakes like Beauty and the Beast are okay but do not interest me. I really enjoyed and respected the anti-racist remake of Aladdin. Oh and The Jungle Book is one of the best Disney film I’ve ever seen. Easily in the top ten.
I got really excited about the new Lion King when I saw the cast list. Then I saw the trailer and got more excited. About the same time I started listening to the soundtrack, Ollie and I watched The Jungle Book, and we got both got really hyped up about this film. Ollie had seen the original Lion King film and had listened to the soundtrack quite a bit, and it was fascinating to listen to the new version and have Ollie explain to me the differences.
The world is different through the eyes of a child. Whereas I would walk through a park without looking closely at the ground, Ollie sometimes stops to look at a stick or a rock, and is happy to examine it for five minutes. When I watch movies with Ollie there’s a similar thing going on. He sees thing that I don’t. Sitting next to him in the theater, I’m keenly aware that I’m watching this movie with him. I’m sitting here watching the film for my own pleasure but also watching for moments or events that Ollie will want to discuss later. Ollie’s emotional reactions are very much on my mind. There’s been times when he’s been scared during movies and I absolutely love hearing him laugh out loud at jokes coming from the screen.
When I think about the quality of The Lion King, it’s hard for me to think about it on its own terms without thinking of Ollie’s reaction. Close-ups of animals talking and singing looked a little weird and it didn’t have quite the same emotional punch as the original. It would have been more interesting if they took more chance and changed it more. However, it was a beautiful movie and there was magic on that screen in many ways and for my son, it wasn’t CGI, it was simply magic. In my mind, that makes this film a success.
Disney is a big corporation. They want to make money, and remaking old properties are way to do it. However, they are doing this in a way that is more diverse, and inclusive, and bringing join to my family.
I was just like Ollie listening to Disney film soundtracks on repeat, dancing and singing along. Disney is not all-good, but there’s a lot of good they crate. Just like new Lion King. The good far outweighs the bad, and if you let yourself enjoy it, and go with a little one, you may not love the movie, but you will probably love the experience of watching it with a child.
My wife and I took our two children to see The Lion King yesterday. Ollie is 6 and he was super excited, and Ethan is 1 and slept through most of it. This remake of The Lion King is a big deal. Disney has been making live action remakes of many of their classic movies. Some people are vehemently against these remakes. They feel that this is a soul-less cash grab and that none of these movies compare to the quality of the originals. Others love these remakes as a way to recapture their childhood and reintroduce these films to a whole new generation. I’m pretty “meh,” about the concept. Some of these remakes like Beauty and the Beast are okay but do not interest me. I really enjoyed and respected the anti-racist remake of Aladdin. Oh and The Jungle Book is one of the best Disney film I’ve ever seen. Easily in the top ten.
I got really excited about the new Lion King when I saw the cast list. Then I saw the trailer and got more excited. About the same time I started listening to the soundtrack, Ollie and I watched The Jungle Book, and we got both got really hyped up about this film. Ollie had seen the original Lion King film and had listened to the soundtrack quite a bit, and it was fascinating to listen to the new version and have Ollie explain to me the differences.
The world is different through the eyes of a child. Whereas I would walk through a park without looking closely at the ground, Ollie sometimes stops to look at a stick or a rock, and is happy to examine it for five minutes. When I watch movies with Ollie there’s a similar thing going on. He sees thing that I don’t. Sitting next to him in the theater, I’m keenly aware that I’m watching this movie with him. I’m sitting here watching the film for my own pleasure but also watching for moments or events that Ollie will want to discuss later. Ollie’s emotional reactions are very much on my mind. There’s been times when he’s been scared during movies and I absolutely love hearing him laugh out loud at jokes coming from the screen.
When I think about the quality of The Lion King, it’s hard for me to think about it on its own terms without thinking of Ollie’s reaction. Close-ups of animals talking and singing looked a little weird and it didn’t have quite the same emotional punch as the original. It would have been more interesting if they took more chance and changed it more. However, it was a beautiful movie and there was magic on that screen in many ways and for my son, it wasn’t CGI, it was simply magic. In my mind, that makes this film a success.
Disney is a big corporation. They want to make money, and remaking old properties are way to do it. However, they are doing this in a way that is more diverse, and inclusive, and bringing join to my family.
I was just like Ollie listening to Disney film soundtracks on repeat, dancing and singing along. Disney is not all-good, but there’s a lot of good they crate. Just like new Lion King. The good far outweighs the bad, and if you let yourself enjoy it, and go with a little one, you may not love the movie, but you will probably love the experience of watching it with a child.
