Pupil People – It Is In Our DNA

Quick question: How often do you have the awareness and skills of observation to compare someone’s pupils?

If there are themes to my stories, one of them is that you can change your environment but you cannot escape genetics. I am frequently reminded of this as I age and reflect on how I arrived to my current state. I realize and embrace that I am still a work in progress.

Alcohol was not prohibited in our house. For a long as I can remember there were bottles of Bourbon on a very high shelf in a kitchen cabinet. These were gifts dad received from companies that he worked with that built custom machines for Great Lakes Carbon. That was a common “perk” in the sixties and seventies.

But mom and dad did not drink liquor. Dad would drink a beer in the summer on rare occasions. It is a safe bet that they never drank a drop of the Bourbon ever. Mom used it to make whiskey balls about once a year but that consumed very small amounts. And yet, over the years, the Bourbon either disappeared or got watered down to keep the bottle full. I still have several bottles, with unbroken seals, that ended up in my “stuff” after we cleaned out the house.

From 1980 to 1983 my brother and I were both in college and not living at 101 Cascade Street. On weekends we were both home it was a tradition of sorts to drive to Hickory and have a few beers. One weekend we made the trip to Hickory, consumed maybe three (or more?) beers each, and then headed back to the house. When we arrived we walked in and sat down at the kitchen table with mom and dad.

As we were talking, mom’s gaze went back and forth between us. After about thirty seconds mom declared “you boys have been drinking.” We both reacted with a “deer in the headlights” expression and denied it. She was having none of that. She said she was certain we had been drinking. So we acknowledged that we had a few beers. And we both sort of blurted out at the same time “how do you know?”

She said our pupils gave it away. We were like what?! Our pupils? She explained that she looked into our eyes and we both had one large pupil and one small pupil. She said that growing up she had learned to detect when her father had been drinking by looking at his pupils. One large and one small meant he had been drinking. We simultaneously got up from the table, went to the bathroom, stood side by side in front of the mirror and looked into our own and each other’s eyes. She was absolutely correct.

As I said, you cannot escape genetics.

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The Same Pants

Another one of my fathers maxims was that I had “the same pants to get glad in that I got mad in”. Maybe it was his way of saying “suck it up, buttercup!”

His point was that the person that I had to coexist with and reconcile my feelings with was me. The statement was meant to cause me to pause, reflect, process the emotion and then move on so I (and he) did not have to coexist with an angry me for an extended period.

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Stand In The Corner With Your Snoot Stuck Out

Expressing anger or frustration to dad with negative and harsh words was pretty much a conversational non starter with him. He exercised stringent self control and expected me to follow suit. It was not that he wanted me to deny my thoughts and feelings but rather that he wanted me to find the self control to choose words wisely and carefully, especially when agitated. He did not believe in an entitlement to inflict your feelings on others.

When I came to him and vented my anger and frustration he would half sing, half chant the ditty below.

What are you gonna do when the meat runs out? Go stand in the corner with your snoot stuck out!

He had picked that up as a child from either a grandparent or a great grandparent. To him it meant that if you were bent out of shape about something (like the meat running out, which happened a lot during the depression he lived through growing up) then rather than inflict your attitude on others, you should go pout in a corner until you worked through it.

His method of teaching the discipline of managing harsh feelings is probably considered unhealthy today. But I contend that the world in general, and the internet in particular, would be better places if we all exercised more self control.

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Broken Dolls

My own ignorance landed heavily on me on September 10. When the news bulletin flashed on my phone I found myself asking “who is Charlie Kirk?” I knew literally nothing about the man and his mission. I take no pride in my lack of knowledge. I have done a root cause analysis on why I was so uninformed and am now implementing corrective action to address it.

I immediately began trying to fill the information void. I began watching video clips, reading transcripts and watching news specifically about him. There is so much available information that I can never hope to assimilate it all.

Charlie’s message was reaching and connecting with thousands of young people and it resonated beyond college campuses. His ideology and mine do not align but I acknowledge the sanctity of his life and respect for his passion. I respect him even though I do not agree with him on many topics.

I saw a quote regarding empathy and Charlie’s thoughts on the subject. The posts I viewed did not include the complete quote so I dug deeper to get the entire quote and the context. My initial reaction was that he was wrong and I could prove it. But I could not prove him wrong.

