The Innocents and the Bigots

Recent experiences in social media have led me to the conclusion that we tend toward a very narrow window in assessing each other’s intentions, treating all communication as black and white, good guys and bad guys. We all have our blind spots, and/or are emotionally damaged. In fact, emotional damage has a profound effect on how we perceive the world, other people, other belief systems, and how we see ourselves. Inflicting more damage, even if unintentionally, does nothing to improve matters.

My interactions with diverse individuals and social categories of our population reveals that unless I am a clone of that particular person or an individual within that category, I probably have no place commenting on their circumstance or struggles. Attempting to embrace and validate their experience becomes an exercise in futility or worse if I take the conversation public. I then have no control over the input of others.

One of the unfortunate consequences of having a social network that spans the socio-economic-political-religious spectrum is that you are going to be called out as a bigot if you “protect” anyone else perceived as a bigot by those with differing experiences and views. The assumption is that everyone is already cemented in their views and not open to any additional information. We assume they know full well they are misogynistic, racist, homophobic, transphobic, God-denying haters, and not that they are simply uninformed or uneducated. They must be professional trolls.

There is a difference between an annihilist who desires to obliterate everything and everyone “different,” and someone who is simply comfortable with their own identity but uncomfortable with the new normal or having difficulty comprehending the territory. There is no way we can possibly put ourselves into the minds and bodies of others if we are not ourselves Black, homosexual, transgendered, or otherwise a “minority.”

It is my belief that there are many innocent people being labelled as bigots simply because they lack full understanding of the issues at hand. If you do not know where the mines are, you are eventually going to step on one. If you do not recognize the triggers, you will pull one at some point. When someone talks about “dog whistles” to the bigot camp, it may be that you do not hear yourself blowing one. The wrong intent is assumed. Groups that are trying to assert their long-suppressed rights, who are understandably angry at being marginalized and abused, if not murdered, begin to interpret every attempt at understanding, or every question pertaining to the historical “norm” as somehow a threat to be met with hostility, assigned to the domain of true bigots.

Me? I am the product of an overprotective mother, and an angry father on alternate weekends. It has taken me decades to undo the damage and I am still not a finished product. The truth is that we have no idea what anyone’s personal history is, what horrific experiences or sheltered lifestyles have shaped their views. It is impossible to know this unless they fully disclose personal information that they may feel leaves them vulnerable to ridicule and persecution themselves.

This blog is where I often articulate publicly the struggles I am having privately, in my own head, striving to be a more understanding, humble, and loving human being. Others choose to do that through social media where they make posts, or comment on the posts of others. Increasingly this is asking for abuse rather than clarification, understanding and patience. Boom! You are an instant a$$hole if you use the wrong words or admit your current frustrations or misunderstandings. Zero leeway, no empathy, nothing positive.

God forbid that you defend the wrong person, too. You are then a bigot for defending a bigot, guilt by association. Whatever happened to assuming the best about people, or at least having an open mind? Your experience with a person may be drastically different than mine. I am likely to keep both of you as friends until it is demonstrated by repeated behavior that you are not worthy of my emotional and intellectual investment. I can decide for myself who to keep in my circle, and I reserve the right to recall people I have kicked out, if they agree I am worth having back in theirs.

Perhaps that is our common ground, then, that we are all flawed; and all too eager to turn others into villains to advance our cause, make ourselves feel better, morally superior, and justified in our values and beliefs. That is a terrible way to receive validation, at someone else’s expense. We can do better. We can start by admitting we are incomplete, utter amateurs in the interpretation of the experiences of others. We can listen more, not reserve judgment but abandon it completely for tolerance, if not acceptance.

Can we hate bigotry without categorizing any one individual based on one conversation or comment thread? The scientific method demands reproducible results. We might apply that to our relationships. One bad event? Maybe the benefit of the doubt is in order. Repeated instances that reflect bad character? Now you have cause to re-evaluate the relationship. Each of us has a different threshold, and a single violent action should immediately end further interaction, but there is a fine line between cautious optimism and giving up on someone as a lost cause.

Surviving Holiday Dread

Early this morning we turned our clocks back for reasons that no longer seem applicable, but many of us are about to return to behaviors and states of mind that no longer serve us so that we can survive the season of politics and holidays. How else are we supposed to cope with expectations of civility that are seldom fulfilled? Not everyone has the luxury of escape from familial responsibilities and work obligations, and we really should execute our duty of voting....but can we endure without permanent brain damage?

© Purestock Getty Images via verywellmind.com

The weather is against us, too, a physical cold that amplifies our emotional distress, and adds to the difficulties of negotiating the season in terms of travel and personal safety. We bundle up and take precautions driving, but traffic jams, crowded airports, and delayed flights make the horse-drawn carriages of yesteryear seem like a downright viable alternative if not romantic and nostalgic. We have put our extended families and in-laws at more than arm's length for a reason, and now this is the price we pay for the one or two times each year we choose to acknowledge them in person.

Congratulations to you if you have a truly loving and supportive family, a dream job, are comfortably affluent, with no addictions, and are in perfect physical and mental health. Most of us are not so fortunate, and while we have no animosity towards those doing better, we wish that you had a better understanding of our realities. We wish you had more empathy.

