Day #138: It's Hard to Talk to People
I always admired my mom. My mom could get along with anyone. Have a conversation with anyone. Find common ground with anyone.
My mom had a complicated childhood...her dad was an alcoholic who himself had had a complicated childhood and there was a loved but complex extended family. I can remember learning in a health class once about the roles children of alcoholics play in families (the enabler, the savior, the addict...I'm sure the labels are outdated now but that is kind of the way they were defined in the 1990s,) and when I got to the savior role she said, yeah, that was me. It was jarring to me to hear her refer to herself as a child of an alcoholic because she didn't talk about it much. My grandfather died of an aneurism in 1976 before my older sister was born (a lot of my family members died young) so he wasn't a factor in my childhood at all although I knew relatives of his...his sister, etc.
I don't know if if was a result of navigating that or what, but my mom was really good at getting along with people. She could sit in a PTA meeting or a Bible study or a Girl Scout trainers meeting and be everyone's best friend in all those spaces but she also could befriend the bank clerk who sobbed when she found out mom had passed, visit almost complete strangers in nursing homes, and, often to my embarrassment, got along with all the moms of all my friends...even the ones with their own complicated families.
She had friends who weren't as easygoing about the people in their own circles. Years later she told me that her Bible study friends could not believe she was sending us to Girl Scout camp rather than Christian camp. They wanted their children to spend most of their time in Christian spaces and be influenced by those teachings. Mom, even though she spent the last couple of years of her life teaching at a Christian preschool, believed it was important to break out of that echo chamber and spend time with people outside the faith. I learned after she died that she had a long term friendship with a lesbian couple she'd known since the 1960s. I knew them, but didn't know their relationship. That sounds very everyday now, but remember she had been friends with them from the 1960s through the 1990s, which was another time.
My mom was a very religious person and open about her faith but she was also not pushy. Most of her family was not religious, and honestly the ones that were were the ones she didn't get along with as well (not for that reason.) She told me once that everyone was on their own path and she had seen people come to God in many ways, she wasn't going to push it.
I always tried to be like her. I'm not nearly as good as her...I'm socially awkward, lame at introducing myself to neighbors, and constantly put my foot in my mouth. But I aspire to that level of acceptance. I've tried really hard in my life to be open to relationships with people who I disagree with, to being able to find common ground to talk to people. I never thought it made much sense to shut people out who are different. Everyone is different.
It's so incredibly hard now.
I want to be clear: mom wasn't a doormat. She had boundaries. Okay, she spent most of her life working on having boundaries. She wasn't always there. Complicated childhood. You know. I'm not saying anyone should sit around and listen to people say awful things without standing up for themselves. But there seems to be this idea that everyone who is different is wrong and must be shut out of conversation or lectured at to bring them into the fold. Neither of which, to me, seem productive.
My dad has always been a fairly conservative guy. He's not dumb...he's a retired history teacher, very well read and very smart. He's not a Baby Boomer...he was a few years older than my mom so he's a bit ahead of that generation. He was never a hippie, he never was a protester, he's just always been on the more conservative side.
My sister found her political voice in 1988 when she was twelve and decided she was a big Dukakis fan. She drew a Dukakis sign in crayon and hung it in the living room window. My fairly conservative parents politely asked her if they could move it to the rec room window so it could still be seen from the street and she could have her message without it being in their living room. They allowed her to have her voice and her opinions. And that's always been the thing in our family. Respect for others. Polite conversation. My sister continues to be a pretty left leaning person, she studied Spanish and has always been a big voice for immigrant rights, marching in protests and volunteering. My dad expresses his political opinions by hanging a flag at his house and donating to veterans organizations. Sometimes he and my sister agree on some candidates on their ballots, often they don't.
Now it's just hard. Dad feels attacked by the culture. He feels like when people say systems are racist it is directed at him personally and he has worked his whole life to not be a racist. My dad grew up in the 1940s and 1950s near a recently integrated military base in small town Montana. He's seen racism. He's tried not to be that. It frustrates him to see the culture at large being associated with systemic racism now.
