Why Loud Voices?

On By mycrazymessyamazinglifeIn activism, make your voice loud, Uncategorized2 Comments

I’ve said part of my goal is to raise kids “with loud voices”. I want them to be engaged in the world and able to advocate for themselves and for others. But what does that mean, and why do I care?

A Little Background

When I was growing up, the family joke was that my parents raised three only children. Despite our shared genetics, we didn’t particularly look alike. We had different hobbies, followed different sports and a book recommendation from one sibling was likely to be an unfinished read for another. And it wasn’t just the kids.

Whether adult or child, we clashed right down to the fundamentals. In our family of five, we covered all side of issues ranging from evolution to trickle-down economics to gun control to worker’s rights to a woman’s place in society. The first Presidential election all three kids were old enough to vote in was Clinton/Bush. With five family members, we voted for at least four different candidates. If I had to label us politically, my family included a Republican, a Democrat, a Libertarian, a Socialist and an “Oh, God, please stop talking about politics.”

This is not to say that we didn’t enjoy each other. I got my love of the outdoors from both my parents, of water from my mom and skiing from my dad. I spent happy hours in the library in college, studying with my brother. We all share a love of science and real joy in learning. And we were all raised to believe that actions speak so much louder than words.

My Dad, the Not-Quite-Accidental Activist

My father was a pilot, and a good one. He was a check-pilot, making sure others were trained and capable. When I was seven, the pilots’ union went on strike, for a whole lot of legitimate reasons. He was home for a bit, and then we heard the strike was ending the next day. But, according to family folklore, union leadership then decided to renegotiate the contract. The strike was back on.

A few days later, he went back to work, crossing picket lines. I got the mail the day there was a voodoo doll in the mailbox. I answered the phone to a bomb threat made in a rumbling voice. When he was home next, my dad introduced us to Ted, who was “a friend staying with us.” He also told us to play inside for a while.

Ted was an armed guard who lived with us until the strike ended. I was seven.

This isn’t meant to be an indictment of my dad, the union, the airline or anybody else. (Except maybe the guy who made a bomb threat to a seven-year-old. You sir, have issues.) To this day, I don’t know the exact sequence of negotiations from that strike. I do know that my dad showed he was a person who put principle first, even if it was unpopular or uncomfortable to do so. This is the common thread passed on to his children, despite our conflicting views on just about everything else.

So What Does That Look To Me?

A loud voice is different than a brash voice. It’s easy to get caught up in the screaming, to call names but scrimp on solutions. I believe as strongly as anyone in the causes that matter, in my case kindness and tolerance, freedom of speech and religion and a country free from bigotry. However, it’s not as easy to dismiss half a country, when that half includes multiple members of my own family. Yes, I disagree. Yes, I will fight to the end for what I believe. But I don’t get to call (part of) my family stupid and believe that’s the end of it.

Fighting for what I believe requires understanding the issues I am fighting for. Because I don’t get to dismiss people and their arguments out of hand, I have to listen to the multiple sides of an issue. Believe me, it makes me crazy sometimes! But it also makes me more aware and better versed on an issue, which hopefully leads to sustainable change. Barring people spewing hatred, listening to an opposing view is not complicity.

I learned from my dad that it takes a little courage, or maybe a lot of stubborn, to stand up for your principles. It will be uncomfortable. Using your voice to effect change is rarely simple or short. It takes individual people making a decision that there is a line that cannot be crossed (or maybe, in my dad’s case, one he had to cross). It takes walking up to that line, and staying there, even if people put voodoo dolls in your mailbox. It takes determination to change a country.

My kids are tweens, in the midst of finding their voices. I find myself in the unique position of redefining my own voice. I think my kids and I would have gotten here eventually, but the twin catalysts of my health and this election have given us a good shove down this path. My plan is to choose my line, listen well and then act with as much conviction or sheer pig-headedness as I am able. I hope my kids join me. Even if they don’t, I hope they learn to think, listen and act for themselves.

