there is another male teenage driver here in kentucky.
i am not quite sure why i am
there is another male teenage driver here in kentucky.
i am not quite sure why i am
it is the throes of our busiest time. each minute it seems is occupied with absolute must dos, the mental space to write anything is almost nonexistent. i am compelled to write though, as i love this opportunity to put words to the thoughts brewing in my mind as i pick, process, and plant my way though these august days.
raising your children is hard work. i have traveled the globe and tended the earth, been through life and death more times than i can recount, but the soul searching, day in day out of raising my kids is definitely my most challenging journey: fear and doubt can weigh so heavily. it is with great jubilation that i share a glimpse of the home educated, home raised, first born babe of mine as a teenager.
he turned 16 this year and with it came the right to drive. yikes. i am impressed that my child is the one who bought his own first truck with his own hard earned, well saved, cash. heck, he even has money left to fill the tank. makes a mama proud, right?
then there is the duck coop. we are in the midst of a mild, manageable, familial obsession with ducks. our flock is still quite small, but homeless nevertheless. when our feathered friends outgrew their brooder, my boy had to take charge.
sometimes i take my son’s drive for granted, i have lived with it each day for over 16 years. the workmanship, care, design, and effort that went into this coop is beyond my description. it is by all definition a solo project, he asked for help only when he needed a ride to the wood shop up at the farm stay. the execution of this project is a true testament to this fella
he is growing up. he’s taking responsibility for himself. he treats others with respect and kindness. there are days when i wished he was kinder to his younger sister. there are days when i beg him to be a bit more respectful to me, his mama. we are in adolescence after all. now, for just right now, i can catch a glimpse of the adult he is becoming: capable and trustworthy, kind and honest. i sail the smooth waters. for now.
(Sigh.) Another theater season has drawn to a close in our local high school. They did a bang up job putting on Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. And we survived. My lack of a post last week was due to the fact that we were just surviving the process, but now, a few days out, I can look back and enjoy the ride.
Theater is a high impact, comprehensive, creative, full body sport. I love it. When I was in high school, it was one of my ambitions to play Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ Superstar, on Broadway, or someplace similar. (Thankfully, I have let that particular ambition slide.)
It didn’t take much time in New York City for me to realize I would rather be in the woods than on the stage. The theater of life is sufficient. But that doesn’t stop me from still loving the process of live stage drama. So, I got a little bit involved.
The directors of the local theater program are really excellent folks with good taste in vegetables (we supply their families) and we had long talked about yoga with the theater kids. I started leading their warm ups at one rehearsal each week.
It was so much fun. I’m hoping that the kids enjoyed it at least half as much as I did. Working with them, and watching them develop this performance has been a really special experience for me. Love of my daughter, the stage, and the local kids all collided in one great opportunity. I really want these young folks to get a sense of their own power, and to practice a waking awareness of their own bodies and selves. See, in order to convince someone in the audience that you are not yourself, you have to use every piece of yourself – every gesture, every breath, each movement – and so you need an acute awareness and control over yourself. I want them to know where their hands and feet are at all times – to feel the weight of their precious heads on their shoulders and use it well. I want them to use their whole bodies and their whole minds, and to learn how to work hard without hurting themselves in the process.
Those teenage years are so freakin’ intense. Young people have enormous amounts of energy – emotionally, intellectually, physically – and it is in the best interest of all involved for that energy to be used well. There’s a tremendous focus on sports-related activities in our local schools (which is a fine outlet) and the theater gives an outlet to those who aren’t so inclined to the playing field.
Watching them take their final bow on closing night brought back vivid memories of those wonderful intense sensations – the heat of the lights, the bond with fellow players, the exhilaration and corresponding exhaustion. A theater production crew creates something altogether new with their combined efforts whether great or small, and shares that creation with the community. Whatever the character of their shared creation, if it grabs us, the audience, and takes us along for the ride, it is successful.
