What Do You Do When the Goblin King and Metatron Die in the Same Week?

What do you do when both the Goblin King and Metatron die in the same week? If you’re me, you pout and cry. Then write. Writing has always been a way to soothe my soul; a way to cope with grief and assuage pain- to connect with other human beings while remaining safely anonymous. So here I am, typing and wiping my nose after sloppy crying. In short, it’s been a poopy week.

A purge of sorts was what I intended for this to be, but as is usual it seems to have evolved into something more. Because as I pondered over my own self pity my thoughts kept wandering back to an offhand comment a young friend of mine had made shortly after the news of Major Tom piercing beyond the atmospheric limits. She said something to the effect of, “why is everyone making such a big deal about David Bowie dying? People die every day and no one notices or cares.” This particular person is of the age where it’s important-and appropriate-for her to challenge and question the status quo, and in that way I was proud of her. Because frankly, she’s right. One life shouldn’t be seen as any more or less important than another. But at the same time, I was also so truly, very sad for her. Had she never had the opportunity to connect with someone else through their art so deeply that they tore through your being and turned your perspective upside down and threw it in the trash?

I wanted to pump my fists at the sky and scream furiously at her…”OF COURSE we care more about the David Bowies and Alan Rickmans and Robin Williamses…We are nothing if not egocentric beings. When an artist of any form has the ability to rearrange your molecules they become pieces of our own selves. When they pass, that piece of us dies with them. We mourn for those pieces.”

I’ve always preached to my children the virtues of learning pop culture references, that they are just as valid areas of study as any other historical genre. I’ll be honest, Shakespeare isn’t exactly my thing. I can appreciate it. I understand why it’s important, but if you give me a choice between reading Shakespearean literature and The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Guide is going to win every time.

Shakespeare was crass and a little crude, sarcastic and relevant in his time. He was the pop culture of his era. This is the main reason I can find value in his work. To study pop culture references and how they’ve evolved over time throughout each generation is the truest form of sociology. You learn more about people this way than any other…after all, archaeology is merely digging through people’s trash, right? It only sounds legit because it’s really, really old trash. Pop culture is kind of like being able to dig through living trash, you get up close and personal super quick. And I readily admit and recognize, that I am a product of the molding and shaping of pop culture of my day. Labyrinth and Dogma were more than just movies to my teenage self (and by default….still are). They successfully rearranged my molecules. The reached inside, turned me around, and threw some pieces in the trash. And I so mourn for those pieces that David Bowie and Alan Rickman took with them this week.

It has been a poopy week. I mourn for the world’s loss. I mourn for myself. But in a weird way, I think I mourn mostly for our future. My young friend pointed it out so eloquently; we need heroes. We need people who will be a little crass and crude, sarcastic and relevant. People who we will collectively mourn when they die because we are intimately all tied into the mashed up mess they burned inside of us. My young friend has not experienced this yet. And I pray so hard that it’s not too late.

So here is my proposition to you.  Please, do not let them take childhood away from our children. Grip tight with bloody fingernails and gnashed teeth. Fight for their recesses, their finger-paint, their make believe. Hold value in their questionings, their independence, their yearning for expression. Let go of your “back in my days,” and burn down the standardized tests, standardized thinking, and standardized responses.  We need to let them Free their Ziggy Stardusts, their Professor Snapes, and their Goblin Kings. If we lose that cord, the one made out of chewing gum wrappers and dandelion strings, we lose our wonder. I want my children to live in a world where there are alien rockstars and wizard professors. And I want them to one day mourn alongside the rest of the world when their heroes die, aching for the piece of them that suddenly blew into Stardust.

Today My Head Exploded.

In Tibetan culture there is a deity named Avalokitesvara who is said to be the embodiment of all consuming compassion. He is sometimes depicted with eleven heads and a thousand arms, which is said to be the result of trying to realize the needs of so many beings suffering. Hearing all the cries his head split into eleven pieces, which was then formed into eleven heads to better understand and hear their needs and a thousand arms were formed in order to reach out in assistance in all directions. Although far from a deity, I think I can understand a little of how Avalokitesvara felt. Because today, my head exploded.

I try to view social media as a pleasant way to share silly things my kids said or moments I’m proud of with friends and family I have far too little time to actually meet with. Sometimes I find interesting articles from points of view I never considered …and then there’s always the cute baby animal pictures, which I believe have greatly enhanced the quality of my life. But then there are times when the amount of vitriol and narrow mindedness is so overwhelming that it permeates my being. That was today.

In just a few moments time I was blasted with the news that a young middle school girl in my town took her own life, who in her moment of desperation saw this as the only solution to the problem of being bullied and miserable at school. Some people’s reactions were of heartbreak and love, but most were focused on revenge and “getting” the bullies-who mind you, are children. Next I see news coverage of a young girl who is forcibly, violently removed from her classroom by a police officer and people’s reactions polarized between revenge on the police officer and revenge on the young girl-who mind you, is a child. Then I see a status blaring the evilness of common core math and why can’t things just be done the way they used to be before we tried to dumb down the content so illegals could understand-illegals, who mind you, are children.

In my classroom our motto was “Focus On The Solution,” a motto I sincerely try to embody in my everyday life. But at that moment I saw no solution. Only a bunch of big people taking their frustrations out on smaller people, because, well, they can. When I thought about how this is just a tiny sampling of a little corner of the world…that there are so many children out there that are being bullied by other children and see no way out, that there are children who are being bullied at home and are usurping their power back from other children at school, that there are people in positions of authority that do not understand basic human development and physiology and punish children for being human, people who are willing to publicly shame and humiliate an entire group of children because they deem their child’s homework too hard or unnecessary, when I saw no possible way that I could stop their tears and comfort them..My head exploded. Or, at least it felt like it.

