Summer Season

Summer=Ice Cream.  Always.

It’s summer.  This summer, more than ever before I’m finally feeling like I’m enjoying it.  Like I’m really in summer.  When I think back on the last few summers I can see why.  In 2012 I had a newborn.  In 2013 we had just moved in with  my parents and I was experiencing all sorts of “living with my parents with two kids” adjustment stress.  In 2014 I had another newborn.  And we’d just moved.  Last summer I was pregnant.  Summers, despite their status as my favorite season, have been hard around here for the last few years.  They haven’t felt like the sweet relief that summer should feel like.

Maybe because I have two kids in school now, or maybe because this summer is the first one in 8 or 9 years that I haven’t been working, or maybe because I’m not experiencing any of the aforementioned transitions this year, but this summer feels like a break.  I was really careful not to schedule us too much.  We took two weeks of swim lessons and that was it.  I didn’t do any camps, or classes and aside from Liam’s  4 day a week for 5 weeks summer school session (which was kind of a bummer) we have had nowhere to be and nothing to wake up for.

And it’s been glorious.

I’m appreciating the slower pace and the shorter to do list.  I don’t have as many appointments to keep track of or regularly scheduled life things to attend.  I’m enjoying the extra cup of coffee and the way our morning unwinds a bit before we set about our day.  Rory still naps from 9-10am, so we can’t really do anything or go anywhere until she’s up.  Which means for the first three hours of the day, we’re slow.  

I was worried at first.  Outside of our routine of school would the days stretch out until forever and feel like a long, hot crawl to death with lots of kids fighting for my attention and not enough personal space?  There have been moments of that, yes, but really, mostly it’s been awesome.  This is the summer where our chaotic years of babies born so close together is starting to pay off.  They are pals this summer and the big three disappear together for long stretches of time, lost in imaginary worlds they’ve created.  I’m so thankful we didn’t schedule any camps or lessons.  Dinners have been pretty low key as my usual routine of trying mostly new recipes all the time is on hiatus for a while.  It’s been a lot of tacos and grilled chicken with salad, and last week after we all stayed late at the pool I attempted the open faced bread, cheese, tomato and bacon sandwiches that my parents used to make when I was a kid.  My kids loved them, as my siblings and I did before us and this easy meal will be a new part of the rotation, likely to stick around long after summer.  For us, this break from all the things has been really necessary.

Cheap baseball games is another must this season.

Since my dad passed away I’ve found that I’ve paid more attention to the seasons.  It’s weird, but he died the day before the first snowfall of a brutal winter.  In that way the winter season ushered in the winter of my grief.  While the winter of my soul stuck around though the literal spring and summer that first year I couldn’t help but notice the seasons.  At first this was because the metaphorical seasons of my grief were so misaligned with the physical seasons.  But then, because my grief had caused me to notice the changing of time in a new way, I found myself aware of how a new season could help me transition through a new rhythm.  This summer, for the first time, I’m finding that life’s circumstance and my own intentionality, have allowed me to maintain the right rhythm for the right season.  After the chaos and business of spring (May is the new December when it comes to ALL THE THINGS!) June, July and August absolutely needed to be the unhurried bliss they’ve been.  Rory’s nap has kept me from rushing out the door in an attempt to tackle the to do list (which is really just a way of keeping us busy because some days I buy into the lie that busy=better).  My kids needed this season to discover their built in playmate statuses.  

I’ve needed this season, probably as much as them.  Our new summer rhythms gave me the space to create necessary margins in my day so that I’m not crazy mom by 4:15.  With all the kids home it would have been easy to feel like I needed to be cruise director mom, entertaining and occupying all day long.  But I know myself and that, friends, would be a disaster.  Cruise director mom would throw everyone overboard by noon.  Instead I started waking at six and giving myself an hour to read and drink coffee before the kids wake up.  During Rory’s first nap I shooed the big kids downstairs so that I could write for 30-60 minutes.  And in the afternoons while Rory and Lou both nap I instituted quiet time for Liam and Ry.  I set a timer and make them play together quietly for an hour or so and then let them watch a show as a reward.  It buys me about 90 minutes to tackle the few things on my to do list or just read a book by myself.  I need that time of not talking to anyone so I can reset for the afternoon.  These margins are important and they are helping to prevent me from becoming crazy eyed mom when Tommy comes home (most days anyway).