Were it up to me, we might be holding elections in the summer, by mail, so that politics were not so near the top of our thoughts, fueling dinner table diatribes during Thanksgiving and Christmas. Alas, they are this Tuesday, and if we must get ourselves to a polling place we have to figure out how to do so between the hours of our employment, the kids' scholastic programs, and a myriad of other chores and errands. The physical process of voting is daunting, and we haven't had time to research the issues and candidates. All of this adds to the guilt we already feel about failing in our civic engagement, and reminds us of grandpa who is stuck in a reactionary mindset that has no room for a changing social landscape. Surely you will come to blows the next time you see each other.

Depending on the outcome of the elections, we are either seeing a glimmer of hope, or plunging further into despair as the holidays fast approach. What a perfect storm, eh? Speaking of which, there is probably a Nor'easter on the way, just for good measure. Now we are reaching for another cocktail, another cigarette, or both, or something worse. We are no longer looking forward to the "vacation" to see the family, and are quite possibly fantasizing about alternative plans for Vegas or the Caribbean, minus any relatives at all, including our spouse and children. This is normal, if not unfortunate. Fantasies of fleeing are fine and healthy, it is carrying them out that is damaging. Know the difference.

What you may need to do is make a preemptive strike against depression and anxiety via a twelve-step group, a psychologist, or a supportive group in your church. Daily life is not kind to societal outcasts, and this time of year is harder still. Christians in particular would do well to remember that and at least ease off the rhetoric a bit. Compassion has to come without the strings of conversion attached to it. Seek first to understand, strive to accept rather than tolerate.

We will still likely have to deal with people who push our buttons, though, so what do we do? Avoidance is underrated if it means removing yourself from toxic situations and toxic people. You should have zero tolerance for physical, emotional, or financial abuse. Get away, stay away, or insist that your family share meals and time with another family, or at a public gathering. The "neutral field" approach can be highly effective at disarming what would otherwise be a volatile circumstance. We are all on our best behavior among people we feel we need to impress, or uphold an already high opinion they have for us.

Separate your personal objections to religion and politics from friends and family who might hold opposing positions. Good people are well worth your time, love, and investment, and good people come from all segments of the socio-economic-religious-political-ethnic spectra. Cultivating empathy should be the primary goal in our relationships with others. Listening is always good. Keeping your opinions to yourself sometimes helps, but do politely articulate your own perspectives if you need reminding of your own self-worth. I am a firm believer in the idea that stating your values, your truths, out loud, does wonders for self-esteem and confidence....as long as you are being honest, and keep an open yet critical mind.

Ask others to be honest in their assessment of the origins of their stance on any given hot topic. It is obviously personal to them, so why is that? Assure them there is no shame in being forthright, and defend them from ridicule if that is the unfortunate turn a discussion takes. You can disagree without bullying.

Good luck to you in the coming months. We wish you peace and prosperity, sincerely, and relief from whatever burdens you carry. Please share your skills, tips, and tricks for making it through the holidays with minimal pain. We are all ears.

Conversation # 1

"At the heart of it, all men long to be irresponsible."

"Really? Really??!!

"Sure."

"Why would you not want to be the best mature person you could be?"

"Maturity has little to do with it, though immaturity is what keeps me young. Irresponsibility is the hallmark of youth, and it is all about hanging on to youth."

"So you're having a midlife crisis."

(smiles) "I have had a perpetual midlife crisis then. It's chronic." (laughs).

"That's funny to you?"

"If I don't laugh, I'll cry. I'd love to start over. Completely. Have an actual family instead of just parents, you know? An intact, loving family, but where then is the struggle for the artist in me? Let's get back to the point, though. Maybe I long to be irresponsible because I want to complete my childhood. It ended rather abruptly. My mom used to tell me that when I was ten years old I put away my toys and told her I needed to make something out of my life. Ten years old for Christ's sake."

"I'm sorry."

(Shakes head)"Don't be. I don't want pity."

"So let's talk about all men, then, like you started with. Are you basing your assessment that they all long to be irresponsible on just your own experience?"

"It isn't evident, glaringly obvious to you that men are like that?"

"I don't know, I've met plenty of men who are kind and responsible. Men with a steady job, who show up to dates, on time, even open the door for me...."

"Oh, you believe in chivalry?" (chuckles) "I've got news for you. We hold the door so we can watch your ass go through."

(Appalled, mouth open in shocked silence)

"Yeah, I know you like to think that you can give men at least a little credit, but just don't. Maybe your gay male friends. It isn't even about sex, it's about lust, because we're also timid and fearful of intimacy. The psychologists have that right. Why do you think porn is so popular? It keeps women at arm's length. We don't have to answer for our inadequacies, physical or emotional."

"Wow."

"We also don't want to be responsible for your happiness. Hell, we don't want to be responsible for our own happiness. We're always looking for other people, other situations, other locations, and material goods to make us happy. God forbid we should do any self-work so we can be happy independent of anything, or anyone, else."(smiles)

"How can you be so cynical? No, no, how can you be so okay with that, if you believe it?"

"Who says that I am? Laughing or crying again. When you think about men's motivations in biological terms, all the shit makes sense. Keeping up appearances. Showing off. We have raised the lek to a theatre stage. We hoard material goods like a male bower bird, all to get our genes into the next generation."