Skiing Echoes Life

On By mycrazymessyamazinglifeIn active kids, adventure, family adventure2 Comments

Every year for Thanksgiving, we take a long weekend and go skiing. In Canada. The irony of celebrating American Thanksgiving on Canadian soil isn’t lost on any of us. Like many things about our life, our family has decided to embrace the unusual and we have made Thanksgiving in Canada our own. This year, as my husband and kids were bombing down the most amazing powder runs (and I was wallowing in the holes I made by falling while lagging behind them) I got to thinking about how much our life is like our Canadian ski trips.

First, there will always be misadventures along the way. This year, we packed all the skis, boots and snow gear into the cargo box, threw the kids in the car and drove the five hours to Whistler. Only to realize that we neglected to bring a key to said cargo box. And we didn’t have Canadian cell service. Or internet. Or a phone book. Or shoes, as two of us wore flip-flops and slippers in the car. Last year, the misadventure was a sick, sick kiddo. The trip before that, my daughter and I had to hike up a run in ski boots, carrying our skis after we hit a point that required jumping a rocky, cliff-like area to keep going. Just like life, something always happens.

In my world, it was losing my career to “unexpected complications” and learning to navigate a life lived at a slower pace. I left a career that made a tangible difference in people’s lives. It took me years to regain that sense of purpose and community, to realize that there is value in small acts of kindness, and strength in perseverance, even if the end result is running a short race with my kids instead of running a marathon

While skiing, at some point, you will get stuck. I was following my family on Saturday. My husband flew to the bottom. Then my son, then my daughter. Then me, until…poof…tumble….flop. I was face-first in deep, deep snow. I managed to flip over to my back somehow. I’m still not quite sure how, but I think if you picture a fish on a dock, flopping around, then put the fish into white snow pants, a green jacket and skis, it would look like me. So, I got to my back, only to plant my skis straight into the snow. There I was, skis buried to my boots, looking up at my ski tips. I think there was a ski pole under me somewhere. My bindings were buried in snow. I was going nowhere. People on the chairlift above me were giggling. I could see my family at the bottom, and heard “Are you stuck?” Yes. Yes I was.

Five minutes later, my 12-year-old hero in bright green ski pants climbed to my rescue to help pull me out of the hole. Later in the day, he skied into some gnarly trees and my husband helped him back out. Later still, my daughter skied into thigh deep snow and we all had to pull her out.

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Like life, we all need a little help sometimes. After my first surgery, I was one hundred percent determined that nothing would change. I would work, parent, manage medical devices and deal with pain by telling myself it was mind over matter. One night, my husband and I went to a concert. I felt lousy, but didn’t want to ruin his night, so I took (so many) deep breaths and made it through the beginning of the show. Until I couldn’t stand up. I was in enough pain that I was literally stuck in a chair, rather than the snow. That night, as he carried me through downtown, I realized I was going to need some help along this journey.

Some of my best memories from skiing come from the misadventures, mainly because we’ve learned to laugh along the way. As my daughter and I crested the top of the Whistler Bowl trail last year, boot packing up and carrying skis while people flew past us the other direction, she threw herself on the ground and panted out “I’ll never….complain….about hiking….again!” I was doubled over, laughing in the snow.

This year, while she was standing in thigh deep snow, my husband skied up and said, “Wow! You were flying! You’re such a little ripper now!”

“Daddy, did you just call me a little stripper?” Cue the laugh track, in the snow.

 

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Like skiing, life is better when I laugh, even (and maybe especially) if it’s at myself. While my husband was carrying me home after the concert, he started randomly commenting about my ankle. “We’ll get some ice for it! Your ankle will be ok!” I was a little out of it at the time, but later I asked him what he was talking about. He told me that people were staring and he didn’t want anyone to think he drugged me in a bar. I laughed so hard I fell down. I still occasionally lean on him, hop and say “my ankle!” just for fun. (Pro tip if managing a health problem: Leave an event before your husband is concerned about being stopped by police and accused of assault.)

