Tragic reminder

We are putting extra locks on our doors today. Paul is doing it right now. Mika is barking up a storm at the pounding and drilling. 

This extra security is necessary not to keep intruders out, but to to contain precious little ones in.  Two events this week brought this gap in security to our attention.

First, the drowning of twin boys in their grandmother's Arlington pool.  Their father had stopped at the house to check on his mother.  He let his guard down for mere minutes.  Minutes.  The two boys.... you know.  A father's worst nightmare.   

Second, the same day this horrible tragedy was reported, we left granddaughter Addie, age 2 1/2, unguarded for several minutes in the family room watching TV.  We were in the next room watching an important soccer game.  Distracted.  Problem is, Addie's TV room leads to the backyard and the backyard swimming pool.  Even though the door was locked, she can open it.  Even though she knows the rules, she's 2 1/2. 

Every family with a swimming pool who heard the tragic story this week I assure you was reassessing their own pool saftey.  I guarantee we are not the only ones installing extra locks as a result of this tragedy.  Their deaths will have prevented other deaths and injuries.  I am sure of that.

The time it has taken me to write this blog, Paul has finished installing locks that are out of reach of an adverturous child. 

Our hearts go out to the family mourning the loss of their darling boys. 

Forgive me

I have a secret.  I watch Bravo's Housewives of... series.  Not all the time, but enough to know who is who in all the different locations: New Jersey, New York, Atlanta, Orange County and Beverly Hills. 

In my defense, not all the locations air at the same time.  Bravo spreads them out over the year, although seasons do overlap.  Sort of like sports.  Basketball and hockey both just finished, but not before they overlapped baseball, which will overlap football.  That's the same with Housewives.  Right now New Jersey is wrapping up, Orange County is in the middle of it's season and New York season just started.   

Paul caught me last night watching Housewives of New Jersey.  Truth is, I let him catch him because I am tired of trying to hide my grotesque interest in this series.  It's takes too much effort. 

Maybe coming clean is the first step toward giving up this hideous addiction to reality soap opera.  Just not until I see what happens in New Jersey between the self-important and seemingly clueless Teresa and her adorable brother Joe. 

Thank you, Jerry Sandusky

Thanks to Jerry Sandusky, today it's OK to discuss sexual assault.  His conviction on 45 counts of child rape is today's top story.  Next week, the topic goes back underground.  Most likely.

I have had the privilege of working several years with survivors of sexual assault and incest.  If there is just one fact to get across in all of this, it's that most of the time the victim KNOWS his or her attacker.

U.S. Bureau of Justice Statistics: 93% of juvenile sexual assault victims know their attacker. Breaking it down:

• 34.2% of attackers were family members.
• 58.7% were acquaintances.
• Only 7% of the perpetrators were strangers to the victim.

Sexual assault of is not  Stranger Danger.  The danger is Uncle Bob or cousin Millie or the "friendly" neighbor/coach/youth leader or a parent's current partner. 

I've said for years that sexual assault or incest can be found in just about every family.  You may have to climb a limb or two to find it, but it's there. It can be found on a couple of limbs in my family tree.  We just don't talk about it.  Which is what breeds the shame.  That shame then converts into poison.  Possible side effects of said poisoning: depression, anxiety, OCD, eating disorders, bipolar disorder, PTSD, borderline personality disorder, suicide, homocide.  A hefty toll for something that is not the survivor's fault.

Sandusky's conviction and likely life sentence are certainly reasons for celebration.  I also hope they are reason enough for silent survivors to finally tell their story. 

Here's a good place to start if a person wanted to talk about their own abuse:

http://www.rainn.org/get-help

Grandmother cred

Life is so unpredictable. 

Take Karen Klein of Greece, N.Y.  When the week began nobody outside of her family and friends had heard of her.  Now at the end of the week, her face and her story have been told all over the world.  She's the lead topic around the water cooler this morning thanks to four 7th grade boys. 

Karen is the bullied grandmother/school bus monitor in this week's amazing YouTube video.  A CBS report this morning said the video had upwards of 2.5 million hits so far.  The video, shot by a teen, shows four teenage boys harassing her nonstop while she remains calm, yet obviously uncomfortable.  Profanity-laced insults are directed at her appearance and it appears a couple of times, they poke her with objects and their hands.

I wonder what the boy who posted this video thought was going to happen when others witnessed the incident?  What did he think the reaction was going to be?  It sure was funny at the time, at least that's the reaction he likely got from his friends and other students on the bus.  Where were the other students riding the bus when this was happening? 

