Yesterday I took some Turkey Tetrazzini and a salad to a dear friend from church who lost his wife this past fall. If you were to meet this gentleman, within the first twenty minutes of conversation you would know two important things about him. First is his incredible faith in God. Second, and as apparent as the first is his love for his wife. My friend and his wife had been married for over 40 years, and he still cherishes her as much today as he did the day they got married.
We visited for a while, and talked about all sorts of things, including, of course, his wife. She died suddenly, just like her mother did. She had told my friend many times that when it was time for her go too, that she prayed it would be quick and painless, just like her mother. My friend is relieved that her prayer was answered.
As I was getting ready to leave, he took me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye, and told me he was doing well. He said that he was at peace with his wife's death, and that he was at peace with his life without her. I believe that he believes this is true.
But I am also anxious for him as we move into the holidays and beyond. The holidays can be difficult for any of us. We struggle with expectations, our own and those that others have of us. We struggle with how busy things are this time of year. As a Christian, I struggle with how to make sure the reason for the Christmas season shines through in the midst of the commercialization and greediness that is a poor substitute for worship and contemplation, and spending time with those people you love. This Christmas will be more difficult for him, his first one without his dear wife. But my friend has many people who love him, and who will take some extra time to make sure he's got company and attention (and food!).
There are many others who aren't that lucky. So, this Christmas season, pay attention to the people around you, and take some time to help those in need. People in need of money, but also people in need of conversation. People in need of a coat, but also people who just need a smile. Be aware of how your words and actions can affect people - those you love and those you happen upon in your day to day life. This holiday, give the gift of yourself and your time. The gift you get back will be better than any box under the tree.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Happy Birthday Carole!
Today is my sister Carole’s birthday. Carole is way, way older than I am (well, 18 months older than I am so she’ll hit 50 before I do). She’s beautiful and smart and funny and just basically a great person.
Carole and I were fairly typical siblings as we were growing up. Because I was a little bit younger and more than a little bit annoying, I drove her crazy. My older brother Phillip and I did the real fighting, and Carole would sort of cower in the middle, trying to stay out of the fray. But we had fun too. Carole’s bed was two twins stuck together to make a king sized bed, and many nights she’d let me sleep with her. We’d pretend the bed was a boat, and that we were either stranded somewhere, or on a great adventure. The greatest adventure that happened in that bed was the night that Phillip hid under the covers at the end of the bed and waited quietly until we had settled down and turned off the light. Then he pounced out with a great growl and scared the you-know-what out of us. The other great adventure of our childhood was at St. George Island when I was about 5 and she was about 7 (I think this picture of her is from that particular trip). The grownups had a pot of boiling water in which to put a bunch of freshly caught crabs. The crabs didn't like the hot water, of course, and they frantically moved around enough to overturn the pot of water. Crabs were crawling all around the house, and Carole and I climbed on the dining room table and screamed.
As we got older, we got closer. From the time she left for college until now, she’s been my best friend, my confidant and great supporter. When Rick and I moved to Atlanta we moved into her neighborhood and Carole and I spent many hours together – walking in the morning, playing cards on the weekend, hanging out at the pool, camping with our families. What a gift for me, to be that close in proximity and in relationship to her. Now she and her family live in Cumming, and that’s still pretty close, but we don’t get to see nearly as much of each other and I miss her.
Carole is a fantastic mother. Just take one look at Kelsey and you’ll know that. Kelsey is brilliant, delightful and beautiful, and you can tell, just by looking at her and talking to her that she has great parents. Carole is a fantastic wife. Just look at how she interacts with Derek, and watch how he interacts with her, and you can see that they have a marriage that works. They’re friends, and they talk, and they have fun together. Carole is also a fantastic daughter. She’s thoughtful, caring and present. But for me, Carole is a fantastic sister. She’s been there for me when I needed anything – a sympathetic ear, a good talking to, a good laugh or even money (fortunately a long, long time ago). I cherish the times we get to spend together and wish it could be more frequent.