Friday, July 19, 2019
The Islander – Part 6: Alone At Lunch
Y’know how there’s that scene in almost every teen movie when they explain the lunchroom and the all the social dynamics?
I can’t really do that scene, because well, I never actually ate in my high school’s lunch room. When I was a freshmen, the lunch room was nicknamed the “mushroom.” The message that we got as freshmen, or at least I got was to find somewhere else to eat. I don’t know if it was because it was too small, but it was not a welcoming place.
People found corners of the school to eat. Students would eat in hallways, or outside. I had two other people I was friends with in middle school. We found a place to eat near locker bays by the orchestra room. One of the friends got into the social dynamics of his sports team so he went to eat with them, and other one would eat with other friends, so there was a time that I ate lunch by myself.
It sucked on a level, but in some ways, I preferred it. I’m not great in large groups or at parties now, and I wasn’t back then. I didn’t know how to take the chance and unlike college, no one really took me under their wing to help me navigate the lunchroom situation. However, I knew that this wasn’t right. Not just because of society told me that friends were important, but because I wanted to have a group...and sometimes I was lonely.
In middle school I had a group of 7th graders when I was in 8th grade that I felt were a group I belonged to, but I didn’t have them with me in high school. The fact that I spent so much time with them in middle school meant that I didn’t really build relationships with kids my own age. Everyone else seemed to have their group. I didn’t know how to find that, and it was easier to not try than to take a chance. That could have been it for me, sitting by myself eating lunch outside in the locker bay or in the back hallway by the orchestra room for my entire time in high school…and that was pretty much it for me my freshmen year.
When I joined band my sophomore year (which is a whole different story), I noticed that a group of people ate lunch in the band office. The office comfortably fit maybe three people but we managed to fit sometimes as many as six. The band teachers would often let us hang there, and even sit at their desks. Sometimes they would kick us out, but more often than not they would let us have the space to hang out.
Some days it would be me and one other person, and other days it would be full. There were people there like me who sometimes felt more of a connection with people who weren’t their own age, and other people simply felt something important being in the space and presence of these teachers.
That’s where I ate lunch sophomore through senior year. There were not always people in that office but I never felt lonely being alone in that space because I felt like I belonged. This was more important to me than trying to navigate the lunchroom or being cool. It was the “dorky” thing to do to hang out with the band folk in a teacher’s office for lunch every day, but it was all I could figure out. I didn’t feel great about how this made people perceive me, but it was all I had.
Sometimes having something that marks you by others as less than, but make you feel belonging is a choice we have to make. It would be a choice I would continue to make the rest of my life, and it was a choice that eventually made look forward to lunch time and having a moment that I could be myself.
I can’t really do that scene, because well, I never actually ate in my high school’s lunch room. When I was a freshmen, the lunch room was nicknamed the “mushroom.” The message that we got as freshmen, or at least I got was to find somewhere else to eat. I don’t know if it was because it was too small, but it was not a welcoming place.
People found corners of the school to eat. Students would eat in hallways, or outside. I had two other people I was friends with in middle school. We found a place to eat near locker bays by the orchestra room. One of the friends got into the social dynamics of his sports team so he went to eat with them, and other one would eat with other friends, so there was a time that I ate lunch by myself.
It sucked on a level, but in some ways, I preferred it. I’m not great in large groups or at parties now, and I wasn’t back then. I didn’t know how to take the chance and unlike college, no one really took me under their wing to help me navigate the lunchroom situation. However, I knew that this wasn’t right. Not just because of society told me that friends were important, but because I wanted to have a group...and sometimes I was lonely.
In middle school I had a group of 7th graders when I was in 8th grade that I felt were a group I belonged to, but I didn’t have them with me in high school. The fact that I spent so much time with them in middle school meant that I didn’t really build relationships with kids my own age. Everyone else seemed to have their group. I didn’t know how to find that, and it was easier to not try than to take a chance. That could have been it for me, sitting by myself eating lunch outside in the locker bay or in the back hallway by the orchestra room for my entire time in high school…and that was pretty much it for me my freshmen year.
When I joined band my sophomore year (which is a whole different story), I noticed that a group of people ate lunch in the band office. The office comfortably fit maybe three people but we managed to fit sometimes as many as six. The band teachers would often let us hang there, and even sit at their desks. Sometimes they would kick us out, but more often than not they would let us have the space to hang out.
Some days it would be me and one other person, and other days it would be full. There were people there like me who sometimes felt more of a connection with people who weren’t their own age, and other people simply felt something important being in the space and presence of these teachers.