"You said it wasn't about sex."

"True. I guess maybe it is if you really are a stud. Maybe a lavish lifestyle, and climbing the corporate ladder are substitutes for guys who can't get it up. Maybe women have that right."

"Well, gee, thanks for giving us a little credit." (rolls eyes sideways)

"You're welcome."

"So, if my man leaves me for a younger woman, it isn't about sex?"

"Nope. It's back to youth again. She symbolizes youth, freedom, confidence, everything men aspire to."

(Skeptical tongue in cheek) "I see."

"No, really. At some point in a man's marriage, his spouse becomes a symbol of confinement rather than freedom. It could be that in the process of trying to make her happy he has sacrificed his own plans and goals for security, for his wife's cooking, her income, her mere presence in his otherwise lonely life. That's always the trade-off, isn't it: freedom or security."

(Shakes head slowly)"You've got this all figured out, haven't you?"

"Hell no. If I did, I wouldn't be sitting here with you. I value your honest appraisal. Truly, I do."

What You Say Versus What I Hear

© RospaWorkplaceSafety.com

What we have here, in our personal, social, political, and other relationships, is a failure to communicate. We cannot possibly know the life experiences of others, or how they interpret our words, and sometimes they do not know why they react the way they do, either. Should we not say anything then, for fear of hurting or insulting each other? No, but we may want to search our own heads for why certain things set us off.

Case in point. When I was younger, people would tell me that "you need to go back to school and finish your degree!" I found myself angered by this advice for the longest time. Then it dawned on me that what I heard was "you have no right to succeed unless you do so the way everyone else does [has to]!" From that point on I was no longer angry when someone made the suggestion of returning to college, I just ignored it.

Let us consider another example. I am not religious, but my in-laws are. When they say "we pray for you," I know that what they are saying is that believe that my soul will go to Hell because I do not accept Jesus as my savior and I therefore cannot possibly have a relationship with God. This comes across to me as a superiority complex, and the remark as terribly condescending. They are entitled to their beliefs, and I accept that, but I do not believe they respect my beliefs, and that is disheartening. I could also be wrong in my assertion of their intent. The fact I recognize internally how I am interpreting their words makes it vastly easier to tolerate and I shrug it off.

The idea for this blog post came about after the conclusion of the National Football League championship games, and a friend on social media tried to joke by implying that she did not know one sports team from another and could care less. Her intent at poking fun at her "own ignorance" as she explained later, did not translate well and I called her out (perhaps improperly) for her arrogance because the implication I heard was that "better" people choose to ignore team spectator sports all together. "We just can't be troubled with something so insignificant" is the sentiment that was ringing in my ears. We remain friends and just agree to disagree on this one admittedly trivial aspect of life.

My parents divorced when I was eleven years old, after a two-year separation. Back in the 1970s there was no blueprint for how to have a civil divorce, not that legal nuances change the behavior of the parties involved, but I recall how bitterly disappointed I was that the decree did not end the conflict. The phrase "best interest of the child" became a joke to me. It is not sufficient for one spouse to be the best thing for the child, the other parent must be portrayed as the worst thing for the child.

Here is a less personal example. I read recently an article on "Five Ways to Make the Outdoors More Inclusive". One of the people involved, Carolyn Finney, said this: "The term ‘outreach’ should be obsolete because it’s a one-sided term. It says, ‘I get to show my power, and feel good about it, because I reached out to you, and I brought you to my table. I didn’t have to change anything, I just had to put a chair at the table.’ People don’t want to give up their power. The question is what power are they willing to give up? If you say none, then that’s where we’re different. Then nothing changes.”

A friend's Facebook post relating to gender identification sparked many heated responses, but one of the minor points that I thought was a profound commentary on gender was my friend's use of "ovaries" and "testes" instead of "vagina" and "penis." That simple change removes all overtones of sex and power from the conversation. Brilliant.

The point is that we can all be guilty of manipulating others with our words. Sometimes we are well aware we are doing so, and sometimes we are not. The challenge is to be more self-aware, and to call others out when they are abusing us or others verbally. Yes, we may be wrong in our accusations, but then we at least have an understanding and can apologize. It is worth the investment of our time to do this, and it increases our sphere of interpretation from that point forward.

Please consider sharing your own examples of misunderstanding or misinterpretation in the comments. I am certain we can all relate and learn from each other.

Coming Out Versus Sticking Your Head in the Sand (or Elsewhere)

© WafflesAtNoon.com

Thursday, October 11, 2018 marked National Coming Out Day, a recognition and celebration of the LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, and queer) community. Hard on the heels of that comes proposed legislation to define citizens as either male or female based entirely on their genitalia. Here, friends, we have manufactured division, stoked hatred, and utter ignorance of the realities of our times.

Originally, I had intended to write about my own reaction to Coming Out Day, which would have been friendly enough, but with some trepidation about getting personal pronouns wrong and the embarrassment of unfamiliarity with a whole new vocabulary of categories from the LGBTQ community. While I will share those struggles here, I have absolute disgust for the news that our federal government administration wants to....relieve us of this terrible societal burden of adapting to a new gender landscape.