And so, on the anniversary of her birth, I say HAPPY BIRTHDAY CAROLE! I love you!
Monday, November 8, 2010
Doubt
Readers of this blog who don’t know me well may think, based on my posts, that I’m always positive, happy and spiritual. While I am a “glass half-full” kind of gal, I am also plagued, like most people, by self-doubt, fears and anxiety. My experience in middle school and early high school did serious damage to my self-confidence for years, something that still afflicts me from time to time. I know now that my experience probably wasn’t much different than many other girls – it’s a hard age, and girls are especially tough on each other! But common or not, it made an impact on my psyche for years.
My Aunt Kate actually put a name to one of the things I struggle with – she calls it “The Imposter Syndrome.” Andrew Peterson, my favorite singer/songwriter, Christian or otherwise, wrote a song called “I’ve Got The News,” that has a line that describes it perfectly: “So you think…that you’re the only one who’s scared they’ll all forget you when you leave.” I’ve spent years re-introducing myself to people because I was sure there was no reason anyone would remember me from one meeting to the next.
I doubt. I doubt all the time. I doubt my abilities at work. I doubt my decisions. I doubt my choices in clothing. I doubt my cooking skills. I wonder if I really mean it when I say the prayers at Church and I sometimes wonder if they work anyway - if anyone’s really listening and cares about my little life. Why would they – I’m an imposter, right? I doubt, I doubt, I doubt.
I have anxiety and I’m lonely sometimes. I struggle with things that are too personal to post here in a public forum.
I’m not any different from anyone else.
That’s the thing - I’m just like just about everyone else. We all have fears and anxieties. We all wonder if we’re doing the right thing. I’d bet that most people who consider themselves at least spiritual, if not outright religious, struggle with doubt all the time. It’s easy to get bogged down with all this doubt. And what it can do to a person’s outlook can be isolating.
And so call me Pollyanna, but I try to see the silver lining and find joy wherever I can. Friday afternoon, in the midst of the grey clouds and cold I looked up into the sky and saw a small patch of blue sky. This reminded me of a grey summer day when I was a child, standing with a neighbor and looking up at the sky. “Look” she said delightedly, “there’s a patch of blue big enough to patch a Dutchman’s trousers.” Not a prophetic outburst, to be sure, but one that apparently made enough of an impact on me to allow me a smile on a grey day 40 years later. That was my silver lining – a childhood memory that gave me joy.
I get joy from a text, out of the blue, from one of my girls telling me that they love me. I get joy from my cat rubbing his face against mine as he tells me in his own way how happy he is to see me.
I try to balance out the doubt and disappointments of normal life by finding positives wherever and whenever I can. One of those positives is writing. The intense feeling of success when I hit “post” to this blog can keep me going for a good day or more. And Sara coming into my room last night to tell me what a great mom she thinks I am – well that’ll last a good long time!
So if I sound like one of those people who are always happy, please know that isn’t completely true, but also know that given time, I’ll find something good around me. And maybe my positive outlook can help someone else see good too.
My Aunt Kate actually put a name to one of the things I struggle with – she calls it “The Imposter Syndrome.” Andrew Peterson, my favorite singer/songwriter, Christian or otherwise, wrote a song called “I’ve Got The News,” that has a line that describes it perfectly: “So you think…that you’re the only one who’s scared they’ll all forget you when you leave.” I’ve spent years re-introducing myself to people because I was sure there was no reason anyone would remember me from one meeting to the next.
I doubt. I doubt all the time. I doubt my abilities at work. I doubt my decisions. I doubt my choices in clothing. I doubt my cooking skills. I wonder if I really mean it when I say the prayers at Church and I sometimes wonder if they work anyway - if anyone’s really listening and cares about my little life. Why would they – I’m an imposter, right? I doubt, I doubt, I doubt.
I have anxiety and I’m lonely sometimes. I struggle with things that are too personal to post here in a public forum.
I’m not any different from anyone else.
