In a perfect world..

I would divide my time evenly between the following -  in no particular order -

• Singing
• Eating
• Cooking, baking, cake decorating
• Sleeping
• Dressing shows for an opera company
• Reading
• Traveling
• Teaching
• Going to Mass, praying, etc
• Hanging out with friends (could be combined with almost any of the above)
• Wasting time on the internet

Too bad this isn't a perfect world.

On the bright side, I do get to do most of those things on a fairly regular basis :)

Why I'm glad I skipped 6th grade

Extreme Makeover Home Edition has a profound ability to clear my sinuses. I don't watch it very often but it seems that every time I watch it, I tear up, if not outright cry. Today was no exception. The family getting the new house this week suffered something I can't even begin to imagine. Two years ago, the sixth grade son killed himself as a result of terrible bullying at school. The rest of the family - mom, big sister, younger brother, younger sister, and aunt - have been unable to move on because of this horrific memory which is so deeply associated with their house.

Sixth grade is rough. Things are changing that you don't understand. Old friends may be making new ones and leaving you in the dust. Someone may decide that you're "not cool" and convince the rest of the class to avoid or bully you. That can make all the difference in the world between being happy and miserable at school. Middle school is brutal even without additional problems.

As the title of this post suggests, I never was a sixth grader. I was homeschooled through fifth grade and then begged and begged my parents to let me go to a tiny charter school as a seventh grader the next year. Despite this, I've seen the ugly side of 6th grade. Last year, when I was teaching in Hungary, one of my classes was the 6a class at the bilingual primary school. I saw them twice a week for music and English class. While there was a little bullying in the 5a class and the 7th graders were getting into teenage angst, the 6th graders were well known as the worst class in our program and for good reason. They were wild and uncontrollable, loud and disrespectful, crass and bullying. There was one favorite target; I'll call him Aaron. Aaron is the son of one of the other English teachers and was not adjusting well to living in Hungary. In a lot of ways, he made an easy target for them. The only one in the room who didn't speak Hungarian and so could only participate in half of the classes, he was also quiet, reserved, and unmotivated.

Aaron frustrated me. He was so unmotivated. I could be standing right next to him translating the Hungarian part of the lesson using simple language (fast, slow, etc) and he would blankly stare at me while saying "I just don't know anything about music." Well... with an attitude like that, it's unlikely that you ever will. Despite my frustration, I had immense empathy for him as the odd one out in the class because that was me ten years ago. I was the one American girl in an all Hungarian school. He had it easy compared to that. My classmates weren't nearly fluent in English. I could barely communicate with them. And, yes, I was bullied. While my class was a seventh grade class, there were many of the same problems. Name calling, reading a book during the break only to have the boys slam it shut, it wasn't fun. In fact, that semester was one of the darkest of my life. Although the year before when I was at a "Catholic" high school back in the States was worse at school, the combination of bullying with hating where I was put me the closest that I've ever been do doing something drastic. I don't know why my parents ignored the morbid notes that I left on their bed multiple times, but it's a good thing that I never did anything more than pray I wouldn't wake up the next morning. I know what it's like to be Aaron. The difference was when I accepted that I was stuck in Hungary whether or not I liked it and that I might as well make the best of it. Despite my happy ending (I fell in love with Hungary and have been back twice since that disastrous beginning), it could have been much different and I sincerely hope that things turn around for Aaron too.

Watching Extreme Makeover today, what hit home the most for me was the fact that my baby brother is in sixth grade. When the big sister was asked what she missed most about her brother, she remembered his jokes. Every time I am home, he's got at least a new joke or two. And when one of my sisters hears one, I get texts/facebook messages sharing the newest. John's not in school so bullying there isn't a concern right now (This is NOT a push for homeschooling! If I ever had kids they would not be homeschooled unless that was the absolutely only option) but bullying can take place anywhere. There are enough dangers and diseases harming kids, this is one that is completely preventable. And must end.

Telling the truth is not enough

"Jesus said to him, "I am the way and the truth and the life.
No one comes to the Father except through me."
- John 14:6

"Whoever is without love does not know God, for God is love."
- 1 John 4:8

When I was a kid, I learned a hard lesson. I thought that honesty was always the best policy. While I don't deny that, taking into account both of the verses above, it seems to me that honesty with charity is really the ideal.