When I was single, I would sometimes be hit on by gay men. I was not appreciative of that and firmly communicated such, though often the other person would smile in a "knowing" way that I found offensive. I do not consider myself homophobic in any sense, but I did find those episodes a painful reminder of how unsuccessful I was at initiating my own relationships with women. That is where my anger came from. I have also hit on lesbian women in the past and found that to be a demoralizing experience, too. In retrospect, I admire the courage it took for all of those people to communicate their own orientations at a time when it could be life-threatening to do so.

Flash forward to today. I'm glad we have Coming Out Day, and I completely respect however you choose to identify yourself. I think identities of all sorts are a HUGE deal, and I can understand if someone feels the need to assert theirs, especially if it has been oppressed, repressed, or simply unrecognized for so long. Hell, I finally identified myself as "writer" after decades of self-denial.

That said, I hope you will be patient with those of us who grew up in a time when there were still only two recognized genders, and we pretty much assumed everybody was straight. In many ways I feel I have suddenly landed on a completely different planet with all of this non-binary, a-gender, asexual, cis-....vocabulary that I have frankly not given time to learning. I am deathly afraid that if I address someone by an incorrect pronoun that I will be viewed as a bigot, or otherwise insensitive. The one thing that provokes me to anger more than anything is looking like I'm stupid.

I say all of this to be honest, and possibly preemptive. It turns out I have a lot of friends who fall into these "new" categories and I feel like I am now walking on eggshells. Doesn't change the fact I love them all. After all, I tend to make friends based on the person's behavior, values, non-sexual interests, and ability to communicate honestly and unambiguously.

There, I feel better now.....Wh-a-a-a-t?! Our U.S. President wants to draft legislation to define our identities based on our genitalia at birth? In the context of my current understanding of "freedom," this is about the most limiting legislation I could possibly dream up. It is totally political and has zero place in an evolving society. It is wishful thinking on the part of some unenlightened parties who long for "the good 'ol days." I think they call these people reactionaries.

You cannot stick your head in the sand when the cat is out of the bag. Sorry, didn't mean to mix metaphors, but you get my drift. We should be standing united in the face of such manufactured social divisions. They are all designed to distract, so that we fail to see the Wealthy White Male Privilege behind the curtain stealing our money, our freedoms, our rights, and our dignity. We are not divided, but we let them TELL us we are, and then we go and believe it in the face of all the contrary evidence. That is the ultimate fake news.

The Friends We Never Meet and the Ones That We Neglect

The other day my Facebook newsfeed blew up with remembrances of someone who I never met, or even "friended," but who clearly mattered to all my associates in the birding community. People who watch birds take it seriously, but empathy for one another runs deep among them. When one of them passes it reverberates like the the call of a raven throughout their circle. It got me thinking, long and hard, about who in my world might be slipping away.

One of the friends of the deceased shared a poem by her departed friend. The poem was about how we frame mental illness as it relates to artists. I suspect that this women suffered herself from depression and was frustrated by how society sees that anguish as somehow necessary in producing masterpiece paintings, novels, and other works, yet a self-imposed weakness in everybody else. It was a powerful piece of writing.

I clearly missed out by not having known this lady. I feel anger and guilt that I had never even heard of her until she was gone, and I no longer had any options. This is the one aspect of social media that I find excruciating, a "so close yet so far" phenomenon. I mean, I suppose I could "friend" her still, and have the archive of her posts to look back on, but it would be somehow empty, you know? One cannot be everywhere at once, even in the digital age. So many people will still not connect with you, nor you with them.

The irony is that social media isn't about you, nor is it about the next person you connect to, it is about we, and making more "we" as it were. It is about moments of clarity, like that poem, moments of sorrow like that day, and moments of joy, which is of course what all artists leave us with regardless of their medium.

Meanwhile, the flip side of all your friends on social media are the ones neglected because they don't do Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, or whatever the next new platform will be. They are left in digital dust when we fail to pick up the phone, or a pen, and call or write like we know we should. Inertia kicks in, along with its best buddy guilt, and then we never get around to it, despite our own nagging impulses. Right?

Well, today I did it. I e-mailed my best friend (aside from my wife), and just flat-out apologized. I did not beg forgiveness, but granted permission for him to hate me for my abandonment of him. Of course I got an immediate reply whereby he essentially expressed that he was no better at reaching out, and that we should indeed talk soon. I had expected as much but also do not take the let's-pick-up-where-we-left-off shrug of let-bygones-be-bygones for granted, either. Life is short, complicated, conflicted, and otherwise tumultuous, prone to sudden finalities. No, I will leave him no doubt that I love him like the brother I never had.

Carl is a generous, dependable gentleman, with a wit and sense of humor that would make him a great stand-up comic if he ever wanted to be. The stories I could tell. Mostly, he just makes everyone around him comfortable and happy. I cannot imagine a greater legacy or example. He was like a second son to my mother, too, and looked in on her in my out-of-state absence, which was from 1988 to when she passed in 2014. Yet, here I have been, going on about my "business" daily and, albeit several states away, not paying him near the respect that he deserves. That changes now and changes permanently. It also gets me thinking about who else I have ignored who deserves better.

