Mother to Dozens

Rod Haden

I was thinking about my mother today, because yesterday was Mother’s Day, and I was out of town, and I didn’t honor her on her day with anything but a couple of text messages. I did go to lunch with her last week and wish her a Happy Mother’s Day then, but it’s not the same. So here is a list of reasons that I honor and appreciate my mother.

1. She set out in the world on her own, leaving behind parents who saw no reason for her to leave them or their provincial existence. She was not taught that she was beautiful, or smart, or capable, or strong, but she took off on her own anyway, and she never looked back.

2. She was an elementary school teacher for years before becoming a mom, lifting up other people’s kids and doing it with purpose and creativity. When she did become a mom herself, she went all in. She went from single and childless to married with 2 (step)children in the matter of a few months. She made mistakes, as anyone would, but she was always earnest and sincere. Then, after birthing 2 more children, she waited 6 years then started fostering. She was mom to 38 more kids this way, some for a few days or weeks, some for years. 38 babies in 13 years. Or 42 kids in 23 years? That’s a pretty amazing run. That’s a lot of kindness for strangers, too.

3. She started a career as a social worker 13 years after ending her career as an elementary school teacher. When most normal humans would say, “That’s it. I’m done.” She said, “That’s it. What’s next?” And she picked an exhausting, underpaid, underappreciated job and did it well. She even became the support system for the other social workers, putting candy, a rocking chair, and a big ol’ teddy bear in her office so her coworkers could come and rock and vent.

4. After retirement, she reinvented herself again. She worked out. She became a vegan. She became healthier and stronger and more fit than she had been in any other period of her life. She went to the community college and learned pottery and creative writing. She started with Reiki and kept developing and evolving her spiritual and meditative skills along a path that grew and changed along with her. She made new friends.

5. She wrote 2 books, a novel and a memoir. I’ve only ever talked about writing books. She did it. Twice.

6. She kept on adapting, growing, and evolving. When my Dad was facing health problems, she willingly left her home of 40 years behind to move to a new city to be close to her kids. She started taking care of the man who had always been fiercely, quietly, stubbornly independent. She gave up the friends and the spiritual community she had spent her retirement building in her old hometown and embraced starting over in a new home and a new town. And she’s working, slowly and surely, to build a new community for herself while still staying focused on taking care of her husband in his new health situation.

7. She is proud and supportive and encouraging to her kids and grandkids.

8. She knows her limits, and lets herself be who she is. She’s not comfortable driving far from home or in new environments. She prefers texts over phone calls. She communicates her boundaries clearly and asks for help when she needs it.

9. She laughs at herself, loves wordplay, and teases those she’s close to with love and kindness. I think it’s her diet, her physical activity, and her humor that have kept her healthy enough to maintain her independence all these years and make it possible for her and Dad to still be living in their own home taking care of themselves.

10. She gave birth to a great guy who is kind, loving, smart, and funny. And in case my brother is reading this, it’s me. I’m talking about me. Though you’re all right, too.

Happy Mother’s Day Mom! I love you, and I’m proud of you! Keep on rocking it!

American Pathological Optimism

Rod Haden

This American Life replayed an episode from 3 years ago, and it got me thinking about the power of optimism, or the power of pessimism. The episode, "#550: Three Miles", tells the story of how a few of different high school students perceived a program that takes kids from a public school that's "97% black and Hispanic [and] ...located in the poorest congressional district in the country, the South Bronx" and takes them on a bus trip to visit "one of New York City's elite private schools [that's] ...70% white... [where annual] tuition was $43,000."

One of the kids has an intense anxiety reaction and wants nothing but to leave, immediately. She sees from the moment she steps on campus that this place is not meant for her and represents a future that she cannot attain. She instantly foresees a future where the "we" to which she belongs is destined to career options where "we" work in service positions to "them," the wealthy, white upper class represented by the private school kids. Another of the kids sees it as an eye-opening introduction to another world she didn't know existed, and it motivates her to work her way into an elite private college and beat the odds by earning her degree. A third student also works his way into an elite private college after the experience but can never shake the notion that he is not worthy of the place he's earned and ultimately fails out.

A decade later, that first woman is still struggling with the idea that class mobility is not possible for "us," and she's working at an "upscale supermarket" that serves exactly the "they" she was sure as a 15-year-old she would some day be serving. She not only is upset that it wasn't available to her, but is upset at herself for accepting that it was unavailable, for not believing she was worthy of it and therefore not fighting to be a part of it.

