Please raise your hand with me.

It started with hair for me. I wanted to be blonde.

And at age 8 I began my blonde journey. Just two hours and bam, blonde.  

Mission accomplished. 

And while I’m sure Barbie and the Norwegian blonde blue-eyed descendants that made up the majority of my 2nd grade Minnesotan classroom played a role, there was another reason for this blonde wish. I didn’t want to not be recognized. I needed to blend in. 

I learned about the Holocaust in 2nd grade. 

I can’t recall exactly where I was, but I do remember the image. Kids just my age.

I went into panic. I had no idea that Jews were so hated. People called for our extermination. I quickly began thinking back to all the moments I let my Jewishness known. 

How could I have let my mother (the token Jew parent at my Episcopalian school) bring lakas to my classmates every year. Prior, I was excited to have my mom invited in to school to share our holiday. But now, I was horrified. How stupid was that?!  Was she not aware that people hated Jews?! Was she not aware that she let out our secret?!

The brown hair had to go.

The holocaust rocked my core as it showed the dark side of humanity. And even though I had never felt any anti-semitism prior to that day, the world now felt uncertain.

Would I one day be asked to don a star to be marked for slaughter? Would it happen over night?

But I had a plan… no one would ever know I’m Jewish. 

And I felt safer with that mane of blonde. No one would know I was Jewish unless I felt the need to share that fact. This felt fool proof for this 8 year old girl. I solved it. Check.

But the fear remained and I later in high school realized I wasn’t alone, that there were others who had reasons to be scared, and sadly, my plan didn’t work for them. 2 hours at the salon would not give them solace.

Skin color cannot be changed.

I became obsessed with the racial inequality in this country my junior year after I took a course in African American history. I had the same feeling from second grade. How is this possible? How can mankind behave in such a manor? And how unfair it is for people of color to walk down the streets and be treated differently than me and how under my blonde disguise I never knew this. 

I was inspired to make this my life’s work to learn and work to help race relations in this country. I felt that this was the modern holocaust and applied to Duke University, which had the number one African American history program in the nation.

I was accepted. 

My first class in the Af Am building at Duke was memorable. I was the only white girl in the room and how white I felt. All eyes were on me. I was silent for most of class, but when I did speak, I could feel the daggers in my back. It was clear that my peers were annoyed that my voice was taking up space in a place that was theirs.  And then the worst part happened for a freshman girl trying to make it on campus, all went to eat lunch, and it was clear, I was not invited. 

I left the major by my second class (where I went to the bathroom and never came back).

Instead I found “my place” on the Quad, the bagel shop at the 2nd table on the left, where the Jewish kids from the east coast congregated.

*Please note that this is no knock on Duke, this is a knock on ALL college campuses (where we ironically send our youth to grow to become leaders of tomorrow). College campuses are the most segregated communities in the world. Just think back reader…how diverse was your friendships in undergraduate?

And I went along with my life, my easier life. My privileged life with my blonde hair. And left others who did not have that privilege behind.  

So when my best friend, Jenna Arnold, a blonde white female, told me that she was going to spend her activist energies on race in our country, I was very clear: “Admirable, but suicidal.” This is TOO hard. You will be hated by the far right and questioned by the far left as who wants to hear from you, a white woman, on race. I implored her to continue to solve the organ crisis and continue the work of the Women’s March, both of which she has been instrumental in. This is tough. This is too hard. I was clear, don’t do this.

But, I forgot who I was talking to, this was Jenna Arnold.  Having spent her career trying to make people “give a shit” she knew that race in this country was THE mountain that needed to be moved. That if humans could not treat each other with respect and understand the history of our abuse of each other to properly heal, that there was no way for us to care about the dolphins, the environment, Syria, etc. And there was no way to unite women when our voices were splintered into racial groups each eyeing the other with suspicion.

She sat down for a year and wrote a book, Raising Our Hands: How White Women Can Stop Avoiding Hard Conversations, Start Accepting Responsibility, and Find Our Place on the New Frontlines

She decided to write it to me, and all the other white women who got too busy in our white world. Too busy working on being “perfect” (more on that in the book!). And how we have turned a blind eye to all the people without voices and that silence is implicitly teaching our children to do the same.

Like a true educator that she is, she uses her own narrative and journey to help others understand.

I implore all of us white women, the MOST powerful voting demographic, the MOST powerful “doers” to use our privileged voice to stand up for others who don’t have a voice. To spend less time on the PTA and the lunch party, and raise our hands. It starts by reading this book to understand how to navigate this mountain that I so quickly ran away from.

Or at least read this book for our fellow mothers. Mothers who deal with all the stress we face and then some. Who can’t just take their children for a dye job to make them feel safe on the streets. Who everyday have to carry their race with them and help their children navigate the implicit bias in our society. Having to tell their child that the shampoo for “normal” hair does not include her.

So Jenna, thank you. I’m in awe of you. I wish I was as brave as you.

