Monday, October 29, 2018

Little Baby Cries

Hearing loss can be a good thing at times. I've reached the point in my life where I can actually find the benefits of it sometimes. Like now. 

At this very moment, my 11-day old grandson has decided that he needs to exercise his stunning vocal cords instead of napping. The new parents are upstairs in their bedroom doing what they can to console him to no avail. Through the closed door, they are little more than vibrations in my hearing devices. I'm resisting the urge to go up and offer my help, knowing that new parents and their infants learn to live together in those struggles.

"Did you hear him last night?" my daughter asks each morning. "He was really fussy."

Honestly, I have to answer no. With my hearing aids out, I am blissfully unaware of virtually everything that happens in the house, especially behind our closed doors. Unless a light is turned on. Lights do wake me.

But little baby cries in the night are not a problem for me. Nor are they at this very moment, as I can simply slip the magnetic coil from its place on my scalp and adjust my hearing aid volume until his cries are nearly negligible. It's rather nice at times that I can disconnect from the noisiness of the day (and night) so that I can attend to other things. Like sleep.

As for my daughter and her husband, they're still in that bleary-eyed, half-exhausted-half-elated new parent stage that many of us have experienced. Tending their baby's cries with love and impatience when they'd rather be napping themselves.

Little baby cries are the blessing and the bane of new parenthood. How wonderful to hear them -- even now.


Wednesday, October 3, 2018

Uncovered

This week, I am reminded of the time when a man attempted to grope me. I was a young college student. He was a well-respected deacon in my church. That he had been a mentor and helped me acquire funding into my university multiplied my shock and surprise exponentially. I quickly distanced myself from him by removing myself from his presence and by leaving my church, too. I never told anyone out of respect for his daughters, who were my peers and friends. I could never look at them the same way without wondering if they were sexually abused by him, as well. That moment in time is burned into my memory and has shaped my distrust of men in "perceived power" over me. He was not who he pretended to be. And neither was I anymore. The political events of this past week have bared those wounds of shame and disgust that I carefully covered and kept hidden under my veil. The storm inside me was raging.

Amidst our country's political chaos, I came across a few simple words that calmed the storm: "Things are not getting worse; they are getting uncovered."

We live in a world of human fallibility. Our history ebbs and flows as quickly as the tides -- from time to time, periods of perceived goodness rise above the weaknesses and some enjoy prosperity, though others' oppression silently festers under our veils of apathy, blindness, and deafness. We justify our beliefs with feeble words and actions. We seem unable to see the world for what it is like through others' eyes, especially when we are prospering.  It's a song sung throughout our ages.

Today, those tidewaters seem stormy and dark. And the desires of some are washing over us in a tidal wave of discord. Veils are being pulled back and the ugliness of man's moral weakness has been revealed again. Some becry "the good ol' days". While others charge forward. In truth, there never really was such a thing as "the good ol' days." It's only our perception of what was or was not.

In her dystopian novel, The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood expresses that mindset perfectly as Commander Waterford explains his rationale behind the oppression in his government - "Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse for some." Those "good ol' days" may have been awesome for some, but it wasn't so great for many others. We pulled back that veil.

When we live our lives under veils, real and perceived, we limit ourselves. We limit our potential. We limit our kindness and generosity. We limit our humanity. We live in guarded awareness that a better world for ourselves and our loved ones often means a world that is worse for others. And we accept that truth for many different reasons as long as it does not upset our own status quo. Some are fighting to maintain that status quo with everything that is in them.

But it has been unveiled. It is revealed, and it cannot be pushed back under the covers. And if we are to survive these dark days, we cannot ignore it and hope it goes away. We must hold each other tight while we continue to pull the veil back and back and back. We must heal our wounds. We must become better people.

It is our deepest apologetic.