And that got me thinking about how sociology is really individual psychology in huge numbers. Every one of us is the product of a complex, interconnected network of influences that make us who we are, and all of those individual psyches taken collectively are what create sociological trends. It's fascinating to me how I, the cis white male for whom all possibilities are available, who grew up knowing he would go to college because that's just what people do, whose parents told him daily in the mostly white suburban neighborhood with good schools that he was exceptional, still managed to grow into an adult who believed that he wasn't particularly worthy of love or success, that settling was the best he could hope for. And at the same time, for a host of complicated reasons, a woman whose teachers and peers affirmed to her repeatedly her exceptional abilities, who came within inches of winning a full scholarship to an elite private college, came to believe that none of it was really for her.

One of the phrases used in the story is "American pathological optimism," where we believe that all things are possible for all of us, and the only thing that separates us from success is hard work. The pathological part is maybe in reality, success is not the norm, that class mobility is not the norm but the exception, that if someone with natural abilities doesn't achieve, then maybe "this is what happens all the time, that the supermarket might be full of Melanies." To believe otherwise is a pathology.

I know that for the Melanies and Raquels and Jonathans of the world, there are deep, wide, systemic barriers that make it infinitely harder, both to achieve and to believe that achievement is even a possibility. But for me (myself, personally), the individual living and working in a system in which all the advantages are mine, it doesn't matter what the reality is. It doesn't matter if I actually rise, actually succeed, actually move up into a new level of economic success. What matters is that it is better for me, it is better for my daily, individual health and happiness, to believe. Having lived under the dark cloud of self-doubt, of fear, of flying under the radar lest I be found out to be a fraud, and now living under the bright sun of believing that I am worthy of wonderful things, I would rather live in the sunshine. It is better for my daily health and well-being to believe I am a good person capable of great things. To believe in possibility is better for me than to believe in impossibility.

Relationships that affirm our value rather than confirm our shortcomings, that lift us up and allow us to lift up others, are a huge help. But I've had relationships like that and still did not believe, and so did Melanie. Even after crossing over myself, I'm still not sure what the alchemy is, that pushes a person from one side of that line to the other. I think that's why I'm drawn to stories of transformation. Maybe someday I'll figure it out.

Sound

Rod Haden

It’s astounding that we live in a world where someone like me, with no experience or credentials, with no budget, can produce and publish audio content just because he wants to. Our best recording device so far has been an iPhone, though my next interview will be recorded on a USB microphone from Amazon, plugged into a laptop that was new in 2011. The software is free and open source. The publishing platform is free both to the producer and the consumer of audio content, and it’s accessible to millions, though millions have certainly not discovered our little product. The investment so far has mostly been in this website, and that was relatively cheap, considering.

What I love most about this project is learning by doing. Interviewing has been fun, both as the subject of an interview and the one conducting interviews of others. But the part that keeps me up at night because I’d rather work on it than sleep is the production, editing, cutting, mixing. I’m under no delusions that what I’ve done is art, or even shows any level of skill. But I’m progressing. I’m learning. By listening to what professionals produce, listening to what we’ve produced, letting my mind wander over and over again over the differences, then experimenting with ways to actually apply those lessons, I’m living in joy and discovery and slowly getting better at making something.

In 1999, one of my bosses said, “We have this thing called FileMaker. Can you take a look at it and see what it can do?” I did, and over the next 2 years really poured myself into it. Every free moment at work and many free moments at home I spent learning the power of calculations and scripts. I created solutions that replaced paper systems based in typewriters, three-part forms, and 3X5 index cards. My solutions spread throughout my organization, and most of them are still in daily use 15 and 16 years later. At the peak of my powers, I could make FileMaker get up and dance.

This feels kind of like that. I think about it when I’m not doing it. I lose track of time when I am doing it. I can’t wait to get my hands on more raw materials on which to practice and work out solutions to problems. I’m living in joy.

What I’m thinking about now is the power of the pause. I’ve been cutting out as much silence as I could, because I thought pauses would kill emotional intensity and increase boredom. Now I think I should learn to trust the pause. That and my music levels are too high. And I need to let the musical lead ins play longer, and fade the volume out less abruptly. Recording with a mic should help with some quality issues. Maybe 2 mics, so the questions aren’t quieter than the answers. There’s a lot to be said for making the interviewee comfortable, though. And the music... I wonder if any of my musician friends would license some music for me, in exchange for nothing more than credit and gratitude? And who am I going to interview next? 

In conclusion: hobbies are fun. The end.