Category Archives: adult children

This Mother’s Day, I’m Thanking the Men in my Life

10 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in adult children, inspiration, mid-life transition

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During my sophomore year of high school, my mother took me to a jewelry store at the local shopping center. She wanted to buy me a bracelet. The two of us picked out a nearly one-inch-wide cuff of sterling silver.

I remember the day as being sunny, and not too cold as we walked outside from store to store. Looking back, I imagine us chatting and laughing at some story about one of her friends. We were comfortable together. At the time, it seemed like an ordinary mother-daughter moment.

A few months later, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and a year after that, she was gone forever. In the wake of those facts, that we ever enjoyed such ordinary moments seems extraordinary.

Now that I’m a mom myself, I’ve learned to savor the everyday time with my sons. It’s in those moments when we truly connect as people. It might happen in the car, for example, when a son finally ‘fesses up to what’s been on his mind, or plugs in his iPod to share some music that exposes his softer, romantic side.

Sometimes we connect over food, or while walking around a son’s new neighborhood. A spark might flare in a complicit, but loving, exchange of looks triggered by something amusing that Dad has just said or done (usually in the kitchen).

I love those exchanges. They say, “I know you,” and they almost always show me something new about myself and the people I love.

My mom has been gone for my entire adult life. And while the example she set as a mother is forever imprinted on my psyche, it’s the men in my life who have taught me the real down-in-the-trenches lessons of mom-dom.

My husband not only taught me how to make an infant laugh, he continues to give me the young man’s point-of-view when there’s something going on that I just don’t get. And each of my sons, in moments both painful and gratifying, have shown me something that I needed to know, or pushed me to acknowledge something that I didn’t want to see.

So this Mother’s Day, as I remember my own mother, I also give a nod to the men in my life. Thanks guys, you make my life more beautiful every day.

Parents Weekend in Brooklyn

08 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by in adult children, art, friendship, music, travel

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One of the great things about having adult children is that, well, they are adults! Adults who are also fabulous hosts. Our son Ben recently moved into his first roommate-less apartment. And he has a sofa bed, a really comfortable one. So on this visit, we stayed at his place in Brooklyn.

We arrived on Thursday afternoon. A professional trumpet player, Ben needed to finish his warm-ups for a gig that night. He sent us off to the nearby subway station with instructions for how to get to an interesting shopping district.

We checked out the shops and waited for Ben to join us at a local cafe. Dinner was at a nearby Ethiopian restaurant.

That night, we heard Ben play with Sxip Shirey. Wild, crazy music that makes people get up and dance. There are no videos on Youtube of this particular evening, but the one below gives you the idea. (Warning: language!)

I’ll bet you’ve never heard anyone make music with a megaphone and a siren before! Paul and I were also impressed by Xavier, the group’s vocalist. Xavier sang some sexually nasty-in-a-good-way lyrics with the voice of an angel while maintaining a look of wide-eyed innocence.

For example, he sang this one by Minnie Riperton, reminding us that her repertoire was much bigger than her well-known hit, “Loving You.”

I love it when young musicians turn music from my generation into their own. One day I’ll find a video of Xavier singing this. When I do, I promise to share it with you. In the meantime, here’s a clip of Xavier that Ben just sent me. Given my previous simile, the song is appropriately entitled, “Angel.”

A couple of nights later, we heard Ben play at the annual Balkan Shout-Out with Raya Brass Band. You can view the video below to get a taste of their music and what it’s like to attend a performance, but definitely take some time to listen to clips from their new album.

We have seen this group play many times — two of those times were in our own back yard. It has been a lot of fun watching Ben develop his skills in this genre, which has unusual rhythms, and allows for improvisation. As you see in the video, it also involves a lot of dancing.

There were some quieter moments as well. Not only did Ben provide us with a place to stay, he treated us to a mouth-watering and memorable dinner at Flatbush Farm in Park Slope. The three of us talked and joked — I am so grateful that both my sons are willing to let us witness and experience the people and things in their lives that are important to them.

We also took a walk through the Brooklyn Museum. I wanted to see the Keith Haring exhibit, but I was most impressed by a section of the museum called “visible storage.”

Items not currently on display are housed behind glass in a darkish area. Here I am wandering through.

A cool bike with raccoon tails —  familiar accessories to those of us of a certain age—has its own case.