I know we can’t maintain this lackadaisical rhythm come fall.  We don’t live in a beach town where it’s summer year round.  The changing of the leaves and start of school will stop our slow mornings, and Rory will drop that first nap soon, ending my writing time (or forcing me to find a new time for it.  Optimistically I’m hopeful that when the seasons change my soul will be ready for the change too and that I’ll look forward to the structure and the productivity.  

I’m also trying to figure out how to take the lessons of my summer margins into fall.  I’m looking for ways to build in those spaces that will keep me sane.  I’m pondering how to take a piece of the summer rhythm into fall.  I know it’s doable but it may take a few weeks to gain my footing.

At any rate I’m going to lap up every last drop of this glorious summer season, both in the air and in my soul.  This has been exactly what it needed to be.  There’s been lightness and fun, adventure and rest.  We are all thankful for summer life and all looking forward to the sweetness this season can bring year after year.  

Last Day

Today marks Liam’s last day of summer school.  I’m excited to have four weeks ahead of us to finish tackling our Summer Fun List and go back to lazy mornings that don’t involve catching a 7:30 bus.

But I’m anxious today, my stomach jumpy like I drank too much coffee.  Today marks Liam’s last day at Child’s Voice, the only school he’s known, the school which, at the risk of sounding overdramatic, changed his life.  

Liam on his very first day at Child's Voice

Liam has been attending this miracle of a school in Wood Dale, IL since January of 2012.  He’s been working with its therapists for even longer.  Way back when we started going two mornings a week to their group therapy program I’d drive the 30 minutes to school, stay working on things or chatting with other parents, attending his speech therapy, and then drive him the 30 minutes home in time for lunch and naps.  Sometimes, after Ryann was born, my dad would take him.  Or I would drop him off and my dad would pick him up.  My dad always liked picking him up on Wednesdays because he got to attend music class with him.  Liam held a low level of distain for music class, refusing to participate for the most part, which I think my dad thought was funny.  

I remember feeling so conflicted when Liam started that two day a week class at 19 months.  He was so little and I was leaving him in a classroom with teachers and other kids neither of us knew yet.  He wasn’t talking much, he’d only been hearing for maybe 6 or 7 months at that point.  I knew this was what he needed, to be in a program that was going to help him learn to listen and speak, but I kind of hated that this was what he needed.  I wished he didn’t need so much to find his voice.  

And then he started to soar.  At one and a half years old he was able to stand in line to wash his hands before snack.  He knew the routines of the day and participated in them willingly.  He could follow directions and play well with others.  He was listening and starting to speak.  School was doing it’s job.  I got my first taste of the parent side of parent/teacher conferences and before I knew it 18 months had passed and Liam was ready for “big school.”

Liam on his very first day of "big school."

Taking him to school a few hours twice a week (while I stayed in the building) was nothing compared to the heart wrenching act of faith it took to send my three year old on a bus with a stranger to school all day, five days a week .  I send my heart to that school each day and each day it came back home, a little more verbal and a little more independent.  He was finding his voice.

another first day of school.  he was so excited about that backpack with wheels

One cochlear implant surgery and three years of “big school" later, Liam was done.  His teachers, Tommy and I all deemed him “ready for regular mainstream school.”  At his IEP meeting this past spring you could sense the pride and almost warning in the voices of his Child’s Voice teachers as they described Liam’s progress.  He had done about as well as any kid could at this school, so don’t mess up our success story.

