Good Sense

Melissa Dereberry's Blog

Archive for the category “Parenting”

23 Feb 2012

Shall We Dance?

When I was in college, my friend Heather and I used to go dancing. We’d get all dressed up in our frightful, early nineties color-block dresses, heels—and pantyhose, mind you—and go hit the local club. One night, we were tearing up a crowded dance floor when somehow, I got my feet tangled up (perhaps one drink too many?) and promptly tripped, falling flat on my bum amidst a throng of fellow folks getting their groove on. Unfazed, I simply got up and continued dancing, laughing it off. My friend commented later that she was amazed at my boldness, admitting that, had she done the same, she would have ducked and run, mortified beyond belief. But I just wanted to dance. Dancing was the goal, and my eyes were on the goal.

Oh that we could retain that youthful audacity in the face of life’s trip wires—invisible, self-created or otherwise. Most of us go through life afraid to fail, afraid to attempt something that will not garner praise and accolades from our peers—and, more importantly, from those who are seasoned members of whatever “club” we are wanting to break into—whether it’s writing a book, running a marathon, building a stellar investment portfolio, or knitting a sweater. We want recognition for all our hard work, don’t we? Some validation that yes, we have done this—but not only that, it’s good.

Well, it’s more than probable that I wasn’t the best dancer of my generation, or of that particular dance floor, for that matter. In fact, it’s a 100% certainty. But it didn’t stop me from doing it. I can still dance badly in my living room and somehow, experience the exuberance of having just performed on a stage, in front of an enormous, adoring crowd. Isn’t is a miraculous gift that God gives us, to love ourselves, to love what we do?

I ran across the following question once—I can’t remember where: “What would you attempt for God if you knew you would not fail?”

Indeed. What would you attempt—period—in life, if you knew you would not fail? What would you attempt for God? For others? For yourself? For the world? Sit down and make a list. It might surprise you. Yours might contain silly, frivolous things like, say, changing your hair color. It might be to sing an entire song in front of an audience of people–Or, maybe things like starting a business without fear of failure, donating a large sum of money without fear of financial strain, telling someone you love how you feel without fear of rejection. What would you do if failure was simply not an option?

Is it possible to live our lives with such a mentality? Can we set out to attain our goals and dreams without, ultimately, fear of failure? Most certainly, yes. We can have faith in our abilities, our resources, our resolve. Will those things eliminate failure? No. Failures will always happen. Sometimes we will win and sometimes, we won’t. The difference is what we do with those failures.

As a writer, I have experienced hundreds of failures—some small, some that made me want to haul my computer, all my files and the contents of desk out to the end of the driveway and set it on fire. My latest project was rejected by small press publishers, major publishers, and agents probably close to 100 times—in the form of either no reply, a form letter, or a nice note simply stating “doesn’t suit our needs at this time.” I understand failure. I get it.

But there are some little words hanging out in the back of my mind. They are my dad’s words. I will never forget them, as long as I live. “You’ve got the world by the tail with a downhill drag.” In other words, you’ve got this. You can do this. And it’s going to be easier than you think.

Maybe. But maybe my dad never tried to walk behind a 50 pound dog, pulling a leash ahead of you, down a hill. Sometimes, the darn thing can take on a life of its own, and suddenly—how did this happen, exactly?—it’s pulling you instead of the other way around. Suddenly, your dream has taken the lead. Good—or bad? Well, that depends. If you want a little bit of exercise, a little challenge, keeping up with the dog is great. But if you’re just not in the mood, well, you’re going to feel exactly as you’d suspect: Pulled. Maybe the dog is someone else’s dream and it seriously needs to heel. Going downhill is easier, of course, but if it’s not your dream, then it’s still going to feel like a struggle.

Did I become a dancer? No. Did I enjoy it, on the journey to discovering what I really needed to do in life? Yes. But, if I’d not tried—if I’d lacked the fundamental courage in life to attempt things—to stare down failure in the face and have words with it, I might not have discovered my true talents. They would have stayed back there, a sad heap on a dance floor. I am reminded of one of my dad’s other truisms: “You always were a bit mischievious.” In other words, I have an agenda, and it may or may not fit in with what you want me to do, or even what you believe I am capable of doing. Yes, under this seemingly serious, quiet facade, lies a stubborn, sometimes defiant kid who just wants to dance, dang it. Leave me alone, already!