That’s where I ate lunch sophomore through senior year. There were not always people in that office but I never felt lonely being alone in that space because I felt like I belonged. This was more important to me than trying to navigate the lunchroom or being cool. It was the “dorky” thing to do to hang out with the band folk in a teacher’s office for lunch every day, but it was all I could figure out. I didn’t feel great about how this made people perceive me, but it was all I had.
Sometimes having something that marks you by others as less than, but make you feel belonging is a choice we have to make. It would be a choice I would continue to make the rest of my life, and it was a choice that eventually made look forward to lunch time and having a moment that I could be myself.
Monday, July 15, 2019
Parenthood: Week 327 - Bumblebee Waistband
The boys finished dinner before me and Diana so we let them go off and play. A couple minutes later they both came up to us at the same time. Ethan had taken a headband that Ollie made at camp and was wearing it like a belt. The headband was yellow, and had black pipe cleaners attached so Ollie could he pretend to be a bee. Because of the way Ethan was wearing it, the black antennae were pointing forward, which Ethan thought was hilarious. He stood there giggling and very much pleased with himself.
Ollie was wearing a necklace that he had out of some pipe cleaners, and a Crown Royale bag I had given to him to hold his treasures like a purse around his neck and shoulder. He was also very pleased with himself. My father used to give us Crown Royale bags to play with as well, and it was cute to see Ollie involved in similar play as myself when I was a child.
There’s a scene in the Elton John film, Rocketman, where Elton as a child is sitting at their kitchen table. He picks up a fashion magazine that his mom was reading that had pictures of dresses, and starts flipping through it. The father scolds young Reggie (Elton’s real name) for looking at the magazine, and Reggie then sheepishly pushes the magazine away and looks down in shame.
There’s a handful of heartbreaking moments in this film, and some of the scenes with his father were some of the most difficult to watch. Rocketman reminds us that our lack of acceptance of our children can have far-reaching effects. Elton’s inability to love himself is directly related to him not getting the love he wanted from his father. This led to self-destructive behavior, and attempts to commit suicide.
Ollie, my oldest child is six-years-old. He is not too young to be damaged by a lack of acceptance from myself and other people in his life. If an adult he cared about in his life told him that his dancing around to Disney songs, (one of his favorite activities) was not something boys were supposed to do in a harsh way, he could start to develop a self-hating complex. This could years to unpack and process. Dreams get squashed, pride become shame, and things kids love about themselves become things they hate about themselves far too often when adult don’t nurture what children love about life.
Ollie likes to give and receive kisses. So it made me sad a month or two ago when Ollie asked me why other boys in his class thought kisses were gross. I explained that like different taste in food, some people like kissing and some people don’t and that’s okay. “Do you like kisses?” I asked Ollie. He nodded yes and I kissed him. The way other boys in his class feels about kisses hasn’t stopped him from enjoying kisses in our house, which is all I can really do.
I can’t control outside world, however I can make sure that inside our house, Ollie can be whoever he wants to be. For me growing up in a world that I didn’t see mirrors in, and I didn’t feel understood by my peers, I always had my home as a place that I could comfortable be me and be accepted and loved. It was enough for me, and with the way that my boys dressed up after dinner, I think we’re on the right track.
Ollie was wearing a necklace that he had out of some pipe cleaners, and a Crown Royale bag I had given to him to hold his treasures like a purse around his neck and shoulder. He was also very pleased with himself. My father used to give us Crown Royale bags to play with as well, and it was cute to see Ollie involved in similar play as myself when I was a child.
There’s a scene in the Elton John film, Rocketman, where Elton as a child is sitting at their kitchen table. He picks up a fashion magazine that his mom was reading that had pictures of dresses, and starts flipping through it. The father scolds young Reggie (Elton’s real name) for looking at the magazine, and Reggie then sheepishly pushes the magazine away and looks down in shame.
There’s a handful of heartbreaking moments in this film, and some of the scenes with his father were some of the most difficult to watch. Rocketman reminds us that our lack of acceptance of our children can have far-reaching effects. Elton’s inability to love himself is directly related to him not getting the love he wanted from his father. This led to self-destructive behavior, and attempts to commit suicide.
Ollie, my oldest child is six-years-old. He is not too young to be damaged by a lack of acceptance from myself and other people in his life. If an adult he cared about in his life told him that his dancing around to Disney songs, (one of his favorite activities) was not something boys were supposed to do in a harsh way, he could start to develop a self-hating complex. This could years to unpack and process. Dreams get squashed, pride become shame, and things kids love about themselves become things they hate about themselves far too often when adult don’t nurture what children love about life.
