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ONE LITTLE, TWO LITTLE, THREE LITTLE INDIANS

Education, Politics, Truth, Uncategorized, , , , ,

Harry Reid Feels Your Pain

Bonnie’s mother is Navaho (or Navajo, if you prefer). When she had to choose a tribe, Bonnie also chose to be Navaho, so when she had her second little Indian, a lovely girl with masses of black hair, she gave her the wonderful name Nizoni, pronounced ni-ZHON-ee, the Navaho word meaning Beautiful, and beautiful she is. Nizoni was born exactly one year and nine minutes after her older brother, Gavin, so they are real “Irish twins.” Or is that considered a racist term now? Their shared birthday parties are a juggling act, although as long as everything (including the chili) has chocolate in it, Nizoni is happy.

Bonnie’s father is one-half Hopi and a member of that tribe. At Gavin’s Hopi Hair Washing Ceremony, all his direct Hopi relatives (parents, aunts, uncles, etc.) washed his hair and gave him the Hopi name meaning Tadpole. Other members of the tribe are witnesses to the ceremony. At Nizoni’s Hair Washing, being a girl, she was named after the Kachina for cumulus clouds.

Bonnie’s father is also one-half Tewa. His father was the last full-blooded Tewa Indian in Bonnie’s family, and he was the first Indian Platoon leader in the US military. During the closing weeks of WWII, he and the members of his platoon parachuted behind enemy lines in the Phillipines and helped rescue a group of American POW’s who they knew were scheduled for execution by the Japanese within 24 hours. Bonnie’s grandfather was a great man and a great warrior.

When her third little Indian, Soren, was born, she gave him the middle name of Tewa, a lifetime remembrance of his heritage. He was named Little Corn at his Hopi Hair Washing. His mother thinks he’s pretty corny for sure when he’s hungry and yelling for food. He’s nine months old now and seriously considering walking. Since his eyes shine with mischief, Bonnie wonders how she’ll corral him when the time comes and if there’s any sleep in her future.

If you question Bonnie about her heritage she says she prefers to be called an Indian, with no hyphenated anything. That she is a patriotic American is a given. She wishes some Americans would just get over being so phony about their supposed sensitivities and if someone wants to call her a “Redskin”‘ hey, that’s fine with her. She’s proud to be an Indian and hopes the Redskins keep both their pride and their name.

Bonnie’s children belong to a mixed world, for you see she chose a (gasp!)
white guy for a husband. Alex’s roots in America go back only to the Mayflower, so he’s a newcomer to the land. Together Bonnie and her Alex are more concerned about the character, good behavior and toughness of their Three Little Indians than they are about any manufactured hurt feelings. They are, however, not above using Indian culture to make a point.

When Gavin started school this past autumn, he quietly folded his arms and bowed his head over his food at lunch. His teacher told him he was not allowed to do that. He was confused and upset when he told Bonnie and Alex about it because he had been taught at home to always bless his food. His parents very carefully considered their options and what they hoped to accomplish for their son. The next morning Bonnie went to the school and explained that in Hopi culture and tradition it is important to give thanks for the bounty of the earth. Caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place, the school, to be politically correct, bowed to Hopi, not Christian, tradition.

Harry Reid’s evil remarks are both demeaning and insulting to both sides of Bonnie and Alex’s family. Please Harry, everyone’s heard enough from you, just go away.

We are the blessed ones as the Three Little Indians invade our home every day. They giggle as they pull their Papa’s suspenders and kiss the bald spot on his head. He saves himself by bribing them with anything chocolate and calls them his “War Whoops.” The dog loves them with slavish devotion and makes certain they are safe in the yard. They love the dog and tolerate me as they kiss me and call me gramma.

Harry, not a single one of us needs anything from you.

THE CARE AND FEEDING OF GENIUS

Education, intelligence, Truth, Uncategorized, , , ,

CAN WE REALLY KNOW WHAT GENIUS IS?

In the late 1970’s Popular Science ran an article about The Next Decades Up- and-Coming Young Scientists, or something of that nature. At the time I was busily engaged in the trenches rearing three small children. Our eldest son had scored very high on an IQ test (I almost want to say here that he was “diagnosed” with a high IQ), which was no surprise, but it did increase our insecurities about how best to meet his needs.

The author of the article in question interviewed several of the men and women scientists who had been recommended for the magazine’s honor. Some of the questions asked and the answers were very illuminating.

When asked when they knew they were “smart”, over half said they had no idea until they took the SAT and/or entered college. They thought of themselves as “just one of the guys” until they went away from home. There were very few who said their parents told them or any of their siblings they were smart or praised them for it. Some of the respondents still sounded shocked that they were considered smarter than average.

When asked what they considered their biggest advantages in growing up,  the answers were almost all along the lines of:

My parents made me do my homework, and they checked it.

I had responsibilities at home, but learning was a priority.