Nearly everything in life deserves another stab—or two, or three, or a thousand. Pick your dream. Make sure it’s what you want to do. Don’t let anyone tell you no. See it realized, in your mind, and never stray from it. Put God first. He already knows what you were designed to do anyway. If you’re good at something, that probably means he thinks so, too. I believe that everyone is gifted in something. Some of us find out what that something is, and some of us don’t–because we fall and simply give up. You can’t learn how to dance if you give up. The point is this: Jump up and start dancing again. It will prepare you for what is to come.

Commit to the Lord whatever you do, and he will establish your plans. Proverbs 16:3.
In their hearts, humans plan their course, but the Lord established their steps. Proverbs 16:9.

Posted in Christian Living, Faith, Kids, Parenting, writing, Writing Life and tagged , , , , , , | Leave a Comment
22 Feb 2012
4 Comments

Guarding the Heart: A Lesson From My Most Embarassing Moment

In her book Run With Me, Jennifer Lutwieler describes a scene from childhood in which she was to be confirmed in the Presbyterian Church that her father pastored. When it came time to be interviewed, one of the church leaders asked her the question: “Is your father a member of this church?” Lutwieler describes the feeling of discomfort that came over her as she considered the question, under the waiting, scrutinizing eyes of the interviewers. She recalls, after a few seconds, realizing that it was “a trick question,” meant, she assumes, to befuddle her and steer her into failure. After trying, unsuccessfully, to get them to clarify the question, she reasons: “why wouldn’t my dad, the pastor, be a member?” Yet, she still suspects they are tricking her. In the end, she answers: “Yes. He is a member.” She finds out later that, according to some obscure by-law of the church, a pastor cannot also be a member of said church. She was confirmed, she says “despite her ignorance,” and yet, she still felt the sting of having been “railroaded” and humiliated by those judgmental, superior powers that be—a sting that impacted her relationship and attitude toward the church for years to come. All this, because some adults chose to ask a difficult question—one that she could have aced, perhaps, had she prepared more diligently, or been trained in the art of religious minutia. She assumes—rightly or not—that those adults had it out for her from the beginning, that they had some deliberate desire to see her squirm, or worse, fail miserably. Maybe. Maybe they were just following rote interview questions from a pre-approved textbook. Maybe they thought she was more intelligent than she seemed to give herself credit for and wanted an accurate measure of her proficiency. And maybe, yes maybe, they were just mean and oblivious—having forgotten what it was like to be an intimidated child sitting in the hot seat.

My own opinion is that adults do this, sometimes. They use their positions of power to intimidate, control, and demean those within their charge. One need only consider the recent Penn State scandal to be reminded just how ugly abuses of power can be.

While not even in the same ballpark as Pen State, I know about trusted adults who take liberties with their power, because I have experienced it myself.

My third year of college, I signed up for a Chaucer class. I have no idea what possessed me to do this. When I picked up the textbook, I thumbed through it and thought there had surely been some mistake. The whole stinking thing was written in a foreign language! What? Did someone expect me to read this? Hello? English major here. On the first day of class, I learned that it was, indeed English—who knew?—but that it was middle English, which basically meant it was one step somewhere between stone tablets and Shakespeare, I think. Anyway, non-technical linguistic definitions aside, I was sunk before I even started.

For reasons, I’m not quite sure, I worked my tail off that semester. I read that middle English, and those positively dumb and ridiculous stories; I took meticulous notes; I highlighted, dog-eared, and otherwise riddled my textbook with all manner of post-its, bookmarks and tears. When it came time for the semester test—which was to memorize—yes, memorize, in middle English, i.e., a foreign language—the first twenty-some-odd lines of the Canterbury Tales, I was ready. I’d written it a hundred times over. I’d read it out loud, whispered it under my breath in the grocery store, played it in my head to the beat of T.Rex playing on my Walkman as I walked, walked, walked, all over campus and beyond, all for the glory of the perfect recitation. For weeks, I ate, slept, and breathed Chaucer. I even had the accents down, thank you.