Of course, when my personal favorite purple tea cup takes the stage, I can’t pay very much attention to the rest of the action. That’s the nature of parenthood I suppose, but besides that, I appreciate seeing her be a piece of the whole production process. As exhausting as it is, I do believe in it. (I’ll believe in it even more when she’s older and can drive herself to rehearsal, but…)
Then there was the bomb threat.
Yes, that’s right, a bomb threat, right here in the middle of nowhere. It was a fake, of course, perpetrated probably by a student hoping to get out of school early, but the authorities had no choice but to take it seriously and lock down the school for a night. And that in turn meant canceling that night’s performance and re-scheduling it later, which was a major bummer for the kids who had worked so hard for months to put this show together.
My initial reaction to hearing the word “bomb” connected to any place my children will be is to remove them from that place, perhaps permanently.
But after that reaction came and went, I got to thinking a little harder about it all.
First I thought about this place – the rural south – where we have come home and chosen to raise our children. I wasn’t born here, but have lived here since I was a little baby. I’m still not considered “local” and probably my children won’t be either, even though they are among the tiny minority of people actually born in this county. Part of why I like it here is that there is a staying power to the people. Walking the halls of the high school on the closing night of the play, I looked at the faces of the graduates dating back into the 1930’s. The surnames are still familiar – there are generations of people who have stayed right here. They know each other through deeply woven connections and generations of family ties. To my way of thinking, this gives the local society a level of accountability that is hard to find in the scattered social disconnect of suburban sprawl. There are problems, too, of course. There are “good old boy” networks and prejudices that sometimes send me screaming. But there is a sweet, deep beating heart beneath all of that. And that’s what will keep a community whole, a place where you don’t ever, in your wildest dreams, expect to hear the words “bomb threat”. And that’s part of why we are still here.
There is a tendency among a growing number of us to want to ditch civilization at large. I am definitely prone to that kind of thinking. There are times that I would like nothing more than to take my family deep into the primeval forest and stay there, where there are no bomb threats, no standardized tests, no blinking screens and ticking clocks and nightly news and faceschmuk.
But if I hold my gaze firm I come to know that there is no running away. There is no perfect place. What I want is a better world, a world without bomb threats and school shootings, among many things. It is feasible that my Fellow Man and I could perhaps create enough of a bubble around ourselves to make the world better for OUR kids, which would be great, but it’s not the whole picture.
I believe that when part of humanity suffers, we all suffer in some way. Our suffering, in our comfortable homes and with our creature comforts may be indirect and subtle. It may manifest in the crude sort of alienation that leads young people to make false bomb threats. But that doesn’t make the suffering any less real.
I want to do things that make the whole world a better place. Your world, my world, OUR world. This doesn’t mean I’m joining Doctors Without Borders (a WONDERFUL organization). That’s not my calling. My work, for now is simply to not run away – to stay here and occupy this world, at home.
I believe that if we were to pay more attention to the places we occupy – our bodies, our homes, our communities – then these places will be improved. They will not be improved while our attention remains glued to the high speed screens that try to sell us what they say we ought to be.
I’ve heard it said that the footsteps of the farmer are the best fertilizer. That’s not a statement about compressing the soil – it’s about paying attention. Our worlds, large and small, need our attention, as they are right now, in pain and sickness and pleasure and plenty, to heal and to thrive. Nothing will get better if we ditch now. Nothing will improve without our heartfelt, focused, creative attention.
That’s a lot to pack into a yoga class with some teenagers, I know. Sometimes people get a funny look on their face when I say to a class, “feel your feet on the ground”. Maybe they’re thinking that this yoga teacher is just nuts. Or maybe they’re feeling the soles of their feet in a way they hadn’t noticed before. Maybe they can carry that new sense of the soles of their feet out on the stage in the stride of some character that will make us all laugh our heads off. Maybe they will carry that sensation into their lives and use it to help them stay awake for all the beauty in store for them if they look for it, and create it. I hope so, cause that’s what I’m talking about.
The kids in the theater production occupied every inch of that stage to make that awesome performance. They connected to the creative process, and each other, and they shared it with us. We gave them back a lot of love and appreciation in return, and for this period of time, in this little town, that lively exchange made our world a very good place.