That’s the thing - I’m just like just about everyone else. We all have fears and anxieties. We all wonder if we’re doing the right thing. I’d bet that most people who consider themselves at least spiritual, if not outright religious, struggle with doubt all the time. It’s easy to get bogged down with all this doubt. And what it can do to a person’s outlook can be isolating.
And so call me Pollyanna, but I try to see the silver lining and find joy wherever I can. Friday afternoon, in the midst of the grey clouds and cold I looked up into the sky and saw a small patch of blue sky. This reminded me of a grey summer day when I was a child, standing with a neighbor and looking up at the sky. “Look” she said delightedly, “there’s a patch of blue big enough to patch a Dutchman’s trousers.” Not a prophetic outburst, to be sure, but one that apparently made enough of an impact on me to allow me a smile on a grey day 40 years later. That was my silver lining – a childhood memory that gave me joy.
I get joy from a text, out of the blue, from one of my girls telling me that they love me. I get joy from my cat rubbing his face against mine as he tells me in his own way how happy he is to see me.
I try to balance out the doubt and disappointments of normal life by finding positives wherever and whenever I can. One of those positives is writing. The intense feeling of success when I hit “post” to this blog can keep me going for a good day or more. And Sara coming into my room last night to tell me what a great mom she thinks I am – well that’ll last a good long time!
So if I sound like one of those people who are always happy, please know that isn’t completely true, but also know that given time, I’ll find something good around me. And maybe my positive outlook can help someone else see good too.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Home
The Gospel reading at church this weekend was from Luke (19:1-10), and it was the story about the height-challenged tax collector Zaccheaus who had to climb a tree to see Jesus. Jesus sees Zaccheaus and says “Hey – get on down out of that tree. I’m coming to your house tonight.” (Of course I’m paraphrasing – he probably didn’t actually say “Hey.”) Imagine it, will you, as I did on Sunday morning You’re walking down the street, or wandering the halls of your office or the grocery store, and God comes up to you and says “Hey – let’s go to your house for a while.” How would you react? And in this day and age, would you actually believe that it really was God? I, for one, would love to be able to say “Yes – I’d recognize Him immediately. And, yes – my house is ready to have such a visitor.” But the reality is that I worry whether or not I WOULD recognize Him, and goodness knows we’d like to upgrade the kitchen or at least run the vacuum before He showed up!
Later on in the day, I went back to church to serve at the 5:30 service. As a Lay Eucharistic Minister, my duties for the later services include opening up the church and getting the altar ready. As I was walking through these things, alone in the church, I considered that I was getting another home ready for God and His followers. In the quiet, I carried out the silver tray that was prepared with the bread, wine and water, placed the chalice on the altar, bowed and lit the candles. I looked carefully over the readings that I’d be doing, aware that my “presentation” might be the only time the people in the congregation experienced the scripture that week. Just prior to the service, Father Burtenshaw and I shared a prayer and opened the door. For me, St. Martin’s is an extension of my home, and each time I serve, whether it’s as a Lay Eucharistic Minister or as a member of the Bell Choir, I’m coming down from my tree and inviting God in.
But it’s easier to do that in the Church than it is in the balcony where I live. Preparing my home or my heart for God’s visit needs to be an intentional thing. It takes work, just like preparing the church for a service takes work. And up here in the balcony, it’s hard to be intentional sometimes, isn’t it? I’ve got to take the dog out, get the kids to school, do my work, get some sleep… And in the midst of all of this noise, I neglect to make sure my home (heart) is ready for God, whenever He shows up – or more accurately, whenever I remember to look and see that He’s already there. This week, I’m going to try to get down out of the tree and work on my house, so that whenever I hear the call, I can say “here I am” and not “hold on a minute, I’ve got to mop the kitchen floor!”