Ollie likes to give and receive kisses. So it made me sad a month or two ago when Ollie asked me why other boys in his class thought kisses were gross. I explained that like different taste in food, some people like kissing and some people don’t and that’s okay. “Do you like kisses?” I asked Ollie. He nodded yes and I kissed him. The way other boys in his class feels about kisses hasn’t stopped him from enjoying kisses in our house, which is all I can really do.
I can’t control outside world, however I can make sure that inside our house, Ollie can be whoever he wants to be. For me growing up in a world that I didn’t see mirrors in, and I didn’t feel understood by my peers, I always had my home as a place that I could comfortable be me and be accepted and loved. It was enough for me, and with the way that my boys dressed up after dinner, I think we’re on the right track.
Friday, July 12, 2019
The Islander – Part 5: The District
I was a Panther first, then a Gator, and finally an Islander. Don’t you love the lack of logic of mascots, and often lack of cultural thought given to these labels? My elementary school was Island Park Elementary (the Panthers), then there was Islander Middle School (the Gators) and finally Mercer Island High School Islanders ugh).
Panthers and Gators were not indigenous to the Northwest, so that was a weird choice. The fact the the high school mascot had a implication of nativity, being of an island, and also the racial connotation being Polynesian, is even more baffling and begs reexamination. Mascots that take upon racial identity or imply them need to be dropped.
Three elementary school, one middle school, and one high school make up the Mercer Island School District. Middle school was the point in where was the chaos of three elementary schools worth of students combining occurred. This meant that the transition in high school was mostly with the same group of students. This allowed students to carry on and develop relationships but also meant that baggage from years past were carried from middle school to high school.
The first part of the trilogy, elementary and middle school was mostly positive. It was a time of confusion, but the love and belief my parents had in all of the facets of who I am helped me not be bothered by what didn’t make sense. It was this foundation from my family that helped me work through not being what the messaging of my school told me.
In math, my teachers told me I should be able to do math in my head, and my PE teacher even at a young age made me feel less than during fitness tests. However, my limited awareness as a child made this seem more normal than traumatic
I wanted to be like others who were good at sports not because of their athletic prowess but because of the admiration that these athletic abilities engendered. I didn’t understand yet that this desire worked against the development of my own identity and who I wanted to be.
If the external influences of peers, teachers and cultured didn’t reinforce gender, cultural and social norms in high school, maybe my understanding of my true self would have occurred in high school and not college. However, this was not the case, and as the messaging became stronger later in middle school, the upcoming conflict filled me with a sense of anxiety.
What comforted me was this idea that like Corey, I would find my Topanga, that the high school fantasy and its pursuits would bring me happiness. Like the first part of a trilogy, there was more hope than dread, unaware of the specter unknown and unseen.
Panthers and Gators were not indigenous to the Northwest, so that was a weird choice. The fact the the high school mascot had a implication of nativity, being of an island, and also the racial connotation being Polynesian, is even more baffling and begs reexamination. Mascots that take upon racial identity or imply them need to be dropped.
Three elementary school, one middle school, and one high school make up the Mercer Island School District. Middle school was the point in where was the chaos of three elementary schools worth of students combining occurred. This meant that the transition in high school was mostly with the same group of students. This allowed students to carry on and develop relationships but also meant that baggage from years past were carried from middle school to high school.
The first part of the trilogy, elementary and middle school was mostly positive. It was a time of confusion, but the love and belief my parents had in all of the facets of who I am helped me not be bothered by what didn’t make sense. It was this foundation from my family that helped me work through not being what the messaging of my school told me.
In math, my teachers told me I should be able to do math in my head, and my PE teacher even at a young age made me feel less than during fitness tests. However, my limited awareness as a child made this seem more normal than traumatic
I wanted to be like others who were good at sports not because of their athletic prowess but because of the admiration that these athletic abilities engendered. I didn’t understand yet that this desire worked against the development of my own identity and who I wanted to be.
If the external influences of peers, teachers and cultured didn’t reinforce gender, cultural and social norms in high school, maybe my understanding of my true self would have occurred in high school and not college. However, this was not the case, and as the messaging became stronger later in middle school, the upcoming conflict filled me with a sense of anxiety.
What comforted me was this idea that like Corey, I would find my Topanga, that the high school fantasy and its pursuits would bring me happiness. Like the first part of a trilogy, there was more hope than dread, unaware of the specter unknown and unseen.
Monday, July 8, 2019
Parenthood: Week 326 – Buffy & Ethan
“Ethan, let’s go find Buffy!” I exclaim every morning as we leave the guest room bathroom where I get ready in the morning. Ethan toddles out of the room and first checks our bedroom, and if she’s already headed downstairs, he will quickly flip onto his stomach and slide feet first down the stairs.