You’ll have to forgive the quality of these photos. They were taken with my phone and, as I mentioned, it was kind of dark in there.

Each encased item had a corresponding number. You can learn more about a particular object by entering its number into one of the iPads attached to pedestals throughout the area.

Something about this space reminds me of green design. Perhaps because every inch is used in the most engaging and educational way.

Parents Weekend ended with brunch on Sunday morning. I’m not sure when the next one will be, but I’m thinking maybe once a quarter would be nice. Often enough, but not so often that we wear out our welcome.

Is it Time to Disrupt Our Inner Climate?

23 Friday Mar 2012

Posted by in adult children, aging, environment, inspiration, meditation, mid-life transition, pets

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It has been a week of changes here at our little homestead.

On Monday, our son Karsten left for his Peace Corps assignment. He will be living and working in Morocco for the next 27 months. He had been staying with us off and on since June, and was here full-time for his last six weeks in the states.

The house feels pretty empty. Not that he was loud or took up a ton of space, but his presence — the smell of his cooking; the sound of his voice as he practiced his Arabic; and the buzz of excitement as he greeted the dog every time he walked in the door — is suddenly gone.

Karina still listens for him, jumping up and barking every time a car door slams. One night Paul found her alone in the dark, at her favorite post, waiting for him to come home.

But our collective melancholy over Karsten’s departure is more than matched by our excitement for him and his new adventure, his new life.

Then it was Wednesday, my birthday.

And we were in the middle of a freakishly warm week. This photo of our back yard, taken on March 21, 2012 provides a snapshot of what Dominique Browning, cofounder and senior director of Moms Clean Air Force calls “climate disruption.”

First, we have chunks of our ancient willow trees littering our lawn. This was the work of Hurricane Irene, which severed an entire trunk of one tree last August, and the heavy snow from New England’s “Halloween snowstorm,” which brought down several large branches.

These trees are so old, they touch the sky.

Then we have the daffodils. I was born within a day of the spring equinox, yet I don’t remember ever seeing daffodils bloom on my birthday.

Change inside. Change outside.

I was thinking about all of this when I woke up on Friday and opened my email to find this question from Seth Godin.

Did you wake up fresh today, a new start, a blank slate with resources and opportunities… or is today yet another day of living out the narrative you’ve been engaged in for years?

Funny, because with Paul’s semi-retirement, and both sons launched, and then this week re-launched, our conversations are full of ideas for changing our narrative as a couple. Where do we want to live? Where can we live? What work will we do? And what do we want to accomplish in the years ahead?

But Godin is talking about changes within ourselves, and I think his advice is particularly relevant for people who are in their fifties and sixties. As he observes,

The truth though, is that doing what you’ve been doing is going to get you what you’ve been getting. If the narrative is getting in the way, if the archetypes you’ve been modeling and the worldview you’ve been nursing no longer match the culture, the economy or your goals, something’s got to give.

… When patterns in engagements with the people around you become well-worn and ineffective, are they persistent because they have to be, or because the story demands it?

Change is everywhere. Change is hard. And creating internal climate disruption — re-examining old habits of perception and decision-making that persist because that is what we have always done — is the hardest change of all.

This isn’t about hunkering down for a session of self-blame or questioning every decision we have made since our 18th birthday. Not at all. It’s about opening the doors and windows of our mind, letting in fresh air and light, and viewing the world through a different lens.

Because when we clear away old baggage and take another look, we make room for new growth.

Wish You’d Answered JFK’s Call to Service? It’s Not Too Late!

18 Sunday Mar 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition, travel

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Joining the Peace Corps when you are over 50.

Map from U.S. Department of State website

His bags are packed. In a few hours our 26-year-old son will begin his journey to Morocco as a Peace Corps volunteer.

As the minutes tick by, my husband and I are feeling a mixture of pride, excitement, and sadness—he has never lived so far away.

I also confess to a bit of jealousy. An experience like this wasn’t on my radar when I was his age.

But as it happens, the Peace Corps is not just for the young. Those of us who are old enough to remember President Kennedy’s call to service in the 1960s are still eligible to answer it—and many of us are doing just that. While the typical Peace Corps volunteer is in his or her mid- to late twenties, 7 percent of volunteers are over the age of 50.

According to Andrea Fellows, a marketing and outreach recruiter at Peace Corps, older volunteers are invaluable because they bring deep expertise to the table. “Our first goal in the countries we serve is teaching people a skill,” she says “We love seeing people who have been working in a specific field for 10- or 20-plus years because we know they will be able to do the job very, very well.”