Later on in the day, I went back to church to serve at the 5:30 service. As a Lay Eucharistic Minister, my duties for the later services include opening up the church and getting the altar ready. As I was walking through these things, alone in the church, I considered that I was getting another home ready for God and His followers. In the quiet, I carried out the silver tray that was prepared with the bread, wine and water, placed the chalice on the altar, bowed and lit the candles. I looked carefully over the readings that I’d be doing, aware that my “presentation” might be the only time the people in the congregation experienced the scripture that week. Just prior to the service, Father Burtenshaw and I shared a prayer and opened the door. For me, St. Martin’s is an extension of my home, and each time I serve, whether it’s as a Lay Eucharistic Minister or as a member of the Bell Choir, I’m coming down from my tree and inviting God in.
But it’s easier to do that in the Church than it is in the balcony where I live. Preparing my home or my heart for God’s visit needs to be an intentional thing. It takes work, just like preparing the church for a service takes work. And up here in the balcony, it’s hard to be intentional sometimes, isn’t it? I’ve got to take the dog out, get the kids to school, do my work, get some sleep… And in the midst of all of this noise, I neglect to make sure my home (heart) is ready for God, whenever He shows up – or more accurately, whenever I remember to look and see that He’s already there. This week, I’m going to try to get down out of the tree and work on my house, so that whenever I hear the call, I can say “here I am” and not “hold on a minute, I’ve got to mop the kitchen floor!”
Monday, October 18, 2010
Introducing Bella!
This weekend started like any other. Sara had her last football game, so we left early to go to the stadium. It was a beautiful morning – a little cool, but we were sitting on the sunny side of the stadium, so we warmed up very quickly. I love watching Sara cheer – she’s good at it, and always looks happy. The boys won the game, too, so that was a big plus!
After getting home, I told Sara that if she got her clothes put away, she could go with me to Petsmart. I needed to get kitty litter, and I also wanted to get a new water fountain for the cats. The last two we’ve had leaked quite a bit, so I wanted to see if I could find another design that might not be so leaky. Little did I know that we’d come back with much, much more.
A little bit of history: Sara’s been asking for a dog since she was about three. Rick has always said no way. In fact, when Sara was very small he said “If you get a dog, you’ll have to get rid of me.” One day in the car, Sara got very quiet. I could tell she was thinking very hard about something. Finally she says to me “Mommy, if we got rid of Daddy, then we could get a dog?” Trying not to laugh I told her that probably wasn’t in the cards, and silently hoped that she wouldn’t say something like that in front of Rick!
Back to Saturday…
I’ve been to PetSmart on a Saturday when the rescue organization had dogs and cats there. Up until Saturday, I’ve never seen a dog there that was “mine.” As Sara and I walked through the parking lot, we both caught sight of a small brown dog, and we both said “uh-oh.” She was cute. She was just the perfect size. And as we spent time with her, she had the perfect temperament. As Sara played with her, I spoke on the phone to the woman who was fostering her. I asked lots of questions, and got all the right answers. I went inside to get the things I needed for the cats, and left Sara outside to play some more. Before we left, I took a picture of Sara and her new friend.
When we got home, we showed the picture to Rick, and after a remarkably short conversation he said “Well, I guess you should go get her.” Sara and I didn’t look back - we literally ran to the car and took off. Sara was worried that the dog wouldn’t be there anymore. They had said that they would start packing up at 3:30, and it was 3:25. I told her that if we were supposed to have that dog, she’d be there. We were, and she was. After some paperwork and supplies, we were on our way back home with the dog, who they had named “Dora.”
After getting home, I told Sara that if she got her clothes put away, she could go with me to Petsmart. I needed to get kitty litter, and I also wanted to get a new water fountain for the cats. The last two we’ve had leaked quite a bit, so I wanted to see if I could find another design that might not be so leaky. Little did I know that we’d come back with much, much more.
A little bit of history: Sara’s been asking for a dog since she was about three. Rick has always said no way. In fact, when Sara was very small he said “If you get a dog, you’ll have to get rid of me.” One day in the car, Sara got very quiet. I could tell she was thinking very hard about something. Finally she says to me “Mommy, if we got rid of Daddy, then we could get a dog?” Trying not to laugh I told her that probably wasn’t in the cards, and silently hoped that she wouldn’t say something like that in front of Rick!