My mother took me to the library at least once a week to get as many new books as I was allowed to borrow, and made certain I both read the books and took care of them. My parents questioned me about them.

Both of my parents were interested in what I was doing and what I thought. We ate dinner together and discussed everything under the sun.

All of the respondents said their strengths started with their parents and being taught to work.

The article also quoted one top scientist as saying, “You can learn anything in the world if you have an IQ of 120, anything above that number is just so much gravy.”

I’m still not convinced that we know enough about intelligence to “test” for it. What is considered intelligence in one culture may be totally irrelevant in another. Is a Polynesian explorer steering his canoe by his knowledge of the ocean and heavens any less intelligent than a book taught scholar at Cambridge? Would some of our present day educators have enough knowledge to survive if dropped into a wilderness? What kind of IQ would survival take?

So, does IQ matter? I read once that after Richard Feynman won the Nobel Prize in Physics, he and his wife visited his old high school where he asked to see his school records. Upon leaving he turned to his wife and said, “Winning the Nobel Prize didn’t seem like such a big deal, but now that I know my IQ it seems huge.”

I have watched the trap that parents of “smart” kids can fall into when they think that their child “has no peers”, as I heard one woman say. It’s an easy trap to be caught in. When our son skipped sixth grade and began Middle School he left his friends behind and felt lost without them. He came home one day and happily told me he had made a friend. Without thinking, I asked, “Is he smart?” My son, wiser than I, answered, “I don’t know, but he sure is nice.” I mended my ways.

Remember, we should be engaged in the business of rearing good people first, geniuses if we have to. Now that I have watched my children become adults and begin families of their own, I have learned a few lessons that, in the real world, seem important to me in growing those good people:

All children should be taught to work at a young age. They should also be given some moral and/or religious instruction.

All of your children, whether genius or not, will have different strengths and weaknesses. Other children are their peers.

All children will fail, and need to be told they failed. Their feelings will recover and their self respect will be strengthened when they master what they failed at.

Never be afraid to tell your children “NO”, and mean it.

Unless they are infants or ill, never clean up after your children. They need to clean up their own messes and mistakes.

All children should learn a skill or trade, but not all should go to college.

Your child may be a “late bloomer”, cut him or her some slack.

All children, no matter how “smart”, will have troubles and heartache. It’s called the human condition.

At some point, earlier than you might think, you lose the right to be your child’s boss. They’re on their own.

As long as your children know how to work and love God and learning, chances are, no matter what they do, they’ll be fine.

One more thing. If I were doing things all over again today, I would home school in a heart beat.

THE HAREM

Biblical Wisdom, Education, Uncategorized, , , , , ,

Why can’t Tommy come over to play?

When our eldest son had just turned five and his sister was almost four, we moved to a new home in a semi-rural area. There seemed to be no young children in the neighborhood, but right across the street from us lived two brothers of about ten and twelve. They lived in absolutely appalling squalor and had parents who ignored their basic needs. The oldest boy, Tommy, struck up a friendship with our children and played with them in our front yard where we could watch them. In spite of his home circumstances Tommy seemed like a nice boy and one of us was always around so we relaxed thinking all was well.

One day Bear went downstairs and found Tommy had sneaked our daughter into the house and into her bedroom, closed the door and was kissing her and removing her clothes. Bear marched Tommy out the front door and told him to never come to our home nor touch our kids again. Going to his parents would have been absolutely futile, the State Children’s Services already had a bad name, and we were reluctant to start a neighborhood feud. Our daughter and son were told Tommy could not come over anymore, and Bear talked privately to our daughter, asking why she didn’t stop Tommy from what he was doing and cry out for help. “Well,” she said, “you kiss mom all the time so I thought it was OK.” Yikes! Bear let her know that what Tommy had done was not OK and told her what she should do if the circumstances ever arose again.

A couple of days went by and our son came and asked why Tommy was not allowed to play anymore. As much as I could I filled him in on what Tommy had done and said we couldn’t trust him now. Our son went off for awhile, then came and asked if Tommy could come over again if he apologized to Bear. I sent him to his dad to find out. Not wanting to discourage good behavior on Tommy’s part, Bear said he would consider it. Our son talked to Tommy and he did come and apologize. Bear thanked him for his apology and told him he would think the matter over, but both he and I had absolutely no intention of letting Tommy be around. We hoped to let the matter drop there.

A few more days passed and our son approached me again. This time he said he had come up with a solution to the problem. He had a really bright idea alright: “Whenever Tommy comes over we’ll just lock Sissy in the closet until he goes home.” The sheer audacity of my son, the male, chauvinist pig in training, was overwhelming to me. What kind of a kid was I rearing here anyway? I kept my cool, stood there for a moment and finally asked if he really thought his sister should be locked up. He sighed and said, “I guess not,” and left.