For example, dietician Beth Payne began her service at age 62, after retiring from her career at the Department of Veterans Affairs. Payne was assigned to work at the national nutrition agency in Gambia, West Africa, where she did policy development, reviewed reports, participated in nutritional surveillance, and taught at the local university and school of public health. “The assignment was a perfect fit,” she says. “The benefit of being an older volunteer is that you don’t become a jack-of-all-trades, but rather use your specific skills.”

Adapting to What’s Not “Normal”

In addition to a strong skill set, Fellows says, you must have solid reasons for volunteering; the emotional maturity to function far away from loved ones and friends; and cultural sensitivity. That final criterion “is huge,” Fellows notes. “People have to be willing to adapt to things that aren’t ‘normal’ to them, but that may be part of the culture where they are volunteering.” A sense of service and the ability to give freely are equally important, she adds.

Fellows also emphasizes the need to have all your ducks in a row. If you own a house, for example, will there be someone who can take care of it while you are away? Do you have children and grandchildren? Someone who may graduate from college or have a baby while you are away? “You have to be prepared to miss some of those life events,” she says. (The typical term of service in the Peace Corps is 27 months.)

Consulting with loved ones before deciding to apply is crucial, say Fellows and Payne. In Payne’s case, her adult children were delighted that she would finally fulfill a lifelong dream. “They both said, ‘You talked about it all our lives. Do it,’” Payne recalls. “If you don’t have that sort of encouragement, you can fall apart pretty fast. For your peace of mind you need to know what people who matter to you think about what you are doing.”

While all Peace Corps volunteers must be in good health, the organization does try to accommodate qualified applicants who have medical issues. “There isn’t any one thing that would prevent you from serving,” says Fellows. “We try to accommodate everyone. We recently placed a person who is HIV-positive.”

Even so, volunteers must have some level of physical fitness. Because they are not allowed to drive, volunteers in more rural places may have to walk or ride a bike to get from place to place. “All the older volunteers I served with were placed in cities or villages where this wasn’t an issue,” says Fellows, who served in the Republic of Moldova.

Of Pit Latrines and Perseverance

Payne’s assignment was in a major city where she had access to public transportation, but her language training took place in a small village without running water and electricity. She said that she was nervous about her ability to use a pit latrine. “When you get older, your knees are not so great,” she says. “I had visions of squatting and not being able to get up. It took me about four days to get used to it. The anxiety was much worse than the actual event,” she laughs.

In addition to good health, perseverance is another important trait. Older volunteers, who are accustomed to feeling competent, may face a few failures. “They have to be willing to rethink, go back to the drawing board, and talk to the locals to learn how it can be done successfully,” Fellows says.

Learning a new language at an older age can be tough, and Payne is grateful that she worked in an environment where English was the official language. But Fellows insists that language should be an older volunteer’s last concern. “Our language program and support are second to none,” she asserts. “In Peace Corps they throw you into a host family and you are forced to build upon what you learn every day.”

While citizens of their host country revere older volunteers, they can sometimes find it difficult to find a support network when so many of their colleagues are in a different life stage. “Developing some sort of a sounding board the first year that I was there was far more difficult,” Payne recalls. “There was nobody my age. Once there were people who would enjoy a glass of wine with me rather than a bottle of beer, things got much better.”

Challenges aside, Payne has no regrets. “I’m so glad I finally did it!” she says. “I learned that I can be extremely flexible and go with the flow; that I’m a better teacher than I thought I was; and that I can be patient when I need to be.”

For more information, visit the Peace Corps website. In addition,  “The Peace Corps: Volunteering at Age 50+” (PDF) provides many details to help older volunteers prepare for service.

Photo from iexplore.com

Another version of this piece was published by Women’s Voices for Change under the title, “JFK’s Peace Corps Call — Wish You’d Answered it? It’s Not Too Late!”

Fostering Healthy Relationships with Adult Children: An Expert Weighs In

28 Tuesday Feb 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition

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In my previous post, I wrote about my changing relationships with my adult children. As my son Ben, a 28-year old musician, observed in a recent email, “As we have come to understand that boundaries are different than they once were, we’ve tacitly accepted it but also had moments here and there where it has become clear that a specific boundary is different than it once was.”