The reaction has been overwhelming support for Karen Klein.  The public has responded with flowers, letters, and apparently a lot of money.  It struck a nerve.  The public is not OK with teenage boys harassing a grandmother.  Not just any grandmother, but a grandmotherly grandmother.  If it had been me, a grandmother, I may not have acted so grandmotherly.  But Karen Klein did.  She modeled classy behavior in an ugly situation. 

So this morning one of the fathers of the boys speaks to reporters.  He aplogizes.  He is saddened, he says, by his son's behavior.  I believe him.  Like the victim, he, too, is modeling classy behavior in an ugly situation, although I don't see him getting gifts from the public.  Predictably, his son and the other boys are getting death threats.

Cue the public blood lust: "If I were on that bus...." or "if I were their parent..."  The ending to those statements may differ slightly, but all involve bodily harm.   These kinds of reactions are not helpful.  They just make us feel better about ourselves for some reason. 

It makes me think of that famous Rodney King moment: can't we all just get along?  (RIP, Mr. King, who died last week).  It's that lesson again.  And again.  And again.  This week it's Karen Klein telling those boys on the bus in the middle of the attack: if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything.  That's straight, 100 proof sage advice - total grandma cred.  These are the kind of words and actions, powerful words and actions, that pack more punch than a death threat or an actual beating.

So what changes as a result of this video going viral; as a result of millions witnessing Karen's powerful words and actions?  Well Karen Klein is likely going to be able to retire.  Awesome.  And, at least the one kid whose father came forward, that kid is likely going to change for the better.  I believe his father was genuine in his sadness and we all know there's nothing worse than a parents' disapproval, except maybe a thousand death threats. 

But maybe, just maybe, the lesson will stick this time and there will be no more bullying EVER again on ANY school bus throughout the universe. 

A girl can dream.

Survivors

Yesterday my youngest granddaughter got a mild sunburn and her 2-year-old sister rolled up the car window on to her tiny pointer finger.  Dad had to release said finger from window's grip. 

Forgive me, but that made me smile.  But only after I heard they had survived.

Life and death is the daily norm for little kids, toddlers especially.  It's where they live.  Adults can't be expected to prevent every single injury.  Impossible. 

I was talking about this recently with a father of boys, 4 and 2 years old.  He said he was pushing both sons on swings, side-by-side, a lovely fatherly image.  Without warning, the 4 year-old takes FLIGHT, crashing to the ground.  He's scraped up pretty good, but mostly scared.  After his son calms down, his father asks what happened.

"I let go."

Yep.  That's what I'm talking about.  An adult cannot foresee accidents like that happening because the boundaries of toddler reasoning are limitless.  And that reasoning has nothing to do with reality. No basis in fact because these kids haven't the life experience to put two and two together.   The little boy told his father he wanted to get off the swing, so he let go.  Makes sense to a toddler, never mind that he's got a 5-foot drop to the ground.

Adorable, but only because he survived. 

I understand, sadly, that there are accidents with tragic results.  For the most part, however, the millions of times our kids get hurt, they survive.  We kiss their boo boos, slap on a bandage, offer ice packs and hugs.  It's a sweet part of childhood - sweeter maybe after time has soothed adult nerves and diminished adult guilt.

I admit my kids could tell a few tales.  They survived a good number of hits and near misses.  Some day I should add up the number of broken bones and concussions among my three children.  Not.  I will say John wins the Most Times Hospitalized award. 

Enough time has elapsed for me to share (confess) an incredible story of a gigantic calamity averted.  It's one of the "kid" stories I wrote about in a letter to my parents, letters my mom kept and returned to me a couple of years ago.  So, here's a paragraph, an eye-witness account, from my letter dated 1991.  The kids were ages 5, 7, and 9. 

"I'll quickly tell you this week's hair-grabbing event.  My three kids plus the neighbor's two (ages 5 and 2) were all in the playroom when John innocently threw a large plastic ball up in the air, hit the center screw on the glass light cover, broke the center screw, the glass cover falls in one piece on top of John's head (he's looking up as it falls on him), the cover shatters, Andrea and Jenny huddle covering their heads reflexively.  All my children take hits, only John is bleeding slightly on his arm.  There are glass slivers and chunks all over the room.  Paul and I carry all the children out.  The 2-year-old had been sitting in the closet.  ...I am plucking white hairs as I write this.  I don't want to have to tell this story again, it's too scary."

I guess it's taken me 21 years to tell this story again.  I still recall the event.  I can still see the light fixture fall on my son, his hard head shattering it and then ... they survived.  Just as my granddaughters will survive their injuries as well as many more to come. 

P.S. About that horrible event in '91, all 5 kids were OK, including John.  He thought he might be in trouble for breaking the light fixture.  Adorable.  He wasn't.  In fact, the kids really took it well.  Paul and I were wrecks.  Not too long after, Jenny broke her wrist falling off the teeter-totter playing "Hot Lava" at that same neighbor's house.  I kinda figured that made us even.