And I’m ready to RAISE MY HAND with you. Thank you for reminding me that with power comes responsibility. 

The fall of the institution in the era of the impact generations

The collapse of the institution, the rise of the individual.

The workplace has slowly been morphing to meet the 21st century economy, an economy of AI and tech that forces us to reimagine the how and needs of what we call “work.”

We see it everywhere. The disruption of the real estate business model with office sharing or an office in the cloud that fits into your living room. We see the increasing quality of video conferencing that challenges the need for any in person business. And then there is the culture shift as machines take over labor sectors and the milleniail and gen Z generations want “more” and that “more” is defined quality over quantity.

Millennials and Gen Z are less interested in working for the established corporations, but want the rush and empowerment of start-ups and mission driven companies. They look for this new concept they named “fit.” A job that “fits” them. They lead with their individualism rather than the established collective that many of us led with.

“I” can add value here because “I” am good at “X.” Contrary to previous generations,  “I” can help you and do whatever task you say “we” should do.  Stability and 401Ks are last on the list. Impact, mission and individualism first.

Here are some of the answers when I asked young college kids what type of workplace they wanted to work for after college:

“I want something with flexibility that allows me to be outside.”

“I want to work on a product that helps the world in some way.”

“I want to be able to work distantly.”

“I want a place where I can be creative and can make impact and values me.”

Never once did I hear about wanting to work for an “established company with great dental!” And never did I hear anything like “I want to make a solid 80K.” 

Thus we see the rise of what I’m calling the impact generations. I don’t necessarily disagree with there rally crys. They are a product of being digital natives and have grown up in a world us adults are just visiting/ understanding. They grew up with technology as part of their themselves, an extension of thier arm if you will. That extension can do amazing things, like feed them without cooking or get them the latest data without leaving thier beds. 

They know no other way of life allowing them to think bigger and question what makes them human. They are focused on the “I”- who am I? How am I unique? Where do I “fit” in?

The workplace is a changing…as our workforce is too.

And this workforce is making us challenge “knowns” and educaiton is no different.  

Educators around the world are rethinking the concept of what makes something a school. Is it the institution or the individual?  Is it the physical building with rows of classrooms, or is it the teachers within it? Is it a place where teachers come in and do their job or is it a place where the individual teacher connects with individual students all unique in their own way?

Our younger teachers are questioning the collective of the institution of schools that leave little flexibility and individual voice. The institution of school does not allow teachers to feel like individuals, but rather a cog in the machine that is state run. The government being the biggest institution of all institutions in their minds. They are questioning the parameters that we have operated under for decades. This one fits all model where teachers specialize in a grade and subject and watch their kids rotate out of their boxes of classrooms.

Schools also offer little flexibility. You don’t get to take lunch off. You can’t run out and vote during the day. You can’t even pee when you need to go! And thus, it has become a not desirable vocation. We are not producing enough teachers. 

 We need teachers. We need more than ever teachers of the impact generations! 

We need to create desirable teaching pathways for teachers and emphasize the individual among the collective. I do believe microschooling is a place where this generation can shine. Please encourage our youth to come make IMPACT. Education is the greatest impact anyone can give and now there are ways you can do that and have your individualism too!

Sign up HERE teachers.

Flags everywhere

They are everywhere. 

Flags everywhere. 

Right in our backyard. First sight of the day. In our happy place where only sights of sunsets, fishing rods, and bobbing sailboats were before,  now have waving statements of division.

TRUMP 2020

And you can feel it in the air.

It is as if someone drew a line in the sand. Our community which was just fisherman and sailors has a new aura in the air. Most of us are unanimous,  boating shouldn’t be political. There should be a no flag policy. But how can you ignore something right in your face in your backyard?

We know that freedom of speech is a basic human right, but what happens now? 

Are we supposed to put up a flag? Is this how it works? Do we show our support of decency and morality? Do we have to start waving flags? 

I do have one at home in NYC. It recently needed an addition:)

But of course, we would never put this flag up beyond our living room. Because what does that do? What would that do, beyond create animosity? Making the air contentious. 

But the real reason is we are scared… scared of the other side. The Trump boats don’t wear masks. They party all day and night with huge crowds as if to make a point as they walk down our dock. Mocking our masks. Mocking what I call our patriotism. 

AND there is a new Trump flag that is becoming more and more popular along our shores. This flag takes the Trump logo (which is red white and blue) and takes out the blue. Only red and white. The message is clear, this is no blue in OUR country.

And I have chills. It is a message of division and not one of uniting. And they wear it so proudly. And us and our friends, the other side (just sit) too scared to say anything or even fly a flag and we are sure we outnumber them. 

We are backed into a corner, but there are other ways to fight and save our country to be one of Red White and BLUE.

VOTE & SUPPORT

https://act.joebiden.com/BVFraiser?attr=104098979

Therapy Dropout

To the theme of beauty school dropout.

Therapy dropout,

(Therapy  dropout)

Got no time for that talk.