In May Liam participated in the graduation ceremony for Child’s Voice.  While I usually tend to think pre-school/kindergarten graduations are kind of silly and unnecessary, I will admit that for Liam this graduation meant something.  When he walked in the doors of Child’s Voice four and a half years ago he spoke only a handful of words.  At the graduation ceremony he confidently walked up to a podium and delivered a 48 second speech to a auditorium full of people.  He had found his voice.  It was beautiful.

Liam at graduation.  Cap and gown and all.

In just under a month Liam will start first grade at the elementary school just a few blocks away from our house.  This is a big deal, a turning point for him.  It’s the end goal we had when he started at Child’s Voice all those years ago: to go to the mainstream school with all the regular mainstream kids.  To be able to do what they do.

When you parent a kid with any kind of disability or differing ability there is always a fine line you walk when it comes to others’ expectations of him or her.  I never wanted anyone to underestimate Liam because of his hearing loss.  He isn’t dumb, or incapable.  He doesn’t need you to yell or speak in simple sentences to him.  But, I also don’t want anyone to overestimate his abilities.  He still has hearing loss and hearing aids and cochlear implants don’t work like eyeglasses.  Liam still has to work twice as hard to hear and he still may need some modifications, particularly in the classroom.  It was important to me that people recognized the both/and of his hearing loss.  He can do anything AND he has to work harder to do it.  

At Child’s Voice I didn’t have to worry if people knew how to walk this line.  They set the bar high for Liam AND they gave him all the extra tools he would need to achieve it. 

But even more then that, they loved him well during the process.  I wrote a letter to the staff last month to share our appreciation for all they’ve done for Liam.  In it I said, 

“At the age of three Liam started spending as many of his waking hours with you all as with us.  In so many ways you have helped to raise him these past few years.  And for this we are so incredibly thankful.”

He was taught well at that school but more importantly he was loved well.  This afternoon he will walk out the doors as a student for the last time.  He’s ready.  We all are.  

Today is a good day and a sad day.  We are ready to head into the next chapter but we recognize that we are closing another significant chapter.  Liam’s voice is ready to take on the world and today I’m feeling extra grateful for the place that helped him find it.

Little Sister

Sisters.

At ages two and four Louisa and Ryann have become quite the playmates.  Liam is still often at school and Rory is still too young to join the fray.  As I type this Ryann is outside trying to learn how to roller-skate and Lou is helping her.

My sister and I once wore these dresses.  Now we bestow the honor of dressing like members of a polygamist cult down to the next generation.

I can’t help but flash back to my own sister and I when I watch the two of them.  For one, visually they are identical versions of us; Lou is the spitting image of my ginger headed sister and Ryann my mini-me, long brown hair and all.  My sister and I were three years apart, Ry and Lou just two.  It’s funny to watch Lou watch Ry.  She is always watching and copying her behavior.  Ryann has always had a penchant for books.  From an early age she would sleep with them, snuggled up with one as though it were a stuffed animal.  Now she is often found carrying around a chapter book she cannot read, stopping to thumb through the pages, appearing for all intents and purposes to be reading a book intended for a much older audience.  Lately I’ve noticed Lou has taken to the same behavior.  Yesterday I saw both girls playing side by side with two pink purses, two toy phones and two “chapter books.”  

I’ve also found Ry holding court while Lou attends to her like a lady in waiting.  They are content to play in imaginary worlds Ry creates.  If Lou is unintelligibly pleading for something with a panicked fervor I can usually figure out what she wants by looking to whatever Ry is doing at the moment.  Little sister wants what the big sister has.  Always.

It’s really funny to watch all this as a mom who was once the big sister.  I keep waiting for Ryann to get frustrated with the copycatting as I once was.  Every time I go in search for the other pink purse or toy phone I hold my breath expecting Ry to lash out against her sister’s need to do everything like her.  So far it doesn’t seem to bother her.