Some people are artists with brushes, pens, chisels, cameras, or even computers, but the raw medium is still life itself, and it is those rare individuals who sculpt our personal realities that matter most to us. We cannot let them fall by the wayside because their comfort zone is still where it probably should be for all of us, grounded in the tangible and not in the "cloud." Someday we will look up from our devices and find them vanished because we haven't been paying proper attention. Someday we ourselves will draw the line at the next big thing, fearing for our privacy or unable to afford the technology, or whatever other roadblock clips us neatly from society as we know it, like a feather molted from a bird.

I Once Had Good Hearing

© HealthyWomen.org

My eyesight has long since deserted me, but I pride myself on having excellent hearing. Well, I once did, anyway. I desperately want to avoid the stereotype of the hard-of-hearing old fogey who is pitied, barely tolerated, and written off as irrelevant. It is a bit more complicated than what the aging process contributes, though. Up until now I have not admitted as much, not even to myself. Confession time.

Here is an honest-to-God example of one of my more recent telephone conversations. Mind you, I was on my cell phone, inside a storage locker, inside a building, and deaf in my left ear from a recent airline flight. That said, I had the phone to my good ear....

Woman: "Hi, I'm calling from Speed's Towing. We just picked up your deceased father's car which you kindly donated to Oregon Public Broadcasting? Well, turns out we do need that Power of Attorney before we can transfer it elsewhere."
Me: "Steve's Towing? I can do that, but it will have to wait until I get back to Colorado next Friday."
Woman: "That's fine, but it's Speed's Towing. You can just mail the POA when you get home."
Me: "Ok, good. So let me get the name again, and the address."
Woman: "Speed's Towing...."
Me: Ok, I got that, Steve's Towing...."
Woman: "No, Speed's Towing."
Me: "Alright, let me spell out what I'm hearing: S-t-e-v-e apostrophe 's'...."
Woman: No, two 'e's'...."
Me: "S-t-e-e-v-e 's?"
Woman: "It is S-p-e-e-d-s. There is no 'e' on the end."
Me: "Steed's Towing?" A horsepower-themed towing company did not seem like a stretch....
Woman: "No."
Me (sighing heavily and pausing): "Ok, can I get the address at least?"
We manage to agree on the street location, city, state, and zipcode.....
Me: "Ok, let me try spelling this out one more time: "S as in Sam, T as in Tom, e-e, d...."
Woman: "No, it is S, p as in Paul...."
Me: Oh, Speed's Towing, as in going fast!
Woman: "Yes!"

I cannot believe I did not remember the name from the logo on the side of the tow truck, but I was trying to keep all the paperwork organized, so I'll stick to that story of trying not to be distracted. Meanwhile, had the woman merely said something like "Speed's, like going fast, vroom-vroom!," we might have not exhausted all the minutes on my Tracfone.

I still pride myself on being able to track down katydids and crickets from their songs, but even a few years ago a fellow entomologist was pointing out the song of a certain katydid species....and I could hear nothing. The frequency of the song was too high. Last year I found another katydid with a flashlight, and observed his wings moving at high speed, but again I could barely make out a sound.

I have some tinnitus in my left ear in particular, and occasionally it loudly asserts itself, but overall I am more bothered by external noise than I am unable to perceive it. I am wishing right now I could tune out the noisy neighbor kids who insist on shouting and shrieking during their play right outside in our closely-arranged townhouse complex. Apparently the architecture amplifies sound. Lucky us.

Most of us men will not admit it, but more than half of our "hearing" problem, especially when it comes to our spouses, stems from the fact that we are not very good at listening. It is sad to realize that as I age I care less and less about what other people have to say, much of the time anyway. There really is a steady stream of dialogue that literally goes in one ear and out the other, or vanishes somewhere in a sea of neurons in the auditory lobe, never registering in our cerebral cortex. When we are halfway paying attention, then our translation of the sentence or monologue can get scrambled.

For example, on one occasion my wife was reciting to me the hour that our upcoming airline flight would be leaving. She said something to the effect of "Our departure time is eight-thirty AM...." My appropriate and respectful response? "What about The Partridge Family?" I now have a ringing sensation in the other ear, and I may need to see the dentist, too. Honey, I'm only kidding. Honey?

Man vs. Appliance

The other day my wife finished showering and informed me that the water heater must be malfunctioning and I would need to address the problem the next day while she was at work. This brought up all kinds of insecurities about my manhood and marital obligations, but I ultimately triumphed, thanks to the support of even more....women.

There it is, striking fear in the hearts of men!

There is an awful lot of truth behind that old adage that behind every good man is a good woman, and I might add "often several women." Siblings, other relatives, friends, social media acquaintances, they all can be encouraging in your time of need. I honestly had not anticipated the account of the water heater to take this direction, but it is absolutely where it should go, to the heart of human relationships, self-confidence, and lifelong learning.

Our first approach to the water heater problem was to solicit recommendations for a plumber via local Facebook friends. My plea was answered in part by female friends who advocated doing the repair ourselves. Ok, that would be me, then, while my spouse earns our household some income. I do not do well with the handyman thing, but in my defense I spent my teenage years without a father on a daily basis. My folks divorced when I was age eleven, and I saw my father every other weekend. He lived in apartments where repairs were done by contractors.