And it’s in those “moments” that we parents often struggle. Should we remain silent? Should we speak up? And if we speak up, what do we say, and how do we say it?

Looking for answers, I called up Dr. Ruth Nemzoff, author of Don’t Bite Your Tongue: How to Foster Rewarding Relationships with Your Adult Children.

As you can imagine from her title, Nemzoff advocates speaking up—but with a few caveats. Here are her suggestions:

Lay the groundwork for adult conversations. One way to do that, says Nemzoff, is by sharing some of your daily dilemmas before your child leaves the nest. Annoyed at your boss, for example? Share the story.

“Often parents feel they have to be perfect in their children’s eyes or they don’t want to bother them, but children learn a great deal from our mistakes and our struggles,” says Nemzoff. “So learning that you were miffed at your boss today is an interesting thing because you stayed at the job even though you were miffed. How did you handle it? Did you blow up? Or did you talk to him or her a few days later?”

She also suggests soliciting their advice when appropriate. “Say, for example, you have a noisy coworker.  They know about that. They face it every day in the cafeteria at school.”

Invite them into solutions. Chats about real-life problem- solving can set the stage for later conversations. For example, if your college freshman, home for a holiday break, bristled over rules set in high school, Nemzoff suggests making a pre-emptive phone call before he returns in the spring.

“Think about the rough spots and then talk about them on the phone,” she says. “Perhaps a rough spot was when you asked, ‘What time are you coming home?’ You can acknowledge that at college no one’s asking that, but explain that as his mother, you can’t just turn it off. Perhaps instead you can ask, ‘At what time should I start to worry?’”

“You have to be flexible, but so does he,” Nemzoff adds. “He has to understand that things have changed for you, too, and that you may not be as available as you were when he lived at home full-time.”

Choose your battles. As much as parents don’t want to feel silenced, they can opt to not say anything. “Being silenced by someone else is very different from deciding to be silent,” says Nemzoff. If your adult child’s behavior isn’t harming anyone, then perhaps you should remain silent and save your advice for another time, she suggests. Nemzoff also recommends couching the advice you do give as just one perspective, suggesting that your children seek other opinions as well.

Use the same communication skills you employ with others.  As with anyone, timing, tone, and environment all matter when initiating an important conversation with your adult child. You wouldn’t ask your boss for a raise after making a big mistake, any more than you would loudly demand a raise in a public place.

“We fantasize that we can say anything we want to our kids, but the truth is, we never could,” Nemzoff says.  “When I’m babysitting my grandson I don’t tell him that we are going to the circus while I’m putting him in bed. He’d never get to sleep!”

Maintaining open communications with our children is endlessly challenging, but ultimately rewarding. And, as Ben notes, always evolving.

“Gradually coming to see your parents as equals, or at least equally human, is a big one. While the first 18 to 22 years of my life were spent as the focus of care and attention while I faced various transitions, I now find myself somewhat stable, while my parents are wrestling with major changes to the life that they’ve had over the last thirty years. Seeing this has led me to understand our relationship as being co-equal in certain ways. For example, as a freelancer in a creative field undergoing major changes due to the Internet, I can trade ideas and commiserate with my mom’s journey as a writer.”

In addition to Nemzoff’s book, I also recommend this essay by writer Dominique Browning, which contains valuable tips for planning a vacation with adult children. In retrospect, if my husband and I had followed Browning’s first rule, “Turn it over to a younger power,” our Paris trip would have gone much more smoothly.

(photo by Paul Syversen)

This piece was originally posted on Women’s Voices for Change. 

Family, Dynamic

26 Sunday Feb 2012

Posted by in adult children, mid-life transition, travel

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A dozen years or so ago, my husband and I were sipping coffee at an outdoor cafe in Harvard Square. Seated one table away was what we assumed to be a college student with his visiting parents. We could overhear the low babble and occasional laughter of what sounded like an easy conversation.

“I hope we get that with our guys,” I commented. “I certainly never had it with my parents.” Indeed, neither of us had. I lost my mother at age 17 and was left with a father who was unable to sit still for any normal conversation, while Paul’s parents lived several states away, and visits with them were rare.

Our two sons, who were in high school when we had that exchange, are now well into their twenties. And we have enjoyed numerous meals and lively conversations with them. For the most part, our adult sons seem to enjoy spending time with us.