Back to Saturday…
I’ve been to PetSmart on a Saturday when the rescue organization had dogs and cats there. Up until Saturday, I’ve never seen a dog there that was “mine.” As Sara and I walked through the parking lot, we both caught sight of a small brown dog, and we both said “uh-oh.” She was cute. She was just the perfect size. And as we spent time with her, she had the perfect temperament. As Sara played with her, I spoke on the phone to the woman who was fostering her. I asked lots of questions, and got all the right answers. I went inside to get the things I needed for the cats, and left Sara outside to play some more. Before we left, I took a picture of Sara and her new friend.
When we got home, we showed the picture to Rick, and after a remarkably short conversation he said “Well, I guess you should go get her.” Sara and I didn’t look back - we literally ran to the car and took off. Sara was worried that the dog wouldn’t be there anymore. They had said that they would start packing up at 3:30, and it was 3:25. I told her that if we were supposed to have that dog, she’d be there. We were, and she was. After some paperwork and supplies, we were on our way back home with the dog, who they had named “Dora.”
Home again, I had to leave right away for church. Apparently, Rick fell in love with Bella while I was gone (we didn’t like the name Dora so we changed it). Later in the evening, while I was out again taking Hannah back to school, our friends Clay and Cathy came over. Cathy told me that when they came into the house, Rick was lying on the couch with the dog lying on his chest. He tried to put on a gruff face – he said that he hadn’t had a choice and that Sara and I had bullied him into letting us get Bella. Cathy told him that she might have believed him had she not seen him cuddling with her ten minutes before.
So now we have a dog, and she’s wonderful. I was immediately made aware that I know nothing about dogs, but she seems to know something about humans, so it seems to be working out okay. She sleeps with Sara, wants to play with Spike (he’s not having any of it), and interacts with our family as if she has been with us all of her life. I’m so thankful that caring people make it a point to rescue dogs and cats, and that many of these animals are able to find good, loving homes. I know that Bella has found one.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Happy Birthday Hannah (Sept. 18)
If you know me, you know how much I love my kids. Someone shared a link today on Facebook that was a letter a mom wrote to her daughter about the student at Rutgers who committed suicide. It was a heartfelt note that encouraged her daughter to always know that nothing is bad forever and that her parents will love her NO MATTER WHAT. It encouraged me to post the note I wrote to Hannah the day before her 18th birthday. I just wanted to make sure the world knows how much these children mean to me! And just in case Sara reads this - I love you too, sweetie. I'm sure I'll be writing to you soon too!
18 years ago today, I was bummed because Dr. Littlejohn was going to be on vacation and probably wouldn't be in Baltimore to deliver my baby. 18 years ago, I worked a half day, went to the store to get the ingredients for the chicken stock that I just HAD to make before my mother got to Baltimore the next week. 18 years ago today, you were due in a week and everything was pretty much about me.
18 years ago tomorrow, you decided you'd had enough of preparing to come into the world and you made your appearance. Dr. Littlejohn delivered you and handed me the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen! 18 years ago tomorrow, it wasn't all about me any more - it was all about you.
I'm so blessed and thankful that God decided you were the baby for me. There couldn't have been a more perfect daughter for me. You have added so much joy and love into my life for the past 18 years. And I'm so proud of you - you've grown into a beautiful, talented, smart, sweet young woman. And I can't wait for the next 18 years to see how you grow. I loved being your mommy when you were a child - I'm going to love even more being your mommy as an adult!
I love you so much, Hannah. There's nothing that can describe the wonder of watching you grow up. You're amazing.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Happy Birthday tomorrow!
18 years ago today, I was bummed because Dr. Littlejohn was going to be on vacation and probably wouldn't be in Baltimore to deliver my baby. 18 years ago, I worked a half day, went to the store to get the ingredients for the chicken stock that I just HAD to make before my mother got to Baltimore the next week. 18 years ago today, you were due in a week and everything was pretty much about me.