When test day came, I performed. I nailed it. I was sure to get an “A.” I could feel it. The professor—a short, bald little man with thick round glasses—had other ideas, though. There was to be a pop quiz—a spontaneous reading from the text, just to make sure I’d gotten the lingo. He instructed me to turn to a pre-selected page, and I did so, and began reading. It was going well. I was sailing through it with flying colors. About half way through, the back of my neck started to feel warm. The flush crept up my neck and to my face and I struggled to continue. See, my professor had chosen what could politely be referred to as the “bawdy” parts of Chaucer for me to recite—the surliest, most embarrassing part of the entire Canterbury Tales—apparently, sex and potty jokes were big in Middle English. What was he up to? Why—of all the hundreds upon hundreds of lines of Chaucer—did he choose those? When I came to the end of the assigned section, I nearly gulped for air.

He then proceeded to spew out a layer of praise that would make even the most easygoing, confident person on the planet want to turn and run. You have an extraordinary grasp of the language, you have a master of pronunciation, very impressive—ad nauseum. Which would have been fine, had he not just contributed to quite possibly the most humiliating moment of my life, right there in the sacred halls of Englishdom. But then, the kicker. He said, quite plainly—and arrogantly, I might add—“I suppose you’ve gotten over the fact that you’re pretty by now.”

Excuse me? What the hell? There were so many things wrong with what had just transpired that I couldn’t even begin to list them. First of all, no, I didn’t think I was all that pretty. Secondly, how exactly does one get over being pretty? And finally, what does being pretty—or having come to terms with it, for that matter—have to do with my performance as a student in his class? I wanted to scream. I was pissed—no, I was seething, by the time I left that office. I ended up saying what probably anyone in the same situation would say. Nothing. I simply sucked it up and left without a word.

Do adults sometimes intentionally intimidate? Embarrass? Test? Do they create situations to gauge the limits of their own desires or self-imposed delusions of grandeur? My answer, of course, is, unequivocally, yes. Had I been older, more mature, and not completely out of place in my own skin, I might have reported that professor’s behavior. I might have pointed out, quite eloquently, that I did not have to put up with such treatment. I might have stood up for myself. But I was just a kid, really. And kids sometimes can’t be trusted with their own hearts when they lack the courage or wisdom to know what they need, and what they are worth.

I know now. I will teach my children, particularly my daughter, that those in power are not always right, that she can trust her instinct, and that I will back her up 100% when she is confronted by a situation that pierces her sense of self-worth—whether wounded by the actions of someone she trusts, or some random assault. I will teach her, as written in Proverbs 4:23: Above all else, guard the heart, for it is the wellspring of life.

Posted in Christian Living, Faith, Kids, Parenting and tagged , , , ,
04 Feb 2012
1 Comment

No Bats Allowed

In December, a South Carolina woman died of rabies contracted from a bat, the first case in that state in 50 years.  Five days ago, Reuters reported that a Massachusetts man died from the first case of human rabies in that state since 1935.  Doctors say he was likely infected by a bat—the man was not even aware of having been bitten.  Two days ago, officials in Rhode Island say a group of people may have been exposed to rabies by a bat a man was carrying in a cage.  Peter Hanney, spokesperson for the RI Health Department said that even though the bat got away, anyone who came near the bat should be evaluated and/or treated for rabies, because rabies “is highly transmissible to humans, even without a bite or scratch from the animal,” according to Hanney .  (http://www.reuters.com/article/2012/02/02/us-bat-rhodeisland-idUSTRE81123F20120202).

