Boys, Dogs and Chaos

The New Normal

There is a house in my neighborhood completely decimated by Hurricane Sandy – the front crushed by a once towering, magnificent old tree; the white Toyota in the driveway flattened into a broken mess of glass and steel. Every time I drive by that house, there is someone taking a picture of the grim scene. Every single time, without fail – and, I drive by that house at least 4 times a day. Even now, when most of the tree has been cut away, with only the trunk left on the car and a gaping hole where the roof was, people are still stopping, jumping out of their cars, cell phone raised in front of them. I saw someone make a u turn this morning – in the middle of a busy road – just so he could get a better look. I’ve tried to figure out the magnetic draw to that particular house. I share in it, of course. My phone was broken, so I had my husband send me the picture he took. I posted it on facebook as a symbol of the destruction this superstorm has wrought, but also as a reminder that my family and I were very lucky. I wrote, “This puts things in perspective. Not having power and one downed tree which fell away from the house is not a big deal.”

Someone wrote on the thread that the house has become a “must see” in our town and again, I pondered why. I think perspective – the feeling that someone has it worse than you do and you should just suck it up and be grateful for whatever you do have – has a lot to do with it. Thankfully,
someone else wrote on the thread that no one was hurt in the home. So, there isn’t a sense of morbid curiosity. It’s not the sight of a makeshift memorial – no one perished, thankfully. People are undoubtedly drawn to it, simply because it is such a stark example of Mother Nature’s power. It’s humbling. We have been lucky in the New York metropolitan area that we have been relatively
unscathed by natural disasters – at least in my lifetime. I think we may have gotten a bit complacent. I know that I for one completely and totally underestimated the power of Sandy. I completely underestimated the potential for such widespread destruction. Just a couple of weeks ago I could not fathom sitting in a line for gas for hours nor could I fathom driving by my house and not even going in, because it was so cold and dark. I could not fathom toddlers being swept from their mother’s arms and carried away to their deaths by a current of water so strong, even a mother’s grip couldn’t overcome it. I could not fathom that the beach my son played volleyball on this summer would be destroyed – parts of the boardwalk we strolled on smashed to pieces. I couldn’t fathom any of these things, though I knew that they happened of course, especially running fundraisers for victims of natural disasters as Community Service chairperson for my kids’ school for the past eight years. They just happened somewhere else – not here. New Orleans. Japan. Joplin. Haiti. Just not here.

On the eve of the hurricane my family and I were at the mall. The wind had started whipping discarded wrappers and coffee cups around the parking lot. A cold mist sprayed our faces as we walked across the asphalt. In Macy’s the young salesman said that he couldn’t understand why people were shopping for clothes when they should be buying candles and batteries, bottled water
and canned goods. I told him, “We’re New Yorkers, we’re tough. We’ll get through this storm, no problem. It’ll be nothing – you’ll see.” We got through Irene – we spent twenty four hours in my basement, because my neighbor’s tree was leaning precariously over our house, waiting for the one big gust to finish the job. But, we emerged unscathed. Even those who lost power were frustrated,
but not despairing that things would never get better. And, that’s kind of how it feels now. Our town seems very post-apocalyptic, with many areas still plunged into darkness at nightfall and I have to admit that I was dead wrong when I assured that salesman that Hurricane Sandy would be no big deal, that as tough New Yorkers we could handle anything.

Make no mistake, though – I’m not saying that New Yorkers are weak or that we won’t recover. I know even the most devastated areas will spring back eventually, stronger than ever. I mean that right now – right while we are going through it – it feels like it will never end. It feels like it did
after 9/11 – like the world would never get back to normal, like we’d never be safe again. And, you know what – the world never did go back the normal it was before 9/11. It became a new normal where security guards sat behind the locked front door of every school. It became a new normal where scores of children have become young adults missing the guiding hand of a parent who perished, where memorials dot suburban corners and grace town beaches. But, in that new normal we were able to feel happiness again and life post Hurricane Sandy will become the new normal, as well.

The new greeting is, “Do you have power?” We have become a town of haves and have nots and it has absolutely nothing to do with money. This was, as Chuck Schumer stated, “an equal opportunity storm.” If you don’t have power, you really want to feel happy for those who do, but it’s hard not to feel insanely jealous and if you do have power, it’s hard not to feel guilty and not to feel like you’re not doing enough to help your less fortunate neighbors. Call it survivors’ guilt. But, even with power, there is still the looming fear that it will go out again. During the nor’easter that battered our already battered island my lights kept flickering and then went out for just a few minutes. The power came back on, but those few moments were an eternity. My stomach was in knots wondering if we would be in the dark again – I knew too many people who had already lost power a second time to take anything for granted.

I think that is the new normal – to never take anything for granted again. A hot shower; a hot meal; a bed to sleep on, instead of the floor – these are all things that most of us don’t even think twice about here in the middle class suburbs of Long Island. But, there are many people who don’t
have those things – even when they are not enduring the aftermath of a superstorm. To live in their shoes even for a short time is nothing short of illuminating and I hope it will spur people to help those less fortunate long after this crisis has passed. Because now, we all know how it feels not to have something when you need it. Even having a full tank of gas in one’s car feels like the ultimate luxury. The feeling of being trapped, because I only had an eighth of a tank of gas before waiting in line for two and half hours to fill up my tank was very anxiety provoking.  When I put that nozzle back in the gas pump and turned on my car to see a full tank, it felt like the sweetest victory in world. If there could be a gift from Sandy, if there is a silver lining in the darkest of nights, it is surely the
feeling of gratitude for anything that we do have. And, I hope that lingers long after the rebuilding is done.