18 years ago tomorrow, you decided you'd had enough of preparing to come into the world and you made your appearance. Dr. Littlejohn delivered you and handed me the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen! 18 years ago tomorrow, it wasn't all about me any more - it was all about you.
I'm so blessed and thankful that God decided you were the baby for me. There couldn't have been a more perfect daughter for me. You have added so much joy and love into my life for the past 18 years. And I'm so proud of you - you've grown into a beautiful, talented, smart, sweet young woman. And I can't wait for the next 18 years to see how you grow. I loved being your mommy when you were a child - I'm going to love even more being your mommy as an adult!
I love you so much, Hannah. There's nothing that can describe the wonder of watching you grow up. You're amazing.
Love,
Mommy
P.S. Happy Birthday tomorrow!
Friday, October 8, 2010
Pondering History
I’m steeped in history right now. I’m reading Bill Bryson’s new book "At Home" which is an exploration of the history of homes. He states that he endeavored to "write a history of the world without leaving home." I’m also listening to Ken Follett’s "World Without End", which is a work of historical fiction set in the
1400s in England. While I’m only about three chapters into "At Home", these two books have dovetailed in an interesting way – Bryson details the evolution of the house, and some of the historical facts are specifically about the time in which "World Without End" is set.
Last night, as I was reading in my usual chair, I started thinking about history, and how it has been captured and reported throughout the years. Much of what we know about what happened in the world prior to the advent of the printed word is speculative at best. Stories are told from a specific point of view, and detail one person’s or one community’s experience. But even after the introduction of the printing press, history is generally still reported from a skewed point of view.
There are some events, the Holocaust, for example, that I believe are reported in a way that is pretty true and accurate. But smaller, less far-reaching events, are much more subject to individual interpretation and therefore it is much harder to determine the truth between the opinions expressed.
For example, if I were to write a history of what has happened with my company in the past year, I’d write about the mergers and having to recomplete for the account I work on (still undetermined at the moment, by the way), but mostly it would be a positive history. The mergers haven’t really affected me, I like my work and the people with whom I do it, I feel that I get paid fairly for my efforts and I have a pretty good balance of home versus work. Others who would write a history of the same company for the same time period might say something completely different. There are those who lost their jobs, those who may not like the new upper management for whatever reason, those who may be completely overworked due to unfilled positions in their departments, those who haven’t gotten a raise recently, and those who just don’t like what they do or who they do it with. Which history is true, from a JWT Atlanta perspective? Both accounts would be honest, presumably, but which would stand the test of time and in the future be considered the “definitive” history of JWT Atlanta during 2010?
The history of the United States, as taught to me and to my children, is full of triumphant victories, hard-working people and God-ordained rights. But as we all know, the history of the United States is also filled with people taking advantage of others, stealing land, murder in the name of God and Country and terrible injustice. The history of all other countries is probably the same, as is the history of the Church. I recognize that there are always at least two sides to every story, but who decides what makes the cut when it comes to reporting the historical “facts” of a time or place?
My sense is that it’s generally the most powerful people who decide; those who might be the ones with the most to lose if the negative truths come out. Those who are less powerful or ambitious are also those less likely to fight to get their side of the story told. Access to media and to an influential audience, the ability to articulate an opinion in a clear manner and the time and money to do so are all important to getting a story out, and the majority of people are probably lacking in at least one of these things, if not all of them. So we plod along, accepting what we deem to be the inevitable one-sided histories of our lives and times.
My children both had the opportunity to do a family history project in elementary school. This allowed them to explore the histories of their grandparents and parents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and to find similarities between themselves and those who went before. It was an opportunity for me to learn these things too, and it was the one project that I really enjoyed helping my children with. What a gift it would be if something like this were a regular part of school curriculum for every child. How much more empowered would our children be if they had the opportunity to talk to the patriarchs and matriarchs of their families? To learn the struggles and triumphs of regular life and to see that each age has its own interesting set of challenges and innovative solutions. Combine these individual histories with what they learn in school, and all of a sudden history is something that affects them in a real way. A great-grandparent who wasn’t allowed to sit at the diner counter, or in the front of the bus, puts the civil rights struggle in a completely different context for the young black child who wonders why racism still exists, and it hopefully gives him a sense of the hard work his ancestors did to make the world better for him. The young girl whose grandfather fled from a civil-war torn country can better understand the individual hardships the citizens endured to make a better life for their families. Spend some time telling your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews your own personal histories so that when they learn the “official” history of the country or the world, they have some context to make it personal and true.