White fragility? Denial? Playing into the system? Sure. Probably. Makes sense. But it also seems just a touch unfair to change the definitions for people of his generation. They all saw segregation and boundaries broken down in the 1960s. They all worked hard to not be racists like their parents and grandparents had been. To now tell them, oh, you're part of a racist system whether you like it or not and then when they become defensive upon hearing that to mock them for being defensive seems pretty unfair. And yeah, life is not fair. I get that. But I think the current generation's attitude that they have all the right answers and the generations that came before them didn't doesn't set us up for any kind of real conversation and learning.
The current messaging from our woke culture is to call people out. Don't let it lie. Silence equals violence. Challenge your racist family members and friends. Which, okay, there's some truth to that. If white people don't call out systemic racism when we see it it doesn't get taken down. But to me there's a difference between that and calling out your family, especially your older family. What are you trying to tear down in that case? Your family? What good does that do? Are we really better off now as a culture, now that we are telling everyone who isn't as woke as us how wrong they are and blocking or ignoring everyone we don't agree with? I'm not talking about real change here...like thinking about who gets a statue and what words we use and what we expect from our leaders...that is one kind of work that makes a difference. But the interpersonal stuff...that doesn't seem to be going so well.
I never thought I would get to a point in my life where it would be hard to talk current events with my dad. We ALWAYS have. And we don't agree with each other always and that's fine. But now it's just really hard to talk about it. He's sad, he feels defensive, he looks around and doesn't know what's happening. And even news sources are polarizing so the slant of what you read influences how you see things, and that sucks.
We could all do a better job listening. And if we expect the not so woke among us to ever listen to us, we might try listening to them. I know that's antithetical to everything being taught right now about doing the work and being anti-racist. But it's what my mom would have done.
Media consumption: I'm reading sci fi which is insane. I finished the book about the Amish girl...I really liked it, it was about finding your voice and deciding what you really believe, more than meets the eye that book. I'm now reading Ursula LeGuin's The Left Hand of Darkness at Josh's recommendation. I really don't like reading sci fi but once I get around that barrier it's a good book. I know that sounds weird. I also finished Exodus. Next up Leviticus.
Today I'm grateful to be loved so much by my kids and husband, to have a few minutes peace to write this, that we got to go with my dad to celebrate some of his older grandkids graduation in a social distanced way this weekend, it meant so much to him, and for ongoing health for my family. And for mending fences with James. Constantly.
My mom had a complicated childhood...her dad was an alcoholic who himself had had a complicated childhood and there was a loved but complex extended family. I can remember learning in a health class once about the roles children of alcoholics play in families (the enabler, the savior, the addict...I'm sure the labels are outdated now but that is kind of the way they were defined in the 1990s,) and when I got to the savior role she said, yeah, that was me. It was jarring to me to hear her refer to herself as a child of an alcoholic because she didn't talk about it much. My grandfather died of an aneurism in 1976 before my older sister was born (a lot of my family members died young) so he wasn't a factor in my childhood at all although I knew relatives of his...his sister, etc.
I don't know if if was a result of navigating that or what, but my mom was really good at getting along with people. She could sit in a PTA meeting or a Bible study or a Girl Scout trainers meeting and be everyone's best friend in all those spaces but she also could befriend the bank clerk who sobbed when she found out mom had passed, visit almost complete strangers in nursing homes, and, often to my embarrassment, got along with all the moms of all my friends...even the ones with their own complicated families.
She had friends who weren't as easygoing about the people in their own circles. Years later she told me that her Bible study friends could not believe she was sending us to Girl Scout camp rather than Christian camp. They wanted their children to spend most of their time in Christian spaces and be influenced by those teachings. Mom, even though she spent the last couple of years of her life teaching at a Christian preschool, believed it was important to break out of that echo chamber and spend time with people outside the faith. I learned after she died that she had a long term friendship with a lesbian couple she'd known since the 1960s. I knew them, but didn't know their relationship. That sounds very everyday now, but remember she had been friends with them from the 1960s through the 1990s, which was another time.
My mom was a very religious person and open about her faith but she was also not pushy. Most of her family was not religious, and honestly the ones that were were the ones she didn't get along with as well (not for that reason.) She told me once that everyone was on their own path and she had seen people come to God in many ways, she wasn't going to push it.
I always tried to be like her. I'm not nearly as good as her...I'm socially awkward, lame at introducing myself to neighbors, and constantly put my foot in my mouth. But I aspire to that level of acceptance. I've tried really hard in my life to be open to relationships with people who I disagree with, to being able to find common ground to talk to people. I never thought it made much sense to shut people out who are different. Everyone is different.
