Birthdays With a Zero

Whenever we arrive at one of those birthdays with a zero in them, they are kind of a big deal. “Oh you’re a big ten-year-old now, double digits”. Twenty- you are finally becoming an adult and leaving those awkward, crazy teenage years no one ever warned you about when you turned ten. At thirty you achieve a new level of adulthood marked by actual responsibilities and obligations you thought were so far off when you turned twenty. At forty you come to know that you will probably make it in the world, because you lived through the stress and struggles of the thirties. At fifty you can finally start to relax a bit as security may finally begin to creep in to your consciousness and your bank account; your family is grown, or nearly grown, you can once again begin to enjoy a life you’ve built.

I’ve been through all of these birthdays with a zero, and as each one came and went I took just a moment to reflect on my life with those nice round numbers paving the way to my thoughts. I just hit another one of those birthdays with a zero. 60.

I’ve done a little more reflecting on this one than most of the others. Perhaps it is a sign of my generation talking now, but when I was a kid I thought sixty was the age when you actually are old. So achieving the ripe old age of sixty marks a spot in life that seems a true turning point- or at least it should be. My early conditioning about this venerable age is most likely the result of growing up in such close proximity to my grandparents. We were literally next door neighbors- so I was there when they were sixty or so. My grandmother was born in 1901. I was between six and seven years old when she achieved the age I just arrived at. But even then my grandparents “looked” like grandparents. My grandmother was a very sweet old lady with grey hair, always in a rather subdued state owing to a history of being somewhat “sickly” as they say. My grandfather was four years older than her, and had that old grandpa way about him too. More than anything, they acted like old folks. There was no physical activity other than that which got them through the day. They didn’t play physical games, they didn’t engage in any anything exciting. Instead they did “old people” stuff. My grandmother would crochet and watch Lawrence Welk when she wasn’t helping raise us. (parenting is a group activity when all the generations live next door to one another) My grandfather was just winding down his life as a truck farmer, and found some pleasure in whiling away an afternoon just sitting outside with his Roi-Tan cigar watching over the fields, or going to town on occasion in the afternoon to spend time at the S&S Cigar Store (a saloon) with other old guys from his generation.   And, they weren’t unusual. I think in the early 1960’s sixty was the demarcation line for the elderly. Not a line I ever looked forward to crossing myself.

But here I am. This is nothing new, most folks reach that magic number- so what I have to say on this matter is hardly new or unique. It’s just that this doesn’t happen to me every day, so I thought I’d use this essay to share my own reflections on this particular birthday with a zero in it.

As I was thinking about these kinds of birthdays, I found that I remembered each one of them pretty distinctly. There must be some truth to the idea that birthdays divisible by ten are kind of special. I remember that when I turned ten I was in the middle of the fourth grade. The thing I remember from the year leading up to my tenth birthday was learning that the world wasn’t always a safe and predictable place-or maybe we just become aware of it at that age. Just three months before I turned ten, all of us felt the shock and uncertainty that came with the assassination of JFK. Now you may not think that a boy of nine or ten would be impacted so much, but this was a real society rocker. Imagine- I was living in fairly secure home, surrounded by a large loving extended family and believing that life is just OK. We (Italian Catholics) were pretty smug about having the first Catholic in the White House. Then on that November morning, at our Catholic School, we are all summoned back to a classroom from the gymnasium to be told the president had been murdered- our parents were coming to get us- and no one knew what would happen next. I wasn’t scared- more curious, but I knew from that moment forward that things don’t always go right and even adults aren't always able to make sense of the world. The year I turned ten was a coming-of-age birthday about some of the harsh realities of life- even though I couldn’t possibly understand it all at age ten. Suddenly life goes from being something that happens around your house or school- to knowing there is another world beyond home and family that can contain some very dark features.

On my twentieth birthday I was busy making plans. The year was 1974. I had gone through my teenage years. I learned about falling in love. I went through high-school and all that that involves- learning (really, for the first time in my life) sports, activities, driving, independence, the freaking 60’s, more assassinations, worrying about the draft,  inevitable conflicts with parents, and the beginning of higher education. The big plan was to get married and move away with Lee to start our life. So there was a lot to plan! My twentieth birthday was all about the future I was preparing in my own mind- and it was an exciting, busy time. The summer after that birthday we got married. Age twenty is pretty young to get married, I’ll admit. I know that there were a lot of side bets being made about how long this marriage would last given our tender ages and obvious lack of life experience. If I believed in an afterlife, I’d bet any amount of money that there is a conclave of dead relative’s ghosts sitting around saying, “I would have never guessed that would last”.  For the record, It’s coming on up on forty years- so, HA!

My thirtieth birthday was time to settle in to traditional roles, or so I thought. The years leading up to age thirty were incredibly eventful. These were the first few years of our marriage. By age twenty-four we had two small children, and saw them both begin schooling. I had finished College and began my career. Lee had decided on what her career would be and she began her college education in pursuit of it. We moved a few times and I changed jobs, transferred to a new city that would become our permanent home. Both of my parents died, as did all of my grandparents, and a very dear uncle.  That’s a lot to cram into ten years. So when my thirtieth birthday came, it felt like it was time to just settle in to raising our kids and focusing on advancing our jobs and careers. It was during these years that we established lasting friendships here, that I’m happy to say, have been with part of our lives for the last thirty years.