1400s in England. While I’m only about three chapters into "At Home", these two books have dovetailed in an interesting way – Bryson details the evolution of the house, and some of the historical facts are specifically about the time in which "World Without End" is set.
Last night, as I was reading in my usual chair, I started thinking about history, and how it has been captured and reported throughout the years. Much of what we know about what happened in the world prior to the advent of the printed word is speculative at best. Stories are told from a specific point of view, and detail one person’s or one community’s experience. But even after the introduction of the printing press, history is generally still reported from a skewed point of view.
There are some events, the Holocaust, for example, that I believe are reported in a way that is pretty true and accurate. But smaller, less far-reaching events, are much more subject to individual interpretation and therefore it is much harder to determine the truth between the opinions expressed.
For example, if I were to write a history of what has happened with my company in the past year, I’d write about the mergers and having to recomplete for the account I work on (still undetermined at the moment, by the way), but mostly it would be a positive history. The mergers haven’t really affected me, I like my work and the people with whom I do it, I feel that I get paid fairly for my efforts and I have a pretty good balance of home versus work. Others who would write a history of the same company for the same time period might say something completely different. There are those who lost their jobs, those who may not like the new upper management for whatever reason, those who may be completely overworked due to unfilled positions in their departments, those who haven’t gotten a raise recently, and those who just don’t like what they do or who they do it with. Which history is true, from a JWT Atlanta perspective? Both accounts would be honest, presumably, but which would stand the test of time and in the future be considered the “definitive” history of JWT Atlanta during 2010?
The history of the United States, as taught to me and to my children, is full of triumphant victories, hard-working people and God-ordained rights. But as we all know, the history of the United States is also filled with people taking advantage of others, stealing land, murder in the name of God and Country and terrible injustice. The history of all other countries is probably the same, as is the history of the Church. I recognize that there are always at least two sides to every story, but who decides what makes the cut when it comes to reporting the historical “facts” of a time or place?
My sense is that it’s generally the most powerful people who decide; those who might be the ones with the most to lose if the negative truths come out. Those who are less powerful or ambitious are also those less likely to fight to get their side of the story told. Access to media and to an influential audience, the ability to articulate an opinion in a clear manner and the time and money to do so are all important to getting a story out, and the majority of people are probably lacking in at least one of these things, if not all of them. So we plod along, accepting what we deem to be the inevitable one-sided histories of our lives and times.
My children both had the opportunity to do a family history project in elementary school. This allowed them to explore the histories of their grandparents and parents, aunts and uncles and cousins, and to find similarities between themselves and those who went before. It was an opportunity for me to learn these things too, and it was the one project that I really enjoyed helping my children with. What a gift it would be if something like this were a regular part of school curriculum for every child. How much more empowered would our children be if they had the opportunity to talk to the patriarchs and matriarchs of their families? To learn the struggles and triumphs of regular life and to see that each age has its own interesting set of challenges and innovative solutions. Combine these individual histories with what they learn in school, and all of a sudden history is something that affects them in a real way. A great-grandparent who wasn’t allowed to sit at the diner counter, or in the front of the bus, puts the civil rights struggle in a completely different context for the young black child who wonders why racism still exists, and it hopefully gives him a sense of the hard work his ancestors did to make the world better for him. The young girl whose grandfather fled from a civil-war torn country can better understand the individual hardships the citizens endured to make a better life for their families. Spend some time telling your children, grandchildren, nieces and nephews your own personal histories so that when they learn the “official” history of the country or the world, they have some context to make it personal and true.
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