Fox news recently interviewed Dr. Steven Garner, New York Methodist Hospital Radiology Chair, on the Massachusetts  case, citing several animals that are known to carry rabies, including bats, raccoons, foxes, coyotes, and, surprisingly, domestic cats.  The disease, he points out, is 100% preventable with vaccinations.  Bats, because they are so small and have tiny razor sharp teeth, can actually be inside your home and bite you unawares.  Garner says if a bat is found in your home, unless you can trap the bat and have it tested, you must be vaccinated because “you just don’t know.”  The CDC reports that the most common cause of rabies in humans is from infected bats.  (http://www.cdc.gov/rabies/bats/education/index.html).  While unlikely, exposure to rabies can, and does, happen.  Not only that, but we should be diligent when we come into any sort of contact with them, especially in our homes.

Bats used to have sort of a bad rap, stemming, I guess, from vampire stories and old wives tales.  Then, sometime in the eighties or nineties, bat awareness, education and conservation came on the scene and suddenly, bats were everybody’s best friend.  People were buying bat houses and trying to protect the habitats and reputations of the sorely “misunderstood” critters.

I’m all for conservation.  I love animals.  I believe in humane, respectful treatment of nature.  But I think the bat movement pulled a fast one.  People have always known, I guess, that bats carry rabies, but somehow, I missed the day my school teachers talked about rabies because they were likely too busy talking about how cool bats were.  In college, some friends and I went walking through the infamous “Bat Cave” on some old property just outside of Lebanon, MO.  It didn’t even dawn on us that we were surrounded by—you guessed it—bats.  We had nothing to fear.  Bats were our friends.

I can tell you a short personal bat story that has changed, forever how I feel about them.  For me, this is the real truth about bats:  They are not my friends.  About four years ago, I found my two kids playing with a comatose bat in our yard.  I picked the thing up to get it away from them.   After sending it off for testing through a local veterinarian’s office, we learned it was, in fact, rabid, and that they would have to undergo a series of rabies shots immediately*.  Not only would that, but I, too, have to get the shots because of possible exposure.  In short, we got the shots and recovered with no long-term effects beyond the emotional trauma of the whole experience.  For the skeptics:  Imagine, learning you’ve been exposed to a deadly virus in your own back yard, getting a personal phone call from the Health Department.  A year or two later, on a field trip with my son’s class, while on a nature hike, I noticed some kids huddling around something, talking excitedly amongst themselves.  When I approached, I discovered it was a bat lying on the ground.  Instantly, I went into hyper-bat-alarm mode and bellowed, “Get away from the bat!”  Ironically, on another field trip just a week later, we were at a conservation department watching an educational video about how interesting, cool and misunderstood bats are.  I wanted to raise my hand and say, “Bats may be cool, but they are one of the top carriers of the deadly rabies virus in the U.S.  Don’t get too close to them.”

Somehow, I’d gotten through 40 years of life without learning about the dangers of bats.  Is the bat conservation movement to blame?  Maybe.  Sometimes, the best lessons come through experience.  And though this one isn’t one I’d care to repeat, I now know it’s prudent to keep a safe distance from these creepy critters.   In other words, I’m not leaving the light on for them.  No bats allowed at my house.

*I  must add here that if not for the suggestion by one of our doctors that day, the unthinkable might have happened.  Shortly after finding the bat, we had an appointment at the dermatologist’s office.  Joseph was going on about how it was so cool that he’d found this bat.  The doctor was the one who suggested we send the bat off for testing.  Had we not had that appointment that day, who knows what would have happened?  Joseph possibly got bitten, as he had said the animal “scratched” him.  He was young enough that discerning what really happened was difficult.  The doctor could very well have saved his life that day!

Posted in Current Events, Parenting and tagged ,
19 Aug 2011

Dumb and Dumber

 

Random topics recently overheard as my kids watch t.v.:  An asteroid is enroute to Earth and it will destroy the planet unless the Wizards of Waverly Place can use their magic to avert it.  Someone’s babysitter is a vampire and somehow a bunch of teens turn into dolls.  Some cartoon characters get lost in a cave and one of them turns into a bat and terrorizes the rest of them.  And would you believe that the kids on A.N.T. Farm are also facing an impending asteroid? My husband and I have a saying:  “Well, I think we’re all a little bit dumber after watching that.”  Dumber, maybe—but worse off?  It’s the $10,000 question of the media generation:  Does t.v. have a harmful effect on kids?