Trying to have a well thought out conversation on social media is like pouring water into a sieve. No matter what your intention, it’s not gonna go anywhere but out the other end. Instead, I will write all the things I wanted to say, but where it will be well received–to myself! So here is my futile attempt, using the frayed ends of dollar store tape, to piece myself back together.

Children are humans. It may come as a surprise, but they don’t suddenly become people with well formed thoughts and opinions at the magical age of 18, the governmental edict of adulthood. On their very birth day, and my hunch is quite some time before that, they have loud, obvious opinions and preferences. They have points of views and favorite foods. They have feelings and emotions comparable to that of other humans. The difference is, they do not yet have the experience -or physiological development- to handle those feelings and emotions the way adults expect them to. In fact, adults expect way more from small people who have less than two decades of life experience and an underdeveloped brain than they do from other adults. Adults have bad moods, temper tantrums, hissy fits, and inappropriate behavior ALL THE TIME. (See my references above.) My own children can attest to that fact. But put an overstimulated toddler, who has been trying to keep it together–but man they are frustrated because they wanted to put their own shoes on and you rushed them along and they can’t get their fingers to cooperate with the picture in their minds and they didn’t want to be picked up they wanted to walk on their own so they could touch that stuff over there what is that it’s so cool I want to find out wait stop mommy I dont want to sit in the cart and be held down Im trying to figure out my world — in a grocery store and have them react emotionally and you will hear snickers, tsk tsks, and condescending remarks about how that child needs a “whooping.”

A child who is a bully does not need to be bullied. A child who is a bully has BEEN bullied and is trying to get rid of the feelings of powerlessness that are left behind. Anti-bully programs will never work. Why? Because you are ANTI — you are not for them. You are not helping them. You are further taking away their power which is the exact need they are trying to fill. Using catchy slogans and fluffy worksheets to stop bullying behavior is akin to using an already wet cheap paper towel to sop up an oil tanker spill. Are you angry that a young girl felt so desperate that she took her own life? You should be! Now turn that anger towards the cause. The cause is a society that not only embraces and condones childism, it values it. It waves it around as a source of pride. Turn that need for justice around to your own homes. Make sure your children’s points of views, feelings, perspectives, and emotions are heard and given the credence they deserve.

Being in school is hard. (..and I was the teacher!) A classroom is one of the most obvious places where childism exists. We ask them to sit still (even though developmentally that is not only inappropriate but completely counterproductive to the learning’s boring) for hours on end and perform mind numbing tasks filling in blanks on worksheets. We’ve taken away recess, art, P.E., music, and give them crap lunches. Then, when their underdeveloped brains have an emotional reaction-you guessed it! We punish them for being human before they are 18.

The young girl who made national news for not wanting to leave class had recently experienced major life traumas. Within the span of the previous six months, her mother passed away and was placed in the care of her grandmother. Her grandmother then passed away and she was placed in foster care. With strangers. And then people who don’t know her or love her made the decision for her to go to this new school–further away from any remnants of a life she used to know, friends she used to have–any evidence that anyone cared for her. Would an adult have been able to pick themselves up and drag themselves off to school? Would they have then been able to pay attention and focus on worksheets? Would we have had compassion for an adult who was going though such emotional difficulty? Or would we have called the police and forcibly had them removed for not paying attention? What if an adult who had NONE of those life traumas were to go to a classroom and not pay attention…would the police have been called? At most, the professor may have stopped them after class and said, “hey, I notice you weren’t really paying attention.” Maybe if they were a good professor they would have added, “is anything bothering you? Can I help?” If that young girl had been met with empathy and compassion, from anyone in that classroom that day–things probably would have ended much differently. Because in the end that’s all we want, us humans. We want others to recognize our struggle. Even if we are small humans. Even if you deem my struggle small.

I honestly don’t know if there really is a deity out there somewhere with eleven heads and a thousand arms reaching out to help us from all directions. But I do know, that even if there is, a thousand arms isn’t nearly enough to help everyone that needs a hand. So, when I Focus On The Solution for today, I will try to remember to use the two hands I have to reach out with compassion. If we all use our two hands, maybe Avalokitesvara can take a break. It sounds like he’s been having a rough couple of days himself, and could probably use some compassion.

The Other Side of the Looking Glass

There was a moment when your eyes first locked –
Hospital walls became rocket ships and hurled you off
to the other side of the night sky.
Tiny whimpers of confusion, cries of the homesick, became
Heralded hymns singing to the heavens of time and space and butterscotch.
The painfully overwhelming smell of soft white, blue, and pink wraps
showed you what the divine face of God looked like before you forgot.
Through this gaze you saw the wonder of dizzying Starbursts hinting
at the Other Side of the Looking Glass. So many Possibilities.

Time passes and our focus distends. We warp our Lens of Truth and
Trade it for mundane lies.
Wipe away candy kissed smudges from those wearied and sleepless portholes. And

Hold tight to your playdough handprints, your sassy walks, and gilded tutus.
Lock your gaze and see those heavens on the other side
of the constellation known as spilled Cheerios.
Hear the symphony playing sweet notes – a vibration tuned to the frequency of your being
Playing the song of the grocery store meltdown. Its chorus says
“This world is so big and I am lost mama. I don’t know if I can carry this weight anymore.”

Hold tight to your messes, your backtalk, your “I dont want tos.”
They give you the map to that which is outside yourself. To your true self.
Hold tight to the hand that leads you back to the walls within the Rocketship
And lock your gaze in Wonder.