So I was taken by surprise last summer when things went awry during a family vacation in Europe. The trip started out happily enough with a family wedding in Italy. But after we left for France, things started to go haywire.

Each of us was in the throes of a major transition. My husband and I were adjusting to his retirement the month before. Older Son joined us on the heels of completing an intense project —a concert tour with his trio that as “band mom” he had organized and led after a year of planning. And Younger Son was in limbo, awaiting final word on his Peace Corps assignment.

We were all making huge changes, and while we didn’t know it, our relationships with each other were changing too. There were squabbles and showdowns the likes of which we hadn’t experienced since the boys were teenagers. In fact, I felt as though the ride from Florence to Paris took place in a time machine, rather than on a train.

View from inside the time capsule

For one thing, our sons were no longer willing to sit back and let Dad lead the way. With three leaders and only one follower, it took us forever to get anywhere. Finally, Younger Son grabbed my husband’s GPS and laid down the law. “I know what I’m doing, Dad. Let me lead.”  And Older Son, who had been riding the Paris subways for a couple of weeks by this time, had his own ideas about which trains we should take.

What do you mean I'm supposed to follow you?

And Dad wasn’t the only one being chastised, I was in for some critiquing too, and unlike my husband, I let it get to me. I will always remember this trip as the one where I walked around Paris with a constant lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. My children didn’t need me — did they even like me? —and there was nothing I could do about it.

Alone in Paris (photo by Paul Syversen)

Except that there was. After a serious talk with one son, and a loud argument with the other (I yelled), and some time apart, we did manage to come together and enjoy each other’s company. But I know I wasn’t the only one heading home with this equation in my head: family+ vacation = oxymoron.

Then, Christmas rolled around, and something had changed again. One son suggested that we each cook a dish or two for the family dinner. Everyone liked the idea and my husband and I were thrilled to share that responsibility.

The transformational moment arrived when the two young men came back from buying ingredients at the grocery store, and neither of them handed us a receipt. Clearly, they were taking full ownership for their portion of the meal. Although we haven’t supported either of them financially for some time, in that moment something changed. I saw them more clearly as equals and Paul and I were no longer just parents, but people too. The resulting feast was especially delicious.

I now know that as tough as that Paris trip was, it helped us all move forward. I realized (and I hope we all did) that the four of us have to keep talking and listening, and that sometimes the most difficult conversations are also the most rewarding.

I’ve also discovered that my relationship with my adult children will always require tweaking and even major adjustments. And though I advocate initiating difficult conversations, there are ways to handle them that don’t involve yelling — or even tears.

Equal

In my next post, I consult with an expert.

***

This piece was originally posted on Women’s Voices for Change.

Confession: I don’t really hate pink.

05 Sunday Feb 2012

Posted by in adult children, environment, health, politics

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In light of Susan G. Komen for the Cure’s recent decision, now reversed,* to stop funding Planned Parenthood’s program providing breast cancer screenings to low income women, this post was going to be about how much I dislike pink —especially the pink ribbons that have come to symbolize breast cancer.

I was going to insert the following quote from Barbara Ehrenreich’s article, “Welcome to Cancer Land,” in which she describes her “induction into breast cancer,” and eloquently documents how the color pink and teddy bears associated with it infantilize women diagnosed with this deadly and dead-serious disease. (And by the way, men get it too.)

For me at least, breast cancer will never be a source of identity or pride. As my dying correspondent Gerri wrote: “IT IS NOT O.K.!” What it is, along with cancer generally or any slow and painful way of dying, is an abomination, and, to the extent that it’s manmade, also a crime. This is the one great truth that I bring out of the breast-cancer experience, which did not, I can now report, make me prettier or stronger, more feminine or spiritual — only more deeply angry. What sustained me through the “treatments” is a purifying rage, a resolve, framed in the sleepless nights of chemotherapy, to see the last polluter, along with, say, the last smug health insurance operative, strangled with the last pink ribbon. Cancer or no cancer, I will not live that long of course. But I know this much right now for sure: I will not go into that last good night with a teddy bear tucked under my arm.

I was going to talk about how the pink ribbons, teddy bears, product placement, and corporate cancer-related branding strategies go hand-in-hand with our inhumane health care system, where the need to throw a bake sale to help pay for an uninsured neighbor’s heart surgery or a child’s leukemia treatments is considered acceptable.