If you'd like to donate to Hurricane Sandy relief efforts, please click on the links below for information:

Red Cross Hurricane Sandy Relief

Hurricane Sandy Long Island Disaster Relief

Salvation Army Hurricane Sandy Relief

Charity Navigator

 

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The Note

There has been a lot of talk lately in the news about bullying – its devastating effects; how to stop it; how to prevent it from happening at all. Unless you are living under a rock, you know that bullying is a crisis in our country that needs to be stopped – a completely preventable cause of death in healthy adolescents.  The recent spate of bullying related suicides surely can make any parent shake in his or her shoes.  Every time I read about a child who has killed himself or herself thanks to merciless taunting and physical aggression, I find myself extremely grateful that my older boys – 10 and 12 years old, are neither bullied nor bullies.  I really didn’t think that I had to worry about my six year old son, at least not yet. 

 

Boy, was I wrong.  My son, A, a first grader came home from school in tears a few days ago – a boy that has teased him before had pushed him down during gym and put his hands around his neck (but didn’t choke him, as my son sweetly pointed out – well, that makes it much better), then he spit on him.  A. drew several pictures of the incident and was distraught enough that he was still talking about it at bedtime.  The next morning I wrote a note to his teacher, explaining what happened – not accusatory, just to give her a “heads up,” since I knew A. didn’t tell her.

 

I’m happy to say that I got a call from the gym teacher that afternoon, saying that the situation was taken care of and the offender had suffered consequences – a removal of privileges.  I felt guilty – as nasty as his actions were, he is, after all, only six years old.  Plus, she explained that while he admitted to doing it, it may have been out of excitement during a game.  My guilt, however, dissipated when I received a second phone call at the end of the day.  “There was an incident at recess,” the gym teacher reported.  The same boy had approached A, who was drawing quietly in the corner, snatched the drawing out of A’s hand, then tore it in half.  “A was devastated,” reported his teacher.  “He was really bawling.  But, I had the boy write a note to him apologizing.”

 

Knowing A. had to endure having his picture ripped apart in front of him (a picture that he no doubt worked very hard on) was like a knife in my heart.  “He just wants to draw during recess,” I said quietly.  “He draws all seven continents, the equator and the prime meridian.”  A. loves geography and he prefers drawing maps of the world to playing superheroes or tag with the other boys.  I know this is unusual – A. is, quite frankly, brilliant (this is objective – he scored above the 99.99^th percentile for cognitive skills when he was evaluated in kindergarten).  He is also unique (his favorite thing to watch on tv is the weather and he knows exactly where Kazakhstan – and pretty much everywhere else on the globe – is) and this combination, more than ever, makes me terrified that he will be a target as he gets older.  I just didn’t think that it would happen so soon.  But let’s face it, kids hone in on anyone who is different. 

 

A’s gym teacher warned me that he would probably still be distraught when he arrived home.  To my surprise, he was happy when he walked in the door.  I asked him what happened and if he was still upset.  He told me to look in his folder.  In it I found the apology note his teacher mentioned.  I took it out and A. asked me to read it to him.  (It was written in a typical first grader’s scrawling hand, with phonetically spelled words, so it was difficult for him to read.)  A smile spread over his face as I read the note and he pointed out where the boy signed it with a heart.  He carried that note around most of the day and asked me to reread it often.  I’m proud that A. was able to forgive easily, that he was able to drink in that note and let it fill him with peace. 

 

I truly hope that the note is sincere and A. won’t be tormented again during recess and gym.  I truly hope that he won’t become one of the bullied.  I’m optimistic, after all six year olds are malleable.  They can be taught compassion much more easily than teenagers can – when habits of nastiness are entrenched and not easily melted away.  I’m sure this boy is sweet most of the time and I’m sure that his mom was not happy when she got the call either.  Both of us are in a stressful spot – two sides of the same coin.  I don’t know her – if I did I would call and tell her that they’ll probably be friends someday.  I hope that this is the case and I wish that bullying in the middle schools and high schools could fixed with as simple a salve as a note.  Who knows, maybe if Phoebe Prince (the teen from Ireland living in Massachusetts, a victim of brutal bullying, committed suicide just over a year ago) had received a note from her tormentors offering a sincere apology, she would have thought twice before taking her own life.  I know it’s not likely, but one never knows what just a bit of compassion can do.  Too many young people have followed in her footsteps.  It is the school’s responsibility to make the bullies reach out to their victims, to make them look them in the eye and say, “I’m sorry” and truly mean it.  Punishment alone is not enough – forging a path to forgiveness, as well is the only solution – even if it’s forced at first. 

 

I’m grateful that my son’s school has a zero tolerance policy and took action as soon as the transgression was reported.  I’m also thankful that my son felt comfortable enough to tell his gym teacher the second time he was victimized.  But, more than anything I’m happy that he seems to have emerged unscathed (so far), thanks to that simple note.  High schools and middle schools where bullying is rampant could learn a thing or two from these first graders.