Friday, October 15, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Building A Global Village Summer 1996
Over the years I've noticed - not just a dumbing down of America - but a numbing of America. Where once goodness, kindness and decency were the role models for our society - now we have jackass and cyber-bullying. Even our politicians encourage citizens to act like a lynch mob. They send out instructions on how to interrupt a town meeting. Not how to be informed citizens - but how to stifle debate and silence opposing voices. We can blame political pitch me, we can blame video games or online social networks. But the truth is - it starts at home. It starts with each parent taking the time to listen to the sounds outside their window.
Join me now in the wayback machine - to 1996 and the beginning of Rove politics.
It is the end of another scorching day. I am sitting in my darkened living room waiting for the sun to go down and for the heat to retreat. Outside are the sounds of the children from my apartment complex playing in front of the building. It is a joyful noise that echoes thought the evening. I close my eyes and lean back, remembering my own childhood. Suddenly the sounds outside my window change and I look out my window to investigate. An older boy has joined the group and he is bullying the younger ones. I watch for a few moments as he goes from child to child, teasing and tormenting. Just as my daughter walks into the room I stick my head out the window and start to reprimand the boy. “Hey!” I say, “Knock it off!” The boy heads back to the other side of the apartment complex and the younger children go back to the game they were playing. When I pull my head back in my daughter is looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. She asks, “Mom, are you turning into one of those grumpy old grandmothers who is always yelling at the kids in the neighborhood?” I didn’t answer. I was slightly embarrassed and surprised at myself. I hadn’t thought about it before I did it, I just did it.
For the next few days I kept thinking about my childhood. I remember those deliciously long summer days but most of all I remember the nights. There must have been twenty of us baby boomers gathered on the front porch, playing flashlight tag or telling ghost stories in the dark. Seems to me, that everyone felt they had a right and a responsibility to “make the kids mind.” Even when we thought we were running wild in the street, just inside the picture window, somebody’s Mom, somebody’s Dad was keeping an eye on us. We knew we were in trouble when someone’s parent left the comfort of the easy chair to make their way out on the lawn. No one ever laid a hand on someone else’s kid, just gave him the stern talking to and went back behind the window. If one of us really got out of hand, then some parent might take you by the arm and walk you back to your house to explain the problem to your parents. Not only would you be in trouble with your parents, but the other kids would tease you about it.
We expected discipline, not just from our parents but also from our friends’ parents. Somehow it made us feel safe. In school were doing the “duck and cover atomic bomb drill” and were grew up knowing that the world could end in a flash. We knew that the world was a dangerous place but our neighborhood, with our parents standing watch from the easy chair, was safe. My grandchildren have no safe haven. The war has come to our front lawns and their bedrooms at night and it is dangerous everywhere.
For days I’ve been listening to stories about Bob Doles’ hometown on the nightly news. I’ve heard the story at least a thousand times of how Russell, Kansas, with it’s boundless love and financial support helped a broken soldier, a home town boy, become the man he is today, a United States Senator and candidate for President. I want my grandchildren to live in Russell, Kansas. I want all children to live in Russell, Kansas,
As Dole gave his acceptance speech, I was particularly offended by his abrasive remarks about Hillary Clinton’s book, “It takes a Village.” It seemed odd to me that after spending a week paying tribute to the “Village of Russell, Kansas” he would casually dismiss their contribution to his success and claim that it doesn’t take a village it takes a family. Doles’ family didn’t have the resources to rescue their son. They had to rely on the generosity of the community. In the cost analysis of the totally capitalist society, the investment in Bob Doles’ recovery would have been too high a risk. In other words, he wouldn’t have been worth what it cost to fix him. Mr. Dole, you sir, are living proof that the community, the collective good will of the citizens of the community, plays a vital role in our society. And that it really does take a village.
Later as I was putting a “Clinton/Gore 96” sign in my window I noticed that same older boy was again bullying the younger children. I stuck my heard out the window, “Hey!” I said, “If you don’t behave I’m going to talk to your parents!”
My daughter looked horrified. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m building a village!” I replied.
Join me now in the wayback machine - to 1996 and the beginning of Rove politics.
It is the end of another scorching day. I am sitting in my darkened living room waiting for the sun to go down and for the heat to retreat. Outside are the sounds of the children from my apartment complex playing in front of the building. It is a joyful noise that echoes thought the evening. I close my eyes and lean back, remembering my own childhood. Suddenly the sounds outside my window change and I look out my window to investigate. An older boy has joined the group and he is bullying the younger ones. I watch for a few moments as he goes from child to child, teasing and tormenting. Just as my daughter walks into the room I stick my head out the window and start to reprimand the boy. “Hey!” I say, “Knock it off!” The boy heads back to the other side of the apartment complex and the younger children go back to the game they were playing. When I pull my head back in my daughter is looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. She asks, “Mom, are you turning into one of those grumpy old grandmothers who is always yelling at the kids in the neighborhood?” I didn’t answer. I was slightly embarrassed and surprised at myself. I hadn’t thought about it before I did it, I just did it.
For the next few days I kept thinking about my childhood. I remember those deliciously long summer days but most of all I remember the nights. There must have been twenty of us baby boomers gathered on the front porch, playing flashlight tag or telling ghost stories in the dark. Seems to me, that everyone felt they had a right and a responsibility to “make the kids mind.” Even when we thought we were running wild in the street, just inside the picture window, somebody’s Mom, somebody’s Dad was keeping an eye on us. We knew we were in trouble when someone’s parent left the comfort of the easy chair to make their way out on the lawn. No one ever laid a hand on someone else’s kid, just gave him the stern talking to and went back behind the window. If one of us really got out of hand, then some parent might take you by the arm and walk you back to your house to explain the problem to your parents. Not only would you be in trouble with your parents, but the other kids would tease you about it.
We expected discipline, not just from our parents but also from our friends’ parents. Somehow it made us feel safe. In school were doing the “duck and cover atomic bomb drill” and were grew up knowing that the world could end in a flash. We knew that the world was a dangerous place but our neighborhood, with our parents standing watch from the easy chair, was safe. My grandchildren have no safe haven. The war has come to our front lawns and their bedrooms at night and it is dangerous everywhere.
For days I’ve been listening to stories about Bob Doles’ hometown on the nightly news. I’ve heard the story at least a thousand times of how Russell, Kansas, with it’s boundless love and financial support helped a broken soldier, a home town boy, become the man he is today, a United States Senator and candidate for President. I want my grandchildren to live in Russell, Kansas. I want all children to live in Russell, Kansas,
As Dole gave his acceptance speech, I was particularly offended by his abrasive remarks about Hillary Clinton’s book, “It takes a Village.” It seemed odd to me that after spending a week paying tribute to the “Village of Russell, Kansas” he would casually dismiss their contribution to his success and claim that it doesn’t take a village it takes a family. Doles’ family didn’t have the resources to rescue their son. They had to rely on the generosity of the community. In the cost analysis of the totally capitalist society, the investment in Bob Doles’ recovery would have been too high a risk. In other words, he wouldn’t have been worth what it cost to fix him. Mr. Dole, you sir, are living proof that the community, the collective good will of the citizens of the community, plays a vital role in our society. And that it really does take a village.
Later as I was putting a “Clinton/Gore 96” sign in my window I noticed that same older boy was again bullying the younger children. I stuck my heard out the window, “Hey!” I said, “If you don’t behave I’m going to talk to your parents!”
My daughter looked horrified. “What are you doing?” she asked. “I’m building a village!” I replied.
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