At age forty you’re at the mark when your (dear) smartass friends start in with all the “over-the-hill” stuff. I felt pretty good and (if I say so myself) I was in pretty good physical shape so I didn’t let that bother me. As I looked back on the decade of the thirties, I reflected on how those were the years when our kids really began to grow up and we made some fairly good advances in our careers. I had moved into management positions and Lee’s career took off. These were years when we coped with the pressures of jobs and trying to create financial security that would see us through, and put the kids through college. We were both very fortunate that worked out well enough. But those pressures sometimes led me to be a lesser person than I should have been. I regret mistakes I made those years – but I’m confident they helped me to grow as a person. I liked being done with my thirties- so when the big 4-0 arrived I was good with that. 

Fifty was no big deal to me. I felt then that I had achieved a level of comfort with myself that allowed me to enjoy things more. Our oldest daughter had married and produced two terrific grand kids. I had changed jobs a few years before and was in a fairly laid-back phase of my professional  life- Lee was doing great with her career. Our youngest daughter had finished college and was just about to get married. As I reflected on life at age fifty, I was actually feeling pretty proud. For Lee and me, our greatest point of pride is seeing how well our daughters turned out. Both finished college and began work in their chosen fields. Both have become great parents- far better than me. Mostly though, they are both just great people. The birthday itself came and went without much fanfare. Lee and I did mark the year with some great experiences to celebrate being married 30 years and being fifty-years old. Two weeks in Italy!!! Amazing!!! There is nothing like being with other people from another part of the world. I think it really changes your life.

So here I am at age 60. This feels a far cry from my earliest images of being sixty. In fact, I believe the differences are real and not just some rationalized denial on my part. At age sixty, my best reflection is look forward. Yes the last ten years were also great- the family grew, with five grandchildren now and our daughters in their mid-thirties and experiencing success and great lives. There are always great moments, and times of sadness. Hey that is just the way life goes. And after sixty years, I’d have to say my family has been pretty damned successful. The changes I’ve made in myself and hope to continue with are all about the future. At age 58 I was able to start a new challenging job- I’ve taken up new activities and sought to learn new skills. I’m not saying I’m great at any of them – but my fountain of youth is in the constant search to add to my repertoire, instead of taking life passively because I’ve reached a “certain age”. Many folks I’ve seen grow more conservative in their personal lives and their politics (or world view) as they grow older. Oddly I’ve gone the opposite direction. I’m more progressive than ever. I’m interested in bigger ideas. I’m not interested in a world view that says we should limit people- I’m interested in a world where there is more inclusion, progress, and respect for all people. Those are the big ideas. Look at today’s headlines and you’ll know what I’m talking about.  All they want to do is say "no", take away from people, and express bitterness. That'll put you in the grave too soon.

I devote a great deal of thought and some action toward progressive causes for one reason- my kids and grand kids. Leaving them a better world would be a great and worthy mission in my view. The side benefit for me is that it adds vitality to my life so I don’t have to worry about birthdays with zeros in them. I know some great people who are older than me. The ones I admire and emulate are the ones who are still interested in the world and participating in creating the future. They are out there making things happen- at the gym working out every day- being involved- and always searching for knowledge. That’s my plan before I hit the next birthday with a zero in it. Wish me luck. Thanks for indulging me, and as always….

Thanks for looking in.

 

Political Correctness

Over the last week or so, I have been giving some thought to the notion of political correctness as it relates to an event that’s happening in my home town. I’ll explain a bit more about that event as we go, but first let’s look at this term itself. "Political correctness” has been with us for a while. It was first used in the 18^th Century in American political and legal discourse to describe what the words actually mean: to be correct in one’s political positions- to be consistent in one’s political intent and political behavior. The term became very much in vogue with early 20^th century Communists who also used it quite properly in extolling Communists to be true to, or correct in their Communists’ beliefs. Now, of course, “political correctness” (PC) is only used in the pejorative. That is, the term is used as an insult to those who are seen as over-sensitive to a fault. For someone to be called ‘politically correct” is to say that they have adopted a sensitivity to certain words, actions, groups, or alliances that take them to the level of just being silly: “Oh look at you being so PC- why don’t  you just lighten up?”

I think we’ve all been in situations where our old colloquialisms are politely challenged by someone suggesting that our words aren’t permitted anymore, because new forms of political correctness suggests that a better term would be more sensitive, and thus more “correct”. We don’t refer to “Negroes”- they are African Americans; we don’t use the word “Indian”, instead we say Native American; we don’t discuss Homosexual marriage, we discuss Gay Marriage. And the list goes on and on. So let me say for the record I’m quite glad we have political correctness! For all the fun that is made about the need for some people to be “politically correct”, it is a good thing because changing our language as a culture is one of the most important ways we change our behavior as a culture. More and more as I observe our culture and the politics that exists within it, I’m convinced that our conflicts and our polarization comes, in large part, from the language we use to describe each other and our behaviors towards one another. It is no coincidence that those who most ridicule and chide us for our political correctness are those who cling to old ways and refuse to be taken to a more enlightened place. The pejorative “political correctness” is merely a push-back against those who would take us to that better place.