I’m also gaining some fresh insight into little siblings.  As the oldest I didn’t have anyone at home to copy and draw a self from.  Don’t get me wrong, I sought out a guide for how to be from my friends, looking to their actions and choices to copy and model a self (I still find myself doing this).  But I didn’t have that one person in my home who I could watch at all times.  When I look at Lou with her chapter books and toy phones I wonder if she really likes those things or if she just thinks she should like them because Ryann does.  Because I drew my “inspiration” from a plethora of people growing up I wonder if I was a little more free to choose things that aligned more with who I actually was.

My youngest brother talks about how growing up he assumed he was supposed to like sports because his older brother did.  Tim was his example of what it meant to be a boy and according to Tim boys play sports.  And so it wasn’t until Jack had participated in many, many years of rec sports before he realized he didn’t like it and he didn’t have to do it (and also, he might not be very good at it).

I think of this as I watch Lou watch Ry.  I wonder when she will find her own freedom to be who she was created to be apart from the example her older sister sets.  And I wonder how I can help guide her to this freedom.  Because she’s not the same as her big sister.  And I’d rather save her from years of trying to fit a square peg in a round hole if I can.

But I will enjoy these years of watching her imitate and copy.  Yesterday Ryann animatedly told me some nonsense story about something or other while Lou stood right next to her babbling her own story, imitating precisely Ryann’s tone and inflections.  I bounced my eye contact back and forth between the two of them, dying with laughter on the inside at the lengths Lou was going to mimic her big sister.  Ry may someday hate this copycat behavior, but, if she’s anything like me, when she is an adult she will begin to copy Lou, who, if she is anything like my sister, will develop her own cool sense of self that will definitely be worthy of imitation.

A Few Good Books

                                     

I’m on a reading kick of late.  I find that if I’m reading, I’m reading and if I’m not, I’m really not.  Which is to say, when I’ve got a good book going or a stack of good books going, I’ll fly through them and keep looking for more.  But if I’m in the middle of something that is not holding my attention, or I don’t have anything on my book plate I stop reading (or looking for good books) all together until something sparks my interest enough to try.  It’s feast or famine around here and right now I’m feasting.

I’ve finished a few in the last month or so that I feel like are worth recommending- some purely selfishly because I need someone to talk about them with!  Special thanks to Modern Mrs. Darcy who has kept me afloat with book recs of late.

How it Went Down by Kekla Magoon

This is technically YA, and I really loved it.  A black teen is shot dead by a white man who is claiming self defense.  It’s unclear whether the boy was robbing a convenient store and holding a gun or if it was a misunderstanding and a snickers bar.  Either way his killer is quickly released and the young boy’s community is left reeling.  This book is told through a number of different perspectives, friends of the boy, members of the community, and outsiders looking in.  It is certainly relevant for our times; you can’t help but think of Trayvon Martin while you read it.  I thought the author did a brilliant job incorporating a number of different voices.  You the reader can to see the full picture of “how it went down,” while those who lived it cannot.  

Out of Sorts by Sarah Bessey

This one was finished piece by piece during the hour of 6-7am.  I’ve enjoyed Bessey’s blog over the years and have started, but not finished her other book Jesus Feminist, but this one was the right book at the right time.  My soul needed her words and the promise that the uncertain time out in the wilderness of faith is exactly where you need to be sometimes.  I had the chance to hear Sarah speak when I was about 2/3 of the way through and I stayed afterwards, waiting in line to meet her.  Once it was finally my turn I sobbed ugly tears and thanked her for making my time out in the wilderness a little less lonely.  And then, when I got to the end I copied about 3/4ths of her benediction in my journal because I needed to be able to take those words with me wherever I went.