It’s amazing how fast he can make it down the stairs.
Whether she’s under the piano bench or in a corner by the closet, Ethan will find her, with a huge smile on his face, excited to say good morning. Sometimes he will sit down next to her and poke her in the face as he does with me to wake me up. Other times he will stand next to her and try to pet her, flapping his arm up and down. This sometime is a full out slap onto Buffy’s side. However, as he is getting older, he has managed with our encouragement to make this huge motion gentler.
Buffy sits there in the morning, still waking up herself and patiently letting Ethan poke at her face and attempt to pet her. I often try to get him to stop and I do pull him away if he’s being too aggressive. However, Buffy, who almost always has the space to get up and move away more often than not will sit there and let Ethan greet her in his own special way.
As soon as I have Ethan up into his high chair for breakfast, Buffy is there as well. There are times when Ethan ignores her. Other times he feels Buffy lick his bare toes and he giggles as she licks up scraps and crumbs that he drops. When Ethan is eating, he will sometimes look down to check if Buffy there. If he doesn’t see her on his right side, he’ll check the left side, and only after ensuring her presence he will continue his meal. Sometimes Ethan drops food directly to feed her. Sometimes Ethan throws food in frustration and it falls on Buffy’s face, and sometimes Buffy gets hit in the head with a flying sippy cup or utensil as Ethan flails about during a mid-meal tantrum.
During play time Buffy is more often than not in the same room that Ethan is in. Most of the time he ignores her. Other times he will try to get her to walk around so that he can chase her. This game of his to play with her seems opposite since Buffy is the one that is the herding dog, but she seems to play along as he laughs loudly during the chase.
Our of the all the cute endearing things Buffy does for Ethan, the one that gets to me the most is how she helps out with his therapy. Ethan has hearing and speech therapy due to his unilateral hearing loss. These wonderful therapists come to our house to do this work with Ethan. Buffy is not only in the room during these sessions, she is attentive and sometimes actively involved in the therapy. The therapist don’t mind her presence at all as she watches them work with Ethan. The therapist are amazing to watch as an educator. I learn things about pedagogy every time I’m able to be there for a session. It’s also really emotional thing for me to watch as a parent. Seeing someone work so hard to help your child is a beautiful thing to witness.
I joke that maybe Buffy thinks that these people are here for her, but I don’t think so. She gets that they are there for Ethan and in the way she checks in with the therapist, sits closely paces around the room, it’s clear that she’s not nervous but wants to be supportive. Buffy helps Ethan in therapy stay calm and focused, as she does for all of us in our family.
I'm so glad that Ethan has Buffy in his life and I'm so proud of how great Buffy is with Ethan. In immeasurable ways Buffy continues to enrich Ethan's life, and I hope that Buffy feel purpose and fulfillment watching over this little one.
Mornings aren't always easy to a one-year-old in the house, but I always look forward Ethan joy in finding his Buffy.
It’s amazing how fast he can make it down the stairs.
Whether she’s under the piano bench or in a corner by the closet, Ethan will find her, with a huge smile on his face, excited to say good morning. Sometimes he will sit down next to her and poke her in the face as he does with me to wake me up. Other times he will stand next to her and try to pet her, flapping his arm up and down. This sometime is a full out slap onto Buffy’s side. However, as he is getting older, he has managed with our encouragement to make this huge motion gentler.
Buffy sits there in the morning, still waking up herself and patiently letting Ethan poke at her face and attempt to pet her. I often try to get him to stop and I do pull him away if he’s being too aggressive. However, Buffy, who almost always has the space to get up and move away more often than not will sit there and let Ethan greet her in his own special way.
As soon as I have Ethan up into his high chair for breakfast, Buffy is there as well. There are times when Ethan ignores her. Other times he feels Buffy lick his bare toes and he giggles as she licks up scraps and crumbs that he drops. When Ethan is eating, he will sometimes look down to check if Buffy there. If he doesn’t see her on his right side, he’ll check the left side, and only after ensuring her presence he will continue his meal. Sometimes Ethan drops food directly to feed her. Sometimes Ethan throws food in frustration and it falls on Buffy’s face, and sometimes Buffy gets hit in the head with a flying sippy cup or utensil as Ethan flails about during a mid-meal tantrum.
During play time Buffy is more often than not in the same room that Ethan is in. Most of the time he ignores her. Other times he will try to get her to walk around so that he can chase her. This game of his to play with her seems opposite since Buffy is the one that is the herding dog, but she seems to play along as he laughs loudly during the chase.