For as clearly as I remember the other details of this story, I can't remember what year it was. I must have been between eleven and thirteen but I'm not really sure. My friend "Amber" (names have been changed) and I were hanging out nearly everyday that summer. A younger neighbor "Monica" always wanted to play with us as well. This irritated Amber and I because Monica was younger and not nearly as "mature" as we thought ourselves to be. Monica wanted to do everything with us but her mom wouldn't allow her to do some things that we were doing. So, Monica wanted us to only do what she was allowed to do so that she could always be involved. We tried avoiding her. We tried not being available. We tried hiding. Nothing worked. Finally, in our pre-teen frustration we wrote a letter to Monica telling her that we didn't want to be friends. Not only did we lash out at Monica, we also made some comments about her mom because of the way Monica was trying to restrict what we could do in order to include her. We wrote this letter, sent it, and thought our problems were over. After all, we had done what was honest, right? We didn't want to spend time with her and we thought that it was nicer to actually tell her rather than just ignoring her.

Unfortunately, Monica and her mom did not see things the same way we did. I'm not really sure what they would have preferred that we do but apparently this letter wasn't it. Monica's mom called my parents and Amber's parents and the result was my being grounded the entire summer. All for telling the truth. The whole truth.

Since that time, I'm much more careful with how I tell the truth. Sometimes, it's not necessary or charitable to use all the details. For example... (these are made up situations that could realistically happen)

Say a friend asked me how a dress looked on her... I could say

"it's not really your style, why don't you try this other one. I think that cut/color/etc. would be more flattering on you."

OR I could say

"UGH... that is awful, it makes you look like a watermelon. Seriously, you look disgusting. The red emphasizes that big pimple on your chin and it's too tight so it looks like you're about to have a 'fat baby' .. NO NO NO."

(Please note, I would NEVER say that to any of my friends... can't even imagine thinking it!) Both of these statements could be telling the truth. But only one of them is charitable.

Another example: My mom makes something I don't like for dinner. Do I respond with

"Thanks for making dinner, Mom, but I'm not hungry." or a simple "it wasn't my favorite. I wouldn't ask you to make it again"

OR

"Mom, that was awful. It makes me want to gag. NEVER make it again when I'm home."

Again, both might be the truth but only one is honesty with charity.

Bottom-line: sometimes, it's not necessary to give all the details. As long as you're being truthful it can be more charitable to leave out some of the nitty-gritty. Despite what people might think from reading this blog, I do not express every thought that comes through my head. There are many many things I could say about people, places, things, etc. which would be less than charitable. Do I always succeed in not saying these things? No. But I do my best. And the idea of people calling me dishonest because I try to avoid saying hurtful things is both offensive and immature.

Stepping down off my soapbox now.

Babies don't come from bubbles ... or do they?

Warning: controversial topic ahead... read at your own risk. Honestly, this is the type of thing I would like to write about all the time (well, all sorts of religious and moral topics). BUT, I also love to write about random other stuff that's going on in my life so these tend to be few and far between...

As I mentioned in the last post, I spent this past weekend on the campus of Franciscan University attending the Defending the Faith conference. Most of the talks were excellent and it was wonderful to be surrounded by so many other faithful Catholics. One of the highlights (aside from Mass and Adoration!) was a workshop by Mark Hart. The topic was "The Gospel according to 'Glee'" and he was discussing the strong sexual messages presented by the media in popular culture and the ways these messages affect children and teens. It was a great talk.

One thing that he said really struck a chord with me. So much so that I went up afterwards to thank him for saying it.

"It's not an option not to talk to your kids about sex."

Now, (hopefully obviously as this was at a FUS conference) he wasn't talking about promoting contraception or waiting until you're out of high school or "in love" or something "typical" like that. But this is a message (talking to your kids) that is just as important in Steubenville as it is anywhere. On Saturday evening, there was a student talking about why everyone should donate to the university. One thing he mentioned was that the "Steubenville bubble" is a myth. Maybe that's easy to say as a student from out of town who was not homeschooled in Steubenville. But I can say with very real conviction that the "Steubenville bubble" is not an urban legend. Take the example of my friend "Rachel." (not her real name)

Rachel grew up in a town much like Steubenville in a very Catholic family. She's the oldest (about my age - out of school, etc.), has a bunch of younger siblings, and they were all homeschooled at some point. Although I've never discussed this topic with any of her siblings, she and I have spent plenty of time dissecting thoughts on the Catholic meaning of sexuality. She tells me that "everything [she] ever learned about sex came from [her] friends, the internet, books, or a youth group type event (including Steubenville conferences)." She has no recollection of her parents ever telling her anything on the topic. I don't mean to condemn Rachel's parents, as I know they are lovely people who did/are doing the best they can with their children. I only wish they would see how important parents can be in influencing their children. Luckily for Rachel, she has been blessed to learn plenty about the Catholic teachings on human sexuality. And - perhaps even luckier - she has never been in a situation where those teachings were strongly tempted. But, was it fair for her parents to ignore the topic and hope that she would "learn what she needed" at a Steubenville Youth Conference or something similar?