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

This book man.  I hesitate to recommend it on one hand because it’s content matter is not for the faint of heart.  But on the other hand I haven’t been so engrossed and engaged in a book in a while.  It’s long (800 some pages- which is why I listened to it on audible) but it is some of the most captivating and beautiful prose I’ve read.  The book revolves around the friendships of four college roommates, young men that turn to older men through the course of the story.  It highlights the life of one in particular and his story is not easy.  I had to stop reading (or listening, I guess) more than once because I couldn’t bear the weight of his story (and then I had to go back and face it again because, though this is fiction, his story is true for too many children).  And while there is so much heavy sadness in this book there is also so much beauty.  I can’t explain it, other than to say it is, in the words of Glennon, “brutiful.”

The Nest by Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney

This one was entertaining, interesting and delightful.  Reminiscent of This is Where I Leave You (in that it's a book about adult sibling relationships) The Nest is about four dysfunctional siblings.  I thoroughly enjoyed this book.  It came together incredibly satisfyingly in the end and it’s a great “beach” read.  Not too heavy, but still thought provoking.

Year of Yes by Shonda Rhimes

Oh man, this was my surprise hit of the year.  I don’t know what I expected when I requested this book from the library.  I’m not a huge Shondaland TV fan, though I’ve held on to Grey’s Anatomy all these years (watching when it hits Netflix).  I’d heard good things, and I love a good “woman writer memoir” (see Tina Fey’s Bossypants and Amy Poehler’s Yes Please) so I figured it would be an entertaining peek behind the TV world curtain that would also be a quick read.  I did not expect it to rock my world as much as it did.  I quite literally could not put it down, finishing it in a little over 24 hours.  It was the entertaining peek into Shondaland that I expected, but it was so much more.  Spurred on by her sister’s observation that she “always says no to everything” Rimes decides to spend a year (and then more) saying yes to all the things that scared her.  She started this challenge at the height of her “Shondaland power”: Grey’s and Scandal were huge successes and she was developing How To Get Away With Murder.  But she realized she was living this small, scared life where she was unhappy and not truly alive.  It was fascinating and inspiring to watch what happens when you start saying yes to the things that scare you.  And man, can Shonda Rimes write.  I mean seriously, couldn’t put it down.  I am still thinking about some of the things that she wrote about and contemplating buying the book so I can read it yearly as a little inspirational kick in the pants.  It was so good.

That’s just a taste of what I’m reading.  I just picked up Modern Lovers and I’ve got a request in for the next Liane Moriarty book that’s coming this month.  When it rains it pours I guess.  I’ll take it.

(Edited to add- I just finished Modern Lovers- solid B.  Interesting story but not the most captivating thing I’ve read recently.)

What Happened in Colorado

Liam and I had to fortunate opportunity to attend the A.G. Bell convention in Denver, Colorado this past weekend.  AG Bell is an association for the deaf and hard of hearing and their convention draws mostly educators of the deaf and hard of hearing, but also members of the community and their parents.  I got to go with Med-el, the company that makes Liam’s cochlear implant.  This is my second year as a part of Med-el’s patient support team, where I travel occasionally to connect with prospective CI candidates and parents of pediatric candidates, sharing our story of Liam’s cochlear implant.  For the convention Liam and I were presenting as part of a panel on “Self-Advocacy through the Ages” talking about how Liam advocates for himself with regards to his hearing loss.  

It was three and a half days with my guy and our Med-el family.  As we made our way through the Denver airport on our return trip Liam kept saying, “I’m going to miss Colorado so much.”  I don’t think he necessarily meant the state of CO, which is lovely, but rather the experience he had there.  He’s six so he doesn’t understand that the people we hung out with for three and a half days don’t all live in that space and time forever.  He didn’t understand that the Med-el booth we worked in was torn down and packed away mere moments after we finished our shift on Sunday morning.  In his mind if he were to board a plane tomorrow and fly back to Colorado everything and everyone would be just as he left it.  

To him Colorado equals Mom saying yes to pretty much everything.  It means treats throughout the day and multiple trips to “It’s Sugar,” the candy store down the street from our hotel.  Colorado is the place where he got to be “one of the guys” with Jeff and Joel, Max and Garret.  Where Max and Garret, two older boys with cochlear implants, played catch for hours on end and gave him a million piggy back rides.  Colorado is where he could go from booth to booth collecting all the free goodies his arms could hold.  Colorado is the place where he and mom got to have a lot of fun together, just the two of us.