Happy Anniversary Frank & Shirley

Here's what 64 years of marriage looks like.  Frank and Shirley Lochridge will celebrate their 64th wedding anniversary Monday.  My brother Jim took these photos today at the Clark Fork River in Missoula, Montana.  He asked me to share with everyone.  Thanks, Jim.

If you're wondering what's in the background: it's a kayaker and a surfer in black wetsuit. 

Jenny by any other name... is still my Jenny

Today is my daughter's birthday.  Jenny is 28.  From the very first, this child followed her own path. 

It was June 14, 1984, in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, around 9 p.m. when my water broke.  I just barely had arrived home from work at the local newspaper.  My contribution to the next day's paper was done, so co-workers encouraged me to leave early.  They knew it was my last day before maternity leave, and I must have looked a mess.  I had been working extra hard, preparing for my long leave.  All that extra stuff you have to do before handing off duties.  I remember feeling drained and not at all prepared for Baby No. 2.  Which is why I so brilliantly decided to take my leave a week before my due date.  Jenny must have taken that as her cue to come knocking.

I recall with clarity the moment my water broke.  I was upstairs getting ready for bed.  The tiny second floor of our house contained two small bedrooms and a bathroom.  Both rooms had slanted ceilings like an attic.  Square footage of the entire house was less than 1,000, including the basement.  I was moving quietly because 2-year-old Andrea was asleep in one of the rooms.  I was on the upstairs landing moving from bathroom to my bedroom when my water broke.  It took a couple of seconds to really process what was happening before I hollared for Paul.

I will spare you the details of the delivery.  You're welcome.  I can tell you that it took about 12 hours after she was born for me to recover enough to hold Jenny and really get a good look at her.  She was perfect.  Olive complexion, ruby lips, soft black baby hair, eyes not quite ready to take in the outside world, yet curious.   

My perfect baby was missing just one thing: A name.  Back in the dark ages one did not know gender before delivery.  We had the boy's name picked out, which I've forgotten.  But we had not yet agreed on a girl's name.

Paul wanted Samantha.  When Andrea was born, that's the name he wanted but I didn't.  So I promised him he could have that name for our next girl.  I broke that promise even though I like the name.  I just wasn't feeling it for my second daughter.  Horrible of me, I know.

I suggested Genevieve and we call her Genny for short.  Paul nixed that, but we were getting closer.  How about Jennifer, Paul asked.  A fine name.  But I didn't want Jennifer.  I was stuck on Genny.  How about Jenny?  Hmmmm.  Day 2 my baby finally had a name: Jenny Lynn Stickney.  On Day 4 of her life, we took her home.

It didn't matter that the room she shared with her sister was not ready.  It didn't matter that she came home to a family already calibrated to suit a 2-year-old's energy.  She would soon change that by injecting her own wondrous energy into the family dynamic.  And so she has for the past 28 years been a positive force in our family, incalculably enriching all our lives.

Happy birthday my dearest.

PS. Of course our child who follows her own path has since changed that name we struggled so to come up with.  She married Michael Cole six years ago and took his surname, but also dropped her middle name Lynn to make her own surname a middle name.  So she is Jenny Stickney Cole.  I like it.  It suits her and she doesn't even get mad or correct me when I slip and call her Jenny Lynn....did I mention she's 28 today?

6458

Last week on my trip back to Texas from Montana, I had the privilege of witnessing the return of two Fallen Soldiers. The first at Denver airport. The second at DFW airport. One of the Fallen Soldiers was on my flight from Denver to Dallas. The flight crew announced it to us, and asked that we allow the soldier's escort to leave the plane first. We could see, taxing into our gate, a couple of police cars with lights going and behind them, an honor guard.

In Denver, the Fallen Soldier also was met at his or her final destination by an honor guard as well as several family members. Airport staff on the runway stopped what they were doing to stand still in honor of the Fallen Soldier. Inside the terminal, things suddenly got quiet. People moved toward the windows.  Those already close to the windows, one by one, stood up. This spontaneous show of support, paying respects, or whatever it was, continued until the casket was loaded onto the awaiting hearse. A soldier among the crowd in the terminal was seen wiping away tears. She wasn't alone.

It is a sobering reminder of the ultimate sacrifice these brave and heroic souls are making for our country. While trying to find a name for these two soldiers, I found an important site (below). It has the names of ALL our Fallen Soldiers from Operation Enduring Freedom, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and Operation New Dawn. 6458 names as of today.

http://www.militarytimes.com/valor/