My immediate response is no—and yes, I realize some of my friends will not approve.  I mean, my kids have watched hours upon hours of t.v., and they seem to be doing ok.  They do well in school.  They are pretty good kids.  But—I firmly believe t.v. does affect them.  I’m just not sure about the greater implications of it, the long term results.  I don’t know for sure that it’s bad for them.  Also, I don’t think t.v. stands alone.  There are plenty of books, movies, games, and peers to introduce kids to the “dark side.”  Have you ever heard of something called “The Exorcist Maze game?”  Most third graders have.  It’s basically an online game that pranks the user by inserting a pop-up of Exorcist girl’s face right in the middle of the game.  The responses of these poor unsuspecting gamers are so intense and (apparently) so hysterically funny, that entire YouTube videos have been devoted to featuring the shots, one after the other.  In one of them, a kid about five years old gets so upset he starts crying, which broke my heart.  Who would show this to a little kid?

(Sidebar:  The same people who would insert these kinds of things into any video on YouTube.  If your child likes to search for Nerf War videos and things like this, just be on the alert for this sort of thing – read the comment sections before you let your child watch).

Our kids are exposed to graphic, larger-than-life images, some of which would scare the flip flops off my generation and make those Wizard of Oz
monkeys look like Zhu Zhu pets.  Where do we draw the line between fun fantasy and just plain creepiness?  How worrisome are these shows?

A news story surfaced recently about a 19 year old Texas man who, claiming to be a 500 year old vampire, broke into a random woman’s home and attempted to bite her neck.  As expected, the media discussions turned to the vampire fad of recent years, particularly the Twilight series, and how it has effected today’s youth.  No concrete evidence was presented that proved this individual had ever read or been exposed to any specific piece of literature or film, and yet, the media made the connection for us by conveniently bringing up the subject immediately following the report of the crime.

In my opinion, a vampire movie is not going to create a would-be vampire, unless said vampire is already a little psycho.  When someone is messed up, he will find an outlet for that, some way to get his frustrations or troubles outside of himself—thus, we have serial killers, uni-bombers, and vampire wannabes.  Not to make light of serious crimes, but my point is this:  The world has a plentiful supply of wackos already.  I don’t think Twilight is going to create more of them.

Back in the day, I would jump off the bus after school, race down my driveway, and plant myself infront of the t.v. just in time to catch The Brady Bunch.  You remember those days—when the most pressing problems weren’t vampires or asteroids, but Marsha getting hit in the nose with a football and Jan wearing a big black wig because she wanted to upstage her sister at the party. When the tarantula got into the beach bag in Hawaii, a collective gasp was heard from grade school kids all across America.  Oh the drama!

I guess what bothers me more than anything about kids programming today is that most of it really is just plain dumb–and dumber.  We have teens landing on an asteroid in a toy spaceship, another gang that lives and goes to school on a cruise ship.  These shows do absolutely nothing to prepare kids for the real world.  At least the Bradys faced somewhat realistic problems.  I mean, I don’t know about you, but I knew exactly what to do if I ever lost my mom’s earrings in the drain.

 

Posted in Culture, Kids, Media, Movies, Parenting and tagged , , | Leave a Comment
21 Feb 2011

Stepping In For God

 In one of my recent blogs, I wrote about dealing with difficult people in our lives and knowing how and when to respond with Godly purpose.  But what about when the difficulty involves our child?  What would you do if you saw someone being rude or mean to your child or someone else’s?  What if it was your own child, exhibiting the bad behavior?  Do you step in?  Do you let them work it out? 

The easy answer is to make sure your child is equipped to navigate difficult situations, that he or she knows what it means to walk in the truth.  The Bible tells us, “Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it” (Proverbs 22:6).   Most of us have heard the saying, “Prepare your child for the path, not the path for your child.”  But as parents, we want the path, don’t we?  After all, we’ve been down it before, why not run ahead of them and fill in the potholes, remove the stones in the way?  We want things to be easy for our child—easier than it might have been for us.  We want to protect them and keep them grounded so they won’t find themselves in those situations to begin with.