It's so incredibly hard now.
I want to be clear: mom wasn't a doormat. She had boundaries. Okay, she spent most of her life working on having boundaries. She wasn't always there. Complicated childhood. You know. I'm not saying anyone should sit around and listen to people say awful things without standing up for themselves. But there seems to be this idea that everyone who is different is wrong and must be shut out of conversation or lectured at to bring them into the fold. Neither of which, to me, seem productive.
My dad has always been a fairly conservative guy. He's not dumb...he's a retired history teacher, very well read and very smart. He's not a Baby Boomer...he was a few years older than my mom so he's a bit ahead of that generation. He was never a hippie, he never was a protester, he's just always been on the more conservative side.
My sister found her political voice in 1988 when she was twelve and decided she was a big Dukakis fan. She drew a Dukakis sign in crayon and hung it in the living room window. My fairly conservative parents politely asked her if they could move it to the rec room window so it could still be seen from the street and she could have her message without it being in their living room. They allowed her to have her voice and her opinions. And that's always been the thing in our family. Respect for others. Polite conversation. My sister continues to be a pretty left leaning person, she studied Spanish and has always been a big voice for immigrant rights, marching in protests and volunteering. My dad expresses his political opinions by hanging a flag at his house and donating to veterans organizations. Sometimes he and my sister agree on some candidates on their ballots, often they don't.
Now it's just hard. Dad feels attacked by the culture. He feels like when people say systems are racist it is directed at him personally and he has worked his whole life to not be a racist. My dad grew up in the 1940s and 1950s near a recently integrated military base in small town Montana. He's seen racism. He's tried not to be that. It frustrates him to see the culture at large being associated with systemic racism now.
White fragility? Denial? Playing into the system? Sure. Probably. Makes sense. But it also seems just a touch unfair to change the definitions for people of his generation. They all saw segregation and boundaries broken down in the 1960s. They all worked hard to not be racists like their parents and grandparents had been. To now tell them, oh, you're part of a racist system whether you like it or not and then when they become defensive upon hearing that to mock them for being defensive seems pretty unfair. And yeah, life is not fair. I get that. But I think the current generation's attitude that they have all the right answers and the generations that came before them didn't doesn't set us up for any kind of real conversation and learning.
The current messaging from our woke culture is to call people out. Don't let it lie. Silence equals violence. Challenge your racist family members and friends. Which, okay, there's some truth to that. If white people don't call out systemic racism when we see it it doesn't get taken down. But to me there's a difference between that and calling out your family, especially your older family. What are you trying to tear down in that case? Your family? What good does that do? Are we really better off now as a culture, now that we are telling everyone who isn't as woke as us how wrong they are and blocking or ignoring everyone we don't agree with? I'm not talking about real change here...like thinking about who gets a statue and what words we use and what we expect from our leaders...that is one kind of work that makes a difference. But the interpersonal stuff...that doesn't seem to be going so well.
I never thought I would get to a point in my life where it would be hard to talk current events with my dad. We ALWAYS have. And we don't agree with each other always and that's fine. But now it's just really hard to talk about it. He's sad, he feels defensive, he looks around and doesn't know what's happening. And even news sources are polarizing so the slant of what you read influences how you see things, and that sucks.
We could all do a better job listening. And if we expect the not so woke among us to ever listen to us, we might try listening to them. I know that's antithetical to everything being taught right now about doing the work and being anti-racist. But it's what my mom would have done.
Media consumption: I'm reading sci fi which is insane. I finished the book about the Amish girl...I really liked it, it was about finding your voice and deciding what you really believe, more than meets the eye that book. I'm now reading Ursula LeGuin's The Left Hand of Darkness at Josh's recommendation. I really don't like reading sci fi but once I get around that barrier it's a good book. I know that sounds weird. I also finished Exodus. Next up Leviticus.
Today I'm grateful to be loved so much by my kids and husband, to have a few minutes peace to write this, that we got to go with my dad to celebrate some of his older grandkids graduation in a social distanced way this weekend, it meant so much to him, and for ongoing health for my family. And for mending fences with James. Constantly.
Comments
Post a Comment