Our of the all the cute endearing things Buffy does for Ethan, the one that gets to me the most is how she helps out with his therapy. Ethan has hearing and speech therapy due to his unilateral hearing loss. These wonderful therapists come to our house to do this work with Ethan. Buffy is not only in the room during these sessions, she is attentive and sometimes actively involved in the therapy. The therapist don’t mind her presence at all as she watches them work with Ethan. The therapist are amazing to watch as an educator. I learn things about pedagogy every time I’m able to be there for a session. It’s also really emotional thing for me to watch as a parent. Seeing someone work so hard to help your child is a beautiful thing to witness.
I joke that maybe Buffy thinks that these people are here for her, but I don’t think so. She gets that they are there for Ethan and in the way she checks in with the therapist, sits closely paces around the room, it’s clear that she’s not nervous but wants to be supportive. Buffy helps Ethan in therapy stay calm and focused, as she does for all of us in our family.
I'm so glad that Ethan has Buffy in his life and I'm so proud of how great Buffy is with Ethan. In immeasurable ways Buffy continues to enrich Ethan's life, and I hope that Buffy feel purpose and fulfillment watching over this little one.
Mornings aren't always easy to a one-year-old in the house, but I always look forward Ethan joy in finding his Buffy.
Friday, July 5, 2019
The Islander – Part 4: To Call Someone Gay
I acted the best way I knew how to; I just wish I knew more. I wish my empathy muscle in high school was strong enough to fight against the norms to stand and say something, but it wasn’t. While I would never accept myself or people close to me saying the things that I said in high school or keeping quiet while other people said similar things, I’ve had to learn to accept that I did in fact make jokes about homosexuality in high school.
In high school I couldn’t throw a ball (I still can’t). I can’t talk sports, though I’ve learned how to fact it in my adult years. I’m small guy and though I’m more in shape than I’ve ever been in my life, I’m not physically intimidating or impressive. I never will be. The one thing I do got that fits within the narrow stereotype of masculine expression is that I can dish it out. I can insult people and take them apart and come up with great comebacks quickly and succinctly. This is one reason I’m good at teaching middle school students. While I never insult my students intentionally, when I get attitude from my students, I almost always have a response back that can take that comment apart or move the conversations in another direction.
The boys in my high school talked about sex all of the time, and this is one reason why almost all of my close friends were girls, which I’ll get deeper into in a later post. It wasn’t the subject that I disliked, but how they talked about it. There was bragging, jokes about anatomy, demeaning comments about women, that I knew were wrong. Even then I had a feminist streak. Every guy had jokes that were made about them, like some weird community agreement amongst the guys. Some guys received the fat jokes, other ones got made fun of because they walked funny, and one of the categories of insults I got was around my sexuality.
The logic was that because I didn’t fit traditional male gender roles, I was gay. I knew more Broadway shows than professional sports teams, I played the violin, and I was a sci-fi/comic book geek. Therefore, I was made fun of as being gay. The way I handled this was spitting it right back, and because my comebacks were fast and creative, I managed to deflect these horrible words with insults of my own. For the most part this worked. It worked so well that it actually became a game, and one of my friends Sam, was the master at this game.
My senior year I managed to have an open period, (I don’t know how with all of the music classes I took) We would sit in this table in the center of the library and attempt to do homework. It was me, Sam, Kate, and some other people who would join us every so often. We would got into it with the gay jokes, and Sam took it much further than I did, but I laughed along. I used the word “gay” to mean to stupid, to demean others, Sam used the F-word (the Gay insult). I laughed at it, but even then, it felt wrong so I didn’t go there. This doesn’t mean I didn’t do anything wrong because I didn’t speak up against Sam’s use of it and what I know now is hate speech.
I contributed to a hostile environment toward my peers who were LGBTQ+, and even though I didn’t know anyone who was out, I’m sure my actions contributed to that fact. The idea of “Gay-ness” and homosexual was just out there, not in my sense of my community. Even though I made these jokes, I appreciate people who I knew were homosexuals like Elton John, George Michael and Freddie Mercury who were heroes of mine in high school. It was like I was making jokes about an abstraction, an idea that was not real.
Like President Obama, I have evolved. When I got to Northwestern University, I made one gay joke and I was shut down quickly by people in marching band, and I never made another. It didn't take a lot of explanation for me to understand that there was another way surrounded by a more inclusive norms.
I sang and performed with confident and masterful musicians who were out and proud. I came to understand that my freedom to be a different kind of straight man who did not follow gender norms came from these individuals who created a reality that being a man meant more than what I saw in my peers in high school. More important than what people who were LGBTQ+ did for my life, I came to know and understand that they were human beings like me who deserved the rights as I did. In the same way came to be proud of who I was and not take crap from others who questioned my masculinity, I learned that others, most of all from me, should never hear words that make them question or feel bad for the who they are, and/or who they want to be.