"Just look up how to repair a water heater on Youtube. You'll be fine" said a couple of handywomen on my "friends" list. They added that expiring heating elements were usually the source of the problem. My wife went about finding some videos and e-mailed links to two of them. I viewed them the next morning and while things always appear straightforward in those how-to short films, they *never* represent the exact model or circumstance that you will encounter with your own appliance. My nerves were still fraying.

As luck would have it, Heidi was carpooling to work this day, so I had our car at my disposal to fetch the necessary hardware and tools. Only problem was that I had not driven but once in roughly the last five months, so I was a little edgy about that prospect, too. I did find the courage to get behind the wheel, and was not as white-knuckled as I feared I would be. I even managed to find some helpful people at the hardware/lumberyard/garden supply/nursery store once I arrived. About forty minutes and forty-three dollars later, I had what I needed.

You have got to be kidding!

Our water heater is a short, squat cylinder located on a cement pad....in the crawlspace under our townhouse unit. You will notice that the panels I needed to access the heating elements are on the "dark side," not illuminated by the single bulb in the crawlspace. Also, the drain for the tank is about three inches from the floor of the crawlspace. I first attached a hose and ran it into a bucket, but the effectiveness of that strategy dried up quickly. So, I took to wedging another bucket under the spigot, filling it as far as I could without overflow, and dumping it into another bucket. About two hours or so later I decided I had probably drained the water heater pretty well.

Now to disarm this water-bomb

Note to self: Think you have drained the appliance below the level of the bottom element? You haven't. Black water blew out the opening once occupied by the withdrawn heating element. I quickly rammed the new one into the void. Success, with only mild, wet, annoyance. The upper element offered no such surprise, and the tank filled in next to no time. Heated water was available again in roughly two hours. Meanwhile, my body is still recovering from trip after trip lugging a bucket with at least four gallons of dirty water out of the crawlspace and into the parking lot to dump it. Drain, dump, repeat. Still, before I started, I had visions of Heidi finding my smoldering, electrocuted corpse under the house when she got home.

While I suspect that the true cost of this DIY exercise would have included renting a pump to properly drain the water heater, mission accomplished. Self-confidence was increased as well, though I still do not look forward to the next appliance breakdown. The real bottom line is the silver lining of learning, growing in "handymanship," and gratitude for friends who have confidence in you even if you lack it in yourself.

Ego

© The-open-mind.com

I like to think that I don't have an ego, or at least not a big one, but lately I find myself facing emotions and triggers that make me realize I might be wrong about that. It has also started me thinking about what an ego is, what it is connected to, and why it is largely considered a "man thing."

Pressed to define myself, I would have to say I am a writer who knows a lot about entomology, the study of insects. Many people would reverse the order, saying I am an entomologist who writes. That is flattering, and it is the reputation I have earned through countless hours of volunteering to answer online questions about "bugs," giving public presentations, and writing my other blog, Bug Eric. Oh, and I was principal author of the Kaufman Field Guide to Insects of North America. Here in Colorado, that seems to matter little, and people frequently credit a retired state entomologist for everything they know and appreciate about insects.

This individual has remained a mystery to me. He has never introduced himself to either welcome me or express regret at my arrival here four years ago. That stings a little when colleagues don't acknowledge you. What hurts more is what I perceive as a fierce loyalty to this person that I will never receive from anyone who has met both of us. Whatever I do will never be as good as what he did.

I find I have a competitive tendency in situations like this, and I really don't like to be competitive. I would rather have a cooperative, equality-based relationship with most people. I don't consider myself superior, and in fact I now get an inferiority complex at the mention of this entomologist's name.

So, our ego wants to cultivate a sense of loyalty among others; and it will become fiercely competitive in order to achieve that. What else is the ego up to that we may or may not be conscious of? The first definition of ego in my handy The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, copyright 1973, is "The self as distinguished from all others." Ah-ha! We literally want to "be somebody." Our ego is a product of everything we have done to achieve our sense of identity, from being kind to strangers to earning a degree, to climbing the ladder of our career. This is where things might come undone. Men in particular often equate their entire identity with their occupation. Suddenly, you seem to slip down a notch in the hierarchy of your field and all emotional hell breaks loose. You are convinced that you are now a "nobody."

Why do we so easily forget that our identity is not just what we do for a living, but who we are as human beings? A good analogy, perhaps, is colleges and universities. The most graphic presentation of these academic institutions is their athletic teams. The football and/or men's basketball program are the public face of the whole school. Measuring the quality of education at a school by the performance of its sports teams is, of course, ludicrous, but we do it every single season. Likewise, our career status is what everyone sees in us, regardless of whether they truly know us. It can be argued persuasively that we put entirely too much effort into career success at the expense of family, friends, and community, maybe even our own physical and mental health.

The other thing about occupation is that it is something tangible, demonstrative, and that is really high on the men's priority list. Guys, try listing less visible qualities about yourself. Hard, isn't it? Somewhere I have filed away a list of my own positive attributes (strengths) and negative personality traits (weaknesses) in case I ever have another job interview. We, myself included, don't seem to devote nearly as much time and energy into becoming better human beings as we do to being better workers, supervisors, or CEOs. This is tragic and ironic when you consider the people you hold in high esteem. They are likely to be people who impacted you directly as friends, mentors, partners. We can admire public figures, but we love family, friends, and colleagues close to us.