To me Colorado now equals three days with people who spoke the same language, the language of hearing loss and cochlear implants, electrode array and MRI capability.  It’s the place where I was reminded again and again just how lucky we are that Liam is doing so well with his implant.  It was the place where Garrett and Max and Rachel, three teens with CI’s gave me a glimpse of what will be possible for Liam in just 7 years.  It was where I got to connect with the people who know, who know the journey we’ve been on and who can tell me what’s ahead.

I’ve gotten so used to Liam’s hearing loss that I almost forget he’s deaf.  (I should qualify this by saying I “forget” his hearing loss in the same way that I can “forget” my dad is dead, which is to say that I never for a moment actually forget.   It’s just become the normal in a way that I’m not continually reminded of it’s reality.)  We’re out of the woods, so to speak, in so many ways.  Liam is listening and speaking.  Clearly.  He’s reading and writing and carrying on full conversations with adults and his peers.  This is the goal when you are first diagnosed with hearing loss.  This is the thing you are not necessarily guaranteed.  

And so it wasn’t until I was with a group of people that were a bit further ahead on the path that I realized how much I still needed to be reminded of what’s in store.  To talk to those teens, watch them interact with each other and the adults on the trip, witness their composure and their self-assuredness.  Oh man, did my mama heart need it.  They are teens, doing the normal teen thing, with friends and confidence and humor and just all around awesomeness.  Which, this side of the journey, is all I hope for Liam.

I sent an email to one of the boys, one who had been particularly kind to Liam during our stay.   I told him that we really know any older kids with cochlear implants and that I was so thankful Liam now had a role model in him.  I remember hearing a parent of another CI wearer talk about a turning point moment in their life.  Like Liam her son went to a deaf school where all of his peers wore implants and hearing aids.  But also like Liam, there were not really any older children and adult users in his life.  One day she realized that he thought he would no longer be deaf or have to wear CI’s when he was an adult because all the adults he knew were hearing.  It was in that moment that she realized she needed some role models in his life asap.

I’m thankful to be able to create that for Liam.  I’m thankful for Max and Garrett and Rachel who give Liam a peek into middle school and high school life.  And I’m grateful for Mr. Chuckie and Mr. Jeff who show him that CI wearers can be police officers or creative directors.  In Colorado we both got a peek at what’s possible still and let me tell you, it’s pretty exciting.

The Fire I'm Refusing to Ignore

I started this post yesterday but couldn't finish it.  I woke up this morning to the news of the Dallas shootings and my heart is heavier still.  I don't really know if I have any words of wisdom or if I'm just another white girl who is more clueless than not.  But my reasons for not posting this had more to do with my own self-preservation and fear of judgement which felt small and selfish.  I can't pretend there isn't a fire anymore.  

I’m heavy hearted this morning, unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong.  My Facebook feed is filled with #AltonSterling and #PhilandoCastile and pleas for our country to wake up and see that for some the world is on fire and the people with water are denying the flames’ existence.  Because they can.  Because they live in safe, fireproof houses and they don’t even realize that those fireproof houses allow them to chose blindness and that is privilege.  I can’t stop thinking about Alton Sterling’s fifteen year old son.  I was going to post something dumb about the books I’m reading but it all feels trite right now.

I don’t like feeling like this, heavy hearted with the burdens of others.  I don’t enjoy lamenting and feeling angry at God for not doing something already.  And I suppose you could say that I bring this on myself.  In an attempt to see and hear I’ve started following more people of color, those in the LGBTQ community and civil rights activists on social media.  Which of course fills my feed with more hashtags documenting the names of men and women whose lives were taken unjustly.  I’m forcing myself to look at the problems and that in turn makes my heart break.  