I feel shame, regret, and sadness for all of the horrible things I said in high school. If I could travel back in time and talk to my high school self. I would tell myself to breakup with my girlfriend and more importantly stop making gay jokes, and stand up against people who do. If somehow, I got that message in high school, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time degrading my soul for the laughs of others who didn’t care about me and I would have sooner come to understand the person that I would become.
I have more work to do. I can do more to support the LGBTQ+ community and I have an enormous responsibility to help my children understand the LGBTQ+ experience in America with all of its nuance and diversity. I’ve made progress, but there’s more evolution ahead of me.
I’m so sorry to any of my high school peers who I made feel less than for words that I said. I was wrong to make jokes about homosexuality, and I will continue to spend my life making my family, my school, and my community and more diverse and inclusive space for LGBTQ+ people.
This I promise.
In high school I couldn’t throw a ball (I still can’t). I can’t talk sports, though I’ve learned how to fact it in my adult years. I’m small guy and though I’m more in shape than I’ve ever been in my life, I’m not physically intimidating or impressive. I never will be. The one thing I do got that fits within the narrow stereotype of masculine expression is that I can dish it out. I can insult people and take them apart and come up with great comebacks quickly and succinctly. This is one reason I’m good at teaching middle school students. While I never insult my students intentionally, when I get attitude from my students, I almost always have a response back that can take that comment apart or move the conversations in another direction.
The boys in my high school talked about sex all of the time, and this is one reason why almost all of my close friends were girls, which I’ll get deeper into in a later post. It wasn’t the subject that I disliked, but how they talked about it. There was bragging, jokes about anatomy, demeaning comments about women, that I knew were wrong. Even then I had a feminist streak. Every guy had jokes that were made about them, like some weird community agreement amongst the guys. Some guys received the fat jokes, other ones got made fun of because they walked funny, and one of the categories of insults I got was around my sexuality.
The logic was that because I didn’t fit traditional male gender roles, I was gay. I knew more Broadway shows than professional sports teams, I played the violin, and I was a sci-fi/comic book geek. Therefore, I was made fun of as being gay. The way I handled this was spitting it right back, and because my comebacks were fast and creative, I managed to deflect these horrible words with insults of my own. For the most part this worked. It worked so well that it actually became a game, and one of my friends Sam, was the master at this game.
My senior year I managed to have an open period, (I don’t know how with all of the music classes I took) We would sit in this table in the center of the library and attempt to do homework. It was me, Sam, Kate, and some other people who would join us every so often. We would got into it with the gay jokes, and Sam took it much further than I did, but I laughed along. I used the word “gay” to mean to stupid, to demean others, Sam used the F-word (the Gay insult). I laughed at it, but even then, it felt wrong so I didn’t go there. This doesn’t mean I didn’t do anything wrong because I didn’t speak up against Sam’s use of it and what I know now is hate speech.
I contributed to a hostile environment toward my peers who were LGBTQ+, and even though I didn’t know anyone who was out, I’m sure my actions contributed to that fact. The idea of “Gay-ness” and homosexual was just out there, not in my sense of my community. Even though I made these jokes, I appreciate people who I knew were homosexuals like Elton John, George Michael and Freddie Mercury who were heroes of mine in high school. It was like I was making jokes about an abstraction, an idea that was not real.
Like President Obama, I have evolved. When I got to Northwestern University, I made one gay joke and I was shut down quickly by people in marching band, and I never made another. It didn't take a lot of explanation for me to understand that there was another way surrounded by a more inclusive norms.
I sang and performed with confident and masterful musicians who were out and proud. I came to understand that my freedom to be a different kind of straight man who did not follow gender norms came from these individuals who created a reality that being a man meant more than what I saw in my peers in high school. More important than what people who were LGBTQ+ did for my life, I came to know and understand that they were human beings like me who deserved the rights as I did. In the same way came to be proud of who I was and not take crap from others who questioned my masculinity, I learned that others, most of all from me, should never hear words that make them question or feel bad for the who they are, and/or who they want to be.
I feel shame, regret, and sadness for all of the horrible things I said in high school. If I could travel back in time and talk to my high school self. I would tell myself to breakup with my girlfriend and more importantly stop making gay jokes, and stand up against people who do. If somehow, I got that message in high school, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time degrading my soul for the laughs of others who didn’t care about me and I would have sooner come to understand the person that I would become.
I have more work to do. I can do more to support the LGBTQ+ community and I have an enormous responsibility to help my children understand the LGBTQ+ experience in America with all of its nuance and diversity. I’ve made progress, but there’s more evolution ahead of me.