I have not been persuaded to view empathy the same way as Charlie but I can better understand his perspective. The specific word empathy is not in the Bible. That does not mean the concept is not there, just that the word is not.

I dug deeper. The word “empathy” did not come into English vocabulary until 1909. It was a translation of the German psychological term Einfühlung that means “in-feeling” or “feeling into.” Empathy could accurately be understood as being made up in 1909 to describe human to human connection in a way that had not been specifically expressed before.

I am not persuaded to dismiss the term as meaningless or irrelevant. Human to human connections are essential, even critical, for a society and culture to thrive in peace and harmony. When we dismiss or diminish the sanctity of a person’s life because of their political views, religious beliefs or any other value humans hold dear then we dismiss or diminish the sanctity of our own lives.

Jesus demonstrated the deepest, most loving connections with everyone he encountered. All of our lives are sacred to him. He experienced shared joy with people as well as shared sorrow and despair. Why else would Immanuel, God with us, cry with Mary and Martha at Lazarus’s tomb when he knew he was about to raise Lazarus from death? The tears were not for Lazarus. They were for Mary and Martha so they did not have to experience sorrow and grief alone.

I am reminded of a story I heard a long time ago. A policeman was out walking his beat. He came upon two young girls sitting on a side walk. There was a broken doll between them and they were both sobbing. As he approached, one of the girls looked up and made eye contact with him. He asked her “what is going on here?” The girl replied “my friend broke her favorite doll and she is heart broken.” The officer said “well now I understand why she is crying but why are you crying?” She responded “I love her and right now the only thing I can do to comfort her is to cry with her.”

May we all have deeper connections with our fellow human beings to laugh with them in joy and cry with them in pain, sorrow and despair.

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Inside Out and Backward

Our autistic son is a loving, kind and compassionate man. He is also hilarious. About fifteen years ago we were on a family vacation trip to Florida. He is an early riser so I get the pleasure, and it truly is a pleasure, of taking him out to breakfast when we travel. This particular morning I was a little groggy when I woke ups so I did not review his clothing choices before we headed to the Chick Fil A.

After we received our meal and sat down to eat I noticed that his tee shirt was on inside out AND backward. I began to fuss at him about that and he listened patiently for a while. But as I went on and on, he raised his hand to stop me and then he scanned the entire restaurant with his eyes. He then looked at me eye to eye and said “it’s okay dad, nobody here knows me.” Pure gold!

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Gusto Singing!

Behavioral traits can be genetically transferred from generation to generation just as physical traits are transferred. That is the conclusion I have come to in this season of my life. How else can I explain how much more like my mom and dad I become with each passing year. When I examine my traits at sixty four, I can trace many of them back to my parents.

My dad sang Christmas carols year round. Everywhere except around other people. He loved to sing but he would not sing in public. He stopped singing in public the day a teacher stopped a song and singled him out for criticism because he was singing louder than anyone else. On pitch and in rhythm and with gusto.

Whenever I am in public and singing is involved, if my daughter is with me, she will implore me not to sing with gusto. She has experienced the “singing loud for all to hear” paternal genetic trait up close and it makes her cringe. An irony is that my son-in-law, Tim, who shares our last name but as far as we can determine is not from the same family tree, shares the trait!

Make a positive difference in someone’s life. Remember to be kind, gentle and compassionate with your words. It matters.

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Spread a Few Bread Crumbs, Drop a Few Beans

Dad could get along with anybody. People wanted to be around him. He was charming and he was witty. He had verve.

He worked his entire career, about thirty six years, at Great Lakes Carbon. If you grew up in Morganton, especially in the sixties and seventies, you were probably aware of GLC.

Dad’s engineering skills and people skills made him a candidate for promotions. He received several offers in the sixties and seventies but he declined. Promotion meant moving to Niagara Falls, NY or somewhere in Missouri or Texas. After serving in the Army and spending two years in South Korea he was not interested in moving, even if it meant sacrificing promotions.

So the promotions were offered to some of his co-workers and some of them accepted. A few of his co-workers that accepted promotions moved quickly up the ranks. One of his promoted friends reached a Vice President level in just a few years after leaving GLC in Morganton.

Dad always took full responsibility for the consequences of his decision. He taught me that you should embrace the bad consequences and good consequences with equal grace. So when his friend became a VP dad was genuinely happy for him. A few of his co-workers did not share that happiness.

