Sugar, not vinegar

My mother was fond of aphorisms, and one of her favorites was, “You catch more flies with a teaspoon of sugar than you do with a cup of vinegar.” I’ve tried to live my life with that in mind, though I admit sometimes I’ve failed abysmally. Still, I think it’s a terrific guiding principle, and I am pleased my children seem to have gotten that message.

One of the things I’ve tried to teach my grandchildren—all seven of them, I’m proud to say—is to eliminate the word “hate” from their vocabularies. It’s a pretty strong, vulgar word, and I don’t see any need for them to say it ever. One smart sophist amongst them asked me if it wasn’t all right to say, “I hate it when my collar is too tight.” He knew full well and good I wanted him to eliminate the word in reference to people—and probably all living beings, even creepy crawlers.

I am disturbed at the level of hate in this country. Perhaps the white supremacists are the most outstanding public example, but I am particularly disturbed by the vitriol on Facebook about the Clintons and the Obamas. There’s also a swelling chorus aimed at 45, though it hasn’t reached choir proportions yet.

One friend posed the question of why, whenever something negative is posted about 45, someone chimes in with an accusation about Hillary or Obama. Why indeed? That has nothing to do with the subject at hand. If you are talking about 45’s behavior or decisions or tweets, accusing Obama of something is totally irrelevant. But such is the level of blind, unthinking hatred.

I shared a classy picture of Michelle Obama with a line that reminded that she is the most educated First Lady ever, with two degrees from Harvard and Princeton. Immediately someone responded, “Why is she so stupid?” Requests from me and several others to explain why the sender though Michelle was stupid went unanswered, leading us to believe the person didn’t really exist or was a troll or a bot (whatever the heck that is). But it all indicates a level of hate that I can’t imagine.

The people who hate—those who claim that Hillary is a criminal and should be locked up, that Obama was the worst president ever and ruined the country, the man who sees 45 as the Lord’s warrior (really?)—have no substance to back up their arguments. They just throw these statements into the mix and then accuse me of being a blind liberal. I have learned the hard way that it is senseless to argue with them, because facts mean nothing in their world. But it worries me that there are many in this country who harbor, even nurture, such emotions.

As for the level of hate on our streets, that too scares me. I remember the fear I knew as a child on the South Side of Chicago, and today I keep thinking how I’d feel if I were a black woman, watching my son, eighteen or twenty-eight, go out the front door at night and wondering if he’d come home alive. Will he be shot by an over-zealous law enforcement officer? Will he be the target of racial violence? As a female and a mother, I can understand fear a lot more than I can hate.

I don’t want to live in a country, a world where hate has such a strong presence, but I have no idea how to combat it. Hate is blind, unreasoning, the last weapon of the underdog. I pray for our country.

New Year's resolutions

I never make resolutions. I think it's foolish. We set these grand goals for ourselves and forget them long before January ends, partly because they're so lofty we can't attain them.. I've always believed in a more moderate approach--like this year I'm going to be a better person, walk in another person's moccasins before I judge them, an so on.
But this year I've made three resolutions, taking a hint from the man who recently said he was going to make one personal, one business, and one health resolution. I've got mine ready:
Health - I'm going to do my yoga routine at least four times a week, no excuses. I used to do that, but this past year the slightest excuse found me saying, "Not today." My back hurts, I didn't have time, the stars weren't aligned right. You name it, and it was an excuse for me. But I know I'm out of shape, and I know it's important as we age (and I certainly am) to stay flexible and active. Besides I bought a cushy new yoga pad.
Business--I'm going to be more disciplined about my writing. Less time on Facebook, etc., and more time devoted to writing new copy. Although I published three books this year, they reflected in large part writing done earlier. This year I'm going to concentrate on writing new material an finishing the projects on which I have a half start.
Personal - this is the one I'll probably break by January 10, but I am going to resist responding to blindly stated, rock-held (but in my mind erroneous) opinions on politics, social justice, the environment, gun control--all those controversial issues. Sometimes when people post comments that I consider blind belief and not rational exploration I can't resist leaping in. But I'm going to try. The guy who says "You can't take my guns from me" the same day a two-year-old shoots his mother by mistake will get no response for me. Neither will the person who claims climate change is a bunch of hooey. Hardest will be resisting those who blindly hate President Obama and claim he's ruining the country. But I cannot change their minds, and I hope to stop beating my head against a wall.
I saw a post today from a woman who said she will continue to condemn rogue cops, even while she continues to praise the majority of police officers. That, to me, is reasoned discourse, and if folks want to engage in that, I'd be grateful. I want to know when my thinking has veered off the chart of rationality--but only if you, too, are rational about it. Facts, folks, not prejudice.
Yes, I'm a progressive, a liberal, a tree hugger, an anti-gun person--but I'm willing to be reasonable about all--well, most of it.
So there you have it. Wish me luck in 2015. Because I wish you all the best that can be, all that your heart desires. Health, wealth, and happiness for everyone...and, most of all, peace in this sorry old world of ours. I, for one, am most grateful for all the blessings of my life. I hope you are too and that they continue for all of us in the year to come. God bless!

Race relations--and my personal education

In the venomous hate for President Obama that circulates on Facebook, at protests, etc. innuendoes and outward expressions of racial hatred are too often clear. I can't remember now what comment it was that sent me reeling back in time to examine my own education in race relations. I was raised in a liberal household where no hint of prejudice would have been tolerated, but I also grew up in Kenwood, a South Side Chicago neighborhood that by the '50s was ringed with poorer black neighborhoods. I was afraid. Yes, I'd been coddled by black nannies (one of whom proudly told my mother one morning that I'd eaten four eggs for breakfast!) but I heard at an early age that black men did bad things. This was reinforced by an aunt who lived two doors away and once, looking out the window to see a black man walking peacefully down the street, said to me, "Look how evil he looks!" (This is the same aunt who washed tomatoes with soap and water before peeling them, but I loved her.)
Al Knowlton was the first black man I really knew. He was a painter at the hospital where my father was administrator. Al came on Saturdays and some evenings to do the chores that my did couldn't or didn't want to do (Dad spent his weekends gardening and wasn't a particularly good handyman). Saturdays were a highlight for both of them--Mom would serve them lunch at the kitchen table, and they'd talk about the hospital and Al's days as a waiter on the trains (when trains had uniformed waiters and linen and fine china as well as fine food), and I remember they both enjoyed the visits. Al always called Dad "Dr. Mac."
Two incidents stand out in my mind. One night, when I was maybe eight or thereabouts, I was flitting about the house in my nightgown until my mother told me it wasn't fitting to be in my nightgown around a man who was not family. Period. No mention of race, but I made a subtle connection.
Another time Al surprised me somewhere in the house, and I cried "Oh, Al, I thought you were the bogey man." I got a severe lecture for that: black people, my mom explained, were particularly sensitive to being called the bogey man.
Of course there as the time Mom went to the hospital to pick Al up, having thrown on an old coat. She asked the switchboard operator to call him, and the operator asked, "Should I tell him his wife is waiting?" Even Al got a kick out of that one.
When my dad retired there was the usual hoopla, dinner, etc., and in all the pictures, Al was quite prominent, wearing the only suit I ever saw him in along with a broad grin. Theirs was truly a great friendship...and a lesson for me.