The reality is, we live in a fallen world.  The battles are inevitable.  We have to send them out with gear, not a pre-fashioned map we’ve drawn up for them.

I was not raised in a Christian home.  My parents took us to church regularly when we were toddlers, then after my parents got divorced, my mom only took us occasionally.  I’d say we were exposed to Christianity, but we weren’t taught how to walk with Christ.  I didn’t learn this until I was 28 years old, when I became a Christian, finally, after years of cynicism and rebellion. 

When I was about eight years old, I learned a very practical less about the downfalls of personal victory in worldly matters.  Every day, I’d stand at the end of my long driveway, full of dread for the shame that would befall me when I stepped on the bus, making my way down the aisle, past  this particular boy and his merciless teasing.  Well, one day I’d had enough.  I passed by him and stopped, balled up my fist and planted it right on his nose.  I watched in horror as blood started streaming out, dripping on the floor as I stood there, staring at my hand, frozen with fear that the bus driver was going to whip over to the side of the road, grab me by the arm and lead me to the seat behind her, threats of punishment the likes of which I’d never seen or heard.  But she didn’t do a thing.  I don’t even know if she saw it.  No one told, not even the boy.  He never spoke to me again.  I felt a small victory in my small world.  But all those years growing up, the victory I felt that day was overshadowed by the bus driver’s inaction.  See, I knew I’d done wrong.  And I’d gotten away with it.

My dad tells a similar story.  In high school in the 1940s, he had suffered years of meanness from one of his classmates.  And, as the story goes, he finally reached a boiling point.  “Tommy, if you don’t leave me alone,” he said.  “I’m gonna whip you.”  Fair warning given, ignored.  Dad punched him.  Ironically, they ended up being best friends after that.

Is physical retaliation ever warranted?  After all, it often gets us the outcome we desire. 

I have given my children permission to defend themselves in a threatening situation—i.e., if they are in physical danger.  If another child is physically threatening them, they can fight back.  I stand by that, even though it’s probably not the Christ like thing to do.  He wants us to turn the other cheek, but the world is brutal and mean and merciless.  Sometimes, it deserves a wake-up call.  Sometimes, force is required.

I go back to that bus, a situation where I took matters into my own hands.  Was my response warranted?  Probably not.  After all, the boy had never physically touched me.  I was responding out of emotionally inflicted wounds, the kind that really do hurt worse, and last longer, than the other kind.  Looking back now, I realize that I wasn’t really equipped.  I had no idea what the armor of God was, much less how to put it on and use it.  Sadly, I was without this most essential protection in a world that wielded really sharp weapons.

This is where we adults and parents come in.  We teach our kids about the protection God provides—the way His word and His promise can bolster our confidence in who we are and how valuable we are in his eyes.  How He wants to protect his valuable creation.  And if we feel valued, we will, hopefully, fight our battles fairly, too, resisting the temptation to tease or treat others in a way that is not Godly.  In other words, as parents and adults who are in the position of influencing children, we talk to them, frankly, about the realities of worldly battle, and equip them with that all important spiritual gear.   

Yes, we can prepare our children, but there are times when we have to physically step in for God, too.  Should that bus driver have stepped in, corrected my behavior?  Corrected the boy’s behavior?  Absolutely.  I believe that if we see a child who is not fighting fair—either by hurtful words or actions—we can  and should intervene on God’s behalf.  We don’t have to quote scripture or preach, just gently correct—in a way that honors God.  We can’t allow it when we see it, otherwise, that child may go on believing that force and foulness is an appropriate tactic in most situations, when it clearly is not. 

Does this mean we are fighting our child’s battles?  Attempting to prepare the path, rather than preparing them?  Not at all.  I believe, in those moments, we are simply stepping into the front lines, with a bigger, more battle-seasoned shield, to seize a teachable moment.  Beyond instructing our children in truth, stepping into a difficult situation is a great lesson in leadership.  A child who learns he can intervene on His behalf, for someone else, is immeasurably equipped.  He learns the power and righteousness of stepping in for God.

Posted in Faith, Kids, Parenting, Spirituality and tagged , , , , , | Leave a Comment

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