Each year the upper management team from the corporate office would travel en masse to each GLC facility to meet with local management team. The visit always culminated in very nice dinner at a restaurant in Morganton or Hickory. His friend, the VP, became the target of annual ridicule from some of the managers of the Morganton plant after the dinner.

They would ask Dad if he noticed how messy the VP was when he ate. They lambasted the VP because some of his food would end up on the table. They asked dad “doesn’t it bother you that he makes such a mess when he eats?” Dad would respond “no, I just let some bread crumbs and a few beans fall off my plate and then enjoyed a conversation with my friend.”

Tolerance is disappearing world wide. Make a positive difference today, or tomorrow or next week. Extend tolerance to someone even if you do not think they deserve it. It will cost you nothing.

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There Ought to be a Hall of Fame for Mammas

Caution: This story includes reference to sexual assault.

My grandmother was a folk healer. That term is not used much these days. A generally accepted definition of a folk healer is an unlicensed person in the community who practices the art of healing using traditional methods to alleviate pain and spiritual suffering. Her name was Pearl Harklerode. But everyone in the community called her Mammaw Doc, which was short for Mammaw Doctor.

When my mother was around ten years old, a neighbor called Mammaw Doc and said he was suffering a health problem and needed help getting groceries from the store. Being the caretaker of the community, Mammaw Doc sent my mom and one of her brothers to the neighbors house to go to the store for him.

When my mom and uncle arrived at the neighbors house, the neighbor gave cash to my uncle and sent him to the store alone. That left mom alone and vulnerable. While my uncle was gone the man sexually assaulted her. Then threatened to harm her and my uncle if she told anyone. She did not.

She had to deal with that trauma alone as a child. Can you imagine her pain and suffering?

Years later, mom had put herself through school and become a Registered Nurse. She was working at Grace Hospital. One day the neighbor, the man who assaulted her, was admitted to the hospital with a terminal illness. Mom was assigned to be his nurse. Can you imagine her pain and suffering?

Mom gave him kind and compassionate care even though she did not feel like he deserved it. She believed that choosing mercy was spiritually and morally right no matter how much pain and suffering she was experiencing.

Mom confided this to me about thirty years ago. I share it with you now because men in positions of power and influence continue to be excused for this evil behavior and it infuriates me.

Boy or girl, man or woman, if you are the victim of sexual violence I want you know know you are precious and dear. I pray that mercy, kindness and compassion find you and surround you. You are loved.

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Not As Easy As Falling Off A Log – Part 1

September 26 – Dawn helped clarify a paragraph that was not accurate. See it in the amended text below.

When I encountered a daunting challenge as a child, and I went to my parents for help or guidance, they had a standard response. Mom or dad, or sometimes both, would say “that is as easy as falling off a log.” Then they encouraged me to put forth the effort to overcome the challenge. They did not deal with the challenge for me or advocate for giving up.

As an adult I realize that saying was an exaggerated oversimplification. But as child, I was not facing life altering or debilitating outcomes. Their approach built a can do attitude and developed determination and perseverance into my tool box for navigating through the ups and downs of life.

Flash forward from childhood to 1989. I am a newlywed and my wife is pregnant with our son. We went from a blind date to marriage in thirteen weeks and to expecting our first child and moving from North Carolina to Illinois before our first wedding anniversary.

The paragraph in bold italics below was recounted inaccurately. The accurate version is that the Alpha-Fetoprotein (AFP) results were abnormally low. Low levels can indicate many problems but are only an indicator, not an accurate predictor. That is why the amniocentesis was done. It came back normal and that indicated all was well. But it was not.

On top of that were indications that the pregnancy was not proceeding normally. An amniocentesis right before we moved identified genetic abnormalities. The specific abnormality was unlike any previously detected abnormality so the physicians could not predict how they would manifest in our son.

The fear was paralyzing. With all the changes and challenges going on it was difficult to quash the fear and find hope day to day. One of the things that helped me through the pregnancy and his birth and raising an autistic child is remembering my parents reassure me that this is as easy as falling off a log.

I know it is not easy as falling off a log. But at critical moments their voices, speaking these words of encouragement, were audible and real.

If you are the mother and father of a child with autism, or any other special need. we are with you. We are here to encourage you. You matter to us and to our Creator. God bless you.

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