I'm feeling better already for having reminded myself that I am not "just" a writer or an entomologist. I am a husband, a friend, a volunteer, and sometimes an activist. So who are you? Take a moment, I can wait. Think about this daily, make it a habit to praise yourself for the intangibles. That is where you earn what is most valuable and irreplaceable of all: true loyalty.

The Hardest Holiday

Dad and me, circa 1997

Ok, so technically Father's Day is not a holiday, but it is one of those occasions that elicits deep emotion regardless. It may engender positive feelings, or negative ones. Personally, I envy those who have, or had, a father deeply engaged with their family, but I cannot imagine what it would be like to lose someone so beloved. There are others who have never known their father at all, due to abandonment, death, divorce, or some other catastrophe. I do not have an inkling as to the depth of that bitterness, either.

My parents separated when I was about nine years old, and divorced officially when I was eleven. I have no siblings. On the one hand, I would not have wished my parents' tumultuous family life on anyone else, but on the other hand I had no one to validate my own experiences or perceptions of family reality. What I hoped for was that the divorce would bring a "cease fire" but instead it merely changed the focus of arguments to money. Dad apparently wanted to pay less child support than the court ordered, and he may have appealed to that end. I can only rely on hearsay from what my mother had told me, and I have learned to expect both parents to stretch the truth.

What I do recall was the court-mandated visitations with my father every other weekend, and splitting Christmas Eve and Christmas Day between the two households. My mother would always interrogate me upon my return from my father's place, and I felt guilty if I had a good time. Dad would sense this and become angry, and so the wheel of guilt and fear went round and round. I was damned if I did, damned if I didn't. I was a "momma's boy" to my dad, and "just like your father" to my mom. Neither were compliments.

What I apparently inherited from my father is what I appreciate most. He has aged well, and has always been a good-looking man. He is incredibly artistic, creative, and talented in a variety of media, from wood to wax to metal. His chosen career and business was as a jewelry designer and he did fabulous custom works for his clients. I am not half bad in the creative departments of illustration and writing if I may be so bold as to assert that. Dad also had a great work ethic which I have slowly lost.

What I learned from my father has been the source of much personal humiliation, professional setbacks, and social awkwardness. My father gets his way by being demonstrably angry. His temper is something I fear to this day. He is opinionated to the point of being a bigot and a racist, or nearly so. He does not play well with others, especially in the workplace. He was selling insurance during my infancy and toddler years, and he made no bones about hating that. He moonlighted as a jeweler, repairing watches and creating the odd ring or pendant for someone.

Dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to take over his jewelry business when he could no longer produce. I am not entirely sure he has forgiven me for following a different path. Now that his second wife has passed, several years ago now, and my mother passed away in December of 2014, he wants me and my wife to move back to the Portland, Oregon area to spend more time with him, if not take care of him, and save him the headache of selling his home. He wants his way, as usual.

I cannot fathom the circumstances of abuse and neglect, and/or the foster care system that others endure or have endured. My mother could. She was in the foster care system before we even had the standards of care we have today. What you learn about parenting during your childhood you also tend to apply when you become a parent. This negative cycle can be turned around, but it takes either immense personal effort at not repeating mistakes, or the proverbial "village," or both. Today we no longer trust the village. We even home school our children for fear they might be exposed to concepts like evolution, or be surrounded by "others" who we ourselves fear and loathe.

My father has never really earned my respect, but now here I am faced with growing responsibility for decisions that he soon may not be able to make for himself. How ironic. I will at some point likely be the parent to my parent. I do hope I can act with compassion and sensitivity, even in the face of his anger that stems from who-knows-what or where.

Boys, enjoy your good father if you have one, today and every day. Rise above your bad father. Seek mentors not only for your potential career, but for examples of what it means to be a man, a husband, a father. Girls, take joy and pride in your good father. Look for mentors yourselves to help you find a good husband if your father is not a good man. Today, take stock. Be honest. Be your father's champion, or be your own.

Meet Heidi Genter

Since first meeting Heidi Genter in person, in the Denver airport, about the only times I don’t feel “misplaced” are by her side or in her arms. She has become the love of my life, endlessly supportive yet remaining the strong, independent woman that she is. I am very fortunate to have found someone so compatible and truly delightful.

We have tried to trace the origins of our friendship and it definitely started on Facebook. That sounds like a cliché, I know, but that social network can hold some wonderful surprises for those who take the plunge. Near as we can tell, Heidi and I both “liked” the Bugguide page on Facebook, and things just went from there. Who cares who contacted who first, if the results can be like this?

Heidi knows for certain that we started talking nightly on the telephone on April 9, 2010. She has an inclusive phone plan that allows for unlimited long distance calls. We are both bummed by Daylight Savings Time, since that means she is one hour ahead of me.

Heidi lives in Colorado Springs, Colorado, where she has worked as a keeper of the great apes at Cheyenne Mountain Zoo for 17 years. She also works part-time as an usher for concerts and other entertainment events at various city arenas and venues. Devoted to her Lutheran church, she sings in the choir and plays in the hand bell choir, too.