So many of our biases and bigoted thoughts are deeply embedded in the language we use to describe people. It is almost a “chicken and egg” question. Which came first, the words we use about some people (queer, bitch, (N-word), spic, wet-back, lib, whore, red-neck, slut, chink, Injun, fag, etc.) or our prejudices about them? One thing I believe wholeheartedly is that actual prejudice, bigotry, and hatred cannot live long without the language we install to support it. So this movement to provide actual “correctness” to describe people is a good thing, in spite of the ridicule some people apply to the process. It got the name correctness because it is –more correct!

That brings me to the incident happening in my community right now. Last week a new bar had its Grand Opening in our downtown area. The place is called The Spokane Daiquiri Factory. The Daiquiri Factory is as the name implies. It is a night club that specializes in those fruity, frozen drinks people just love. Of course they needed to come up with some clever names for the many flavors of those drinks, and some of the names pay homage to local icons. But one of the drinks is called a Date Grape Koolaid. It is an all-too-clever (but not funny) play on words. But let’s think about those words for just a minute in terms of political and social correctness.  

Date Grape Koolaid is being advertised as a date RAPE drink. No other meaning can be derived from this drink’s name. When the menu list of daiquiri drinks first came out the response was instant. A protest and a social media  boycott campaign started up including a placard carrying group of people who showed up for the Grand Opening trying to dissuade patrons from going in. The message was very clear from those who demanded a change- they wanted the management to change the name of the drink and apologize for such insensitivity to rape victims and women in general. This whole scene started to garner a bit of news media attention and over the last week some national news outlets have begun to spread the story. As of this writing the manager has not given in to the protests and has, in fact, fanned the flames a bit himself by suggesting publicly that this is just political correctness gone awry. He explains that the drink’s name isn’t an insensitive gesture, but a sophisticated joke that the rest of us just don’t get. Apparently we are just too stupid to know that “Date Grape” doesn’t actually refer to “date rape”. His ardent defense of the defenseless and his self-congratulatory smugness only serves to make this episode even more unseemly.

I personally loath what his establishment is doing. It does indeed refer to rape- and that is one of those subjects that demands the highest level of political correctness we can give it. For anyone to suggest that the subject of rape is something to be joked about or used as a promotion, means they simply don’t know the facts; or they are out to openly promote violence towards women. In either case- it is wrong!

Here’s why rape isn’t funny or cute, and should never be construed as such. Rape is the most serious human violation of both body and spirit short of murder. 82% of all known survivors say that rape PERMANENTLY changes them. Up to 84% of all rape victims knew their attacker. There are 237,800 sexual assault victims each year. 75 % of men and 55% of women involved in acquaintance rapes were drinking or using drugs (making this case a particularly egregious and insensitive choice). 60% of all sexual assaults are never reported to the police and of those that are, only 16% of the rapists go to prison. Of all rapes, reported and unreported, only 5% of rapists go to jail. What these statistics say is that we live in a culture that promotes, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, violence towards women. This begs the question of why we would accept a business using a product to promote more violence toward women.

There are some things that require true political correctness. This topic is one of them. If you think this is acceptable and just another case of over-sensitivity, imagine using the same logic in some other areas. Can you imagine the reaction to a drink name mocking a disabled veteran? (The G. I. Gimpy Gimlet) Or an Alzheimer’s sufferer? (The Memory Loss Martini) How about a drink promoting mass shootings at schools? (Columbine Shooters) No one would stand for that one minute, and the public outcry would be so great that any businessperson would immediately change their ways- even if they were crass enough to do it in the first place. But, when it comes to violence against women- and most particularly the vile act of rape, it just becomes a war of words on Facebook- instead of a harmonious societal revolt. I was shocked at some of the early responses I saw on the social media sites- some even written by women who suggested there ought to be more important things to worry about than the name of a drink. That is just another way to say the objections are just misplaced political correctness getting in the way of having some fun.

There is a place for political correctness, in fact there are a number of places for it. I keep wishing that we could stop taking sides and really think about what is truly right and wrong without first jumping to the conclusion that any issue needs to be measured by our political positions. This case is an excellent example of the problem. Before we jump to the conclusion that attempts to change this “rape drink’s” name is just a bunch of “libs” trying to do away with free speech, and spoil our fun- it might be good to think about how hurtful (unnecessarily hurtful) this crassness is to so many women. That should be a universally held position, not influenced by one's political leanings. If ever there was a situation that so clearly called for political correctness, this is it. This is more than just a clever play on words meant to cajole us in to noticing a product. This is an insult to our culture that is devoid of moral decency- because it is ethically and morally bankrupt in its disregard for women. Because words and language are the very soul of a culture, I would like to see a real resurgence in, and respect for true political correctness so things like this won’t see the light of day again.

Thanks for looking in.