Something terrible happened today. I don't know exactly when it happened. It may have been when I was running on the treadmill with my gym girls teaching Tread n Shed; maybe it happened when I was teaching water aerobics to some of my favorite senior citizens, many of whom are former teachers, school secretaries, and bus drivers. Maybe this horrible and senseless act of violence occurred at 10:40, the designated time for Tanner and his class to receive their AR awards. Tanner had been so excited when I dropped him off at school, and because of who he is, he told me not to worry that I couldn't be there to see him get his 80 point sticker. We shouldn't have to worry when we drop our kids off at school, should we?
I can't help but think of all the other students who went to school today, expecting to celebrate their achievements, test their knowledge on a tough science test, or maybe participate in some much-anticipated Christmas celebration. While our kids were smiling for cameras, dancing with their friends, and gluing Popsicle sticks into Christmas trees, others were living the kind of horror that we don't even let our kids watch on television. All those things we as parents try to shield our babies from, close their eyes to, came to life today in Connecticut. How to make sense of that? What kind of test has no right answers, just a bunch of empty blanks with no solutions, no do-overs, no retakes? I keep seeing the same responses from people on Facebook: how could this happen, what kind of person does this type of thing to 5 year old children? All rhetorical questions, I know, but I think beneath all those rhetorical questions lies a real need for answers. We can't fix what happened in Connecticut, but can we prevent it? That's a scary question.
I don't know when it happened, but I do know that I have NO answers for why things like this happen, why people see violence as a means to an end, why we have no respect for the sanctity of life. Apparently, my children haven't heard anything about what is being called the worst school shooting in history. I plan to keep it that way, so unless one of them finds out on his own, I think I'll keep it to myself. Of course, I was a little more "overjoyed" to see them than usual at car rider pick up; I played tennis ball with Tanner in the middle of the parking lot while we waited on Tucker, not really caring what other parents thought of my softball toss; and I figured that on the way home we might make a detour and have an after school snack. I'm going to spend the rest of the afternoon watching "Mickey's Christmas" with Tate; I'm going to smile at them a little more, laugh with them a little more, let them laugh at me whenever they want, and kiss them EVERY morning at drop off.
And I'm going to pray. And pray some more. And keep on praying that our tv's and radios, our Facebooks and texts never again interrupt our days with the kind of information they gave us today.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
From Ozzy's Uck to Willie Robertson's Duck
The first reality tv show I can remember watching was Ozzy Osbourne's; I don't remember if it even had a catchy "reality tv" name. Tucker was a wee lad, just starting to toddle around the house, and one lazy Sunday afternoon I scrolled through the channel selections and found a marathon showing of Ozzy and his family. I guess curiosity must have killed the cat, because I flipped to the channel and all I can remember was cuss word, cuss word, cuss word, and a really big house. The good news is that I didn't stay long on that channel, evidenced by the fact that I can't remember anything other than cuss word, cuss word, cuss word, and a really big house. I couldn't then, and I still can't today, allow myself to watch things that I KNOW aren't pleasing to God. I find myself struggling with than one sometimes, but when someone tells her son or daughter to shut the **** up, that's a clear cut sign for me--it's time to keep flipping.
I guess what is most surprising is that it became acceptable to air things like this, as long as the editors are *bleeping* the words out and shadowing any other unfortunate gestures made from one friend to another. I know this because shows like this are everywhere now. Morals are gone, niceness isn't as funny as meanness, and manners are a thing of the past. The even scarier thing is that the shows come on at all times of the day, and the horrible word choice and innuendos have slipped into the few remaining sitcoms on TV at night. Used to be we could turn the TV on at 8 o' clock on a school night and feel pretty confident that whatever was on would not end up in a one-on-one conversation with Dad in the back room away from the brothers who haven't caught on yet.