Heidi enjoys geocaching as a way to get into the great outdoors, venturing out nearly every weekend with a trio of friends. A gifted and talented artist, Heidi renders animals and other subjects in watercolor, selling some of her pieces through Café Press. She also created and produces an annual zoo fundraiser called “Art on the Hoof” that has been a great success. Heidi has a pet dog, two birds, a corn snake, and wolf spider at last count.

We finally met in person in Denver, on October 13, 2010. I had been invited by another friend, Abigail Parker, to go to Cape May, New Jersey to watch birds during the fall migration. Abby mentioned we would stay at her parents’ beach house in Ocean City, and that there was room for more people. I invited Heidi, but was truly surprised when she agreed to go. I am very respectful of her morals and beliefs, and would have understood completely if she had felt that this was just not the proper way to initiate a relationship, lodging in the same house when we were essentially still strangers. Her willingness to stretch her boundaries to accommodate opportunities like this is one of Heidi’s most attractive qualities.

We had a spectacular time leisurely strolling on the Ocean City boardwalk, snapping pictures of birds at Cape May Point State Park, and ending the day with a tub of Johnson’s Popcorn caramel corn and cuddling on the couch. Neither of us dreamed that we would hit it off so well, but were delighted. By the end of the trip, enjoying genuine cheesesteaks in Abby’s hometown of Philadelphia, we knew we had something to build on.

Home again in our respective cities, we decided we needed to see each other again soon. Heidi decided to use some of her precious vacation time to come to Tucson for New Year’s. Unfortunately, she brought the cold weather with her, and we darn near froze on our New Year’s Eve visit to the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum. That evening we had dinner and took in a comedy show at Laffs Comedy Club. New Year’s Day we went hiking in the Sabino Canyon Recreation Area, where Heidi found at least three geocaches. We saw plenty of birds and a trio of deer, too.

January second we went to the Sweetwater Wetlands and saw many more birds, enjoying the slightly warming weather. Heidi departed the evening of January third, but not before we took in the Butterfly Magic exhibit at the Tucson Botanical Gardens. Somewhere in all of this we also managed to play pool with Leigh Anne DelRay and her husband David Crowell. Leigh Anne gave her seal of approval to Heidi and I, which I really take to heart.

Most recently, Heidi went to southern California for a workshop on Imperiled Butterfly Conservation & Management. One of Heidi’s self-appointed responsibilities through the Cheyenne Mountain Zoo is the conservation of the Pawnee Montane Skipper, and her involvement with its recovery includes a series of workshops where colleagues share their methods and practices. I came out to meet Heidi at the conclusion of the workshop, and we stayed with her uncle Dale and his wife Beth in Carpinteria. Another great time was had by all, and we were really grateful for Dale and Beth’s hospitality.

Heidi and I have plans to meet in Chicago for an upcoming family reunion (her side), then I will check out Colorado Springs in preparation to move there this fall. We both move through life at the same pace, and I really think that is why we get along so well and believe that our relationship will endure. Thank you, Sweetheart, for all that you are.

Men, Women, and Breasts

The other night I received a call from a breast cancer awareness organization asking for a monetary donation. I did not comply, though I have donated to this cause in the past and will certainly do so again when I feel I have a more sound footing as far as my personal finances go. It got me thinking, though, that I don’t see many, if any, appeals by breast cancer foundations directed toward men.

Let’s face it: Men like breasts. Men like women. Men have money they too often spend more freely on lingerie, pornography, and other indulgences of a sexual nature that don’t benefit their female partners, let alone women in general. We really are idiots in this regard. We need to take responsibility for our carnal desires in many ways, but supporting women’s health should be at the top of the priority list.

I think there are several ways to go about achieving this goal.

• Create a Valentine’s Day fundraising campaign whereby men can donate various amounts in the name of loved one’s to breast cancer research, prevention, and treatment.
• Every Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show from here on in will have the models sporting pink ribbons (….somewhere) with a hotline number at the bottom of the television screen that ogling men can call to pledge a donation for breast health education and cancer research and treatment.
• Implement a “Pornography Tax” on all forms of porn, plus sex toys and the like, the proceeds of which will go to a variety of causes, including research and treatment of breast cancer, ovarian cancer, cervical cancer, sexually-transmitted diseases, and the prevention of sexual violence, prostitution, sex-trafficking, and other intolerable conditions affecting women.
• The Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue will now include all models wearing pink ribbons (….somewhere), plus heavy public service advertising for breast cancer awareness.
• Playboy gets some balls (sorry) and puts a pink ribbon around the neck of its bunny logo. It also devotes more ad space to breast cancer awareness and sexual responsibility in general. This should be a relatively easy sell since there are women in positions of power at Playboy Enterprises.
• Require Clear Channel and other billboard advertising corporations to provide one month of free public service advertising to breast cancer awareness and/or women’s health issues in general.

Come on, guys, you probably have even more ideas for fundraising and education. We all have mothers, lovers, wives, sisters, and other women in our lives. What better way to honor them than to support causes that can improve the lives of women everywhere?

NOTE: Image courtesy of ”BingeAndPurge”. Thank you.