I know of other families who have not been so lucky. Another friend "Beth" (again, name changed) struggled with remaining chaste with a boyfriend in college. While I do not know what (if anything) her parents told her, she was under the impression that if this boy was going to pressure her to go further than she wanted to, he would do so verbally. When the situation actually arose, there was much more pushing of the envelope physically rather than verbose nudging. And this girl wasn't even raised in a Steubenville-like bubble.

In a similar situation, there are stories of Steubenville-homeschool-raised adults who are married and have kids whose birthdays fall less than 9 months after the marriage of their parents. Again, I can only speculate (and freely admit that I have no personal experience similar to this with which to compare) but I can't help but wonder how much their parents spoke with them about chastity. Or if they had so little practical information (beyond "Don't have sex until you're married") that it was incredibly easy to find themselves sliding down a slippery slope with little hope of catching themselves.

It seems that the bottom line is something to the effect of: kids will be catechized by something. This includes moral teachings just as much as "strictly" faith-based ones. By our very nature we have an intense curiosity about human sexuality. If parents don't step in and catechize their children, at some point, something else will. It doesn't matter how much of a "bubble" you create around them, it will happen. Yes, I'm sure those aren't easy conversations to have -- Mark admitted that he's not looking forward to speaking with his daughters -- but as he said when I spoke with him after the talk "we need to get comfortable with being uncomfortable." Why would a parent want to leave something this important up to someone else to teach their children about? ESPECIALLY, when what these particular parents would like to impart on their children is so completely foreign to what most of the outside messages are saying. Or, to state it another way... I'm incredibly honored to be quoted by my dear friend, Dani, numerous times in her facebook quotes. One of these is: "If you can't even type the word sex, you probably shouldn't be having it." I would add a corollary: "If you can't talk to your kids about sex, perhaps you shouldn't be having them."

AND... as an added bonus: Don't ask me what to say or how to say it to your kids (I don't have any yet so I don't have to worry about that for a good long while!!) ... this kid makes some great points and his blog in general is well written and enjoyable to read.

Absence makes the heart ...

... ache more when you have to say good-bye again?

The past few days have been crazy. Since I'm in the States for my Grandma's funeral, I had the chance to go back to SHU and see so many close friends and mentors. It was wonderful: the chance to celebrate Candice's birthday, spend time with Chris, Kaitlin, Kelly, Sam, Colleen, Brittany, et al., hang out with Caitlyn at "our" house, talk to teachers, sit in on a "Music in Secondary Education" class -- the topic for the day was middle school psychology: I don't think there could have been a more useful topic for me right now, sit in on a choral society rehearsal and then continue a tradition into its fourth year by getting cheesesticks and talking with Candice for hours.

It was such an unexpected gift. And yet, it had a dark side.

The realization of how much I have changed and how much my life has changed since graduation hit me like a ton of bricks. And, at the same time, so many of my friends are still where they were when we were in school together. If not the same mental, emotional, spiritual, or intellectual place then at least the same physical location. We've all grown... in different ways. It's been easy enough to accept that from across the ocean, but being confronted by the fact, in the place where I spent so many hours with these people who are so dear to me was really difficult. I'm happy where I am and there are things that I wouldn't trade just to go back to SHU but it still wasn't easy to see how firmly the door has closed on that chapter of my life.

That wasn't the only difficult part. I had the chance to participate in handbell rehearsal because a few people were absent. Later I went to choral society -- my first "real" choral/vocal anything since MAY. That's almost a year. Additionally, various people asked me where/if I'm singing these days. I hate the answers to those questions. Because, it's easy to ignore how much I'm not singing and how desperately I miss it when I'm not reminded what it's actually like. It's difficult to admit to someone else (particularly those who have been musical mentors to me) that I'm not doing anything with music outside of the little teaching I do. Singing is something my soul needs. And it has been starving for the past (almost) year. This must change. Now, it's just a matter of figuring out how.

Finally, along with missing music, I miss learning. Of course I'm learning much from teaching, but I miss being the receptive student not the constantly active teacher. Yet another reason to start looking at grad schools again.

On a completely unrelated note:
Have a blessed Triduum!