That evening I told Bear about our son’s “solution.” We both had to laugh at his ingenuity. Then I put my mind to his obvious need for proper training. The next day I looked at our son and realized he was just five years old, barely out of infancy. He had needed friends to play with, and Tommy had filled some of that need. He had no concept of what constituted improper behavior on the part of a much older boy. He was not a beast, he was a lonely little boy who needed to learn more about the problems of the larger world. We began discussing some ideas with our children much earlier than we had thought we needed to, and began doing more as a family to try and find other children for ours to be around.

Later I gave serious consideration to my son’s idea of locking his sister in the closet. I wondered if that same thought hadn’t been a societal and cultural solution to the matter of protecting women in a barbaric society. You know, “The boys are coming from the Mountain Tribe, hide the women.” So the women were placed in protective custody away from the men. Perhaps the women finally rebelled at being stuck off alone in a room away from their accustomed quarters, so the family built a larger secure space for them. A Harem for the women. Then what had started out with good intentions became first a tradition and then a prison as the years passed.

I began to consider many cultural things we in the west find degrading to women, such as veiling and chadors. Perhaps wearing such coverings also started with good intentions. Think about living where sand gets blown about into eyes, noses and mouths. Even the hair gets filthy. Wear at least a head covering or robe that can be quickly pulled over the head and face in a sandstorm and you solve a real problem. As the years pass the wearing of head coverings of different kinds becomes another rigid rule.

What about the women who are forced to walk three steps behind their men? Is it possible that custom also started as a protection for women in nomadic societies? The men walked in front with spears and clubs to protect the important but physically weaker women and children. Soon what started out as a protective measure became a rule and then a law. Women MUST walk three steps behind their masters.

Over time did these and other customs cause men to degrade women in their own minds and consider them as evil chattel? It would be a short step for some men to blame women for their own problems, even if you leave Mother Eve out of the equation. What about our own thinking today when boys and men are treated disrespectfully and their very nature as men is questioned? We drug boys and deny they are different than girls. Do we have customs that serve no good purpose? Probably. And conversely, in our hubris have we destroyed societal norms that were a protection to us all? If you look at the moral squalor around us you’d have to say yes.

I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you more of Tommy. We watched as he and his brother became more and more untamed. The family finally moved some years after the happenings I’ve described. Then one day the news covered a story of two adult men who held a party where teenagers were supplied liberally with drugs and alcohol. Three of those strung out teens stole a car, drove on the wrong side of the highway out of town and hit a State Trooper head on. After the trooper’s death the two adults were charged with Involuntary Manslaughter and Contributing to the Delinquency of Minors. One of those men who held the party was Tommy. I watched his first court appearance on TV. The other man involved in the party was busy laughing, acting tough, and giving the finger to everyone. And Tommy? Well, I have never seen a more broken person than Tommy. His whole skinny little body was quaking, he was crying and groaning as he wrapped his arms protectively around himself, rocking back and forth. He never raised his eyes as the tears ran down his face. He looked as though he had stepped from a torture chamber in Dante’s Third Circle.

As I watched I saw the young him and the things I knew about his life. I felt so guilty and wondered what I might have done to help him. Maybe once in awhile I could have brought him over for cookies and milk at a clean kitchen table and that would have given him hope. Some small sign of caring might have been enough, but in reality I still don’t know what we could or should have done.

The broken man he became haunts me as much as the young boy he was.

THE SECOND COMMANDMENT – Modern American Idols

Biblical Wisdom, Uncategorized, , ,

We are slaves to the idols of our minds. — Francis Bacon

What are the idols of your mind? The answer would be different for each one of us. We are not to worship idols but to put God first and then all else falls into place. When we put anything before God we begin to stray into self delusion and slavery.

We set up idols, including celebrities and sports stars whom we worship with slavish devotion, sometimes to our own detriment. Some people worship money and possessions, even their children become objects of their worship, and also their control. The desire for wealth and fame has consumed many good people.

I once told our youngest daughter that if her dad and I ever came into real money we would not let our children know about it because we wouldn’t want to “spoil” them. She was young but wise, so she just smiled and said, “Oh, mom, don’t you think we’d figure it out?” I suppose that when I came home with a Ferrari she would know something was up.

You can make money and possessions your idols, or they can be your servants in enriching your life and the lives of those around you. You know an idol when it becomes more important than God, your family or your friends; you are in trouble when you would sacrifice people for something you can never really keep in the end, even if it’s a good thing. There is an old saying that teaches a vital lesson:

NAKED WE ENTER THIS WORLD, AND NAKED WE LEAVE IT.

There are just things you can’t take with you. Figure out what they are so you can keep some real perspective.

Is there nothing you CAN take with you?

I believe you take who you are, what you have become, the love you have developed and the love others have given to you, and, of course, the intelligence you have gained in this life. These are the only things of eternal worth we possess.

Will you be thankful for your life here or will death be a time of terror because you wasted your existence and have done nothing worthy of eternity?

Please, identify and set aside your idols, put your life in order with God first. Start there and develop the faith to know that God is still in charge and in the end all will be well.