Therapy dropout

(Therapy dropout)

Can we do this while I walk?!

While I know this is good to do

Who has that time?

I just want to pop a pill

And go back to my child’s side.

I can just ignore it

(Just ignore it)

Everything is okay

I can just forget it,

(Forget it)

Keep moving and life’s a breeze…

Now I know that there is stuff to say,

A lot to process too,

But can someone tell me how,

With no kids in camp or school!

Therapy drop out.

———————–

I wish I could say it was the first time I’ve dropped out and from the stats know I am not alone on this. Are you part of the therapy drop out club too?!

Not proud of it, but the reality of work and life makes no time for EMDR. I do hope to return in September. Sorry to all who have asked for more info…not much to give, I keep canceling it!

COVID rubric

I believe COVID should be treated as a learning/ psychological disability. It should be classified in the DSM. It will eclipse any disorder. It will be the largest disability in the world.  Take that anxiety! Or is this a sub category of anxiety? Hmmm…I will leave that to the professionals to figure out.

But let’s just all agree, we are fragile right now and we need each other more than ever.

And just like most disabilities it’s a spectrum. From Autism to learning disorders like dyslexia there is a spectrum and COVID is no different.

I have yet to meet one person with the same COVID goggles on. Everyone creating their own new realities with their own made up rules.  And the same rule can feel arbitrary and ridiculous to one person, while deadly to another.

I have friends who have not left their houses to this day. I have friends getting their nails done snacking at the same time, masks down, face out in all of its glory. There are friends ready to launch their kids back into physical school while others recoil at the thought and can’t fathom how others can. 

But I beg that like with a learning disorder we don’t judge. We respect the spectrum even the ones that make us angry and we think are causing the problem, because communication really matters and people lie if they feel they will be judged.  And that is deadly. Lack of trust is deadly. It will kill lives and it will kill community, the thing we need most.

So I think we need a code. I’ve been researching rubrics. Here is one I would like to share to help others navigate these waters with their friends and family members. Please share if you have a better one! I’m looking for resources to help families who are forming pods navigate these tough conversations.

Relative for them too

Turns out it is all relative for them too.

Kids also measure their life by relativity. Often using their closest control, a sibling. 

Today I messed up. Or rather I broke his trust. I never surprise Jacob with his day. He is always aware of what will happen to him. “First you will get your port accessed…,” but the rules keep changing due to Covid and I made one the rookie mistake.

I made a promise. 

Remember cancer mom. Never do that. Expect the unexpected as everything is “to be expected.”

After Jacob’s last immunotherapy round I promised him that he wouldn’t have a COVID test for a long time. But today…surprise COVID test. He needs it prior to going into surgery tomorrow.

This surprise did not go well.

And again I do this alone. I do this alone as he screams. I do this alone as he begs in a hysterical voice not to hold him down against his will. And I hear his cry of relativity. 

Why me? Why am I getting this test? Is Benno getting this test? Is he? I won’t do it until he gets it! Benno has to get four to be equal. When mom? When mom? When is Benno getting a Covid test?!

It took 30mins to get this test done and sadly three nurses who he kicked and swatted at. In the end, I broke his trust again, I had to hold him down against his will. 

He won’t let me touch him now, which is the worst part. Punishing me for breaking his trust.

And now he sits in a tube for 2hours after yesterday being strapped in for an hour with a cage over his head.

And he is not alone in his idea of injustice, Benno too is having quite the week of anger. He feels that no one cares about him. That he doesn’t get the presents that Jacob gets. That we owe him $500 in damages of presents never received. How life is so unfair to him. How everything is about Jacob.

But yet he doesn’t understand that for Jacob everything is about Benno. How their relativity is at play. How each feels the other is dealt the best hand. How they define themselves by each other.

But there is one thing they both agree on, it’s my fault. 

That they are unanimous about.

The date

The date did happen.

He made sure of that. He even threatened to take away my flowers if I did not show up on time and like his father he aimed to impress. 

As we walked up to our spot, Jacob turned to me and said, “We’ve got the best seat in the house.” Where he learns these one liners is anyone’s guest, but best bet is TV.

And yes we did. The best seat in the house. My view, in particular, was pretty incredible.

He inquired what people on dates talk about. I told them about the weather, about what they did today, and sometimes they give compliments. Oh and snuggling! Lots of that. To which he responded “Perfect! I’m an expert snuggler!”

But, then, out of nowhere another man entered the picture. He tried to crash our date. 

Jacob was having none of that and escorted him from the table. This was a table for two…ahem. Luckily it didn’t have to get physical, however the man left annoyed. It was clear this man does not stand often.

We laughed about that for a while. How Jacob had to defend his lady.

And we wined and dined until he saw kids playing in a field and wanted in on that. POOF gone. Typical. Men. So flighty they are.

The world has special plans for this man though. That it does. The road was a strange one. His path was not even one of the two forks in the road, but a hidden one, a third fork. Watch out ladies this one is a heart breaker!