I could stop looking.  I could easily unfollow all those voices on social media, take Facebook and Instagram off my phone all together and never open another news outlet site again.  I could easily pretend like those injustices don’t exist.  Because of my white privilege I have the choice to look the other way.  But I can’t un-know what I know.  My eyes were opened when I was fifteen and I read “To Kill a Mocking Bird” and “Black Boy.”  They were opened again when I was 19 and I took my first African American Studies class.  And again when I was 21 and took the Social Justice track at Intervarsity’s summer camp.  I can’t un-see what I saw when I taught at George Westinghouse high school in Brooklyn, New York, a stone’s throw away from the projects that raised Jay Z.  I could feign ignorance, but the truth is I know.  I’ve seen the injustice and one day I think I will be accountable to God for what I did with that knowledge.

So I keep looking.  I keep reading.  I keep feeling heavy and helpless because it feels like the least I can do.  To not look away.  To see it and bear just a fraction of the burden my black brothers and sisters bear.  

And maybe that’s the hard part for me.  It feels like the absolute least I can do, but I don’t know what else to do.  I’ve been reliving this cycle for years now, since the Trayvon Martin shooting.  I feel the burden and the grief, I lament and post articles and like posts on Facebook until the media coverage dies down and the death becomes a little more removed.  And then I can forget (I have the luxury of forgetting) for a little while until the next shooting, the next unarmed or unaggressive black man or boy dies and the cycle repeats.  It feels so… worthless and unhelpful.

I heard on the Liturgists podcast (episode 30: Prophet or Ass, around the 18 minute mark) that in order to bring about real social change two kinds of people are needed.  We need the prophets, the ones who are outside of the power structure and who decry injustice loudly and clearly.  For the others outside the power structure these prophets are affirming and life giving.  They are leading the cause, giving a voice, pointing to the injustice and spreading the message needed for change.  Martin Luther King Jr. would be an example of such a prophet.  Those most empathetic within a power structure are also affected by the prophet’s message.  What happens though is that as human beings it is essential to our cognition to identify as a good person and so we subconsciously filter any information that undermines our self identification as a good person.  When a prophet brings forth evidence that our way of life oppresses another group of people we get defensive and we tune out because it challenges our identity as good.  For most within power structure we are unable to hear the message of the prophet.  Mentally we shut down.  And so a second group is necessary.  I like to think of them as allies.  An ally is someone within the power structure that can present the message of the prophet in a way that clearly and specifically calls out oppressive behavior while still speaking in a language that affirms the goodness of the identity of those within the oppressing groups.  An ally can take the prophet’s message back to the others and gently educate and inform.  Allies can have lower stakes conversations about the structure of white supremacy and its damage with those who have benefited (whether they realize it or not) from that structure.  They can call it out in a way that acknowledges that most of these actions are unthinking and affirm the basic goodness of those inside the oppressing group.  Both groups are needed to bring about social change on a large scale.   

I’m beginning to understand my role as an ally.  I need to speak up, to have hard conversations, to call out oppressive behavior.  And I need to do it in a way that still affirms our basic decency.  Without this approach it is scientifically proven that cognitively those in power will shut down, tune out, and forget. 

So I’m trying that today.  I’m refusing to look away and I’m being brave and kind with those around me.  In person I want to keep quiet because it’s hard to have difficult conversations face to face and point out someone’s conscious or subconscious bias.  Online I want to be cutting and snarky because I’m angry at myself for being so quiet and impatient with those that I think just don’t understand.  It’s easy to be bold and harsh online when you don’t have to see the effect of your words.  I’m raising my voice AND I’m doing it in love.  Because my role in bringing about social change is to be an ally, and this is the best way I know how.

For what it’s worth, this podcast is an excellent listen.  It’s another one from The Liturgists, called Black and White: Racism in America.  I think it’s a great entry point for those of us within the power structure to begin to open our eyes and learn.