So as we lament the passing of quality TV and try to shield our babies (11 is still a baby, y'all, especially to his mother) from growing up too quickly, along comes a show about rednecks eating squirrel brains, hunting ducks, and blowing things up. I realize that West Monroe is just a short skip from where I grew up, and I have spent some quality time in Louisiana, but when Coach suggested we tune in to this new phenomenon everyone had been talking about, I was skeptical. Frogs scare me, guns scare me, and if someone offered me a bowl of squirrel stew, I might cry (because deep down my momma raised me right, and if someone offers me something in her house, by golly I have to eat it).
What I found (and am tuned into religiously every Wednesday night) is a family not unlike my own. I love that all the brothers work together and visit their Momma all the time; in fact, I'm working on coming up with a multimillion dollar industry that will insure that all three of my boys can NEVER go too far from home. I love that the grand kids say "yes, ma'am" and "yes sir" in their sweet, country accents. I love that the wives on the show have been shown on more than one occasion doing things for their church. I love that there is never a cuss word spoken. I love that when my kids watch, they are unknowingly witnessing an example of a godly family, where men appreciate their wives, women respect their husbands, and children still spend time with their parents and grandparents. Most of all, I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little choked up every time the show closes and Phil says his prayer. It isn't contrived, it isn't funny, it isn't propaganda. It is just who they are.
And apparently America loves who they are: Facebook pages are lit up with Likes for just about every member of the family, the main talk at the middle school these days is the latest episode and Jase's shenanigans, and people I know are planning to name their babies Silas, nickname Si.
I've heard folks speculate that Duck Dynasty is just another fad, soon to pass in time. I hope not. Maybe ten years from now, America will still be talking about Willie and his ducks; and the youngsters will cock their heads, look at me all funny, and ask "Ozzy who?"
And that is my closing prayer.
I guess what is most surprising is that it became acceptable to air things like this, as long as the editors are *bleeping* the words out and shadowing any other unfortunate gestures made from one friend to another. I know this because shows like this are everywhere now. Morals are gone, niceness isn't as funny as meanness, and manners are a thing of the past. The even scarier thing is that the shows come on at all times of the day, and the horrible word choice and innuendos have slipped into the few remaining sitcoms on TV at night. Used to be we could turn the TV on at 8 o' clock on a school night and feel pretty confident that whatever was on would not end up in a one-on-one conversation with Dad in the back room away from the brothers who haven't caught on yet.
So as we lament the passing of quality TV and try to shield our babies (11 is still a baby, y'all, especially to his mother) from growing up too quickly, along comes a show about rednecks eating squirrel brains, hunting ducks, and blowing things up. I realize that West Monroe is just a short skip from where I grew up, and I have spent some quality time in Louisiana, but when Coach suggested we tune in to this new phenomenon everyone had been talking about, I was skeptical. Frogs scare me, guns scare me, and if someone offered me a bowl of squirrel stew, I might cry (because deep down my momma raised me right, and if someone offers me something in her house, by golly I have to eat it).
What I found (and am tuned into religiously every Wednesday night) is a family not unlike my own. I love that all the brothers work together and visit their Momma all the time; in fact, I'm working on coming up with a multimillion dollar industry that will insure that all three of my boys can NEVER go too far from home. I love that the grand kids say "yes, ma'am" and "yes sir" in their sweet, country accents. I love that the wives on the show have been shown on more than one occasion doing things for their church. I love that there is never a cuss word spoken. I love that when my kids watch, they are unknowingly witnessing an example of a godly family, where men appreciate their wives, women respect their husbands, and children still spend time with their parents and grandparents. Most of all, I'd be lying if I said I didn't get a little choked up every time the show closes and Phil says his prayer. It isn't contrived, it isn't funny, it isn't propaganda. It is just who they are.
And apparently America loves who they are: Facebook pages are lit up with Likes for just about every member of the family, the main talk at the middle school these days is the latest episode and Jase's shenanigans, and people I know are planning to name their babies Silas, nickname Si.
I've heard folks speculate that Duck Dynasty is just another fad, soon to pass in time. I hope not. Maybe ten years from now, America will still be talking about Willie and his ducks; and the youngsters will cock their heads, look at me all funny, and ask "Ozzy who?"
And that is my closing prayer.
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