The last thing I’ve learned from falling and flailing and failing, both on the ski slopes and in life is to take a moment and appreciate the view. While my daughter and I were collapsed in the snow, exhausted from our hike out, we took a moment to admire where we were. We were back at the top of the aptly named Peak Chair, an easy chairlift ride to a pretty view. But once we had hiked it, boot packing the trail with (a lot of) sweat and effort and heart, we took a moment and took it all in. The view was astounding. We were touching the top of the world, surrounded by jagged peaks and blue sky.

It’s like that for me for every hike now, for every ski day and every run. Maybe I would have gotten to this point anyway, where I would hold every adventure a little tighter, value it a little more. But I think for me, I’ve learned to value the moment and take in the view, surrounded by people I love because it’s been a tougher climb to get here.

Welcome to the Wild Adventure

On By mycrazymessyamazinglifeIn active kids, make your voice loud, UncategorizedLeave a comment

My life is a dichotomy. I spent 20 minutes this morning sorting soccer schedules and 20 minutes scheduling space for a “Social Activism 101 for Kids” class. My daughter and I formed our own mother-daughter running club. It is our happy space and time together, except on the days that I can’t stand up to run. I spent the first 15 years of my career helping people stay active and the last five years managing my own health problems.

I thought at first that I would write about staying active with my kids. If I had a dollar, or even a quarter, for every time someone has asked how our family-and specifically my kids-stay so active, I’d be well on my way towards saving for an extreme vacation. What’s the best exercise for kids? (It depends.) How do I make my kids do a sport? (Good luck with that.) Why don’t your kids play video games? (They do sometimes, but don’t see the need.) How do I convince my kids to run with me? (They like it.) And the most common: How did I get my kids to be active? (I’m active with them.)

I have lots to say and years of experience, because yes, I have two really active kids in an active family. They ski, run, play soccer, swim, enjoy the outdoors, ride bikes and ask for active vacations. And I do it with them. Except when I can’t. How do I explain that my family has learned the value in activity because sometimes, I can’t stand?

This is the first time I’ve said out loud that I’m a person with a disability. Even after 15 years of working with people with disabilities, some of the most amazing people I know, I still don’t like to apply the label to myself. I want to be more. But the truth is, every person with a disability is more. And I believe that goes beyond the standard idea that “we are husbands and wives and friends and workers and writers and….” Yeah. Yeah. But I mean that we are more than we were before we “became” disabled or maybe before we became a parent or a spouse or a friend to someone with a disability.

Like the Grinch, my story made my heart grow three sizes, although maybe not in one day. I am more aware. I know what it feels like to belong to a group that doesn’t have the loudest voice. I am empathetic, knowing that every taunt and every stare at someone with an obvious physical disability could just as easily be pointed at me. I am kind. After going though something like I did, how could you ever wish pain or suffering on another human? I am strong. Yes, it’s true that I have physical limitations. But don’t discount the mental and emotional strength that come from coming through a challenging time, from learning to advocate for yourself or your friend or your child. And sometimes, I’m angry. I’m Pollyanna at heart, an optimist through and through, but that doesn’t make me blind to my own losses, or to the losses and hurt of other people.

It took the last year, the divisions I’ve seen in my family, my friends and my country to decide to stand up and stand out. It took watching a candidate for President make fun of a disabled reporter, a reporter who I’m willing to bet works harder than most to do his job well, to show that he is smart and capable and more. It took a rise in hate crimes and a philosophical Continental Divide to realize that if I plan to Be the Good, first I have to be honest. Because when that reporter was mocked, I bet not one of my family or friends thought of me. And maybe if they had, they would have been just a little more horrified, just a little louder.

So here I am, with the two halves of my life colliding. I’m choosing to tell my true story. How do I balance the two things I find most important, and how do I pass those values on to my children? I want them to live an active life, one filled with family fun, laughter and wild adventure. While they are on that adventure, getting buffeted in ways they didn’t plan, I want them to be aware and empathetic and kind and strong. And yes, when they see something degrading or hurtful or dangerous to those who have a quieter voice, I want them to be angry.

I choose to teach my kids that they can be athletes and scholars and activists and adventurers. They can be more. We can all be more.