I’m so sorry to any of my high school peers who I made feel less than for words that I said. I was wrong to make jokes about homosexuality, and I will continue to spend my life making my family, my school, and my community and more diverse and inclusive space for LGBTQ+ people.
This I promise.
Monday, July 1, 2019
Parenthood: Week 325 – Ethan's Favorite Book: Good Night Gorilla
Toddlers understand more than they can express. They know more nouns and names for objects than they can speak. They have preferences for foods, clothing, and they even have favorite books. It’s this really cool moment when they reveal these things to you. It’s an expression of the development of cognitive functions. The signs of this growth doesn’t happen in a scheduled or consistent way. It’s not like you see one milestone a week. They come when you don’t expect it and often they come in spurts.
I was so excited when Diana told me a couple week ago that Ethan’s favorite book was Good Night Gorilla (here it is at amazon). It’s such a wonderful sign after months of trying to read to Ethan and him pushing books away, (or trying to eat them), and rarely getting to the end of an eight-page board book, Ethan finally was getting into reading.
I remember having favorite books that I read to Ollie developing before Ollie showed preferences for favorite books to me. So this was new and very cool. It’s a great feeling to have Ethan reach towards a stack of books, pick up his favorite and feel him settle down in my lap in anticipation of me reading this story to him.
Goodnight Gorilla by Peggy Rathmann is one of my favorite childrens books. It’s about a zoo keeper who says goodnight to animals in the zoo. The catch is that there is a gorilla who steals the zookeeper's keys and keeps releasing animals as soon as the zookeeper says goodnight to them. The animals all end up in his bedroom. The zookeepers partner wakes up to find all of the animals crammed in and around the bed. She walks them back to the zoo, but somehow the gorilla ends up back in the bed at the end of the book.
There’s very few words, but the very storytelling more than makes up the few but perfectly chosen text. There’s so much to do in this book when reading it to a child. There’s animals sounds, colors (each key is a different color to match the cages), lots of details in each picture, and a balloon that you can track across each page that gets smaller as it floats into the sky.
I don’t know what Ethan finds appealing about this book. Maybe it’s the different animals sounds we encourage him to make. Maybe it’s the page with all of the “goodnight” dialog bubbles that me and Diana always do in funny voices. Or maybe Ethan can relate to the gorilla sneaking into the bed in the middle of the night to co-sleep, which is Ethan's preferred way of sleeping.
Maybe he knows this books pushed into our arms will give him positive attention from us and he simply enjoys being close to us.
Whatever the reason, it's not important I figure it out. All that matters is that he has a book that he loves, that we enjoy reading to him, and that we have moments when we can share the magic of books together.
I was so excited when Diana told me a couple week ago that Ethan’s favorite book was Good Night Gorilla (here it is at amazon). It’s such a wonderful sign after months of trying to read to Ethan and him pushing books away, (or trying to eat them), and rarely getting to the end of an eight-page board book, Ethan finally was getting into reading.
I remember having favorite books that I read to Ollie developing before Ollie showed preferences for favorite books to me. So this was new and very cool. It’s a great feeling to have Ethan reach towards a stack of books, pick up his favorite and feel him settle down in my lap in anticipation of me reading this story to him.
Goodnight Gorilla by Peggy Rathmann is one of my favorite childrens books. It’s about a zoo keeper who says goodnight to animals in the zoo. The catch is that there is a gorilla who steals the zookeeper's keys and keeps releasing animals as soon as the zookeeper says goodnight to them. The animals all end up in his bedroom. The zookeepers partner wakes up to find all of the animals crammed in and around the bed. She walks them back to the zoo, but somehow the gorilla ends up back in the bed at the end of the book.
There’s very few words, but the very storytelling more than makes up the few but perfectly chosen text. There’s so much to do in this book when reading it to a child. There’s animals sounds, colors (each key is a different color to match the cages), lots of details in each picture, and a balloon that you can track across each page that gets smaller as it floats into the sky.
I don’t know what Ethan finds appealing about this book. Maybe it’s the different animals sounds we encourage him to make. Maybe it’s the page with all of the “goodnight” dialog bubbles that me and Diana always do in funny voices. Or maybe Ethan can relate to the gorilla sneaking into the bed in the middle of the night to co-sleep, which is Ethan's preferred way of sleeping.
Maybe he knows this books pushed into our arms will give him positive attention from us and he simply enjoys being close to us.
Whatever the reason, it's not important I figure it out. All that matters is that he has a book that he loves, that we enjoy reading to him, and that we have moments when we can share the magic of books together.
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