But I’m not going to write about any of that. Why should I let those annoying pink ribbons spoil my appreciation of a perfectly good color? Instead, I’m going to take back the pink by sharing a few of my favorite rosy-hued objects.

First, a painting that hangs on my bedroom wall. It was a birthday gift from my grandfather, Jacob Scheinfein. It was probably my last gift from him as he died shortly before my 11th birthday.

Birthday gift

Then earlier this week my friend, Jane Ward, published a post about birthday cakes that included this memory from me.

My father was born on February 13. Every year on that day, my mother would pull out her heart-shaped cake pans, purchased just for that occasion. Being the 1960s, we opened a box of Duncan Hines cake mix, added an egg and water, poured the batter into the pans, and put them in the oven. The frosting was always pink.

In fact, it has been a week filled with pink. Yesterday, I came home with this bouquet of tulips. What’s not to like?

Bedroom bouquet

And just this morning, I had to make an emergency trip to CVS to pick up this item for my son.

Pepto Bismol pink

He’d eaten something that made him extremely and violently ill. The fact that he is now well enough to sit up, drink some ginger ale, and eat a few crackers makes me appreciate this particular shade of pink most of all.

*This short clip on NPR includes an interview with Dr. Susan Love, a pioneer in breast cancer treatment. Dr. Love emphasizes the importance of funding research into the causes of breast cancer.

“Paradise” Is in Our Hands and Now Theirs Too

29 Sunday Jan 2012

Posted by in adult children, environment, politics

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Every time I see this image from NASA that has been floating around the internet this week, I am reminded of a verse from “How Long,” a song by Jackson Browne.*

If you saw it from a satellite

With its green and its blue and white

The beauty of the curve of the earth

And its oceans below

You might think it was paradise

If you didn’t know

You might think that it’s turning

But it’s turning so slow

You might think it was paradise. If you didn’t know…. This beautiful orb is as close to paradise as any of us will ever get.

The song came out in 1989, when one son was in nursery school and the other was finishing kindergarten. At ages three and six, they were just stepping onto the path leading them toward the men they would become. The song’s opening verse resonates as powerfully for me now as it did back then.

When you look into a child’s face

And you’re seeing the human race

The endless possibilities there

Where so much can come true

And you think of the beautiful things

A child can do

Our boys lived in a protective bubble created by my husband and me. We couldn’t completely block out world events, but we could put a kinder, gentler, and hopefully more well-reasoned spin on them. Back in those days, we could still make our sons feel safe.

But we didn’t shield them too much. When the local teacher’s union called a strike, my boys and I joined their picket line. We wanted them to know that when you see something that isn’t right, you speak up, and that when you add your voice to those of others who share your vision, you become stronger.

They both still believe that. They were transfixed and elated by recent events in the Middle East, and they both support the Occupy movement.

As they were growing up, I often wondered how their father and I would feel if one of them began leaning towards the right. In fact, I remember experiencing a flash of recognition at a plot line in Woody Allen’s 1996 movie, “Everyone Says I Love You.” When Alan Alda’s character is relieved to learn that his son’s increasingly radical Republican leanings are caused by a brain tumor, I tittered nervously.

I am gratified that both our sons have remained on the same page with us politically, yet I am also torn when their comments about current events reflect a skepticism that I can’t argue with but wish they didn’t have to have.

For example, one son sent us a link to Ralph Nader’s response to President Obama’s recent State of the Union address, characterizing it as a “… good counterbalance to all the rah rah cowboy stuff as well as the false populist posturing.”

They are involved and thinking adults now. We trained them to question authority and they do. They ferret out hypocrisy more cooly and quickly than I ever could. And that makes me feel guilty, sad, and proud all at once.

Guilty because this beautiful blue orb isn’t the paradise that it could be. In spite of all our idealism and political action, my husband and I are passing on to them a world that may look beautiful from a distance — or benignly imperfect when viewed from inside a parentally-created bubble — but that quickly reveals some pretty ugly flaws once you scratch the surface.

Sad because I’ll always want to protect them, even when I know I can’t. Even now that they are capable of protecting themselves. Sad that the struggles their father and I continue to engage with are becoming theirs.

Proud because they and others of their generation are caring, perceptive, and unafraid. They know what is right and they aren’t going to settle for less. When we do leave this flawed paradise, it will be in good hands.

Occupy Boston, fall 2011.

*Full lyrics to “How Long” are here.